At last, he set her both his eyes—
She won; and Cupid blind did rise.
O Love, has she done this to thee?
What shall, alas! become of me?”
He puts, too, into imitative jingle of words the song of the Nightingale—(as Bryant has done for the Bobolink); and of the strain of the skylark nothing prettier was ever said than Mr. Lyly says:
“How, at Heaven’s gate she claps her wings,
The morn not waking—till she sings.”
Francis Bacon.
We go away from singing skylarks to find the next character that I shall cull out from these Elizabethan times to set before you: this is Lord Bacon—or, to give him his true title, Lord Verulam—there being, in fact, the same impropriety in saying Lord Bacon (if custom had not “brazed it so”) that there would be in saying Lord D’Israeli for Lord Beaconsfield.