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No wonder he prologued his piping after the following dismal fashion: "In dreary verse my rhymes I make, Bewailing whilst such theme I take." However, Baston was a monk of the Carmelite species, and I hope he bore his agonies with religious bravery. And now let us make a skip down to Charles Aleyn, temp. Charles I. "of blessed memory."
This is prosaic enough, and might have been written by a surgical student; but this is better: "The artificial wood of spears was wet With yet warm blood; and trembling in the wind, Did rattle like the thorns which Nature set On the rough hide of an armed porcupine; Or looked like the trees which dropped gore, Plucked from the tomb of slaughtered Polydore." So much for Mr. Charles Aleyn.
Those were stirring times; but Aleyn managed to write, before he died, in 1640, a rousing great poem, intituled, "The Battailes of Crescey and Poictiers, under the Fortunes and Valour of King Edward the Third of that Name, and his Sonne, Edward, Prince of Wales, surnamed The Black." 8vo. 1633.
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