ne
of his sons was roving after hounds and hawks, and the other [Thomas]
studying in the Middle Temple, but doing little at law." The result
was that Carleton made Thomas his secretary, and took him to Venice
and Turin, returning in 1615. Carew accompanied him to the Hague also,
but resigned his post and again returned to England. In 1619 he went
with Lord Herbert of Cherbury to the French court. He became sewer in
ordinary to Charles I., and a gentleman of his privy chamber; and the
King, who was particularly fond of him, gave him the royal domain of
Sunninghill in Windsor Forest. Carew was an intimate friend of Ben
Jonson, Sir John Suckling, John Selden, Sir Kenelm Digby, Davenant,
Charles Cotton, and also of Lord Clarendon; who writes:--"Carew was a
person of a pleasant and facetious wit, and made many poems
(especially in the amorous way) which for the sharpness of the fancy
and the elegance of the language in which that fancy was spread, were
at least equal, if not superior, to any of that time."

Four editions of Carew's poems appeared between 1640 and 1671, and
four have been printed within the present century, the best being a
quarto published by Mr. W. C. Hazlitt in 1870. His longest work was a
masque called 'Coelum Britannicum,' performed at Whitehall, February
18th, 1633. Inigo Jones arranged the scenery, Henry Lawes the music,
and the King, the Duke of Lennox, and other courtiers played the chief
parts. Carew's death is supposed to have occurred in 1639.

A SONG

Ask me no more where Jove bestows,
When June is past, the fading rose;
For in your beauty's orient deep,
These flowers, as in their causes, sleep.

Ask me no more whither doth stray
The golden atoms of the day;
For in pure love heaven did prepare
These powders to enrich your hair.

Ask me no more whither doth haste
The nightingale when May is past;
For in your sweet dividing throat,
She winters and keeps warm her note.

Ask me no more where those stars light
That downward fall in dead of night;
For in your eyes they sit, and there
Fixed become as in their sphere.

Ask me no more if east or west
The Phoenix builds her spicy nest;
For unto you at last she flies,
And in your fragrant bosom dies.

THE PROTESTATION

No more shall meads be deckt with flowers,
Nor sweetness dwell in rosy bowers,
Nor greenest buds on branches spring,
Nor warbling birds delight to sing,
Nor Ap