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Boox II. DIDACTIC, DESCRIPTIVE, &c.

495
Thenne Maisterr Canynge saughte the kynge, |“ We all must die," quod brave Syr Charles;
And telle down onne hys knee;

“ Whatt bootes ytte howe or whenne?
I'm cume," quoth hee, “ unto your grace “ Dethe ys the lure, the certaine fate
To move your clemencye."

" Of all wee mortall menne. Thenne quod the kynge, "Your tale speke out,

Saye why, my friend, thie honest soul “ You have been much oure friende;

“ Runs overr att thyne eye; * Whatever youre requefte may bee,

" Is ytte for my most welcome doome We wylle to ytte attende.”

“ Thatt thou dost child-lyke crye?“ My nobile liege! all my request

Quod godlie Canynge, “ I do weepe, “ Ys for a nobile knyghte,

“ Thatt thou toe toone muit dye, « Who, tho' may hap he has done wronge,

“ And leave thy fonnes and helpless wyfe; “ He thoghte ytte ftylle was ryghte:

«« 'Tis thys that wettes myne eye.” Hee has a spouse and children twaine,

“ Thenne drie the teares thatt out thyne eye “ Alle rewyn'd are for aie;

“ From godlie fountaines (prynge; Yff thatt you are resolv'd to lett

“Dethe I delpile, and alle the pow'r “Charles Bawdin die to daie.”

“Of Edwarde, traytour kynge. a Speke nott of such a traytour vile,"

“ Whan throgh the tyrant's welcom means The kynge ynne fury fayde;

“ I shall religne my lyfe, “ Before the ev'ning starre doth sheene,

“ The Godde i serve wylle soon provyde " Bawdin shall loose hys hedde;

“ For bothe mye fonnes and wife. * Justice does loudlie for hym calle

“ Before I sawe the lyghtsome sunne, “ And hee shall have hys meede:

Thys was appointed mee; " Speke, Maister Canynge! whatte thynge else

• Shall mortal manne repine or grui'ge “ Art present doe you neede ?"

“ What Godde ordeynes to bee ? “ My nobile liege!" goodle Canynge fayde,

“ Howe oft ynne battaile have I stoode, Leave justice to our Godde,

“ Whan thousands dy'd arounde; And laye the yronne rule alyde,

“ Whan smokynge streams of criinson bloodą “Be thyne the olyve rodde.

“ Imbrew'd the fatten'd grounde! “ Was Godde to serche 'our hertes and reines, “How dydd I knowe that ev'ry darte, * The belt were synners grete;

“ That citte the airie waie, “ Christ's vycarr only knowes ne synne. Myghte notte finde pallage toe my harte, “ Ynne alle thys mortall state.

“ And close myne eyes for aie? « Let mercie rule thyne infante reigne,

“ And shall I now, for feere of dethe, 'Twylle falte thye crowne fulle sure;

“ Looke wanne and bee dylinayed ? « From race to race thy familie

“ Ne! fromm my herte fie childlythe feere, Alle sov'reigns thall endure:

“ Be alle the manne display'd. “ But yff wythe bloode and Naughter thou

“ Ah, goddelyke Henrie! Godde forefende, “ Beginne thy infante reigne,

“ And guarde thee and thyne sonne, “ Thy crowne uponne thy childrennes brows“ Yff 'tis hys wylle; but yff’tis nott, Wyll never lonng remayne."

“ Why thenne hys wylle be donne, a Canynge, awaie! thys traytour vile “ My honeste friende, my faulte has beene " Has Icorn'd my pow'r and mee;

« To serve Godde and mye prynce; " Howe canst thou thenne for such a manne

" And thatt I no tyne-server am, “ Intreate my clemencye?"

“ My dethe wylle soone convynce. “ My noble liege! the truly brave

“ Ynne Londonne citye was I borne, “ Wylle val'rous actions prize,

" Of parents of grete note; Refpe&t a brave and nobile mynde,

“ My tadre dy dd a nobile arms “ Altho'ynne enemies."

“ Emblazon onne hys cote: “ Canynge, a waie! By Godde ynne heav'n « I make ne doubte butt he ys gone “ That dydd mee beinge gyve,

“ Where soone I hope to goe; * I wyll nott taste a bitt of breade

“ Where wee for ever shall be blest, " Whilit thys Syr Charles dothe lyve. “ From oute the reech of woe: “ By Marie, and all Seincles ynne heav'n, “ He taught mee justice and the laws “ Thys sunne thall be hys laite.”

“Wyth pitie to unite; Thenne Canynge dropt a brinie teare, And eke hee taughte mee howe to knowe And from the presence paste.

“ The wronge cause fromm theryghte: With herte brimm-fulle of gnawynge grief, “ Hee taught mee wythe a prudent hande Hee to Syr Charles dydd goe,

“ To teede the hungrie poore, And satt hymn downe uponne a foole, “ Ne lette mye servants drive awaie And teares beganne to flowe.

"The hungrie fromme iny doore:
lis

“ And

“ And none can faye, butt all mye lyfe “ Sweet Florence! why these brinie tears ; “ I have hys wordyes kept;

“ Theye washe my soule awaie, as And summ`d the actyonns of the daie “ And almost make mee wilhe for lyfe, “ Eche nyghte before I fept.

Wyth thee, sweete dame, toitaie, “ I have a spouse, goe aske of her

“ 'Tys but a journie I fhalle goe “ YfF I defyl’d her bedde?

« Untoe the lande of blyfse; I have a kynge, and none can laie

“ Nowe, as a proofe of huibande's love, “Blacke treason onne my hedde.

“ Receive thys holie kyile." " Ynne Lent, and onze the holie eve, Thenne Florence, fault'ring ynne her saie, “ Fromm Aeshe I dydd refrayne;

Tremblynge there wordyes spoke, • Whie should I then ne appeare dismay'di “ Ali, cruele Edwarde! bloudie kynge! “ To leave thys worlde of payne?

“My herte ys welle nyghe broke: “ Ne! hapless Henrie! 1 rejoyce,

Ah, sweete Syr Charles! why wylt thou goer “ I shalle ne see thye dethe;

“Wythoute thye lovyinge wyfe! “ Moste willynglie in thy just cause

“ The cruelle axe thatt cuttes thye necke, Do I resign my brethe.

“ Ytt eke shall ende mye lyfe." “ Oh fickle people! rewyn'd londe !

And nowe the officers came ynne “ Thou wylt kenne peace ne moe;

To brynge Syr Charles awaie, " While Richard's fopnes exalt themselves, Who turnedd toe hys lovynge wyfe,

“ Thye brookes wythe bloude wylle flowe. And thus toe her dydd laie: “ Saie, were ye tyr'd of godlie peace,

“I goe to lyfe, and nott to dethe; " And godlie Henrie's reigne,

“Truste thou ynne Godde above, “ Thatt you dydd choppe your easie daies f.« And teache thye fonnes to feare the Lorde, “ For those of bloude and peyne?

“ And ynne theyre hertes hym love: “ Whatte tho' I onne a ledde bee drawne, “ Teache them to runne the nobile race “ And mangled by a hynde,

“ Thatt I theyre fader runne: “ I do detye the traytour's pow'r,

“ Florence! should dethe tree take-adieu! “ He can ne harm my mynde;

“ Yee officers, lead onne." “ Wyatte tho', uphoisted onne a pole, Thenne Florence rav'd as anie madde, “ Mye lymbes shall rotte ynne ayre,

And dydd her treffes tere; “ And ne ryche monument of brasse

“ Oh! itaie, my husbande! lorde! and Jyfe"* “ Charles Bawdin's name shall bear;

Syr Charles thenne dropt a teare; “ Yet ynne the holie booke above,

'Till tyredd oute wyth ravynge loud, “Whyche tyme can't eat awai,

Shee fellen onne the fiore; “ There wythe the servants of the Lorde Syr Ctrarles exerted alle hys myghte, “ Mye name hall lyve for aie.

And march'd fromm outc the dore. « Thenne welcome dethe! for lyfe eterne Uponne a sledde hee mounted thenne, “ I love thys mortall lyfe;

Wytåe lookes fulle brave and swete; “ Farewell, vayne worlde, and alle that's deare, Lookes, thatt enthoune ne moe concere “ Mye sonnes and loving wyfe!

Thanne anie ynne the strete. « Now dethe as welcome to mee comes, Before him went the council-menne, “ As e'er the month of Maie;

Ynne scarlette robes and golde, “ Nor woulde I even wyshe to lyve,

And tallils spanglynge ynne the sunne. “ Wyth my dere wyfe to staie.”

Muche glorious to beholde : Quod Canynge, “ 'Tys a goodlie thynge The Freers of Seincte Augustyne next “ To bee prepar'd to die;

Appeared to the fyghte, “ And from ihys worlde of peyne and grefe Alle cladd ynn liomelie russett weedes, To Godde ynne heaven to flie.”

Of godlit monkysh plyghte: And nowe the bell beganne to tolle,

Ynn diffraunt partes a godlie pfaume And claryonnes to founde;

Mofte sweetlie theye dydd chaunt; Syr Charles hee herde the horses feete Behynde theyre backes fyx mynstrelles came, A-prauncyng onne the grounde;

Who tund the strunge bataunt. And juste before the officers,

Thenne fyve-and-twenty archers came; Hys lovynge wyfe came ynne,

Echone the bowe dydd bende, Weepynge un feigned teeres of woe,

From rescue of kynge Henries friends Wythe loude and dyfmalle dynne.

Syr Charles forr to defend. “ Sweet Florence! nowe I praie forbere, Bold as a lyon came Syr Charles, “ Yune quiet lett mee die;

Drawn onne a clothe-layde Nedde, “ Praie Godde, that every Christian soule

By two blacke stedes ynne trappynges white, “ Maye kooke onne dethe as I.

Wyth plumes uponne theyre hedde:

Behynde

Belinde hym five-and-twentye moe “So lett hym die!" Duke Richard sayde; Of archers stronge and toute,

“ And maye echone our foes Wyth bended bowe echone ynne hande, " Bende downe theyre neckes to bloudie exe, Marched ynne goodlie route:

“ And feede the carryon crowes.'

And now the horses gentlie drewe
Seinete Jimeses Freers marched next,
Echone hys parte dydd chaunt;

Syr Charles uppe the hyghe hylle !
Behynde theyre backes fyx mynstrelles came,

The exe dydd glifterr ynne the sunne,

Hy's pretious bloude to spylle.
Who tun'd the strunge bataunt:

Syr Charles dydd uppe the scaffold goe,
Thenne came the maior and eldermenne, As uppe a giided carre
Ynne clothe of scarlett deckt;

of victorye, bye val'rous chiefs And theyre atiendung menne echone,

Gain’d in the bloudie warre: Lyke Easterne princes trickt:

And to the people hee dydd saie, And after them a multitude

“ Beholde you see mee dye Of citizens dydd thronge;

" For servynge loyally mye kynge, The wyndowes were all full of heddes,

Mye kynge molt rightfullie. As hee dydd passe alonge.

“ As longe as Edwarde rules thys lande, And whenne hee came to the hyohe crosse,

“ Ne quiet you wylle knowe;

“ Your lonnes and husbandes shall be flayne, Sur Charles dydd turne and live,

“ And brookes withe bloude Thalle flowe. « O Thou, thatt favest manne fromme synne, “ Wash maye foule clean thys daye.'

“ You leave youre goode and lawfulle kynge,

“ Whenne ynne adversitye; Art the grete mynster win.lowe sat

Lyke mee, untoe the true cause stycke, The kynge ynn mycle fate,

“' And for the true cause dye." To see Charles Bawdin goe alonge To bys most welcom fate.

Thenne hee, wyth preestes, uponne his knees,

A pray’r to Godde dydd make, Soon as the sedde drewe nygh enote, Beseechynge hym unto hymfelfe Thatt Edwarde hee myghte heare,

Hys partynge soule to take. The brave Syr Charles hee dydd ftande uppe, Then kneelynge downe, he layd hys heede And thus hys wordes declare:

Molt seemlie onne the blocke; « Thou seest mee, Edwarde! traytour vile!

Whyche fromme hys bodie fayre at once Exposd to infamie;

The able heddes-manne stroke! “ Bat be assur'd, diloyall manne!

And oute the bloude beganne to flowe, “ I'm greaterr nowe thanne thee.

And rounde the scaffolde twyne;

And teares, enow to washe 't awaie, & B;e foule proceedyngs, murdre, bloude,

Dydd flowe fromme each mann's eyne. s. Thou weareit nowe a crowne, * And hast appoynted mee to dye,

The bloudie exe hys bodie fayre “ By power note thyne owne.

Ynnto foure parties cutte;

And ev'rye parte, and eke hys hedde . Thou chynkelt I fall dye to-daie;

Uponne a pole was putte. I have beene dece 'till nowe, « And foont shall lyve to weare a crowne

One parte dydd rotte onne Kynwulph-hylle,

One onne the mynster-tower, For aie uponne my browe:

And one from off the castle-gate * Whylst thou, perhapps for some few yeares, The crowen dydd devoure: “Shalt rule thys fickle lande

The other onne Seyncte Powle's goode gate, * To lett them knowe howe wyde the rule A dreery spectacle;

“ 'Twixt kynge and tyrant hande: His hedde was plac'd onne the hygh crosse, * Thye pow'r unjust, thou traytour slave!

Ynne hyghe-Itreete moft nobile.

Thus was the end of Bawdin's fate; “ Shall falle onne thy owne bedde." Fromm out of hearyng of the kinge

Godde proper long our kynge,

And grant hee may, wyth Bawdin's foule, Departed thenne the fledde.

Ynne heaven Godd's mercie fynge! Kynge Edwarde's foule ruhid tv hys face;

Hee turn'd hys head awaie, And to hys broder Gloucelter

$ 92. The Mynstrelles Songe in Ælla, a Tram Hee thus dydd speke and faie:

gycal Enterlude. CHATTERTON, &c. « To him that foe-much-dreaded dethe

O! SYNGE untoe my roundelaie, « Ne gbaftlie terrors brynge,

O! droppe the brynie teare wythe mee, « Beholde the manne! hee Ipake the truthe, Daunce ne moe atte hallie daie, “ Hee's greater than a kynge!

Lycke a reynynge (a) ryver bee. (a) Running

Mie love ys dedde,

$93. Chorus in Godd-wyn, a Tragedie. Gonne to hys deathe-bedde,

CHATTERTON, &c. Al under the wyllowe-tree. Black hys cryne (6) as the wyntere nyght,

Whan Freedom, dreste yn blodde-fteyned

veste, Whyte hys rode () as the sommer snowe,

To everie knyghte her warre-songe funge, Rodde hy's face as the mornynge lyghte, Uponne her hedde wylde wedes were spredde; Cale he lyes ynne the grave belowe.

A gorie anlace by her honge.
Mie love ys dedde,

She daunced onnt the heathe;
Gonne to hys deathe-bedde,

She hearde the voice of deathe;
Al under the wyllowe trte.

Pale-eyned Aftryghte, hys harte of filver hue, Swote hys tongue as the throstles note, In vayne affaylede)her bosom toacale(S);(woe, Quycke ynne daunce as thought cann bee, She hearde on femed(8)the thriekynge voice of Defte hys taboure, codgelle ftote,

And ladnesse ynne the owlette shake the dale, O! hee lys bie the wyllowe tree.

She shooke the burled (b) speere,
Mie love ys dedde,

On hie she jefte (i) her theelde,
Gonne to hys deathe-bedde,

Her foemen (j) all appere,
Al under the wylluwe-tree.

And fizze (k) along the feelde. Harke! the ravenne flappes hys wynge,

Power, wythe his heafod (1) itraught(m) ynto In the briered dell belowe;

the íkyes,

(itarre. Harke! the dethe-owle loude dothe synge,

Kys {peere a sonne-beame, and hys heelde a To the nyghte-mares as theie goe.

Alyche (n) twaie (0) brendeyng (gronMie love ys dedde,

fyres (?) rolls hys eyes,

(to war. Gonne to hys deathe-bedde,

Chaftes (r) with his yronné feete, and soundes Al under the wyllowe-tree.

She lyttes upon a rocke,

She bendes before hys speere See! the whyte moone sheenes onne hie;

She ryses from the shocke, Whyterre ys inie true loves throude;

Wieldyng her own yn ayre. Whyterre yanne the mornynge skie,

Harde as the thonder dothe the drive ytte on, Whyterre yanne the evenynge cloude. Mie love ys dedde,

Wytte scillye(s) wympled (1) gies(u) ytte to bys crowne,

(ys gon, Gonne to hys deathe-bedde, Al under the wyllowe-tree.

Hys longe tharpe Speere, his spreddyng theelde

He falles, andfallynge rolleth thoufandes down. Heere, upon mie true loves grave,

War, goare-faced war, bie envie burld(x), Schalle the baren fleurs be layde, Ne one hallie scyncte to save

Hys feerie heaulme(z) noddynge to the ayre, Al the celness of a mayde.

Tenne bloddie arrowes

ynne hys itreynynge tykt.
Mie love ys dedde,
Gonne to hys deathe-bedde,
Al under the wyllowe-tree.

$94. Grongar Hill. DYER.
Wythe mie hondes I'll dent the brieres
Rounde nys hallie corse to gre,

SOLENT Nymph! with curious eye,

Who, the purple evening, lie Ouphante fairie, lyghte your fyres,

On the mountain's lonely van,
Heere mie boddie stille (challe bee.

Beyond the noise of buly man,
Mie love ys dedde,

Painting fair the form of things,
Gonne to hys deathe-bedde,

While the yellow linnet sings;
Al under the wyllowe tree.

Or the tuneful nightingale
Comme, wythe acorne-coppe and thorne, Charms the forest with her tale;
Drayne mie hartys blodde awaie;

Come, with all thy various hues, Lyfe and all yttes goode I scorne,

Come, and aid thy fifter Mufe.
Daunce bie nete, or feaste by daie.

Now while Phæbus riding high,
Mie love ys dedde,

Gives lustre to the land and lky,
Gonne to hys deathe-bedde,

Grongar Hill invites my fong,
Al under the wyllowe tree.

Draw the landscape bright and strongi
Water wytches, crownede wythe reytes (d), Grongar! in whose moliy cells,
Bere mee to yer leathalle tyde.

Sweetly musing Quiet dwells;
I die; I comme; mie true love waytes. Grongar! in whose filent shade,
Thos the damselle spake, and dyed.

For the modest Muses made,
(0) Hair.
(h) Armed, pointed. In) Likc.

(t) Mantled, covered; (c) Complexion. (iHoisted on high, raised. 10) Two.

(u) Guides. (d) Water-flags. (1) Foes, cnemies. (p) Flaming.

(r) Armed. le) Endeavoured, 1 k) Fly.

(9) Meteors.

(y) Arose. (1) Freeze. ilj Head. (n) Beats, stamps.

7:) Helmet. (3) Undismayed. (m) Stretched.

18) Closely.

arist (y),

* * * * * * * * * * *

So oft I have, the evening still,

Yet time has seen, that lifts the low, As the fountain of a rill,

And level lays the lofty brow, Sat upon a flow'ry bed,

Has seen this broken pile complete,
With my hand beneath my head,

Big with the vanity of state:
While itray'd my eyes o'er Towy's flood, But transient is the smile of Fate !
Over mead and over wood,

A little rulc, a little sway,
From house to house, from hill to hill, A sun-beam in a winter's day,
Till Conteinplation had her fill.

Is all the proud and mighty have About his chequer'd fides I wind,

Between the cradle and the grave. And leave his brooks and meads behind; And see the rivers, how they run And groves and grottos, where I lay, Thro' woods and meads, in fhade and fun! And viftas shooting beams of day.

Sometimes swift, sometimes slow, Wide and wider spreads the vale,

Wave succeeding wave, they go, As circles on a smooth canal :

A various journey to the deep, The saountains round, unhappy fate ! Like human life, to endless neep! Sooner or later, of all height,

Thus is Nature's velture wrought, Withdraw their summits from the skies, To instruct our wand'ring thought; And lefsen as the others rise.

Thus she dresses green and gay, Still the prospect wider spreads,

To disperse our cares away. Adds a thousand woods and meads;

Ever charming, ever new, Still it widens, widens still,

When will the landscape tire the view! And finks the newly-risen hill.

The fountain's fall, the river's flow, Now I gain the mountain's brow;

The woody vallies, warm and low; What a landscape lies below!

The windy summit, wild and high, No clouds, no vapours, intervene ;

Roughly rushing on the sky! But the gay, the open scene

The pleasant seat, the ruin'd tow'r, Does the face of Nature fhew

The naked rock, the shady bow'r ; In all the hues of heaven's bow;

'The town and village, dome and farm, And, swelling to embrace the light,

Each give each a double charın, Spreads around beneath the fight.

As pearls upon an Ethiop's arm. old castles on the cliffs arise,

See on the mountain's southern side, Proudly tow'ring in the kies;

Where the prospect opens wide, Rushing from the woods, the fpires

Where the evening gilds the tide, Seem from hence ascending fires :

How close and small the hedges lie ! Half his beams Apollo meds

What streaks of meadows cross the eye ! On the yellow mountain heads,

A step, methinks, may pass the stream, Gilds the fleeces of the flocks,

So little distant dangers seem: And glitters on the broken rocks.

So we mistake the future's face, Below me trees unnumber'd rise,

Ey'd through Hope's deluding glass. Beautiful in various dyes :

As yon summits soft and fair, The gloomy pine, the poplar blue,

Clad in colours of the air, The yellow beech, the fable yew:

Which, to those whojourney near, The Ilender fir that taper grows,

Barren, brown, and rough appear; The sturdy oak with broad spread bouglas; Sill we tread the fame coarse way ; And, beyond the purple grove,

The present 's still a cloudy day. Haunt of Phillis, queen of love!

O may I with myself agree, Gaudy as the op'ning dawn,

And never covet what I lee! Lies a long and level lawn,

Content me with a humble shade, On which a dark hill, steep and high, My passions tam'd, my wishes laid: Holds and charms the wand'ring eye. For while our wishes wildly roll, Deep are his feet in Towy's flood;

We banith quiet from the soul: His fides are cloth'd with waving wood ; 'Tis thus the busy beat the air, And ancient towers crown his brow,

And misers gather wealth and care. That castan awful look below;

Now, e'en now, my joys run high, Whose ragged walls the ivy creeps,

As on the mountain turf I lie; And with her arms from falling keeps: While the wanton Zephyr sings, So both a fafery from the wind

And in the vale perfumes his wings; On mutual dependance find. .

While the waters murmur deep;
'Tis now the raven's bleak abode, While the shepherd charms hic sheep;
'Tis now th' apartment of the toad; While the birds unbounded fly,
And there the fox securely feeds,

And with music fill the sky,
And there the pois'nous adder breeds, Now, e'en now, my joys run high.
Conceal'd in ruins, mois, and weeds ;

Be full, ye courts ! be great who will;
While, ever and anon, there falls

Search for peace with all your skill, Huge heaps of hoary moulder'd walls.

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