I should be very unwilling to deprive Corbet of the praise due to a poem of so much intrinsic merit; but as the following epitaph is printed among the poems of his contemporary, King, bishop of Chichester, and again attributed to the latter in MS. Ashmole, A 35, Corbet’s claim to the composition of it is rendered very disputable. ON THE EARL OF DORSETS DEATH. Let no prophane, ignoble foot tread here, This hallowed piece of earth, Dorset lyes there: A small poor relique of a noble spirit, Free as the air, and ample as his merit: A soul refin’d, no proud forgetting lord, But mindful of mean names, and of his word: Who lov’d men for his honour, not his ends, And had the noblest way of getting friends By loving first, and yet who knew the court, But understood it better by report Than practice: he nothing took from thence But the kings favour for his recompence. Who, for religion or his countreys good, Neither his honour valued, nor his blood. Rich in the worlds opinion, and mens praise, And full in all we could desire, but days. He that is warn’d of this, and shall forbear To vent a sigh for him, or shed a tear, May he live long scorn’d, and unpitied fall, And want a mourner at his funeral! TO THE NEW-BORNE PRINCE, AFTERWARDS CHARLES II. (Born May 29th[77], 1630; died 6th of February, 1684-5.) UPON THE APPARITION OF A STARR, AND THE FOLLOWING ECCLYPSE. Was heav’ne afray’d to be out-done on earth When thou wert borne, great prince, that it brought forth Another light to helpe the aged sunn, Lest by thy luster he might be out-shone? Or were th’ obsequious starres so joy’d to view Thee, that they thought their countlesse eyes too few For such an object; and would needes create A better influence to attend thy state? Or would the Fates thereby shew to the earth A Cæsars birth, as once a Cæsars death? And was ’t that newes that made pale Cynthia run In so great hast to intercept the sunn; And, enviously, so shee might gaine thy sight, Would darken him from whome shee had her light? Mysterious prodigies yet sure they bee, Prognosticks of a rare prosperity: For, can thy life promise lesse good to men, Whose birth was th’ envy, and the care of heav’ne? ON THE BIRTH OF THE YOUNG PRINCE CHARLES. When private men gett sonnes they get a spoone[78], Without ecclypse, or any starr at noone: When kings gett sonnes, they get withall supplyes And succours, farr beyond all subsedyes. Wellcome, Gods loane! thou tribute to the State, Thou mony newly coyn’d, thou fleete of plate! Thrice happy childe! whome God thy father sent To make him rich without a parliament! VINCENT CORBET,