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“ And nore can save, butt all mye lyse

Sweet Florence! why these brinie teeres? “ I have hys i ordyes kept;

“ Theye wathe my foule awaie, “ And tumind ihe act yonns of the daie

And almost make mee wyshe for lyfe, “ Eche ny ghie before I fle; t.

“ Wyth thce, sweete dame, to flaie. “ I have a spouse, gre aske of her

''Tys but a journic I halle goe “ Yff I defyld her bedde :

“Untoe thé lande of blytte; “ I have a kyn e. and none can laie

Nowe, as a proofe of husbande's love, “ Backe treaton o ine my hedde.

“ Receive thys holie kylie." « Ynne Lent, and onne the bolie eve,

Thenne Florence, fault'ring ynne her saie, “ Fromm Heshe I dydd refrayne ;

Tremblyrge these wordyes spoke, “ Wie ihould I thene appeare disinay'd :6 Ah, crue e Edwarde! bloudie kynge! “ To leave thys woride of payne!

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

Ah, fiveete Syr Charles' why wylt thou “ I shalle ne lee thye dethe ;

“ Wyrhoute trye lovynge wife! " Mostu willinglie in tl.ve just cause

“ The cruelle axe thatt cuites thye necke, “ Doe I resigu my brethe.

“ Ytt cke Thail ende mye lyfe." “Oh fickle pcople! rcwyn'd londe !

And nowe the officers came ynne " Thou wilt kenne peace ne moe;

To brynge Syr Charles awaie, " Whyle Richard's fonnes exalt themselves, Who turnedd toe his lovynge wyfe,

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

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

“Truste chou yone Godde above, Thart you dydd choppe your eafic daies “ And trache thye fonnes to feare the Lorde, “ For those of bloude and peyne?

And ynne theyre hertes hym love: 6. 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 defye the traytour's pow'r,

“ Florence ! should dethe thee take-adieu ! “ Hee can ne harm my mynde ;

“ Yee officers, lead onne." "Whitte tho', uphoifted onne a pale,

Thenne Florence rav'd as anie madde, “ Mye lymbes Thall rotte ynne ayre,

And dydd her tresses tere; “ And ne ryche monument of braffc

“ Oh! Raic, my husbande! lorde! and lyfe !" “ Charles Bawdin's name shall bear;

Syr Charles thenne dropt a teare. “ Yet yone the holic booke above,

Tyll evredd oute wyth ravynge loud, “ Whyche tyme can't eate awai,

Śhee fellen onne the fore; “ There wythe the servants of the Lorde Syr Charles exerted alle hys myghte, “ Mye name thall lyve far aic.

And march'd fromm oute the dore. “ Thenne welcome derhe! for lyfe'eterne Uponne a ledde hee mounted thennc, “ I leve thys mortall lyfe ;

Wythe lookes fulle brave and swete; “ Farewell, vayne worlde, and alle that's deare, Lookes, thait enthoone ne moe concern Mye sonnes and lovynge wyfe !

Thanne anic ynoe the frete. " Now dethe as welcome to mee comes, Before hym went the council-menne, “ As e'er the month of Maic;

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

And tallils 1panglynge ynne the fudne, Wyth my dere wyfe to staie."

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

Appeared to the ryghe, • And from thys worlde of peyne

and grefe Alle cladd ynne homelie ruffett weedes, To Godde ynne heaven to ilie.”

of goullie monkyfa plyghte: And nowe the bell beganne to tolle,

Ynne diffraunt partes a godlie psaume And claryonnes to founde ;

Mofie sweetlie theye dydd chaunt; Syr Charles hee herde the horses fecțe

Behynde theyre backes fyx mynstrelles caine, A-prauncying onne the grounde ;

Who tun'd the strunge batai:ng. And justc before the officers,

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

Echone the bowe dydd bende, Weepynge unfeigned teeres of woe,

From refcue of kynge Henries friends Wythe loude and dysmalle dynne.

Syr Charles forr to defend. « Sweer Florence! nowe I praie forbere, Bold as a lyon came Syr Charles, “ Ynne quiet lett mec dic;

Drawne onde a clothe-layde Nedde, “ Praic Godde, that ev'ry Cliristian soule Bye two blacke ftcdes yone trappynges white, “ Maye looke 'opne deihe as I.

Wyth plumes upoone theyre hedde:

Belyr.de Bchvnde hymn five-and-riventye moe

f“. So lert hym die!” Duke Richard sayde ; Of archers stronge and foute,

“ And maye echone our foes With bended bowe echore ynne hande, - Bende downe theyre neckes to bloudic cxe, Marched ynne goodlie route:

“ And feede the carryon crowes.” Scincte Jameses Freers marched next,

And now the horses gentlie drewe Echone hys parte dvd chaunt;

Syr Charles uppe the hyghe lıyllc! Behynde theyre backi, wx myrrelles came,

The exe dydd glyfterr ynne the sunne, Who tun'd the strungé bataunt:

Hys pretious bloude to spylle. Thenne came the major and eldermenne,

Syr Charles dydd uppe the scaffold goe, noc clothe of fearlett deckt;

As uppe a gilded carre And theyre attendyng menne cchone,

Of victorye, bye val’rous chiefs Lyke Easterne princes trickt :

Gayn'd in the bloudie warre: And after them a multitude

And to the people hee dydd saie, Of citizens dvoid chronve;

“ Beholde you see mee dye The wyndowes were all full of heddes,

“For fervynge loyally mye kynge, As lice dydd paffe alonge.

“Mye kynge most rightfullie.

“ As longe as Edwarde rules thys lande, And wheone hce came to the lirone crofie,

“ Ne quiet you wylle knowe; Sur Charles dydd turnu and trie,

fus Your fonnes and husbandes shall be fayne, " 0 Thou, thatt favest manne from me synne,

“ And brookes wythe bloude Malle ftowe. “ Waiho mye foulc clean thys daic.”

“ You leave youre goode and lawfulle kynge, Att the grete myníter windowe fat

“ Whenne ynnc adversitye ; Thc kynge yine mycle stare",

“ Lyke mee, untoe the true cause styckc, To fcc Charles Bawdin goc alonge

. And for the true cause dye.' "To hys most welcom fate.

Thenne hce, wyth preestes, uponnc his knecs, Soon as the fledde drewe nyghc enoue,

A pray'r to Godde dydd make, Thatt Edwarde hee mvulite licare,

Beseechýrge hym unto hymfelfe The bravc Svr Charies hec dydd Itande uppe, Hys partynge foule to take. And thus lys wordes declare :

Then kneclynge downe, he layd hys hccde “ Thou fecit mce, Edwarde! traytour vile !

Most teemlic onne the blocke; “ Expos'd ro infanie;

Whyche fiomme hys bodie fayre at once “ Eut be allur'd, disloyall manne!

The able heddes-manne liroke! “ I'm greate:r notre thanne thee.

And oute the bloude beganne to flowe,

And rounde the scaffolde twyne ; * Bye foule proceedyngs, inurdre, bloude, Thou wearest nowe a crowne;

And tearcs, enow to wathe 't awaie, “ And haft appoyoted mee to dye,

Dydd flowe fromme each mann's eync.
By power nott thyne owne.

The bloudie cxc hys bodic fayre

Ynnto foure parties cutte ; « Thou thynkes I shall dye to-daic;

And ev'rye parte, and eke hys hedde,
I have beenc dede 'till nowe,

Uponne a pole was putte.
6 And found thall lyre to wcare a crowne
" For aie uponne iny browe:

One parte dydd rotte one Kynwulph-hylle,

One oond the mynster-tower, • Whylft thou, perhiapps for soinc few yeares, And one from off the castle-gate * Shalt rule thys tickle lande,

The crowen dydd devoure : “ To lett them knowe howe wyde the rule The other onnc Seynète Powle's goode gare, 'Twixt kynge and tyrant hande :

A dreery spectacle ; " Thye pow'r unjust, thou traytour

Nave!

Hys hedde was plac'd onne the hyghe crosse, " Stail falle onne thy owne hedde."

Ynnc hyghe-itreete moft nobile. Fromm out of hearyng of the kynge

Thus was the end of Bawdin's fate : Departed thenue the fledde.

· Godde prosper long our kynge, Kynge Edwarde's foule rush'd to hys face;

And grant hec may, wyth Bawdin's Coule,

Yone heaven Godd's mercie synge !
Hee turn'd his head awaic,
And to hys broder Gloucester

$ 92. The Mynftrelles Songe in Ælla, a Tran Hee thus dydd speke and laie:

gycal Enterlude. CHATTERTON, &c. “ To him that foe-iruch-dreaded dethe

O! Synge untoe my roundelaie, “ Ne ghafilie terrors brynge,

o! droppe the brynie teare wythe mee, ( Beholde the manne ! hce ipake the truthe, Daunce ne moe atte hallie daie, * Hee's greater than a kyage !"

'Lycke a reynynge i ryver bec.
1 Running.
114

Mic

6

hys cyes,

Mie love ys dedde,

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

CHATTERTON, &c. Al under the wyllowe tree. Black hys cryne 2 as the wyntere nyght,

WHAN Freedom, drefe yn blodde- fteyzed

velic, Whyte hys rode 3 as the sommer snowe, Rodde hys face as the mornynge lyghte,

To everie knyghte her warre-forge furge,

Uponne her hedde wylde wedes were fprudde; Cale he lves ynne the grave belowe.

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

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

Sie hearde the voice of deathe;
Ai under the wyllowe tree.

Pale-eyned Affryghte, hys harte of fylver hue, Swote hys tongue as the throstles note, In vayne atlaylid ş her bofome to acale 6; Quycke ynne daunce as thought cann bee, She hearde on Hemed 7 the ihriekynge voiceoince, Defte hys taboure, codgeile fiote,

And sadnesse vrne the ow lette thake the cale. O! hee lys bie the wyllowe tree.

She thooke the burled S speere,
Mie love y's deade,

On hie she jeste 9 her theelde,
Gonne to bys deathe-bedde,

Her foemen 10 ail appere,
Al under the wyllowe tree.

And flizze rı along the fcelde.
Harke! the ravenne flappes hys wynge,

Power, wythe his heafod 12 straught 13 yatole In the briered dell belowe;

skyes, Harke! the dethe-owle loude dothe synge,

Hys (peerc a fonne-beame, and his shce'de a fiarre, To the nyghte-mares as theie gce.

Alyche 14 twaici zbrenduyng 16 gronfyies i? 10:
Mie love ys dedde,
Gonne to hys deathe-bedde,

Chaftes iS with hys yronne feete, and foundes to
Al under the iyilowe tree.

She fvttes upon a recke,

She bendes before hys speere, Sce! the whyte moone fheenes onne hie;

She ryles from the shocke, Whyterre ys mie true loves throude ;

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

Harde as the thonder dothe the drire ytte on, Whyterre yanne the evenynge cloude.

Il'ytte scillye 19 wympled 20 gjes 21 ytre to his Mic love ys dedde,

crownie,

[ys gee, Gonne to hys deathe-bedde,

Hys longe tarpe speere, hys sprcddyng kecide Al under the wyılowe trec.

He fallcs, and fallynge rolleth thousandes dont. Heere, upon mie true loves grave,

War, goare-faced war, bie envie burld :-, Schalle the baren Beurs be layde, Nee one hallie seyndte to save

Hlys feerie heaulme 24 noddynge to the arre, Al the celness of a mayde.

Ténne bloddie arrowes ynne his streynyngefytic-
Mie love ys

dcdde,
Gonne to nvs deathe-bedde,
Al under the wyllowe tree.

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

SILENT Nymph! with curious eye, Ouphante fairie, lyghte your fyres,

Who, the purple evening, lie Heere mie boddie stille schalle' bee.

On the inountain's loncly van,

Bevend the noise of busy man,
Mic love ys dedde,
Gonne to hys deathe-bedde,

Painting fair the form of things,
Al under the wyllowe tree.

While the yellow linnet sings;

Or the tuneful nightingale Comme, wythe acorne-coppe and thorne,

Charms the forest with her tale ; Drayne mie hariys blodde awaie;

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

Come, and aid thy lifter Mufe.
Daunce bie nete, or fcastc by daie.

Now, while Phæbus riding high,
Mie love ys dedde,

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

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

Draw the landscape bright and strong;
Water wytches, crownede wythe reytes 4, Grongar! in whore mossy cells,
Bere mee to yer leathalle ryde.

Sweetly musing Quiet dwells;
I die ; I comme; mie true love waytes. Grongar! in whole filent fhade,
Thos the damfelle spake, and dyed.

For the modeft Muses made,

aritt 23,

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12 Head.

2 Hair, 3 Complexion. 4 Water-flags. 5 Endeavoured.

6 Freeze. 8 Armed, pointed. 9 Hoisted on high, raised.

7 Undismayed.

10 Foes, cnemies.
13 Stretched.
14 Like.

1 Fly.
15 Two.
16 Flaming.

17 Meteors. 19 Closely. 20 Mantlid, covered.

18 Beats, itamps 21 Guides, 22 Armed. 23 Arose.

24 Helmet,

So

So oft I have, the evening still,

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

And level lays the lofty brow, Sat upon a flo:v'ry bed,

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

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

A little rule, a little sway, From house to house, from hill to hill,

A sun-beam in a winter's day, Till Contemplation had her fill.

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

Between the cradle and the grave. And lease his brocks and meads bchind;

And Ice the rivers, how they run And groves and grottos, where I lay,

Thro' woods and meads, in fide and sun ! And vistos shooting beams of slay.

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

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

A various journey to the deep, The mountains round, unhappy fate !

Like human life, to endless sleep! Sooner or later, of all height,

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

Thus the dreffes green and say, Still the prospect wider spreads,

To dif, erlo our cares away. Adds a thousand woods and meads;

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

When will the land cape tire the view! And links the newly-ifen hill.

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

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

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

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

The pleasant feat, che ruin'd tow'r, Does the face of Nature Thew

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

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

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

As pearls upon an Ethiop's aim. Oid catiles on the clints arite,

See on the mountain's fouthern side, Proudly tow'ring in the skies ;

Where the prospect opens wide, Rushing from the words, the spires

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

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

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

A fep, methinks, may pats the stream, Gilds the ficeces of the flocks,

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

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

Eyed 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 beechi, the fable yew :

Which, to those who journey near, The slender fir that taper grows,

Barren, brown, and rough appear ; The sturdy oak with broad-spread boughs ; Still we tread the same coarte way; And, beyond the purple grove,

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

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

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

Content me with a humble Thade, On which a dark bill, steep and high,

My pallions tam’d, my wishes laid; Holds and charms the wand'ring eye.

For while our wishes wildly roll, Deep are his feet ini Towy's food;

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

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

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

As on the mountain turf I lies And with her arms from falling keeps : While the wantun Zephyr fings, So both a safety from the wind

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

While the waters murmar deep; 'Tis now the raven's bleak abode,

While the shepherd charms his sheep; 'Tis now th' apartment of the toad;

While ti e birds unbounded fly, And there the fox securely fceds,

And with music fill the sky, And there the pois nous adder breeds,

Now, c'en now, my joys run high. Conceal'd in ruins, moss, and weeds;

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

Search for peace with all your skili; Huge heaps of houry moulder'd walls.

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Open wide the lofty door,

Nor by yon fountain's side, Seek her on the marble floor:

Nor where its waters glide In vain ye search, she is not there;

Along the valley, can lite now be found : In vain ye search the domes of Carc !

In all the wide-itretch'd prospect's ample bosal, Grals and Howers Quiet treads,

No more my mournful eye On the meads and mountain-heads,

Can aught of her elpy, Along with Pleasure close allied,

But the fad iacred earth where her dear relis lie, Ever by each other's fide;

O fhades of Hagley, where is now your bezt? And ofren, by the murm'ring rill,

Your bright in.iabitant is lost. Hears the thrush, while all is still,

You she preferi'd to all the gay

resorts Within the groves of Grongar Hill.

Where female vanity might with to thise,

The pomp of cities, and the pride of courts. § 95. A Monody on the Death of bis Lady. Her modest beauties thunu'd the public eye: By GLORGE Lord LYTTELTON.

To your sequetier'd dales

And nower-embroider'd vales, • Te, dulcis conjux, te folo in littore ftcum,

From an admiring world the chose to fix.

Wish Nature there retird, and Nature's God, AT length ofcap'd from ev'ry human eye, The filert paths of wisdom trod, From ev'ry dutycare

And banilh'd escry passion from her breaft; That in my mournfulthoughts inight claim a share, But those, the genticit and the best, Or force iny tears their flowing stream to dry ; Whole holy names with energy divine Beneath the gloom of this embow’ring thade, The virtuous heart enliven and improre, This lone retrtat, for tender forrow made,

The conjugal and the maternal love. I now may give my burden'd heart relief,

Sweet balics! who like the little playful favos And pour forth all my fiores of grief;

Were wont to trip along thele verdant lawes, Of grief surpassing every other woe,

By your delighted mother's lide, Far as the purest bliss, the happiest love

Who now your infant lieps shall guide Can on th' ennobled mind beltow,

Ah! where is now the hand, whose tender cars Exceeds the vulgar joys that move

To every virtue would have formd your youth, Our gross desires, inclegant and low.

And straw'd with flow'ss the thorny ways of Ye tufted groves, ye gently-filling rills,

truth? Yc high o'ershadowing hills,

O loss beyond repair ! Ye lawns gay-smiling with eternal green,

O wretched father left alone, Oft have you my Lucy seen!

To weep their dire misfortune, and thy own! But never shall you now behold her more : How shall thy weaken'd mind, oppress'd with Nor will the now, with fond delight,

And, drooping o'cr thy Lucy's grave, (wo, And taste refind, your rural charins explore. Perform the duties that you doubly owe, Clos'd are thofe beauteous eyes in endless night,

Now thc, alas! is gone, Those beauteous eyes, where beaming us'd to shine From folly and froin vice their helpless age to fare? Reason's pure light, and Virtue's fpark divine.

Where were ye, Muses, when relentles Fate Oft would the Dryads of these woods rejoice

From these fond arms your fair disciple tore; To hear her heavenly voice;

From these fond arms, that vainly ftrore For her despising, when she deign'd to fing,

With hapless, ineffectual love, The sweetest Iongsters of the lpring ;

To guard her bosom from the mortal blow ! The woodlark and the linnct pleas'd no more:

Could not your favouring pow'r, Aönian The nightingale was mute,

maids, And ev'ry shepherd's flute

Could not, alas! your pow'r prolong her dare; Was cast in Glent scorn away,

For whom so oft, in these inspiring shades, While all attended to her fivecter lay.

Or under Camden's inoss-clad mountains hoas, Yclarks and linnets, now resume your song:

You open'd all your sacred store ;
And thou, melodious Philomel,

Wirate'er your ancient lages taught,
Again thy plaintive story tell;

Your ancient burds sublimely thought,
For death has stopp'd that tuneful tongue, And bade her raptur'd breast with all your spirit
Whose musiccould aloncyourwarbling notesexccl

glow ?
In vain I look around

Nor then did Pindus or Caftalia's plain,
O’er all the well-known ground,
My Lucy's wonted footsteps to descry ;

Or Aganippe's fount, your fteps detain,

Nor in the Thespian valleys did you play ;
Wherc oft we us’d to walk;

Nor then on Mincio's bank *
Where oft in tender talk

Beset with osiers dank,
We saw the summer sun go down the sky;

+ The Mincio runs by Mantua, the birth-place of Virgil.

Nor

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