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« Now universal England getteth drunk
For joy that Charles her monarch is restor'd.
And weareth now a suit of morris-bells,
Lamb's John Woodvil.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
What would you have, you curse!
He that depends Upon your favours swims with fins of lead, And hews down oaks with rushes. Hang ye--trust ye! With
you do change a mind; And call him noble that was once your hate, Him vile that was your garland. SHAKSPEARE.
DURING the whole period of our hero's residence at Haelbeck, which had now extended to a considerable length of time, none of its inmates had received any tidings whatever from Rotterdam; a silence which, under any other circumstances, would have excited considerable uneasiness; but as Jocelyn had mentioned the suspicions, and even accusations, to which Beverning had been exposed from his frequent communications with the Spanish Netherlands, and the secret manner in which they were conducted, they took it for granted, that he had found it prudent, for the present, to abstain from all notice of his