_mal cupiera alli tal aspid en tales flores;_[1] maintaining that it is in this point immaculate, which I will maintain as confidently because as justly, and as publicly were it needful, (only that my bever must be closed) as Mr. Dymock at the approaching Coronation will maintain Queen Victoria's right to the Crown of these Kingdoms (God save the Queen!),—it is impossible that I should consent to a measure which must seem like acknowledging the justice of a charge at once ridiculous and wrongful. I must not disesteem My rightful cause for being accused, nor must Forsake myself, tho I were left of all. Fear cannot make my innocence unjust Unto itself, to give my Truth the fall.[2] [Footnote 1: LOPE DE VEGA.] [Footnote 2: DANIEL.] The most axiomatic of English Poets has said Do not forsake yourself; for they that do, Offend and teach the world to leave them too. Of the Book itself,—(the Opus) I can say truly, as South said of the Sermon which he preached in 1662 before the Lord Mayor and Aldermen of the City of London, “the subject is inoffensive, harmless, and innocent as the state of innocence itself;” and of the particular chapter, that it is “suitable to the immediate design, and to the genius of the book.” And in saying this I call to mind the words of Nicolas Perez, el Setabiense;—_el amor propio es nuestro enemigo mas perjudicial; es dificil acabar con el, por lo mismo un sabio le compara à la camisa, que es el ultimo de los vestidos que nos quitamos._ Bear witness _incorrupta Fides, nudaque Veritas!_ that I seek not to cover myself with what the Spaniard calls Self-Love's last Shirt; for I am no more guilty of _Lese Modestie_ than of _Lese Majesté_. If there were a Court of Delicacy as there has been a Court of Honour, a Court Modest as there is a Court Martial, I would demand a trial, and in my turn arraign my arraigners, “_Porque en este limpio trigo Siembren zizaña y estrago._”[3] [Footnote 3: LOPE DE VEGA.] It is said in the very interesting and affecting Memoir of Mr. Smedley's Life that he had projected with Mr. Murray “a castigated edition of the Faery Queen.” He was surprized, says the biographer “to find how many passages there were in this the most favourite poem of his youth, which a father's acuter vision and more sensitive delicacy discovered to be unfit for the eyes of his daughters.” It appears too that he had actually performed the task; but that “Mr. Murray altered his opinion as to the expediency of the publication, and he found to his annoyance that his time had been employed to no purpose.”