_The sound, that both by sea and land out-flies,_ _Rebounds againe, and verberates the skies._ _They say, the earth that first the giants bred,_ _For anger that the gods did them dispatch,_ _Brought forth this sister of those monsters dead,_ _Full light of foote, swift wings the winds to catch:_ _Such monsters erst did nature never hatch._ _As many plumes she hath from top to toe,_ _So many eyes them underwatch or moe;_ _And tongues do speake: so many eares do harke._ [_By night ’tweene heaven she flies and earthly shade,_ _And, shreaking, takes no quiet sleepe by darke:_ _On houses roofes, on towers, as keeper made,_ _She sits by day, and cities threates t’ invade;_ _And as she tells what things she sees by view,_ _She rather shewes that’s fained false, then true._] [Legend of Albanact.] I. H., _Mirror of Magist_. Page 1. _Deare Love, let me this evening dye._ This beautiful little love-poem re-appears, as Song 77, in _Windsor Drollery_, 1672, p. 63. (There had been a previous edition of that work, in 1671, which we have examined: it is not noted by bibliographers, and is quite distinct.) A few variations occur. Verse 2. are _wrack’d_; 3. In _love_ is not commended; _only_ sweet, All praise, _no_ pity; who _fondly_; 4. _Shall shortly_ by dead Lovers lie; _hallow’d_; 5. _He_ which _all others_ els excels, That _are_; 6. _Will_, though thou; 7. _the_ Bells _shall_ ring; _While_ all to _black is_; (last line but two in parenthesis;) Making, like Flowers, &c. Page 4. _Nor Love nor Fate dare I accuse._ By RICHARD BROME, in his “_Northerne Lasse_,” 1632, Act ii., sc. 6. It is also given in _Westminster-Drollery_, 1671, i. 83 (the only song in common). But compare with it the less musical and tender, “_Nor Love, nor Fate can I accuse of hate_,” in same vol. ii. 90, with Appendix Note thereunto, p. lxiii. Page 5. _One night the great ~Apollo~, pleased with ~Ben~._ This remarkable and little-known account of “THE TIME-POETS” is doubly interesting, as being a contemporary document, full of life-like portraiture of men whom no lapse of years can banish from us; welcome friends, whom we grow increasingly desirous of beholding intimately. Glad are we to give it back thus to the world; our chief gem, in its rough Drollery-setting: lifted once more into the light of day, from out the cobwebbed nooks where it so long-time had lain hidden. Our joy would have been greater, could we have restored authoritatively the lost sixteenth-line, by any genuine discovery among early manuscripts; or told something conclusive about the author of the poem, who has laid us under obligation for these vivid portraits of John Ford, Thomas Heywood, poor old Thomas Churchyard, and Ben’s courageous foeman, worthy of his steel, that Thomas Dekker who “followed after in a dream.”