London Lyckpeny:

A Ballade compyled by Dan John Lydgate, monke of yeres agoe, and now newly ou'sene and

Berry, about amended.

To London once my stepps I bent,
Where trouth in no wyse should be faynt,
To Westmyster ward I forthwth went,
To a man of lawe to make complaynt;
I sayd, "for Marys love, that holy saynt,
Pyty the poore that wold p'ceede,”.
But for lack of mony I cold not spede.

And as I thrust the prese amonge,

By froward chaunce, my hood was gone,
Yet for all that, I stayd not longe

Tyll at the Kyngs Bench I was come;
Before the Judge I kneeled anon,

And prayd hy "for Gods sake to take heede,"
But for lack of mony I myght not speede.

Beneth them sat clarkes a great rout,

Which fast dyd wryte by one assent;
There stoode vp one, and cryed about
Rychard, Robert, and John of Kent:
I wyst not well what this man ment,
He cryed so thycke there in deede,—
But he that lacks mony myght not spede.

Vnto the Comon Place I yode thoo,
Where sat one wth. a sylken hoode;

I dyd hym reverence, for I ought to do so,
I told my case as well as I coud;

How my goods were defrauded me by falshood;
I gat not a move of his mouth for my need,
And for lack of mony I myght not spede.

Vnto the Rolls I gat me from thence,
Before the clarkes of the Chavncerye,
Where monny I found earnying of pence,
But none at all once regarded me:

I

gave them my playnt vppon my knee; They lyked it well, when they had it reade,But lackyng mony I could not be sped, In Westmynster hall I found out one, Which went in a long gown of Raye, I crowched and kneled before hy anon, "For Maryes love," of help I hym praye; "I wot not what thou meanest," gan he say, To get me thence he dyd me bede,But for lack of mony I cold not speed.

Wthin this hall, nether ryche nor yet poore,
Wold do for me ought, although I shold dye;
Which seeing, I gat me out of the doore,
Where Flemynge began on me for to cry,
"Master, what will you copen or by [buy]?
Fyne felt hatts or spectacles to reede;
Lay down yo' sylver and here you may speede."

Then to Westmyster gate I p'sently went,
When the sonn was at hyghe pryme:

Cookes to me, they tooke good entent,
And p'ferred me bread wth ale and wyne,
Rybbs of befe both fat and ful fyne;
A fayre cloth they gan for to sprede,-
But wantyng mony I myght not be speede.

Then vnto London I dyd me hye,

Of all the land it beareth the pryse ;

"Hot pescods," one began to crye,

66

Sträbery rype and cherryes in the rise:"

One bad me come nere, and by some spyce,

Peper and sayforne they gan me bede,-
But for lack of mony I myght not spede.

Then to the Chepe I gan me drawne,

Where mutch people I sawe for to stande ;
One ofred me velvet, sylke, and lawne,
An other he taketh me by the hande,

"Here is Parys thred the fynest in the lande :" I never was vsed to such thynge in dede,— And wantyng mony I myght not spede.

Then went I forth by London Stone;
Throughout all Canwyke streete

Drapers mvtch cloth me offred anone;

Then comes me one, cryed "hot shepes feete ;" One cryde "makerell rysher greene," an other

gan greete;

One bad me by a hood to cover my head,

But for want of mony I myght not be sped.

Then I hyed me into Estchepe,

One cryes "rybbs of befe," and many a pye;" Pewter pottes they clattered on a heape;

There was harpe, pype, and mynstrelsye ; "Yea, by cock! nay, by cock!" some began crye; Some songe of Jenken and Julyan for there mede,— But for lack of mony I myght not spede.

Then into Cornhyll anon I yode,

Where was mvtch stolen gere amonge,
I saw where hong myne owne hoode,
That I had lost amonge the thronge :
To by my owne hood I thought it wronge,

I knew it well as I did my crede,—
But for lack of mony I could not spede.

The Taverner tooke me by the sleve,
"S" sayth he, "will you o" wyne assay?"
I answerd, "that can not mvtch me greve
A peny can do no more than it may :"
I dranke a pynt, and for it dyd pay,
Yet sore a hungred frō thence I yede,—
And wantynge my mony I cōld not spede.

Then hyed I me to Belynsesgate,

And one cryed, "Hoo, go we hence ?"
I prayd a barge man for Gods sake

That he wold spare me my expence:
"Thou scapst not here, qa he, vnder ii pence;
I lyst not yet bestowed my almes dede;”-
Thus lackyng mony I cold not speede.

Then I convayd me unto Kent,

Ffor of the law wold I meddle no more ;
Because no man to me tooke entent,
I dyght me to do as I dyd before:-
Now Jesus, that in Helthe was bore,

Save London and send trew lawyers there mede,
For who so wants mony wth the shall not spede.

MANNERS OF THE LONDONERS.

In Holinshed's "Description of Britain," it is stated, that the hospitable reception given to the Londoners by their Country friends was not always returned with equal graciousness; on which, "the old countrie clerkes framed this saeing."

Primus jucundus,

Tolerabilis estque secundus;

Tertius est vanus,

Sed fatet quatridianus :—

which lines were thus paraphrased by the late J.

P. Andrews, F.A.S.*

Four days to spend

With asking friend,

In London fair, I reckoned:

The first in glee

Past merrily,

Not quite so well the second.

The third cold day

I saw display

A congé so explicit,

I left the place

Nor gave him space

To bid me end my visit.

MOORFIELDS-ELIZABETH CANNING.

In the year 1753-4, the public attention in London was almost exclusively occupied by the extraordinary case of Elizabeth Canning, the true particulars of whose story have never, even to the present hour, been fully ascertained. She was a girl of low birth, about eighteen years of age, and in the service of a Mr. Lyon, of Aldermanbury, to whose house she was returning on the evening of New-Year's Day, (from a visit to her uncle at Salt-Petre Bank, near Rosemary Lane,) when, according to her own testimony, she was seized under Bedlam, or Bethlem wall, in Moorfields, by two men, who, after robbing her of her money, gown, and apron, stopped her mouth with a gag,

* Vide, “ History of Great Britain," Vol. ii. p. 286; 3d edg