our originall sin: with many other difficulties touching these points. Collected out of the Holy Scriptures, ancient Fathers, and other both ancient and moderne writers. London: Printed by Edward Griffin for Nathaniel Butter. 1617. 4°. pp. 359.

This work is dedicated to Sir Francis Bacon, "His Maiestie having deigned to patronize the first fruits of my labors, to whom (if I may presume) ought I rather (for many titles) to second with the second, then to your Honour who (as Siluerius saith of Cæsar) hath honoured learning by his owne labours, so all the learned labour to honour you with their labours? Seeing therefore his Maiestie vouchsafed to accept of my Treatise of Angels, deigne likewise (most worthy Peere) to patronize this of Paradise," &c. Your honour's humbly devoted, John Salkeld.

The book consists of sixty-six chapters, and was evidently consulted by Milton: I have remarked several coincident passages between it and that poet's "magnum opus." Upon the whole it is a very curious compilation, and the perusal of it will gratify the admirers of Paradise Lost. It does not appear to have been known to Mr. Todd.

Bristol, 1810.

J. F.

The Pilgrimes Farewell, to his Natiue Countrey of Scotland: wherein is contained, in way of Dialogue, The Joyes and Miseries of Peregrination. With his Lamentado in his second Trauels, his Passionado on the Rhyne. Diuerse other Insertings, and Farewels, to Noble Personages, and, The Heremites Welcome to his third Pilgrimage, &c. Worthie to be seene and read of all gallant Spirits, and Pompe-expecting eyes. By William Lithgow, the Bonaventure of Evrope, Asia, and Africa, &c. Patriam meam transire non possum, omnium una est, extra hanc nemo projici potest. Non patria mihi interdicitur sed locus. In quamcunque terram venio, in meam venio,

nulla

nulla exilium est sed altera patria est. Patria est ubicunque bene est. Si enim sapiens est peregrinatur, si stultus exulat. Senec, de re, for. Imprinted at Edinburgh, by Andro Hart. Anno Domini 1618. At the Expences of the Author. qto. 32 leaves.

At the back of the title wood-cut of the author, as he performed part of his pilgrimages. An "Epistle Dedicatorie to the Nine Pernassian Sisters, the conseruers of Helicon," and ladies too coy to listen to the invocation. The "courteous peruser" of his "sad farewels," he informs

"A greater worke I meane to put in light,
But London claimes it of a former right:
And if thou knewst how quicke and in small time,
This worke I wrote, thou wouldst admire my rime.
Thou mightst demaund the reason why I sing?
And done, this answere, I would to thee bring:
There some that sweare, I cannot reade nor write,
And hath no judgment, for to frame or dite.
And to confound their blind absurd conceat,

My Muse breakes foorth, to shew their errour great."

"Some extemporaneall lines, written at the verie view of this poeme going to the presse, in co mendation of the Author, his Trauels and Poesies," forming eight six-line stanzas, are subscribed " Ignoto."

Then

"To his singular friend, William Lithgow.

"Whiles I admire thy first and second wayes,

Long tenne yeeres wandring, in the worlde-wide boundes
I rest amaz'd to think on these assayes,

That thy first trauaile to the worlde-foorth soundes;
In brauest sense, compendious, ornate stile,
Didst thou show most rare aduentures to this yle.

And nowe thy seconde Pilgrimage I see,

At London thou resolu'st, to put in light;
Thy Lybian wayes, so fearefull to the eye,
And Garamonts their strange amazing sight.

Meane while, this worke, affordes a three-folde gaine,
In furie of thy fierce Castalian veine.

As

As thou for trauelles, brook'st the greatest name,
So voyage on, increase, maintaine the same.

W. R."

From the initials this piece is usually attributed to Sir Walter Raleigh.

There are dedicatory poems from the author to the King, Prince Charles, Lords Archbishops of St. Andrews and Glasgow, and the rest of the Reuerend L. Bishops of Scotland: to the Earls of Dumfermeling, Marre, Montrose, and to others of the Scottish nobility, various complimentary pieces, with Sonnets and Farewels, too numerous to be particularized. The principal poems. area conflict betweene the Pilgrime and his Muse: dedicated to my Lorde Grahame, Earle Montrose :-The Pilgrime's Lamentado, in his second Pilgrimage:-The Heremites Welcome, to the Pilgrimes thirde Pilgrimage.'

The name of Lithgow is too well known as a traveller and martyr, to require any biographical notice here. Hi travels form the subject of the conflict with his Muse, from which the following passages are selected.

Muse. In cabines, they on mappes, and globes finde out
The wayes, the lengths, the breadth, the heights, the pole:
And they can wander all the worlde about,

And lie in bedde and all thy sightes controle,

Though by experience, thou hast nat'rall sight,
They haue by learning supernat'rall light.

Pilgrime. Thou know'st, Muse, I had rather see one land
Be true eye sight, than all the worlde in cairt:
Two birdes in flight, and one fast in mine hand,
Which of them both, belonges most to my pairt:
One eye-witnesse is more, than ten which heare,
I dare affirme the trueth, when they forbeare.
Muse. Heere thou preuail'st, with mis'ries I must daunt
Thy braines recall the house-bred scorpion sting,
The hissing serpent, in thy way that haunts,
And crawling snakes, which dammage often bring:
The byting viper, and the quadraxe spred,
That serue for courtaines, to thy campane bedde.
Pilgrime. I know the world-wide fields my lodging is,
And ven'mous thinges, attende my fearefull sleepe:
But in this case, my comfort is oft this,

The watchfull lizard my bare face doeth keepe:

By

By day I feede her, shee saues mee by night, And so to trauaile, I haue more than right... Muse. If (deare to mee) thou wouldst resolue to stay Our noble peares, they would maintaine thy state, If not, I should find out another way,

To moue the worlde to succour thine hard fate:

And I shall cloathe, and lende and feede the too,
Affect my veine, and all this I will doe.

Pilgrime. To feede mee (slaue) thou knowst I am thy Lord,
And can command thee, when I please myselfe.
Wouldst thou to rest my restlesse minde accorde,
And ballance deare-bought fame with terrene pelfe.
No, as the earth helde but one Alexander,

So, onelie I, auow, all where to wander.

Muse. What hast thou wonne, when thou hast gotte thy will? A momentarie shaddowe of strange sightes:

Though with content, thou thy conceite doest fill,

Thou canst not lende the worlde these true delightes:

Though thy selfe loue to these attemptes contract thee, Where ten thee praise, there's fiue that will detract thee. Pilgrime. It's for mine own mindes sake thou knowst I wander, Not I, nor none, the worldes great voyce can make. Thinkst thou mee bound acompt to render, And would vaine fooles, 1 trauell'd for their sake: No, I well know, there is no gallant spirit,

(Vnlesse a knaue) but will yeelde mee my merit. Muse. Thou trauel'st aye, but where's thy meanes to doe it? Thou hast no landes, no exchange, nor no rent, There's no familiare sprite doeth helpe the to it, And yet I maruell how thy time is spent:

This shifting of thy wittes should breede thee loathing
To liue at so great rate, when friendes helpe nothing.
Pilgrime. The worlde is wide, God's prouidence is more,
And cloysters are but foote-stooles to my bellie;
Great Dukes and Princes oint my palme with ore,
And Romane-clergie golde with griede I swellie:
It comes as winde, and slides away like water,
These meritorious men, I daylie flatter. . . . .
Muse. Thou here borne north vnder a climate colde,
I thinke farre south, with heat should not agree;
And in my minde, I this opinion hold,
These vig'rous heats at last thy death shall be.

I know these nigroes of the Austriale sunne
Haue not endur'd such heat as thou hast done.

Pilgrime. For to conserue mine health, I eate not much,
When I drinke wine it's mixt with water aye:

They

They are but gluttones, riote doeth auouch;
I trauaile in the night, and sleepe all day.
My disposition and complexion gree,

I am not sanguine nor to pale, you see.
Muse. A murthrer judg'd, set on a wheele aboue,
How many pinnes for murther hast thou tolde?
No lesse than twenty three I will approue,
And darst thou in these dead mens wayes bee bold?
Thinkst thou thy fortune better still than theirs,
The foxe runnes long, at last entrapp'd in snares.
Pilgrime. All that haue breath must die, and man much more,
Some here, some there, his Horoscope is so:
Be wee are borne, our weirds they poste before,
None can his destiny shunne nor from it goe.

Nothing than death more sure, vncertaine too, Who ayines at fame all hazards must allowe. Muse. But swollen man in thy conceat take heed, What great distresse of hunger hast thou tholde, That often times, for one poore loaue of bread, Thou would'st (if poss'ble) giuen a worlde of gold. Remember of thy sterile Lybian wayes,

Where thou didst fast, but meate or drinke nine dayes.
Pilgrime. Dispeopled desartes, bred that deare-bought griefe,
No state but change, no sweete without some gall;
Yet in Tobacco I found great reliefe,

The smoake whereof expell'd that pinching thrall:
And for that time I graunt, I drunk the water,
That through my bodie came instead of better.
Muse. The vaprous Serene of the humide night,
Which sprinkled oft with foggie dew thy face,
Gaue to thy bodie, and thine head such weight,
When thou awak'd, couldst scarce aduance thy pace:
And scarce of springes did so thy thirst increase,

Thy skinne growne lumpie, made thy strength decrease. Pilgrime. I yeelde, thou knowst these thinges as well as I, But when I slept, great care 1 had to couer

My naked face, and kept my bodie drie,

The manner how I neede it not discouer,

Though thou object these mistes the clouds forth-spew,
All thy braundoes cannot make mee rew.

Muse. The galley-threatning death, where slaues are whipt,
Each banke holdes foure, foure chaines ty'd in one ring:
Where twise a day poore they are naked stript,

And bath'd in blood their woefull handes they wring: They roll still scourg'd, on bread and water feede, Twise this thou scap'd, the third time now take heede.