ISAAC DE, an ingenious French poet of the 17th century, was born at Lyons. He made himself known at court by his verses and his wit, and had the good fortune to please the cardinals de Richelieu and Mazarin. After the death of Richelieu, he got into favour with the duke de Breze, whom he accompanied in most of his expeditions; and when this nobleman died, he returned to court, where his poetry became highly esteemed. He wrote, 1. A Paraphrase upon Job. 2. Verses for Interludes. 3. Rondeaux upon Ovid. 4. Several Tragedies. A sonnet which he sent to a young lady with his Paraphrase on Job being put in competition with the Urania of Voiture caused him to be much spoken of; for what an honour was it to be head of a party against this celebrated author! Those who gave the preference to Benserade's performance were styled the Jobists, and their antagonists the Uranists; and the dispute long divided the whole court and the wits. Some years before his death, he applied himself to works of piety, and translated almost all the Psalms.

M. l'Abbé Olivet says, that Benserade towards the latter end of his life, withdrew from court, and made Gentilly the place of his retirement. When he was a youth, he says it was the custom to visit the remains of the ornaments with which Benserade had embellished his house and gardens, where every thing favoured of his poetical genius. The bark of the trees was full of inscriptions: and, amongst others, he remembers the first which presented itself was as follows:

Adieu fortune, honneurs adieu, vous et les votres, Je viens ici vous oublier; Adieu toi même amour, bien plus que les autres Difficile a concedier.

Fortune and honours, all adieu, And whatsoe'er belongs to you. I to this retirement run, All your vanities to shun, Thou too adieu, O powerful love; From thee 'tis hardest to remove.

M. Voltaire is of opinion that these inscriptions were the best of his productions, and he regrets that they have not been collected.

Benserade suffered at last so much from the stone, that, notwithstanding his great age, he resolved to submit to the operation of cutting. But his constancy was not put to this last proof; for a surgeon letting him bleed, by way of precaution, pricked an artery, and, instead of endeavouring to stop the effusion of blood, ran away. There was but just time to call F. Commire, his friend and confessor, who came soon enough to see him die. This happened the 19th of October 1691, in the 82d year of his age.