That is a saucy touch,--that of Ben's rage when he is told that presumption is not, before Apollo, to take the place of merit, or even to back it! The other notice is taken from a letter from Howel to Sir Thomas Hawk, written the year before Jonson's death:-- "I was invited yesternight to a solemn supper by B. J., where you were deeply remembered. There was good company, excellent cheer, choice wines, and jovial welcome. One thing intervened which almost spoiled the relish of the rest,--that B. began to engross all the discourse, to vapor extremely by himself, and, by vilifying others, to magnify his own Muse. For my part, I am content to dispense with the Roman infirmity of Ben, now that time has snowed upon his pericranium." But this snow of time, however it may have begun to cover up the solider qualities of his mind, seems to have left untouched his strictly poetic faculty. That shone out in his last hours, with more than usual splendor, in the beautiful pastoral drama of "The Sad Shepherd"; and it may be doubted if, in his whole works, any other passage can be found so exquisite in sentiment, fancy, and expression as the opening lines of this charming product of his old age:-- "Here she was wont to go! and here! and here! Just where those daisies, pinks, and violets grow: The world may find the Spring by following her; For other print her airy steps ne'er left: Her treading would not bend a blade of grass, Or shake the downy blow-ball from his stalk! But like the soft west-wind she shot along, And where she went the flowers took thickest root, As she had sowed them with her odorous foot!" Before he completed "The Sad Shepherd," he was struck with mortal illness; and the brave old man prepared to meet his last enemy, and, if possible, convert him into a friend. As early as 1606 he had returned to the English Church, after having been for twelve years a Romanist; and his penitent death-bed was attended by the Bishop of Winchester. He died in August, 1637, in his sixty-fourth year, and was buried in Westminster Abbey. The inscription on the common pavement stone which was laid over his grave still expresses, after a lapse of two hundred years, the feelings of all readers of the English race,-- "O RARE BEN JONSON!"