PEYTON, THOMAS, an English poet, born in 1595; died, probably, about 1625. He was the son and heir of Thomas Peyton of Royston, Cambridgeshire; studied at Cambridge, and at eighteen was entered as a student of law at Lincoln's Inn, London; but his father dying not long after, he came into possession of the ample paternal estates. In 1620 he put forth the First Part of The Glasse of Time, which was followed by a Second Part in 1623. At the close a continuation was promised; but as none ever appeared, it is inferred that the author died not long after the publication. The fate of the poem was somewhat singular. Its very existence was forgotten for wellnigh two centuries, until 1816, when the library of Mr. Brindley was sold. In it was a copy of The Glasse of Time, which was purchased by Lord Bolland for £21 17s. This copy is now in the British Museum. It was read by a few persons, and in 1860 the North American Review contained an article embodying many extracts, and saying in conclusion: "This book should be reprinted. Its usefulness would be manifold. While it impressed more deeply the thoughtful mind with the majestic superiority of Milton, it would give to this obscure poet his rightful honor-that of having been the first to tell in epic verse the story of Paradise Lost." About 1870 Mr. John Lewis Peyton, of Virginia,

then residing in London, caused a perfectly accurate copy to be made of The Glasse of Time, and this was finally published at New York in 1886. The poem in the original edition consists of two handsome volumes, quite correctly printed, though somewhat defective in the matter of punctuation, and not perfectly uniform in spelling. The full title is The Glasse of Time, in the First and Second Ages. Divinely handled. By Thomas Peyton of Lincolnes Inne, Gent. Seene and Allowed. London: Printed by Bernard Alsop, for Lawrence Chapman, and are to be sold at his Shop over against Staple Inne. To the poem, which contains about 5,500 lines, are prefixed four long dedicatory "Inscriptions "—the first to King James I., the second to Prince Charles, soon to be King Charles I., the third to Francis Lord Verulam, Lord Chancellor of England, the fourth to The Reader. From this last we take a few lines:

"Unto the Wise, Religious, Learned, Grave, Judicious Reader, out this work I send,

The lender sighted that small knowledge have,
Can little lose, but much their weaknesse mend :
And generous spirits which from Heaven are sent,
May solace here, and find all true content.

"Peruse it well for in the same may lurke
More (obscure) matter in a deeper sence,
To set the best and learned wits on worke
Than hath as yet in many ages since,
Within so small a volume beene

Or on the sudden can be found and seene."

We question whether during the first half of the seventeenth century (or, say, between 1615 and 1665) there was produced in the English language

any other poem of merit equal to The Glasse of Time. Its interest to us, however, lies mainly in the fact that it contains the seminal idea of Paradise Lost. Let it be borne in mind that when The Glasse of Time was a new book, and easily to be had, young Milton was an eager buyer of books; that Peyton's poem antedates that of Milton by more than forty years, and it will appear beyond a question that much of the thought, and not a little of the expression, of Paradise Lost was borrowed, perhaps quite unconsciously, after so long an interval, from The Glasse of Time.

THE INVOCATION TO THE HEAVENLY MUse.

Urania, soveraigne of the muses nine
Inspire my thoughts with sacred worke divine,
Come down from heaven, within my Temples rest,
Inflame my heart and lodge within my breast,
Grant me the story of this world to sing,
The Glasse of Time upon the stage to bring,
Be Aye within me by thy powerful might,
Governe my Pen, direct my speech aright.
Even in the birth and infancy of Time,
To the last age, season my holy rime:
O lead me on, into my soul infuse
Divinest work, and still be thou my muse,
That all the world may wonder and behold
To see times passe in ages manifold,
And that their wonder may produce this end,
To live in love their future lives to mend.

ADAM AND EVE IN PARADISE.

Now art thou compleat (Adam) all beside
May not compare to this thy lovely bride,
Whose radiant tress in silver rays do wave,
Before thy face so sweet a choice to have,
Of so divine and admirable mould

More daintier farre than is the purest gold,

And all the jewels on the earth are borne,
With those rich treasures which the world adorne,

So the two lights within the Firmament,
As hath thy God his glory to thee lent,
Compos'd thy body exquisite and rare,
That all his works cannot to thee compare,
Like his owne Image drawne thy shape divine,
With curious pencil shadowed forth thy line.
Within thy nostrihls blown his holy breath,
Impal'd thy head with that inspiring wreath,
Which binds thy front, and elevates thine eyes
To mount his throne above the lofty skyes,
Summons his angels in their winged order,
About thy browes to be a sacred border:
Gives them in charge to honour this his frame,
All to admire and wonder at the same.

THE TEMPTATION AND THE FALL.

But Lucifer that soard above the skye,
And thought himself to equal God on high,
Envies thy fortunes and thy glorious birth,
In being fram'd but of the basest earth,
Himself compacted of pestiferous fire,
Assumes a Snake to execute his ire,

Winds him within that winding crawling beast,
And enters first whereat thy strength was least.
Adam what made thee wilfully at first,
To leave thy offspring, to this day accurst;
So wicked foul, and overgrowne with sinne;
And in thy person all of it beginne?

That hadst thou stood in innocence fram'd,

Death, Sin, and Hell, the world and all thou hadst tamed.

Then hadst thou been a Monarch from thy birth;

God's only darling both in Heaven and Earth:

The world and all at thy command to bend,

And all Heaven's creatures on thee t'attend.
The sweetest life that ever man could live;
What couldst thou ask but God to thee did give?
Protected kept thee like a faithful warden,
As thy companion in that pleasant garden;
No canker'd malice once thy heart did move;