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Sir Charles Murray, of Ratcliff, too, I have not any captaine more
His sisters sonne was hee;

Of such account as hee.”
Sir David Lamb, so well esteem'd,

Like tydings to King Henry came,
Yet saved cold not bee.

Within as short a space,
And the Lord Maxwell in like case That Percy of Northumberland
Did with Erle Douglas dye :

Was slaine in Chevy-Chese :
Of twenty hundred Scottish speres,

“Now, God be with him," said our Scarce fifty-five did flye.

king, Of fifteen hundred Englishmen,

“ Sith it will noe better bee; Went home but fifty-three ;

I trust I have, within my realme, The rest were slaine in Chevy-Chase, Five hundred as good as hee : Under the greene woode tree.

Yett shall not Scotts, nor Scotland say, Next day did many widdowes come, But I will vengeance take : Their husbands to bewayle ;

I'll be revenged on them all, They washt their wounds in brinish For brave Erle Percyes sake.” teares,

This vow full well the king perform'd But all wold not prevayle.

After, at Humbledowne; Theyr bodyes bathed in purple gore, In one day, fifty knights were slayne, They bare with them away :

With lords of great renowne : They kist them dead a thousand times,

And of the rest, of small account, Ere they were cladd in clay.

Did many thousands dye : The newes was brought tu Eddenborrow, Thus endeth the hunting of Chevy-Chase,

Where Scottlands king did raigne, Made by the Erle Percy. That brave Erle Douglas suddenlye

God save our king, and bless this land Was with an arrow slaine :

With plentye, joy, and peace; “O, heavy newes,” King James did say, And grant henceforth, that foule debate “Scottland may witnesse bee,

'Twixt noblemen may cease.

34. Sir Patrick Spens.

The king sits in Dunfermline town,

Drinking the blude-red wine ; “O wharel will I get a skeely 2 skipper,

To sail this new ship o' mine!”O up and spake an eldern knight,

Sat at the king's right knee,-
“ Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailor,

That ever sail'd the sea."
Our king has written a braid letter,

And seal'd it with his hand,
And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens,

Was walking on the strand. “ To Noroway, to Noroway,

To Noroway o'er the faem; The king's daughter of Noroway,

'Tis thou maun bring her hame.”— The first word that Sir Patrick read,

Sae loud loud laughed he;
The neist 3 word that Sir Patrick read,

The tear blinded his e'e.
“O wha is this has done this deed,

And tauld the king o' me,
To send us out, at this time of the year,

To sail upon the sea ?

Be it wind, be it weet, be it hail, be it

sleet,
Our ship must sail the faem;
The king's daughter of Noroway,

'Tis we must fetch her hame."
They hoysed their sails on Monenday

morn,
Wi' a' the speed they may;
They ha'e landed in Noroway,

Upon a Wodensday.
They hadna been a week, a week,

In Noroway, but twae,
When that the lords o’ Noroway

Began aloud to say-
“ Ye Scottishiten spend a' our king's

goud,
And a' our queenis fee.”-
Ye lie, ye lie, ye liars loud !

Fu' loud I hear ye lie;
For I ha'e brought as much white nionie,

As gane my men and me,
And I ha'e brought a half-fout of gude

red goud,
Out o'er the sea wi' me.

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Make ready, make ready, my merry

men a'!
Our gude ship sails the morn.”—
“ Now, ever alake, my master dear,

I fear a deadly storm !
I saw the new moon, late yestreen,

Wi’ the auld moon in her arm;
And, if we gang to sea, master,

I fear we'll come to harm.”
They hadna sail'd a league, a league,

A league but barely three,
When the lift grew dark, and the wind

blew loud,
And gurly grew the sea.
The ankers brak, and the topmasts lap,

It was sic a deadly storm ;
And the waves cam o'er the broken ship,

Till a' her sides were torn.
“O where will I get a gude sailor,

To take my helm in hand,
Til I get up to the tall top-mast,

To see if I can spy land ?" “O here am I, a sailor gude,

To take the helm in hand,
Till you go up to the tall top-mast;

But I fear you'll ne'er spy land.”-
He hadna gane a step, a step,

A step but barely ane,
When a boult flew out of our goodly ship,

And the salt sea it came in.
“Gae, fetch a web o' the silken claith,

Another o' the twine,

And wap them into our ship's side,

And let nae the sea come in."
They fetch'd a web o' the silken claith,

Another o' the twine,
And they wapp'd them round that gude

ship's side,
But still the sea came in,
O laith, laith, were our gude Scots lords

To weet 5 their cork-heel'd shoon ! 6
But lang or: a' the play was play'd,

They wat their hats aboon.8
And mony was the feather bed,

That floated on the faem ;
And mony was the gude lord's son,

That never mair cam hame.
The ladyes wrang their fingers white,

The maidens tore their hair,
A' for the sake of their true loves,-

For them they'll see nae mair.
O lang, lang, may the ladyes sit,

Wi' their fans into their hand,
Before they see Sir Patrick Spens

Come sailing to the strand !
And lang, lang, may the maidens sit,
With their goud kaims 9 in their

hair,
A' waiting for their ain dear loves !

Por them they'll see nae mair.
Half owre, half owre to Aberdour,

'Tis fifty fathoms deep,
And there lies gude Sir Patrick Spens,

Wi' the Scots lords at his feet!

5 To wet.

6 Shoes.

7 Before.

8 Above.

9 Combs.

35. The Two Corbies. There were two corbies sat on a tree His hound is to the hunting gane, Large and black as black might be ; His hawk to fetch the wild fowl hame, And one the other gan say,

His lady's away with another mate, Where shall we go and dine to-day? So we shall make our dinner sweet; Shall we go dine by the wild salt sea ? Our dinner's sure, our feasting free, Shall we go dine 'neath the greenwood Come, and dine by the greenwood tree. tree?

Ye shall sit on his white hause-bane, As I sat on the deep sea sand,

I will pick out his bony blue een ; I saw a fair ship nigh at land,

Ye'll take a tress of his yellow hair, I waved my wings, I bent my beak, To theak yere nest when it grows The ship sunk, and I heard a shriek ; The gowden? down on his young chin There they lie, one, two, and three, Will do to sewe my young ones in. I shall dine by the wild salt sea.

0, cauld and bare will his bed be, Come, I will show ye a sweeter sight, When winter storms sing in the tree; A lonesome glen, and a new-slain knight; At his head a turf, at his feet a stone, His blood yet on the grass is hot, He will sleep nor hear the maiden's His sword half-drawn, his shafts unshot,

moan; And no one kens that he lies there, O'er his white bones the birds shail fly, But his hawk, his hound, and his lady fair. The wild deer bound, ard foxes cry. · The neck-bone-a phrase for the neck.

2 Golden.

bare ;

CHAPTER IV.

THE ELIZABETHAN POETS (INCLUDING THE REIGN OF JAMES 1.).

36. George Gascoigne. 1530-1577. (Manual, p. 70.)

THE VANITY OF THE BEAUTIFUL.
They course the glass, and let it take no rest;
They pass and spy who gazeth on their face ;
They darkly ask whose beauty seemeth best ;
They hark and mark who marketh most their grace ;
They stay their steps, and stalk a stately pace;
They jealous are of every sight they see ;
They strive to seem, but never care to be.

*

*

*

What grudge and grief our joys may then suppress,
To see our hairs, which yellow were as gold,
Now grey as glass; to feel and find them less ;
To scrape the bald skull which was wont to hold
Our lovely locks with curling sticks contrould;
To look in glass, and spy Sir Wrinkle's chair
Set fast on fronts which erst were sleek and fair.

*

37. Thomas Sackville, Lord Buckhurst. (Manual, p. 71.)

ALLEGORICAL PERSONAGES IN HELL.

From the Induction to the Mirrour for Magistrates.
And first within the porch and jaws of Hell
Sat deep Remorse of Conscience, all besprent
With tears; and to herself oft would she tell
Her wretchedness, and cursing never stent 1
To sob and sigh ; but ever thus lament
With thoughtful care, as she that all in vain
Would wear and waste continually in pain.

1 Stopped.

Her eyes unstedfast, rolling here and there,
Whirld on each place, as place that vengeance brought,
So was her mind continually in fear,
Toss'd and tormented by the tedious thought
Of those detested crimes which she had wrought :
With dreadful cheer and looks thrown to the sky,
Wishing for death, and yet she could not die.
Next saw we Dread, all trembling how he shook,
With foot uncertain proffer'd here and there;
Benumm'd of speech, and with a ghastly look,
Search'd every place, all pale and dead for fear;
His cap upborn with staring of his hair,
Stoyn'd2 and amazed at his shade for dread,
And fearing greater dangers than was need.
And next within the entry of this lake
Sat fell Revenge, gnashing her teeth for ire,
Devising means how she may vengeance take,
Never in rest till she have her desire;
But frets within so far forth with the fire
Of wreaking flames, that now determines she
To die by death, or veng’d by death to be.
When fell Revenge, with bloody foul pretence,
Had shewed herself, as next in order set,
With trembling limbs we softly parted thence,
Till in our eyes another sight we met,
When from my heart a sigh forth with I fet,3
Rewing, alas ! upon the woeful plight
Of Misery, that next appeard in sight.
His face was lean and some-deal pin'd away,
And eke his handes consumed to the bone,
But what his body was I cannot say ;
For on his carcass raiment had he none,
Save clouts and patches, pieced one by one;
With staff in hand, and scrip on shoulders cast,
His chief defence against the winters blast.
His food, for most, was wild fruits of the tree;
Unless soinetime some crumbs fell to his share,
Which in his wallet long, God wot, kept he,
As on the which full daintily would he fare.
His drink the running stream, his cup the bare

2 Astonished,

3 Fetched.

4

Of his palm closed, his bed the hard cold ground;
To this poor life was Misery ybound.
Whose wretched state, when we had well beheld,
With tender ruth on him and on his feres,
In thoughtful cares forth then our pace we held,
And, by and by, another shape appears,
Of greedy Care, still brushing up the breres, 5
His knuckles knob’d, his flesh deep dented in,
With tawed hands and deep ytanned skin.
The morrow gray no sooner had begun
To spread his light, even peeping in our eyes,
When he is up and to his work yrun;
And let the night's black misty mantles rise,
And with foul dark never so much disguise
The fair bright day, yet ceaseth he no while,
But hath his candles to prolong his toil.
And next in order sad Old Age we found,
His beard all hoar, his eyes hollow and blind ;
With drooping cheer still poring on the ground,
As on the place where Nature him assign'd
To rest, when that the sisters had entwin'd
His vital thread, and ended with their knife,
The fleeting course of fast declining life.
Crook’d-back'd he was, tooth-shaken, and blear-ey'd,
Went on three feet, and sometime crept on four;
With old lame bones that rattled by his side,
His scalp all pill’d, and he with eld forlore,
His wither'd fist still knocking at Death's door ;
Trembling and driv’ling as he draws his breath,
For brief, the shape and messenger of Death.

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Edmund Spenser. 1553-1599. (Manual, pp. 72-78.)

From the Faëry Queen.
38. UNA AND THE LION. Book I., Canto 3.
One day, nigh wearie of the yrkesome way,
From her unhastie beast she did alight;
And on the grasse her dainty limbs did lay
In secrete shadow, far from all mens sight;

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