Even from the cot flown now is happiness: Minsters alone can boast the holy Saint: Now doth our England' wear a bloody dress, And with her champions' gore her visage paint. Peace fled, Disorder shows her face dark-brow'd', And through the air doth fly in garments stained with blood ECLOGUE THE THIRD. A Man; a Woman; Sir Roger. Wouldst thou ken Nature in her better part? In them you see the naked form of kind. Man. But whither, fair maid, do ye go? I will know whither you go, I will not be answered nay. Woman. To Robin and Nell, all down in the dell, Man. Sir Roger, the parson, hath hired me there; Come, come, let us trip it away : We'll work, and we'll sing, and we'll drink of strong beer, As long as the merry summer's day. 'Doeth Englonde.'-Chatterton. 'Peace fledde, disorder sheweth her dark rode.' ('Rode,' complexion.} -Chatterton. Woman. How hard is my doom to work! Much is my woe! Dame Agnes, who lies in the kirk, With golden borders, strong, untold, What was she more than me, to be so? Man. I ken Sir Roger from afar, I will ask why the lordè's son Sir Roger The sultry sun doth hie apace his wain; Man. All-a-boon, Sir Priest, all-a-boon! By your priestship, now say unto me, Sir Roger. Cast round thine eyes upon this hayèd lea; It rose, it blew, it flourished and did well, Looking askance upon the neighbour green; Yet with the green disdained its glory fell,— Did not its look, the while it there did stand, Such is the way of life: the lord's rich rent1 Believe the truth, there's none more whole than thee Thou wouldst eftsoons see truth in what I say. Hast thou not seen a tree upon a hill, Whose boundless branches reach afar to sight? When furious tempests do the heaven fill, It shaketh dire, in dole and much affright; 'The loverde's ente' (lord's purse).-Chatterton's text and gloss What while the humble floweret lowly dight Standeth unhurt, unquashèd by the storm. Such picture is of Life: the man of might Is tempest-chafed, his woe great as his form: Thyself, a floweret of a small account, Wouldst harder feel the wind, as higher thou didst mount. MINSTRELS' MARRIAGE-SONG. [From Ella; a Tragical Interlude.] First Minstrel. The budding floweret blushes at the light : In daisied mantles is the mountain dight; The slim1 young cowslip bendeth with the dew; The trees enleafèd, into heaven straught, When gentle winds do blow, to whistling din are brought The evening comes and brings the dew along ; Second Minstrel. So Adam thought, what time, in Paradise, All heaven and earth did homage to his mind. 'Nesh,' tender.--Chatterton. 2. Ynn womman alleyne mannès pleasaunce lyes, As instruments of joie were made the kynde.' VOL. III. Ee Chatterton. Third Minstrel. When Autumn stript and sunburnt doth appear, Bearing upon his back the ripened sheaf; When levin-fires and gleams do meet from far the sight→→→ When the fair apples, red as even-sky, Do bend the tree unto the fruitful ground; When juicy pears and berries of black dye Do dance in air and call the eyes around; Then, be it evening foul or evening fair, Methinks my joy of heart is shadowed with some care. Second Minstrel. Angels are wrought to be of neither kind; That, without woman, cannot stillèd be: Women are made not for themselves but man,- Albeit, without women, men were peers To savage kind, and would but live to slay; Tere' health.-Chatterton. Tochelod yn Angel joie heie (they) Angeles bee` -Chatterton. |