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Behynd hyme five-and-twentye moe · So lett hym die!" Duke Richard sayde ; Of archers stronge and stoute,

“ And maye echone our foes Wyth bended bowe echone ynne hande, “ Bende downe theyre neckes to bloudie exe, Marched ynne goodlie route :

“ And feede the carryon crowes." Seinete Jameses Freers marched next,

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

Syr Charles uppe the hyghe hylle! Behynde theyre backs syx mynstrelles came,

The exe dyeid glisterr ynne the sunne, Who tun'd the strunge bataunt:

Hys precious bloudé to spylle. Thenne came the imaior and elderınenne,

Syr Charles dydd uppe the scaffold goe, Ynnc cloche of scarlett deckt;

As uppe a gilded carre And theyre attendyng mennc echone,

Of victorye, bye val'rous chiefs

Gain'd'in the bloudie warre : Lyke Easterne princes trickt :

And to the people hee dydd saia And after them a multitude

“ Beholde you see mee dye Of citizens dydd thronge ;

“For servynge loyally mye kynge, The wyndowes were all full of heddes,

Mye kynge most rightfullie. As hce dydd passe alonge.

“ As longe as Edwarde rules thys lande, And whenne hee came to the hyghe crosse, “ Ne quiet you wylle knowe; Syr Charles dydd turne and saie,

“ Your sonnes and husbandes shall be slayne, "Thou, thait savest manne fromme synne, “ And brookes withe bloude shalle fowe.

“ Wash mage soulc clean thys daye.” You leave youre goode and lawfulle kynge, Alt the grete mynster windowe sat

“ Whenne ynne adversitye ; The kynge ynn mycle state,

Lyke mee, untoe the true cause stycke, To see Charles Bawdin goe alonge

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

Thenne hee, wyth preestes, uponne his knees, Soon as the sledie drewe nygh enowe,

A pray'r to Godde dydd make, Thatt Edwarde hee myghte heare,

Beseechynge hym unto hymselfe The brave Sgr Charles hee dydd stande uppe,

Hys pariynge soule to take. And thus hys wordles declare :

Then kneelynge downe, he layd hys heede “Thou seest mee, Edwarde ! tragtous vile !

Most seemlie onne the blocke;

Whyche fromme hys bodie fayre at once " Expos’d to infantie;

The able heddes-manne stroke! " But be assurd, disloyall manne!

And oute the bloude beganne to fowe, greaterr nowe thanne thee.

And rounde the scaffolde twyne; "Bye foule proceedyngs, murdre, bloude, And tears, enow to washe 't awaie, “Thou wearest nowe a crowne,

Dydd flowe froinme each mann's egne. "And hast appoynted mee to dye,

The bloudie exe hys bodie fayre " By power nótt thyne owne.

Yanto foure parties cutte ; “Thou thynkest I shall dye to-daie ;

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

Upon a pole was putte. "And soon shall lyve to weare a crowne One parte dydd rotte onne Kynwulph-hylle, " For aie uponne my browe :

Oue onné the mynstes-tower, Whylst thou, perhapps for some few yeares, And one from off the castle-gate Shalt rule thys fickle lande

The crowen dydd devoure : " To lett them knowe howe wyde the rule The other onne Seyncte Puwle's goode gate, " "Twixt kynge and tyrant hande:

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

His hedde was plac'd onne the hygh crosse, “Shall falle onne thy owne hedde."

Ynne hyghe-streete most nobile. Fromm out of hearyng of the kynge

Thus was the end of Bawdin's fate; Departed thenne the sledde.

Goddle prosper long our kynge, Kynge Edwarde's soule rush'd to hys face ;

And grani hce may, wyth Bawdin's soule, Hee turn'd hys head awaie,

Ynne heaven Godd's mercie synge!
And to hys broder Gloucester
Hee thus dydd speke and saie :

$ 90. The Mynstrelles Songe in Ælla, a Trac

gycal Enterlude. CHATTERTON, &c. " To him that soe-much-dreaded dethe 0! SYNGE untoe roundelaie, Ne ghastlie terrors brynge,

O! droppe the brynie teare wythe mee, “ Beholde the manne! hee spake the truthe,

Daunce ne moe aite hallie daie, "Hee's greater than a kynge!

Lycke a reynynge (a) cyver bee.



(6) Running

Mie love ys dedde,

$91. Churus in Godduyn, a Tragedie. Gonne to lys deathe-bedde,

CHATTERTON, &c. Al under the wyllowe-tree.

W'Han Freedom, dreste yn blodde-steyned Black hys cryne (l) as the wyatere nyght,

Whyte hys rode (c) as the sommer snowe, To overie knyghte her warre-songe sunge,
Rodde hys face as the moruynge lyghte, Uponne her hedde wylde wedes were spredde;
Cale he lyes yn ne the grave belowe.

A gorie anlace by her hange.
Mie love ys dedde,

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

She hearde the voice of deather
Al under the wyllowe tree.

Pale-cyned Aftryghte, hys harte of silver hne, Swote hys tongue as the throstles note, In vayne assayled (e) her bosom to acale ():[woe, Quyckc ynne daunce as thought caun bee, She hearde onfleined (g) the shriekynge voice of Defte his laboure, codgelle stole,

And sadnesse yine the owlette shake ihe dale, O! hee lys bie the wyllowe-tree.

She shooke the burlerl(h) speere, Mie love ys deede,

On bie she jeste (1) her sheelde,
Gonne to hys deathe-berlde,

Her foemen (j) all appere,
Al under the wyllowe-tree.

And flizze(k) along the feelde.
Harke! the ravenne flappes hys wynge,

Power, wythe his heafod (1) straught (m) ynto In the briered dell belowe;

the skyes,

(starre. Harke! the dethe-owle loude dothe synge,

Hys speere a sonne-beame, and hys shielde a To the nvghte-mares as theie goe.

Alyche(n) twaie (e) brendeyng (P) gronMie love ys dedde,

fyres (9) rolls hys eyes,

(to war. Gone to hes deathe-bedde,

Chaftes (r) with hys yronne feete, and soundes Al under the wyllowe-tree.

She syttes upon a rocke,

She bendes before hys speere
Sce! the whyte moone shcenes onne hic ;

She ryses from the shocke,
Whyterre ys mie true loves shroude;
Whyterre yanne the mornynge skie,

Wieldyng her own yn ayre.

Harde as the thonder dothe she drive ytte on, Whyterre yanne the evenynge cloude. Mie love ys dedde,

Wytte scillye (s) wympled (t) gies (u) ytte 10 hys crowne,

(ys gon, Gonne to hys deathe-bedde, Al under the wyllowe-tree.

Hys longe sharpe speere, his spreddyng sheelde

He falles, and fallynge rolleth thousandes down. Heere, upon nie true loves grave,

War, goare-faced war, bie envie burld (2), Schalle the baren fleurs be layde,

arist (y), Ne one hallie scynictc to save

Hys feerie heaulme (2) noddynge to the ayte, Al the celness of a mayde,

Ténne bloddie arrowes ynne hys streynynge fysı

Mie love ys dedde,
Gonne to his deathe-bedde,
Al under the wyllowe-iree.

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

Silent Nymph! with curious eye, Onphanie fairie, lyghtc your fyres,

Who, the purple evening, lje

On the mountain's lonely van,
Heere mie boddie stille schalle bee.
Mie love ys dedde,

Beyopd the noise of busy man,

Painting fair the form of things,
Gonne to hys deathe-bedde,
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 my hartys, blodde awaie ;
Lyfë and all yttes goode I scorne,

Come, with all thy various hues,

Coine, and aid thy sister Muse.
Daunce bie nete, or feaste by daic.

Now, while Phæhus riding high, '
Mie love ys dedele,

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 i
Water wytches, crownede wythe reytes (d), Grongar! in whose mossy cells,
Bere mce to yer leathalle tyde.

Sweetly musing Quiet dwells;
1 die I conime ; mie true love waytes. Grougar! in whose silent shade,
Thos the damselle spake, and dyed.

For the modest Muses made, (b) Hair. (h) Armed, pointed. (n) Like.

(1) Mantled, corered (c) Complexion. (i)Hoisted on high, raised.

o Wons.

(u) Guides. (d) Water-flags. (i) Foes, enemies.

11) Armed. (C) Endeavoured. (k) Fly

(9) Meteors.

(y) Arose. (1) Freeze. (1) Head.

(r) Beats, stamps. (7) Helmet. (2) Undismayed. (m) Stretched. (0) Closely,



So oft I have, the evening still,

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

And level lays the lofty brow, Sal upon a flow'ry bed,

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

Big with the vanity of state :
While stray'd my eyes o'er Towy's flood, But transient is the smile of Fate !
Over mead 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 sides I wind,

Between ihe cradle and the grave. And leave his brooks and mcads behind ; And see the rivers, how they run And grores and grottos, where I lay,

Thro' woods and meads, in shade and sun ! And vistas shooting beams of day.

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

Wave succeedingwave, they go, As circles on a smooth canal :

A various journey to the decp, 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 lessen as the others rise.

Thus she dresses green and gay, Sull the prospect wider spreads,

To disperse our cares away. Adds a thousand woods and meads;

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

When will the landscape tire the view ! And sinks the newly-risen hill.

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

The woody vallies, warin and low ; What a landscape lies below!

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

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

The pleasant seat, the ruin'd tow's, Does the face of Nature show

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

The town and village, dome and farm, And, swelling to einbrace the light,

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

As pearls upon an Ethiop's arm. Old castles on the cliffs arise,

See on the mountain's southern side, Proudly low'ring in the skies ;

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

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

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

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

A step, methinks

may pass the stream, Gilds the fleeces of the flocks,

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

So we mistake the future's face, Below me trces ungumber'd rise,

Ey'd through Hope’s deluding glass Beautiful in various dyes :

As yon suminits soft and fair, The gloomy pine, the poplar blue,

Clad in colors of the air, The yellow beech, the sable yew:

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

Barren, brown, and rough appear ; The stardy oak with broad spread boughs ;

Still we tread the same coarse way;
And, beyond the purple grove,

The present 's still a cloudy day.
Haunt of Phillis, queen of love !
Gaudy as the op'ning dawn,

may I with myself agree,

And never covet what I see !
Lics á long and level lawn,

Content me with a humble shade,
On which a dark hill, steep and high,
Holds and charms the wand'ring ege.

My passions tam'd, my wishes laid :

For while our wishes wildly roll,
Deep are his feet in Towy's flood;
His sides are cloth'd with waving wood;

We banish quiet from the soul :
And ansient towers crown his brow,

'Tis thus the busy beat the air, That cast an awful look below ;

And misers gather wcalth and care. Whose ragged walls the ivy creeps,

Now, e'en now, my joys run high, And with her armo from fálling keeps :

As on the inountain turf I lie ; So both in safety from the wind

While the wanton Ztephyr sings, On mutual dependence find.

And in the vale persuines his wings; "Tis now the raven's bleak abode,

While the waters murmur deep; "Tis now th' apartment of the toad ;

While the shepherd sharins his sheep; And there the fox securely feeds,

While the birds unbounded fly, And there the pois'nous adder breeds,

And with music fill the sky, Conceal'd in ruins, moss, and weeds ;

Now, e'en now, my joys run high. While, ever and anon, there falls

Be fall, yc courts! be great who will; Hage heaps of hoary tuoulder'd walls. Scarch for peace with all your




Open wide the lofty door,

Nor by son 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 she now be found : Ju vain ye search the dome, of Care!

In all the wide-stretch'd prospects ample Grass and Aower Quict treads,

No more iny mournful eye (bound, On the meads and mountain-leads,

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

! But the sad sacred carth where her dear relies lie. Ever by each other's side ; And orien, by the murm'ring rill,

O shades of Hagley, where is now your boast? Hlears the thrushi, while all is still,

Your bright inhabitant is lost.
Within the groves of Grongar Hill.

You sle preferr'd to all the gay resorts
Where female vanity might wish to shine,

The porip of cities, and ihe pride of courts. $ 93. A Monody on the Death of his Lady. Her imodest beauties shunn'd the public eye: By GEORGE Lord LYTTLETON.

To your sequester'd dales, "Ipse cava solans ægrum testudine amorem,

And Aower-embroider'd vales, *Te, dulcis, conjux, te solo in litiore secum, From an admiring world she chose to fir. " Te veniente die, te decedente canebat.'

With Nature there reurd, and Nature's God, Ar length (scap'd from ev'ry human eye,

The silent paths of wisdom trod, From ev'ry duty, ev'ry care,

(share, And banish d every passion from her breast; That in niy nournful thoughts might claim a

But those, the gentlest and the best, Or force my tears iheir flowing stream to dry;

Whosc boly flame's with energy divine. Beneath the gloom of this embow'ring shade,

The virtuous heart enliven and improve, This lone retreat for tender sorrow inade, The conjugal and the maternal love. I now may give my burthen'd heart relief,

Sweet babes! who like the liule playful fawos, And pour forth all my stores of grief;

Where wont to trip along these verdant Of griet surpassing erery other woe,

By your delighted mother's side, (lawns, Far as the purest bliss, the happiest love,

Who now your infant steps shall guide? Can on the ennobled mind bestow,

Ah! where is now thehand,

whose tender care, Exceeds the vulzar joys that move Our gross desires, inelegant and low.

Toevery virtue would have forin'd your youth,

And strew'd with How'rs the thorny ways of Ye tufted groves, ye gently-falling rills,

truih? Ye 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!


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

And, drooping o'er thy Lucy's grave, (vve, And taste retin’d, your rural charms explore. Perform the duties that you doubly owe, Clos'd are those beauteous eyes in endless night, Now, she, alas! is gone, Thosebeauteouseyes, wherebeaming us'd toshine. Fromfollyandfrom vice their helpless age to save? Reason's pure light, and Virtue's spark divine. Oft would the Dryads of these woods rejoice

Where were re, Muses, when relentless Fate To hear her heavenly voice ;

From these fond arms your fair disciple tore; For her despising, when she deigned to sing,

From these fond arms, that rainly stroke The sweetest songsters of the spring;

With hapless ineffectual love, The woodlark and the linnet pleas'd no more:

Tu guard her bosom from the mortal blow! The nightingale was mute,

Could not your favoring pow'r, Aõnian And ev'ry shepherd's flute

maids, Was cast in silent scorn away,

Couldnot,alas! your power prolong her date; While all attenderl to her sweeter lay.

For whom so oft,in these inspiring shades, Ye larks and linnets, now resume your song:

Or under Camden’smoss-cladmountains hoar,
And thou, melodious Philomel,

You open'd all your sacred store ;
Again thy plaintive story tell

Whate'er your antient sages taught,
For death has stopp'd that tuneful tongue,

Your antient bards sublimely thought Whose music could alone your warbling notes And bade her raptur'd breast with all your In vain I look around,


spirit glow? O'er all the well-known ground,

Nor then did Pindus or Castalia's plain, My Lucy's wonted footsteps to descry : Or Aganippe's fount, your steps detain, Where oft we us'd to walk ;

Nor in the Thespian valleys did you play; Where oft in tender talk

Nor then on Mincio's bank We saw the summer sun go down the sky;

Beset with osier's dank, • The Mincio suns by Mantua, the birth-place of Virgil.


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your smiles,

, DESCRIPTIVE, &c. Nor where Clicumnus * rolls his gentle To every want, and every woe,' stream,

To guili itselt when in distress, Nor where, through hanging woods, The balm of pity would impart; Steep Aniv pours his floods,

And all relief that bounty could bestow ! Nor yet where Veles 1 or llissus § stray. E'en for the kid or lamb, that pour'd its life Ill does it now beseem,

Beneath the bloody kvife, That, of your guardian care bereft,

Her gentle tears would fall; To dire disease and death your darling should Tears, from sireet Virtue's sourcē, benevolent be left.

Not only good and kind,
Now what avails it, that in early bloom, But strong and clevated was her mind!
When light fantastic toys

A spirit that with noble pride
Are all her sex's joys,

Could look superior down With you she search'd the wit' of Greece On Fortune's simile or frown; and Rume;

That couldl, without regret or pain,
And all that in her latter days,

To Virtue's los est duly sacrifice,
To emulate her aniient praise,

Or Interest or Anebition's highest prize :
Italia's happy genius could produce; That, injur'd or offended, never tried
Or what the Gallic fire

Its digniry by vengeance to maintain, Bright sparkling could inspire,

But by inagnanimous disdain,
By all the Graces temper'd and refind; A wit that, temperately bright,
Or what, in Britain's isle,

With inoffensive light
Most favor’d with

All pleasing shone ; nor ever pass'd
The pow'rs of Reason and of Fancy join'd The decent hounds that Wisdom's sober hand,
To full perfection have conspir'd to raise ? And sweet Benevolence's mild command,
Ah! what is now the use

And bashful Modesty, before it cast, Of all diose trcasures that enrich'd her inind, A prudence undeceiving, undeceiv's, To, black Oblivion's gloom for ever now.con- That nor too little nor tow much believ'd; sign'd!

That scorn'd unjust Suspicion's coward fear, At least, ye Nine, her spotless name And, without weakness, knew to be sincere. "Tis yours from death to save,

Such Lucy was, when in her fairest days, And in the temple of immortal Fame

Amidst th' acclaim of universal praisc. With golden characters her worth engrave.

In life's and glory's freshest bloom, (tomb. Come then, ye virgin sisters, come,

Death came remorseless on, and sunk her to the And strew with choicest flow's. her hal- So, where the silent streams of Liris glide, low'd tomb;

In the soft bosom of Campania's vale, But foremost thou, in sable vestment clad, When now the wint'ry tempests all are Aed,

With accents sweet and sad, furn And genial summer breathes her gentle gale, Thou plaintive Muse, whom o'er bis Laura's

The verdant orange lifts its beauteous head; Unhappy Petrarch callid to mourn; From ev'ry branch the balmy Aow'rets rise, O come, and to this fairer Laura pay On ev'ry bongh the golden fruits are seen; A more impassion'd lear, a more pathetic lay! With cdors sweet it tills the smiling skies,

Tell how each beauty of her mind and face The wood-nymphs tend it, and i Talian Was brightend by some sweet pëcilliar queen:

How eloquent in ev'ry look [grace? But, in the midst of all its blooming pride, Thro' her expressive eyes hier soul distinctly A sudden blast from Apenninus blows, spoke!

Cold with perpetual snows; Tell how her manners, by the world refin'd, The tender blighted plant shrinks up its leaves, Left all the tajnt of modish vice behind, Arise, O Petrarch from th' Elysian bow'rs, And make cach charın of polish'd courts With never-fading myrtles twind, With candid Truth's simplicity, (agree And fragrant with arnbrosial flow'rs, And unsorrupted Innocence !

Where to thy Laura thou agaia are join'd; Tell how to more than manly sense

Arise, and bither bring the silvet lyre, She join'd the soft'ning influence

Tua'd by thy skilful hand, Of inore than feinale tenderness :

To the soft voies of elegant desire, How, in the thoughtless daysef wealth and joy, With which 'o'er many a land Which oft the care of others' good destroy ; Was spread the futne of ihý disast'rous lore; Her kindly-melting hcart,

To me resign the rocal shell, "The Clitumnus is a river of Umbria, the residence of Propertius,

The Anio runs Thiotych' Tibur or Tivoli, where Horace had a villa, 1 Tire Meles is a river of ionią, irono benet Homer, supposed to be born on ito banks, is called Mellisigenes. s 'The Wisus is a river'at 'Athéns.' 380 10.:7|


(and dies.

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