By the tender mercy of enlightened souls of Englishmen; By the honour, virtue, and maternal affection of thy great Queen, Whose numerous offspring are so dear to her; the miserable wife of thy prisoner beseeches thee to save her husband’s life, and restore him to her arms. Thy God will reward thee: _They_ will thank thee: And the now petitioning, will pray for thee, if thou grantest the prayer of thy humble vassal ALMASSA ALI CAWN. It is painful to reflect that such an appeal was vain. The petition of the wretched Almassa was presented to the great man in power. It was disregarded, and her husband met his fate. ❦ [Sidenote: Volcanos.] There is great probability that Mount Vesuvius near Naples, and Mount Etna in Sicily, are the different parts of the same continuation of one chain of mountains, which passes under the sea, and the Isle of Lipari; for every time that one of these mountains breaks forth in flames, the other is seen on fire, and the volcano in the Isle of Lipari burns more fiercely than usual. ❦ [Sidenote: Saint George.] Saint George, a soldier saint of great eminence, both in the Eastern and Western churches, known also by the particular name of Tropheophorus, suffered martyrdom at Lyddea in Palestine, under the persecution of Dioclesian, A. D. 302. He is supposed to have been interred at Lyddea, or Diospulia. ❦ ’Tis is a sweet flower, the late, late rose, That decks the sallow autumn; And those, the dearest beams of joy, That burst when least we sought ’em. ❦ _On Lady Elizabeth, Queen of Bohemia._[10] _By Sir Henry Wootton._ You meaner beauties of the night That weaklie satisfie our eies, More by your number than your lighte, Like common people of the skies, What are yee, when the moone doth rise? Ye violettes that first appeare, Your pride in purple garments showne, Takeing possession of the yeere As if the spring were all your owne, What are you when the rose is blowne? Ye glorious trifles of the East, Whose lustres estimations raise, Pearles, rubies, saphires and the rest, Of precious caskets, what’s your praise When the diamond shows his rayes? Ye warblinge chanters of the wood, That fill the eares with nature’s laies, Thinkinge your passions understood By weaker accents, what’s your praise When Philomell her voice doth raise? Soe when my princesse shall bee seene, In sweetness of her lookes and mynde, By vertue first, then choice a queene, Tell mee if shee were not design’d The eclipsinge glorie of her kynde? The rose, the violettes, the whole springe, For sweetness to her breath must runne; The diamond’s darken’d in the ringe; If shee appeare the moon’s undonne, As with the presence of the sunne.