1

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;

50

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.

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,
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

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.

75

80

The godness myht y never telle,
That with kyng Edward was:
Kyng, as thou art cleped conquerour,
In uch bataille thou hadest prys;
God bringe thi soule to the honour,

That ever wes, ant ever ys.

85

Here follow in the original three lines more, which, as seemingly redundant, we chuse to throw to the bottom of the page, viz.

AN ORIGINAL BALLAD BY CHAUCER.

This little sonnet, which hath escaped all the editors of Chaucer's works, is now printed for the first time from an ancient MS. in the Pepysian library, that contains many other poems of its venerable author. The versification is of that species, which the French call Rondeau, very naturally Englished by our honest countrymen Round O. Though so early adopted by them, our ancestors had not the honour of inventing it: Chaucer picked it up, along with other better things, among the neighbouring nations. A fondness for laborious trifles hath always prevailed in the dark ages of literature. The Greek poets have had their 'wings' and 'axes:' the great father of English poesy may therefore be pardoned one poor solitary Rondeau.-Geofrey Chaucer died Oct. 25, 1400, aged 72.

I. 1.

YOURE two eyn will sle me sodenly,

I

may

the beaute of them not sustene, So wendeth it thorowout my herte kene.

2.

And but your words will helen hastely
My hertis wound, while that it is grene,
Youre two eyn will sle me sodenly.

3.

Upon my trouth I sey yow feithfully,

That ye ben of my liffe and deth the quene; For with my deth the trouth shal be sene. Youre two eyn, &c.

II. 1.

So hath youre beauty fro your herte chased Pitee, that me n' availeth not to pleyn;

For daunger halt

your mercy in his cheyne.

2.

Giltless my deth thus have ye purchased;
I sey yow soth, me nedeth not to fayn:
So hath your beaute fro your herte chased.

3.

Alas, that nature hath in yow compassed So grete beaute, that no man may atteyn To mercy, though he sterve for the peyn. So hath youre beaute, &c.

III. 1.

Syn I fro love escaped am so fat,
I nere thinke to ben in his prison lene;
Syn I am fre, I counte hym not a bene.

2.

He may answere,

this and that,

and sey I do no fors, I speak ryght as I mene;

Syn I fro love escaped am so fat.

3.

Love hath my name i-strike out of his sclat,
And he is strike out of my bokes clene:
For ever mo [ther 1] is non other mene.
Syn I fro love escaped, &c.

IV.

THE TURNAMENT OF TOTTENHAM:

OR, THE WOOEING, WINNING, AND WEDDING OF TIBBE, THE REEV'S DAUGHTER THERE.

It does honour to the good sense of this nation, that while all Europe was captivated with the bewitching charms of Chivalry and Romance, two of our writers in the rudest times could see through the false glare that surrounded them, and discover whatever was absurd in them both. Chaucer wrote his 'Rhyme of sir Thopas' in ridicule of the latter; and in the following poem we have a humorous burlesque of the former. Without pretending to decide, whether the institution of chivalry was upon the whole useful or pernicious in the rude ages, a question that has lately employed many good writers, it evidently encouraged a vindictive spirit, and gave such force to the custom of duelling, that there is little hope of its being abolished. This, together with the fatal consequences which often attended the diversion of the Tournament, was sufficient to render it obnoxious to the graver part of mankind. Accordingly, the Church early denounced its censures against it, and the State was often prevailed on to attempt its suppression. But fashion and opinion are superior to authority; and the proclamations against tilting were as little regarded in those times, as the laws against duelling are in these. This did not escape the discernment of our poet, who easily perceived that inveterate opinions must be attacked by other weapons, besides proclamations and censures; he accordingly made use of the keen one of ridicule. With this view he has here introduced, with admirable humour, a parcel of clowns, imitating all the solemnities of the tourney. Here we have the regular challenge-the appointed day-the lady for the prize-the formal preparations-the display of armour-the scutcheons and devices-the oaths taken on entering the lists -the various accidents of the encounter-the victor leading off the prize,— and the magnificent feasting,-with all the other solemn fopperies that usually attended the pompous Tournament. And how acutely the sharpness of the author's humour must have been felt in those days, we may learn, from what we can perceive of its keenness now, when time has so much blunted the edge of his ridicule.

1 This, MS.-2 See [Mr. Hurd's] Letters on Chivalry, 8vo. 1762. Memoirs de la Chevalerie, par M. de la Curne des Palais, 1759, 2 tom. 12mo. &c.