_RICHARD LOVELACE_.

I can compare no Man so like this Colonel _Lovelace_ as Sir _Philip
Sidney_, of which latter it is said by one in an Epitaph made of him,

Nor is it fit that more I should acquaint,
Lest Men adore in one
A Scholar, Souldier, Lover, and a Saint.

As for their parallel, they were both of noble Parentage, Sir _Philips_
Father being Lord Deputy of _Ireland_, and President of _Wales_; our
Colonel of a Vicount's name and Family; Scholars none can deny them
both: The one Celebrated his Mistress under the bright name of
_Stella_, the other the Lady Regent of his Affections, under the Banner
of _Lucasta_, both of them endued with transcendent Sparks of Poetick
Fire, and both of them exposing their Lives to the extreamest hazard of
doubtful War; both of them such Soldiers as is expressed by the Poet.

Undaunted Spirits, that encounter those
Sad dangers, we to Fancy scarce propose.

To conclude, Mr. _Lovelace's_ Poems did, do, and still will live in
good Esteem with all knowing true Lovers of Ingenuity.

* * * * *

_ALEXANDER BROOME_.

_Alexander Broome_ our English _Anacreon_, was an Attorney in the Lord
Mayors Court; who besides his practice in Law, addicted himself to a
Jovial strain in the ravishing Delights of Poetry; being the ingenious
Author of most of those Songs, which on the Royalists account came
forth during the time of the _Rump_, and _Oliver's_ Usurpation; and
were sung so often by the Sons of Mirth and _Bacchus_, and plaid to by
the sprightly Violin. Take for a tast a verse of one of his Songs.

Come, come, let us drink,
'Tis in vain to think,
Like fools, on grief or Sadness;
Let our Money fly,
And our Sorrows die,
_All worldly care is Madness_:
But Sack and good Chear,
Will in spight of our fear,
Inspire our Souls with Gladness.

I shall only add his Poem which he made on the great Cryer at
_Westminster-Hall_, by which you may judge of his Abilities in Poetry.

When the Great Cryer in that greater Room,
Calls _Faunt-le-roy_, and _Alexander Broome_,
The people wonder (as those heretofore,
When the Dumb spoke) to hear a Cryer Roar.
The kitling Crue of Cryers that do stand
With _Eunuchs_ voices, squeaking on each hand,
Do signifie no more, compar'd to him,
Then Member _Allen_ did to Patriot _Pim_.
Those make us laugh, while we do him adore;
Their's are but _Pistol_, his Mouths _C