Illustrious _Mary_, it had happy been, Had you then found a cave like this to skreen Your sacred person from those frontier spies, That of a sovereign princess durst make prize, When Neptune too officiously bore Your cred'lous innocence to this faithless shore. Oh, _England_! once who hadst the only fame Of being kind to all who hither came For refuge and protection, how couldst thou So strangely alter thy good nature now, Where there was so much excellence to move, Not only thy compassion, but thy love? 'Twas strange on earth, save _Caledonian_ ground, So impudent a villain could be found, Such majesty and sweetness to accuse; Or, after that, a judge would not refuse Her sentence to pronounce; or that being done, Even amongst bloody'st hangmen, to find one Durst, though her face was veil'd, and neck laid down, Strike off the fairest head e'er wore a crown. And what state policy there might be here, Which does with right too often interfere, I 'm not to judge: yet thus far dare be bold, A fouler act the sun did ne'er behold.[68] Plott, in his Staffordshire, calls Mr. Cotton "his worthy, learned, and most ingenious friend." Sir John Hawkins thus speaks of him:--"He was both a wit and a scholar; of an open, cheerful, and hospitable temper; endowed with fine talents for conversation, and the courtesy and affability of a gentleman." He farther thus speaks of one of his poems:--"It is not for their courtly and elegant turn, that the verses of Charles Cotton ought to be praised; there is such a delightful flow of feeling and sentiment, so much of the best part of our nature mixed up in them, and so much fancy displayed, that one of our most distinguished living poets has adduced several passages of his Ode upon Winter, for a general illustration of the characteristics of fancy." He must have possessed many endearing qualities, for the benevolent and pious Walton thus concludes a letter to his "most honoured friend, Charles Cotton, Esq.:"--"though I be more than a hundred miles from you, and in the eighty-third year of my age, yet I will forget both, and next month begin a pilgrimage to beg your pardon: for I would die in your favour, and till then will live, Sir, your most affectionate father and friend, Isaac Walton." One cannot wonder at the good old man wishing to visit the courteous and well-bred Mr. Cotton, and to enjoy the intercourse of hospitable urbanity, near the pastoral streams of the Dove, when he had received such an invitation as the following, addressed to his "dear and most worthy friend, Mr. Isaac Walton:"-- Whilst in this cold and blustering clime, Where bleak winds howl and tempests roar, We pass away the roughest time Has been of many years before; Whilst from the most tempestuous nooks The chillest blasts our peace invade, And by great rains our smallest brooks Are almost navigable made;