WITH daitive steppe Religyon, dyghte in greie, Her face of doleful hue,

[waie, Swyfte as a takel thro'we bryghte Heav'n tooke her And ofte and ere anon dyd saie "Aie! mee! what shall I doe;

"See Brystoe citie, whyche I nowe doe kenne, Arysynge to mie view,

"Thycke throng'd wythe soldyers and wythe Butte saynctes I seen few." [traffyckmenne; Fytz-Hardynge rose; he rose lyke bryghte sonne in the morne,

"Faire dame adryne thein eyne,
"Let alle thie greefe bee myne,

For I wylle rere thee uppe a mynster hie;
"The toppe whereof shall reach ynto the skie;
"And wylle a monke be shorne;"
Thenne dyd the dame replie,

"I shall ne be forelourne;

Here wyll I take a cherysaunied reste, And spend mie daies upon Fytz-Hardynges breste."

Ne moe, ne moe, alass! I call you myne:
Whydder must you, ah! whydder must I goe?
I kenn not either; ob mie emmers dygne,
To parte wyth you wyll wurcke mee myckle
woe;

I muste be gonne, botte whare I dare ne telle;
O storthe, unto mie mynde! I goe to Helle.
Soone as the morne dyddyghte the roddie Sunne,
A shade of theves eche streake of lyght dyd
seeme;
[runn,
Whan ynn the Heavn full half hys course was
Eche stirrying nayghbour dyd mie harte afleme:
Thye loss, or quyck or slepe, was aie mie
dreme;

For thee, O gould, I dyd the lawe ycrase; For thee, I gotten or bie wiles or breme; Ynn thee I all mie joie and good dyd place; Botte nowe to mee thie pleasaunce ys ne moe, I kenne notte botte for thee 1 to the quede must gue.

ON HAPPIENESSE.

BY WILLIAM CANYNGE.

[This, and the two following poems, attributed to Mr. Canynge, are printed from Mr. Catcott's copies.]

MAIE Selynesse on Erthes boundes bee hadde?
Maie yt adyghte yn human shape be found?
Wote yee, yt was wyth Edin's bower bestadde,
Or quite eraced from the scaunce-layd grounde,
Whan from the secret fontes the waterres dyd
abounde?

Does yt agrosed shun the bodyed waulke,
Lyve to ytself and to yttes ecchoe taulke?

All hayle, Contente, thou mayd of turtle-eyne,
As thie behoulders thynke thou arte iwreene,
To ope the dore to Selynesse ys thyne,
And Chrystis glorie doth upponne thee sheene.
Doer of the foule thynge ne hath thee seene;
In caves, ynn wodes, ynn woe, and dole distresse,
Whoere hath thee hath gotten Selynesse.

THE ACCOUNT OF W. CANYNGES FEAST. BY THE SAME.

Sir

[This poem is taken from a fragment of vellum, which Chatterton gave to Mr. Barrett as an original. With respect to the three friends of Mr. Canynge, mentioned in the last line, the name of Rowley is sufficiently known from the preceding poems. Iscamm appears as an actor in the tragedy of Ælla, and in that of Goddwyn; and a poem, ascribed to him, entitled, The Merry Tricks of Laymington, is inserted in the Discorse of Bristow. Theobald Gorges was a knight of an ancient family seated at Wraxhall, within a few miles of Bristol. (See Rot. Parl. 3 H. VI. n. 28. Leland's Itin. vol. VII. p. 98.) He has also appeared as an actor in both the tragedies, and as the author of one of the mynstrelles songes in Ella. His connection with Mr. Canynge is verified by a deed of the latter, dated 20th October, 1467, in which he gives to trustees, in part of a benefaction of 5001. to the church of St. Mary Redcliffe, "certain jewels of sir Theobald Gorges, knt." which had been pawned to him for 1601.]

What troulie noblenesse yn Canynge ranne,"

As when a bordelier onn ethie bedde,
Tyr'd wyth the laboures maynt of sweltrie daie,
Yu slepeis bosom laieth hys deft headde,
So, senses sonke to reste, my boddie laie;
Fftsoons mie sprighte, from erthlie bandes un-
tyde,

Immengde yn flanched ayre wyth Trouthe asyde.

Strayte was I carryd back to tymes of yore,
Whylst Canynge swathed yet yn fleshlie bedde,
And saw all actyons whych han been before,
And all the scroll of Fate unravelled;
And when the fate-mark'd babe acome to sygthe,
I saw hym eager gaspyng after lyghte.

In all hys shepen gambols and chyldes plaie,
In everie merriemakeyng, fayre or wake,
I kenn'd a perpled lyghte of wysdom's raie;
He cate downe learnynge wyth the wastle cake.
As wise as anie of the eldermenne,

He'd wytte enowe toe make a mayre at tenne.

As the dulce downie barbe beganne to gre,
So was the well thyghte texture of hys lore;
Eche daie enbedeynge mockler for to bee,
Greete yn hys councel for the daies he bore.
All tongues, all carrols dyd unto hym synge,
Wondryng at one soe wyse, and yet soe yinge.

Encreaseynge yn the yeares of mortal lyfe,
And hasteynge to hys journie ynto Heaven
Hee thoughte ytt proper for to cheese a wyfe,
And use the sexes for the purpose gevene.
Hee then was yothe of comelie semelikeede,
And hee had made a mayden's herte to blede.

He had a fader, (Jesus rest his soule!)
Who loved money, as hys charie joie;
Hee had a broder (happie manne be's dole!)
Yn mynde and boddie, hys owne fadre's boie;
What then could Canynge wissen as a parte
To gyve to her whoe had made chop of hearte?

But landes and castle tenures, golde and bighes,
And hoardes of sylver rousted yn the ent,
Canynge and hys fayre sweete dyd that despyse,
To change of troulie love was theyre content;
Theie lyy'd togeder yn a house adygne,
Of goode sendaument commilie and fyne.

But soon hys broder and hys syre dyd die,
And lefte to Willyam states and renteynge rolles,
And at hys wyll hys broder Johne supplie.
Hee gave a chauntrie to redeeme theyre soules;

And put hys broder ynto' syke a trade, [made.
That he lorde mayor of Londonne towne was
Eftsoons hys mornynge tourned to gloomie nyghte;
Hys dame, hys seconde selfe, give upp her brethe,
Seekynge for eterne lyfe and endless lyghte,
And sleed good Canynge; sad mystake of dethe!
So have I seen a flower ynn sommer tyme
Trodde downe and broke and widder ynn ytts
pryme.

Next Radcleeve chyrche (oh worke of hande of
Heav'n,

Whare Canynge sheweth as an instrumente,)
Was to my bismarde eyne-syghte newlie giv'n;
'Tis paste to blazonne ytt to good contente.
You that woulde fayn the fetyve buyldynge scc
Repayre to Radcleve, and contented bee.

I sawe the myndbruch of hys nobille soule
Whan Edwarde meniced a seconde wyfe;
I sawe what Pheryons yn hys mynde dyd rolle;
Nowe fyx'd fromm seconde dames a preeste for
lyfe.

Thys ys the manne of menne, the vision spoke;
Then belle for even-songe mie senses woke.

HERAUDYN.

A FRAGMENTE.

[From a MSS. by Chatterton in the British Museum.]

YYNGE Heraudyn al bie the grene wode sate, Hereynge the swote Chelandrie ande the Oue, Seeinge the kenspecked amaylde flourettes nete, Envyngynge to the birds hys love songe true. Syrre preeste camme bie ande forthe his bede-rolle drewe,

Fyve Aves ande on Pater moste be sedde; Twayne songe, the ou bys songe of Willowe Rue The odher one

FRAGMENT,

BY JOHN, SECOND ABBATTE OF SEYNCTE AUSTYNS MYNSTERRE.

[From
Barrett's History of Bristol. It was sent
by Chatterton to Horace Walpole, as a note to
Rowleie's Historie of Peyncters. "This John,"
he says, "was inducted abbot in the year 1186,
and sat in the dies 29 years. He was the
greatest poet of the age in which he lived; he
understood the learned languages. Take a spe-
cimen of his poetry on King Richard 1st."]

HARTE of lyone! shake thie sworde,
Bare thie mortheynge steinede honde:
Quace whole armies to the queede,
Worke thie wylle yn burlie bronde.
Barons here on bankers-browded,
Fyghte yn furres gaynste the cale;
Whilest thou ynne thonderynge armes
Warriketh whole cyttes bale.
Harte of lyon! sound the beme!
Sounde ytte ynto inner londes,
Freare flies sportine ynne the cleeme,
Inne thie banner terror stondes.

Or warres glumm pleasaunce doe I chaunte mie laie, [the lyne, Trouthe tips the poynctelle, wysdomme skemps Whylste hoare experiaunce telleth what toe saie, And forwyned hosbandrie wyth blearie eyne, Stondeth and woe bements; the trecklynge bryne Rounnynge adone hys cheekes which doeth shewe Lyke hys unfrutefulle fieldes, longe straungers to the ploughe.

Saie, Glowster, whanne besprenged on evrich syde, The gentle byndlette and the vylleyn felle; Whanne smetheynge sange dyd flowe lyke to a tyde,

And sprytes were damned for the lacke of knelle, Diddest thou kenne ne lykeness to an Helle, Where all were misdeedes doeyng lyche unwise, Where hope unbarred and deathe eftsoones dyd shote theyre eies.

Ye shepster swaynes who the ribibble kenne,
Ende the thyghte daunce, ne loke uponne the
spere:
[menne,

In ugsommnesse ware moste bee dyghte toe
Unseliness attendethe honourewere;
Quaffe your swote vernage and atreeted beere.

YNNE whilomme daies, as Stowe saies,
Ynne famous Brystowe towne
There lyved knyghtes doghtie yn fyghtes
Of marvellous renowne.

A Saxonne boulde renowned of oulde
For dethe and dernie dede,

Maint Tanmen slone the Brugge uponne
Icausynge hem to blede.

Baldwynne hys name, Rolles saie the same
And yev hymme rennome grate,
Hee lyved nere the Ellynteire

Al bie Seyncte Lenardes yate.
A mansion hie, made bosmorelię,
Was reered bie hys honde,
Whanne he ysterve, bys name unkerve
Inne Baldwynne streete doe stonde.
On Ellie then of Mercyann menne
As mynte of Pentells blase,
Inne Castle-stede made dofull dede

And dydde the Dans arase.

None of Rowley's pieces were ever made public, being till the year 1631 shut up in an iron chest in Redcliff church.

One Leefwyne of kyngelie Lyne

Inne Brystowe towne dyd leve,
And toe the samme for hys gode name
The Ackmanne Yate dyd gev.
Hammon a lorde of hie accorde

Was ynne the strete nempte brede;
So greate hys myghte, soe strynge yn fyghte,
Onne Byker hee dyd fede.

Fitz Lupous digne of gentle lyne

Onne Radclyve made hys Baie,
Inn moddie Gronne the whyche uponne

Botte reittes and roshes laie.

Than Radclyve Strete of mansyonnes meete
In semelie gare doe stonde,
And Canynge grete of fayre estate
Bryngeth to tradynge londe.
Hardynge dydde comme from longe kyngddomme
Inne Knyvesmythe strete to lyne,
Roberte hys sonne, moche gode thynges donne
As abbattes doe blasynng

Roberte the erle, ne conkered curll

In castle stede dyd fraie
Yynge Henrie to ynn Brystowe true
As Hydelle dyd obaie.

A maioure dheene bee and Jamne hee
Botte anne ungentle wyghte,
Seyncte Marie tende eche ammie frende
Bie hallie taper lyghte.

tending to confirm the authenticity of these poems. In the first place, this sort of macaronic verse of mixed languages is a style used in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. Dante has some of these amongst his Rhyme, (p. 226. vol. 24. Venice 1741) which are composed of French, Italian, and Latin, and conclude thus:

Namque locutus sum in linguâ trinâ.

Skelton, who lived not long after Rowley, has also poems in the same kind of verse. Secondly, the correctness of the Latin, and the propriety of the answers in English, show it to have been written at least by a better scholar than Chatterton. Thirdly, the low humour of the dialogue, although suited to the taste of that early and illiterate age, could be no object of imitation to a modern poet. But it is a most remarkable circumstance, that he has introduced his two Cockneies under the names of two most respectable aldermen of the city of London, who lived about the year 1380, sir William Walworth and sir John Philpot; men of such distinguished reputation, not only in their own city, but also in the whole kingdom, that the first parliament of Richard the Second, in granting a subsidy to that king, made it subject to the controul and management of these two citizens. (Walsingham, p. 200. Rapin, vol. i. p. 454 and 458.)

PHILPOT.

God ye god den 1, my good naighbour, howe d'ye ayle?

How does your wyfe, man! what never assole? Cum rectitate vivas, verborum mala ne cures.

WALWORTH.

Ah, Mastre Phyllepot, evil tongues do saie,
That my wyfe will lyen down to daie:
Tis ne twaine moneths syth shee was myne for aie.

PHILPOT.

Animum submittere noli rebus in adversis,
Nolito quædam referenti semper credere.
But I pity you nayghbour, is it so?

I This salutation, which should be written God ye good den, is more than once used by Shakespear: in Love's Labour Lost, the clown says,

God dig you den all. Act iv. Sc. 1.

That is to say, God give you a good evening; for dig is undoubtedly a mistake for give.

WALWORTH.

Quæ requirit misericordiam mala causa est.
Alack, alack, a sad dome mine in fay,
But oft with cityzens it is the case;
Causâ mori, as auntient pensmen sayse.
Honesta turpitudo pro bonâ

THE MERRIE TRICKS OF LAMYNGETOWNE.

BY MAYSTRE JOHN A ISCAM.

[From Dean Milles's edition.]

A RYGOUROUS doome is myne, upon mie faie:
Before the parent starre, the lyghtsome Sonne,
Hath three tymes lyghted up the cheerful daie,
To other reaulmes must Laymingtonne be gonne,
Or else my flymsie thredde of lyfe is spunne;
And shall I hearken to a cowarts reede,
And from so vain a shade, as lyfe is, runne?
No!

flie all thoughtes of runynge to the queed: No! here I'll staie, and let the Cockneies see, That Laymyntone the brave, will Laymyngetowne still be.

To fyght, and not to flee, my sabatans

I'll don, and girth my swerde unto my syde;
I'll go to ship, but not to foreyne landes,
But act the pyrate, rob in every tyde;
With Cockneies bloude Thamysis shall be dyde,
Theire goodes in Bristowe markette shall be solde.
My bark the laverd of the waters ryde,

Her sayles of scarlette and her stere of golde;
My men the Saxonnes, I the Hengyst bee,
And in my shyppe combyne the force of all their
three.

Go to my trustie menne in Selwoods chase,
That through the lessel hunt the burled boare,
Tell them how standes with me the present case,
And bydde them revel down at Watchets shore,
And saunt about in hawlkes and woods no more;
Let every auntrous knyghte his armour brase,
Their meats be mans fleshe, and theyre beverage
Hancele, or hanceled, from the human race;
Bid them, like mee theyre leeder, shape theyre
mynde
[kynde.
To be a bloudie foe in armes, gaynst all man-

gore,

RALPH.

mer says,

God ye good morrow gentlemen;

to which the latter replies,

God ye good den, fair gentlewoman, And in the Exmoor Courtship,

Good den, good den;

which the glossarist on that pamphlet properly explains by the wish of a good evening; and Mr. Steevens observes on the passage in Love's Labour Lost, that this contraction is not unusual in our ancient comic writers, and quotes the play called the Northern Lass, by R. Brome, 1633, for the following phrase:

God ye good even. VOL. XV.

LAMYNGETOWNE.

[Ralph goes out.