If the lines are not by Francis, they still preach the calm, deterministic spirit of his poems and his tragedies; and they are worthy of him. Beaumont's surviving brother of Grace-Dieu continued for many years to write epistolary, panegyric, and religious poems, which won increasing favour among scholars and at Court. They were collected and published by his son, in 1629. Of his _Battle of Bosworth Field_, which contains some genuinely poetic passages, I have already spoken. In his lines to James I _Concerning the True Forme of English Poetry_, composed probably the year of Francis' death, or the year after, he desiderates regularity of rhyme, Pure phrase, fit epithets, a sober care Of metaphors, descriptions cleare, yet rare, Similitudes contracted, smooth and round, Not vex't by learning, but with nature crown'd,-- strong and unaffected language, and noble subject. They made an impression upon his contemporaries in verse; and, though he was but a minor poet, he has come to be recognized as one of the "first refiners" of the rhyming couplet,--a forerunner, in the limpid style, of Waller, Denham, and Cowley. His translations from Horace, Juvenal, Persius, and Prudentius are done with spirit. His later poems set him before us an eminently pious soul, kindly, courtly, and cultivated. His greatest work, the _Crowne of Thornes_, in eight books, is lost. It was evidently dedicated to Shakespeare's Earl of Southampton, for in his elegy on the Earl, 1624, he says: Shall ever I forget with what delight He on my simple lines would cast his sight? His onely mem'ry my poore worke adornes, He is a father to my crowne of thornes: Now since his death how can I ever looke Without some tears, upon that orphan booke? That this poem was printed we gather also from the elegy of Thomas Hawkins upon Sir John. I have already said that John was raised by Charles I, undoubtedly through the influence of the Duke of Buckingham, to the baronetcy in 1626. He died only a year or two later,[114] and was lamented in verse by his sons, and by poets and scholars of the day. On the appearance of his poetical remains, Jonson wrote "This booke will live; it hath a genius," and "I confesse a Beaumont's booke to be The bound and frontire of our poetrie." And Drayton-- There is no splendour, which our pens can give By our most labour'd lines, can make thee live Like to thine owne.