Christ's Passion, written in Latin by the famous Hugo Grotius, and translated by our author, to which he also added notes; this subject had been handled handled before in Greek, by that venerable person, Apollinarius of Laodicea, bishop of Hierapolis, but this of Grotius, in Sandys's opinion, transcends all on this argument; this piece was reprinted with figures in 8vo. London, 1688. Concerning our author but few incidents are known, he is celebrated by cotemporary and subsequent wits, as a very considerable poet, and all have agreed to bestow upon him the character of a pious worthy man. He died in the year 1643, at the house of his nephew Mr. Wiat at Boxley Abbey in Kent, in the chancel of which parish church he is buried, though without a monument, only as Wood says with the following, which stands in the common register belonging to this church. Georgius Sandys, Poetarum Anglorum sui sæculi Princeps, sepultus suit Martii 7° stilo Anglico. Anno Pom. 1643. It would be injurious to the memory of Sandys, to dismiss his life without informing the reader that the worthy author stood high in the opinion of that most accomplished young nobleman the lord viscount Falkland, by whom to be praised, is the highest compliment that can be paid to merit; his lordship addresses a copy of verses to Grotius, occasioned by his Christus Patiens, in which he introduces Mr. Sandys, and says of him, that he had seen as much as Grotius had read; he bestows upon him like wife the epithet of a fine gentleman, and observes, that though he had travelled to foreign countries to read life, and acquire knowledge, yet he was worthy, like another Livy, of having men of eminence from every country come to visit him. From the quotation here given, it will be seen that Sandys was a smooth versifier, and Dryden in his preface to his translation of Virgil, positively says, that had Mr. Sandys gone before him in the whole translation, he would by no means have attempted it after him. In the translation of his Christus Patiens, in the chorus of Act III. JESUS speaks. Daughters of Solyma, no more My wrongs thus passionately deplore. These tears for future sorrows keep, Wives for yourselves, and children weep; That horrid day will shortly come, When you shall bless the barren womb, And breast that never infant fed; Then shall you with the mountain's head Would from this trembling basis slide, And all in tombs of ruin hide. In his translation of Ovid, the verses on Fame are thus englished. And now the work is ended which Jove's rage, Nor fire, nor sword, shall raise, nor eating age. Come when it will, my death's uncertain hour, Which only o'er my body bath a power: Yet shall my better part transcend the sky, And my immortal name shall never die: For wheresoe'er the Roman Eagles spread Their conqu'ring wings, I shall of all be read. And if we Prophets can presages give, I in my fame eternally shall live.