To Poetry I pretend not,

And pain disturbs invention;

Yet the matter's high, transcends the Skie,
And calls for strict attention.

Urania, here's thy Subject!

Now lend me too thy fancy;
Of all the Nine thou shalt be mine,
I'll to the Stars advance thee.

I saw the Sun once setting,

Down to the North descending,
When all the Stars fell into jars
About the Rule contending.
The Hemisphere was darkened;
The Age securely snorting;
Long was the Night, and sharp the Fight;
As I am now reporting.

In Capricorn old Saturn,

The worst of all the Seven,
Design'd the Night to rule in spite

Of all the Stars in Heaven.

His quarrel was at Luna,

Declaring his Opinion;

None could but vex the Female Sex
Should hold so large Dominion.

She lowest of the Planets

The other Tropick claimed!

But down she shall, and catch a Fall;
And thus a War's proclaimed.

He fret that Cassiopeia

In a Chair of state was placed;
Ariadne's Crown he'll have pull'd down,
Andromeda debased.

Nor will he suffer Children,

The Twins he'll tear asunder;
Nor will he spare Berenice's Hair,
But thus he spake in Thunder.

What! Women so to lord it!

Both Gods and Men despise them;
They shall obey, and I will sway
Nights Scepter, and chastise them,

In this strain he goes on through 134 verses, which are repeated in Latin and Greek.

PARKE AND MORRINGTON.

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HENRY PARKE.

THIS individual who, says Mr. Hunter," spent but an unhappy and discreditable life," was born about 1660, and studied at Christ's College, Cambridge, where, according to the published list of graduates, he took a Bachelor's degree in 1682. In May 1690, he was presented to the perpetual curacy of Wentworth, where he died, and was buried in the Chapel under a stone close to the reading-desk, which bears this inscription:

"Here lieth a penitent sinner: the earthly remains of that reverend divine Mr. Henry Parke, 14 years and a half minister of this chapel buried here the 10th of November 1704.

Divine and poet, take thy rest:

Thy soul we hope is with the blest.
Thou shalt not pass without a line:

Sweet was thy verse, thy preaching fine."

His widow became housekeeper in the Wentworth family. Mr. Parke published a sheet entitled " Lachrymæ Sacerdotis a Pindarick poem, occasioned by the death of that most excellent Princess, our late gracious sovereign Lady Mary the Second, of glorious memory."

Besides this, Mr. Hunter has printed a long passage from a poetical "letter to a friend in London," written by this Henry Parkes, and probably never published. Speaking of his patron, the Honourable Mr. Wentworth, he says—

A gentleman of noble race

Woodhouse and Wentworth both does grace:
Believe me without artifice

He's just and affable and wise,
Discreet, accessible, and good;
Who never knew how to be proud:
In any business when concern'd,
Ingenious too he is and learn'd;
The best of all the Nobis coram
For law and sense is not before him."

GILES MORRINGTON.

Or this individual, all that I have been able to ascertain is, that he was of Northallerton, but whether a native of the

E

town or only a resident there, is uncertain. He wrote a poem in Praise of Yorkshire Ale," for the brewing of which potent liquor, Northallerton, Easingwold, Sutton, and Thirsk, were in his days famous. His poem was published at York, 1697, in 12mo, and from it the following lines are extracted, not on account of their poetical merit, certainly, but as illustrative of a curiosity unknown to most readers.

PRAISE OF YORKSHIRE ALE.

Bacchus having call'd a parliament of late,
For to consult about some things of State,
Nearly concerning the honour of his court,
To th' Sun behind th' Exchange they did resort;
Where being met and many things that time
Concerning the adulterating wine,

And other liquors; selling of ale in mugs;
Silver tankards, black pots, and little jugs;
Strong beer in rabbits and cheating penny cans,
Three pipes for two-pence and such like trepans :
And many other things were then debated,
And bills past upon the cases stated;
And all things ready for adjournment, then
Stood up one of the northern country men,
A boon good fellow and a lover of strong ale,

Whose tongue well steep'd in sack, begun his tale:
My bully rocks, I've been experienc'd long
In most of liquors that are counted strong-
(Divers of which he here enumerates)

And several others, but none do I find

Like humming northern ale to please my mind;
It is pleasant to the taste, strong and mellow,
He that affects it not is no boon fellow.

Having asserted some other virtues of ale, of which even persons who may not be members of Temperance Societies, would be sceptical, the poet proceeds—

Where may we find this nectar, I thee pray?
The boon good fellow answer'd I can tell,
Northallerton, in Yorkshire does excell
All England, nay all Europe, for strong ale,
If thither we adjourn, we shall not fail
To taste such humming stuff, as I dare say,
Your highness never tasted to this day.
They hearing this, the house agreed upon,
All for adjournment to Northallerton;

Madam Bradley's was the chief house then nam'd,
There they must taste this noble ale so fam'd,

MORRINGTON.

And nois'd abroad in each place far and near,
Nay, take it Bradley for strong ale and beer,
Thou hast it loose, there's none can do so well
In brewing ale thou dost all else excell.
Adjournment day being come, there did appear
A brave full house, Bacchus himself was there.
This nectar was brought in, each had his cup,
But at the first they did but sipple up

This rare ambrosia, but finding that

'Twas grateful to the taste and made them chat,
And laugh and talk, O then when all was out,
They call'd for more, and drank full cans about.

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He then proceeds to describe, at some length, the strange and various effects produced by this famous liquor, upon the several members of the court; till at last

Off went their perriwigs, coats and rapers,
Out went the candles, noses for tapers

Serv'd to give light, whilst they did dance around,
Drinking full healths with caps upon the ground;
And still as they did dance their roundelays,
They all did cry this drink deserves the bays
Above all liquors we have ever tasted;
It's a pity that a drop of it were wasted.
These antick sights made Bacchus to admire,
And then he did begin for to enquire
What privileges were bestowed upon
This famous ale town of Northallerton;
The answer was, that it was known

To have four fairs i' th' year, a borough-town,
One market every week and that was all:
This mov'd Bacchus presently to call

For a great jug, which held about five quarts—

Which the company having emptied, it was agreed that—

To Easingwold they then away would pass,
With Nanny Driffield there to drink a glass;
Then they to famous York would haste away,
For thither they'd adjourn the court that day:
When they to York were come, they rov'd about
From house to house to find such nectar out
As they had tasted last; at length they heard
Of Parker's Coffee-house i' th' Minster-yard:
The several sorts of strong ale there they'd find,
Some of which ale would surely please their mind:
Unto this place they went and crowded in;
Come, wench, said they, with strong ale we'll begin :

Sirs, said the girl, we've ale that's strong and old,
Both from Northallerton and Easingwold,

From Sutton, Thirske, likewise Rascal town,
We've ale also that's called knock'em-down:
Well, bring a tankard of each in, you maid,
We'll taste them every one, the courtiers said.
The ale came in, each man a tankard had,
They tasted all, and swore they were full glad,
Such stingo, nappy, pure ale they had found;
Let's lose no time, said they, but drink around.
About and about it went full merrily,

Till some could neither go, stand, sit nor see.
They call'd and drank till they were all high flown,
And could not find their way into the town,
They stagger'd to and fro, had such light heads
That they were guided all into their beds:
And in the morning when they did awake,

They curs'd and swore that all their heads did ache;
O Yorkshire, Yorkshire! thy ale it is so strong,
That it will kill us all if we stay long.

So they agreed a journey for to make

Into the south, some respit there to take,

But in short space again, they said, they'd come
And taste some more of this said Yorkshire hum:
It is so pleasant, mellow too, and fine,

That Bacchus swore he'd never more drink wine.

THOMAS RYMER.

THOMAS RYMER, who is more generally known as an Antiquarian Collector and Historiographer, than as a poet, was born in the little village of Kirby Wiske, in the North Riding of Yorkshire, and educated at the Grammar School of Northallerton, from which place Kirby is distant but three or four miles. After quitting the University, he became a member of Gray's Inn, and in 1678 wrote "The English Monarch," an heroic tragedy. Besides several other pieces, and illustrations in verse, he published, in folio, "A Poem on the Arrival of Queen Mary, February 12th, 1689." Nichols, in his Collection of "Select Poets," says truly enough, that on Mr. Rymer's poetry "much commendation cannot be bestowed, but he was an excellent Antiquary and Historian." On the death of Shadwell, in 1692, Rymer was appointed Historiographer Royal to William III.; he formed an immense collection of public acts,