He had a delicate[291], lively hazel eie; Dr. Harvey told me it was like the eie of a viper.
I have now forgott what Mr. Bushell sayd, whether his lordship enjoyed his Muse best at night, or in the morning.
<His poems.>
His lordship was a good poet, but conceal'd, as appeares by his letters. See excellent verses of his lordship's which Mr. Farnaby translated into Greeke, and printed both[292] in his Ἀνθολογία, scil.
The world's a bubble, and the life of man
Less then a span, etc.
[293]Ἀνθολογία: Florilegium epigrammatum selectorum; Thomas Farnaby, London, 1629, pag. 8.—'Huc elegantem viri clarissimi domini Verulamii *παρῳδίαν adjicere adlubuit'—opposit to it on the other page—'quam παρῳδίαν e nostrati bona nos Graecam qualemcunque sic fecimus, et rhythmice.'
The world's a bubble, and the life of man
Lesse then a span;
In his conception wretched, from the wombe
So to the tombe;
Curst from his cradle, and brought up to yeares
With cares and feares.
Who then to fraile mortality shall trust
But limmes in water or but writes in dust.
Yet since with sorrow here we live opprest,
What life is best?
Courts are but onely superficiall scholes
To dandle fooles;
The rurall parts are turn'd into a den
Of savage men;
And wher's a city from all vice so free,
But may be term'd the worst of all the three?
Domestick cares afflict the husband's bed
Or paines his hed;
Those that live single take it for a curse,
Or doe things[294] worse;
Some would have children; those that have them mone,
Or wish them gone.
What is it then to have, or have no wife,
But single thraldome or a double strife?
Our owne affections still at home to please
Is a disease;
To crosse the sea to any foreine soyle,
Perills and toyle;
Warres with their noise affright us; when they cease
W'are worse in peace.
What then remaines? but that we still should cry
Not to be borne, or, being borne, to dye.