With hare sharpe swerdes he grounde the stel,
He wende that the sayles were mangonel
To helpe Wyndesore.

Richard, thah thou be ever, &c.

The kyng of Alemaigne gederede ys host,
Makede him a castel of a mulne post,
Wende with is prude, ant is muchele bost,
Brohte from Alemayne moný sori gost
To store Wyndesore.

Richard, thah thou be ever, &c.

By God, that is aboven ous, he dude muche synne,
That lette passen over see the erl of Warynne:
He hath robbed Engelond, the mores, ant th
fenne,

The gold, ant the selver, and y-boren henne,

For love of Wyndesore.

Richard, thah thou be ever, &c.

Sire Simond de Mountfort hath suore bi ys chýn,
Hevede he nou here the erl of Waryn,

Shuld he never more come to is yn,

Ne with sheld, ne with spere, ne with other gyn,
To help of Wyndesore.

Richard, thah thou be ever, &c.

Sire Simond de Montfort hath suore bi ys cop,
Hevede he nou here Sire Hue de Bigot:
Al he shulde grante here twelfmoneth scot
Shulde he never more with his sot pot
To helpe Wyndesore.

Richard, thah thou be ever, &c.

Ver. 40, g'te here MS. i e. grant their. Vid. Gloss.

Be the luef, be the loht, sire Edward,
Thou shalt ride sporeles o thy lyard
Al the ryhte way to Dovere-ward,
Shalt thou never more breke foreward;
Ant that reweth sore

Edward, thou dudest as a shreward,
Forsoke thyn emes lore

Richard, &c.

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50

*** This Ballad will rise in its importance with the reader, when he finds, that it is even believed to have occasioned a law in our statute book, viz. Against slanderous reports or tales, to cause discord betwixt king and people.' (Westm. Primer, c. 34. anno 3. Edw. I.) That it had this effect is the opinion of an eminent writer: See Observations upon the Statutes, &c.' 4to. 2d Edit. 1766, p. 71.

However, in the Harl. Collection may be found other satirical and defamatory rhymes of the same age, that might have their share in contributing to this first law against libels.

II.

ON THE DEATH OF K. EDWARD THE

FIRST.

We have here an early attempt at elegy. Edward I. died July 7, 1307, in the 35th year of his reign, and 69th of his age. This poem appears to have been composed soon after his death. According to the modes of thinking peculiar to those times, the writer dwells more upon his devotion, than his skill in government, and pays less attention to the martial and political abilities of this great monarch, in which he had no equal, than to some little weaknesses of superstition, which he had in common with all his cotemporaries. The king had in the decline of life vowed an expedition to the holy land, but finding his end approach, he dedicated the sum of 32,000l. to the maintenance of a large body of knights (140 say historians, 80 says our poet), who were to carry his heart with them into Palestine. This dying command of the king was never performed. Our poet, with the honest prejudices of an Englishman, attributes this failure to the advice of the king of France, whose daughter Isabel, the young monarch, who succeeded, immediately married. But the truth is, Edward and his destructive favourite, Piers Gaveston, spent the money upon their pleasures.To do the greater honour

Ver. 44, This stanza was omitted in the former editions.

to the memory of his hero, our poet puts his eloge in the mouth of the Pope, with the same poetic licence, as a modern bard would have introduced Britannia, or the Genius of Europe pouring forth his praises.

This antique elegy is extracted from the same MS. volume as the preceding article; is found with the same peculiarities of writing and orthography; and though written at near the distance of half a century, contains little or no variation of idiom: whereas the next following poem by Chaucer, which was probably written not more than fifty or sixty years after this, exhibits almost a new language. This seems to countenance the opinion of some antiquaries, that this great poet made considerable innovations in his mother tongue, and introduced many terms, and new modes of speech from other languages.

ALLE, that beoth of huerte trewe,

A stounde herkneth to my song

Of duel, that Deth hath diht us newe,
That maketh me syke, ant sorewe among;

Of a knyht, that wes so strong,

Of wham God hath don ys wille;

Me-thuncheth that deth hath don us wrong,
That he so sone shall ligge stille.

Al Englond ahte for te knowe

Of wham that song is, that y synge;
Of Edward kyng, that lith so lowe,

Yent al this world is nome con springe:
Trewest mon of alle thinge,

Ant in werre war ant wys,

For him we ahte oure honden wrynge,
Of Christendome he ber the prys.

Byfore that oure kyng was ded,

He spek ase mon that wes in care,
'Clerkes, knyhtes, barons,' he sayde,
Y charge ou by oure sware,
That ye to Engelonde be trewe.
Y deze, y ne may lyven na more;

Helpeth mi sone, ant crouneth him newe,
For he is nest to buen y-core.

Ich biqueth myn herte arhyt,
That hit be write at mi devys,
Over the see that Hue 1 be diht,
With fourscore knyhtes al of prys,
In werre that buen war ant wys,

Ayein the hethene for te fyhte,
To wynne the croiz that lowe lys,
Myself ycholde yef that y myhte.'

Kyng of Fraunce, thou hevedest [sinne,]
That thou the counsail woldest fonde,
To latte the wille of [Edward kyng]

To wende to the holy londe:
That oure kyng hede take on honde

All Engelond to yeme ant wysse,

To wenden in to the holy londe
To wynnen us heveriche blisse.

The messager to the pope com,

And seyde that our kynge was ded:
Ys oune hond the lettre he nom,

Ywis his herte was full gret:
The Pope him self the lettre redde,
Ant spec a word of gret honour.
'Alas!' he seid, is Edward ded?
Of Christendome he ber the flour.'

The Pope to is chaumbre wende,
For dol ne mihte he speke na more;
Ant after cardinals he sende,

That muche couthen of Cristes lore,

Ver. 33, sunne, MS.—Ver. 35, kyng Edward, MS.-Ver. 43, ys is probably

a contraction of in hys or yn his.

1 The name of the person who was to preside over this business.

Bothe the lasse, ant eke the more,

Bed hem bothe rede ant synge:

Gret deol me myhte se thore,

55

Mony mon is honde wrynge.

The Pope of Peyters stod at is masse
With ful gret solempnetè,
Ther me con the soule blesse:

Kyng Edward honoured thou be:
God love thi sone come after the,

Bringe to ende that thou hast bygonne,

The holy crois y-mad of tre,

So fain thou woldest hit hav y-wonne.

Jerusalem, thou hast i-lore

The flour of al chivalrie

Now kyng Edward liveth na more:

Alas! that he yet shulde deye!

He wolde ha rered up ful heyze

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65

Oure banners, that bueth broht to grounde; 70 Wel! longe we mowe clepe and crie

Er we a such kyng han y-founde.'

Nou is Edward of Carnarvan

King of Engelond al aplyht, God lete him ner be worse man

Then his fader, ne lasse of myht, To holden is pore men to rhyt,

And understonde good counsail,

Al Engelong for to wysse ant dyht;
Of gode knyhtes darh him nout fail.

Thah mi tonge were mad of stel,

Ant min herte yzote of bras,

Ver. 55, 59, Me, i.e. Men; so in Robert of Gloucester passim.

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