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Richard Penlake was a cheerful man,

Cheerful and frank and free,

But he led a sad life with Rebecca his wife, For a terrible shrew was she.

Richard Penlake a scolding would take,

Till patience avail'd no longer,

Then Richard l'enlake his crab-stick would take, And show her that he was the stronger.

Rebecca his wife had often wish'd

To sit in St Michael's chair;

For she should be the mistress then

If she had once sat there.

It chanced that Richard Penlake fell sick,
They thought he would have died;
Rebecca his wife made a vow for his life

As she knelt by his bed-side.

«Now hear my prayer, St Michael! and spare My husband's life,» quoth she;

« And to thine altar we will go,
Six marks to give to thee.»

Richard Penlake repeated the vow,
For woundily sick was he;

« Save me, St Michael, and we will go
Six marks to give to thee.»>

When Richard grew well, Rebecca his wife Teazed him by night and by day:

«O mine own dear! for you I fear, If we the vow delay.»>

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KING HENRY V. AND THE HERMIT OF DREUX.

While Henry V lay at the siege of Dreux, an honest Hermit unknown to him, came and told him the great evils he brought on Christendom by his unjust ambition, who usurped the kingdom of France, against all manner of right, and contrary to the will of God; wherefore in his holy name he threatened him with a severe and sudden punishment if he desisted not from his enterprise.— Henry took this exhortation either as an idle whimsey, or a sugges tion of the dauphin's, and was but the more confirmed in his design. But the blow soon followed the threatening; for within some few months after be was smitten with a strange and incurable disease.— MEZERAY.

He past unquestion'd through the camp,
Their heads the soldiers bent
In silent reverence, or begg'd

A blessing as he went;
And so the Hermit past along

And reached the royal tent.

King Henry sate in his tent alone,
The map before him lay,

Fresh conquests he was planning there

To grace the future day.

King Henry lifted up his eyes

The intruder to behold;

With reverence he the hermit saw,

For the holy man was old,
His look was gentle as a Saint's,
And yet his
eye was bold.

« Repent thee, Henry, of the wrongs Which thou hast done this land!

O King, repent in time, for know
The judgment is at hand.

I have past forty years of peace
Beside the river Blaise,

But what a weight of woe hast thou
Laid on my latter days!

«I used to see along the stream The white sail sailing down, That wafted food in better times To yonder peaceful town.

« Henry! I never now behold
The white sail sailing down;
Famine, Disease, and Death, and Thou
Destroy that wretched town.

<<I used to hear the traveller's voice
As here he past along,

Or maiden as she loiter'd home
Singing her even song.

«No traveller's voice may now be heard, In fear he hastens by,

But I have heard the village maid
In vain for succour cry.

«I used to see the youths row down
And watch the dripping oar,
As pleasantly their viol's tones
Came soften'd to the shore.

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KING CHARLEMAIN.

François Petrarque, fort renommé entre les Poëtes Italiens, discourant en une epistre son voyage de France et d'Allemagne, nous raconte que passant par la ville d'Aix, il apprit de quelques Prestres une histoire prodigieuse qu'ils tenoient de main en main pour tres veritable. Qui estoit que Charles le Grand, apres avoir conquesté plusieurs pays, s'esperdit de telle façon en l'amour d'une simple femme, que mettant tout honneur et reputation in arriere, il oublia non seulement les affaires de son royaume, mais aussi le soing de sa propre personne, au grand desplaisir de chacun; estant seulement ententif à courtiser ceste dame: laquelle par bonheur commenca à s'aliter d'une grosse maladie, qui lui apport à la mort. Dont les Princes et grands Seigneurs furent fort resjouis, esperans que par ceste mort, Charles reprendroit comme devant et ses esprits et les affaires du royaume en main: toutesfois il se trouva tellement infatué de ceste amour, qu'encores cherissoit-il ce cadaver, l'embrassant, baisant, accolant de la mesme façon que devant, et au lieu de prester l'oreille aux legations qui luy survenoient, il l'entretenoit de mille bayes, comme s'il eust esté plein de vie. Ce corps commençoit dejà non seulement à mal sentir, mais aussi se tournoit en putrefaction, et neantmoins n'y avoit aucun de ses favoris qui luy en osast parler; dont advint que l'Archevesque Turpin mieux advisé que les autres, pourpensa que telle chose ne pouvoit estre advenue sans quelque sor cellerie. Au moyeu de quoy espiant un jour I heure que le Roy s'estoit absenté de la chambre, commença de fouiller le corps de toutesparts, finalement trouva dans sa bouche au dessous de sa langue un anneau qu'il luy osta. De jour mesme Charlemaigue retournant sur ses premieres brisees, se trouva fort estonné de voir une carcaisse ainsi puante, Parquoy, comme s'il se fust resveillé d'un profond sommeil, commanda que l'on l'ensevelist promptement. Ce qui fut fait; mais en contr' eschange de ceste folie, il tourna tous ses pensemens vers l'Archevesque porteur de cest anneau, ne pouvant estre de la en avant sans luy, et le suivant en tous les endroits. Quoy voyant ce sage Prelat, et craiguant que cest anneau ne tombast en mains de quelque autre, le jetta dans un lac prochain de la ville. Depuis lequel temps on dit que ce Roy se trouve si espris de l'amour du lieu, qu'il se desempara la ville d'Aix, où il bastit un Palais, et

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Les Catalans ayant appris que S. Romuald vouloit quitter leurs pays, en furent très-affligés; ils delibérérent sur les moyens de l'en empêcher, et le seul qu'ils imaginèrent comme le plus sûr, fut de le tuer, afin de profiter du moins de ses reliques et des guerisons et autres miracles qu'elles opéreroient après sa mort. La dévotion que les Catalans avoient pour lui, ne plut point du tout à S. Romuald; il usa de stratagème et leur échappa.-ST Foix, Essais Historiques sur Paris, t. v. p. 163.

St Foix, who is often more amusing than trustworthy, has fathered this story upon the Spaniards, though it belongs to his own countrymen, the circumstance having happened when Romuald was a monk of the Convent of St Michael's, in Aquitaine. It is thus related by Yepes. En esta ocasion sucedió una cosa bien extraordinaria, porque los naturales de la tierra donde estava el monasterio de San Miguel, estimavan en tanto a San Romoaldo, que foltandoles la paciencia de que se quisiesse yr, dieron en un terrible disparate, a quien llama muy bien San Pedro Damiano Impia Pietas, piedad cruel: porque queriendose yr San Romoaldo, determinaron de matarle, para que ya que no le podian tener en su tierra vivo, alomenos gozassen de sus reliquias y cuerpo santo. Supo San Romoaldo la determinacion bestial y indiscreta de aquella gente: y tomó una prudente resolucion, porque imitando a David, que fingió que estava loco, por no caer en manos de sus enemigos, assi Sau Romoaldo se hizo raer la cabeça, y con algunos ademanes, y palabras mal concertadas que dezia, le tuvieron por hombre que le avia faltado el juyzio, con que se asseguraron los naturales de la tierra que ya perpetuamente le tendrian en ella y con semejante estratagema y traça tuvo lugar San Romoaldo du hurtarse, y a cencerros topados (como dizen) huyr de aquella tierra, y llegar a Italia a la ciudad de Ravena.-Coronica General de la Orden de San Benito, t. v, ff. 274.

For dust and ashes to fall out with dirt;
And then he only hung it out in the rain,
And put it on again.

There has been perilous work
With him and the Devil there in yonder cell;
For Satan used to maul him like a Turk.
There they would sometimes fight
All through a winter's night,

From sun-set until morn,

He with a cross, the Devil with his horn;
The Devil spitting fire with might and main
Enough to make St Michael half afraid;
He splashing holy water till he made
His red hide hiss again,

And the hot vapour fill'd the smoking cell.
This was so common that his face became
All black and yellow with the brimstone flame,
And then he smelt,-Oh Lord! how he did smell!

<< Then, Sir! to see how he would mortify
The flesh! If any one had dainty fare,
Good man, he would come there,
And look at all the delicate things, and cry,
'O Belly, Belly!

You would be gormandizing now I know;
But it shall not be so!-

Home to your bread and water-home, I tell ye!'»

<«<But,»> quoth the Traveller, «wherefore did he leave A flock that knew his saintly worth so well?»> "Why,» said the Landlord, «Sir, it so befell He heard unluckily of our intent To do him a great honour: and, you know, He was not covetous of fame below, And so by stealth one night away he went.»>

Villegas in his Flos Sanctorum (February 7th), records some of St Romuald's achievements against the Devil and his imps. He records also the other virtues of the Saint, as specified in the poem. They are more fully stated by Yepes. Tenia tres cilicios, los quales mudava de treynta en treynta dias: no los labava, sino ponialos al ayre, y à la agua que llovia, con que se matavan algunas inmundicias, que se criavan en ellos."-ff. 298. Quando alguna «We thought perhaps that he might one day leave us;

vez era tentado de la gula, y desseava comer de algun manjar, tomavale en las manos, miravale, oliale, y despues que estava despierto el apetito, dezia, O gula, gula, quan dulce y suave te parece este manjar! pero no te ha de entrar en provecho! y entonces se mortificava, y le dexava, y le embiava entero, o al silleriço, o a los pobres." -Ibid. More concerning St Romuald may be seen in the Omniana, vol. i.

ONE day, it matters not to know How many hundred years ago, A Frenchman stopt at an inn door: The Landlord came to welcome him, and chat Of this and that,

For he had seen the Traveller there before.

<«< Doth holy Romuald dwell
Still in his cell?»

The Traveller ask'd, «or is the old man dead?»
«No; he has left his loving flock, and we
So good a Christian never more shall see,»>
The Landlord answer'd, and he shook his head.

« Ah, Sir! we knew his worth! If ever there did live a Saint on earth!Why, Sir, he always used to wear a shirt For thirty days, all seasons, day and night: Good man, he knew it was not right

<<What might this honour be?» the Traveller cried; «Why, Sir, the Host replied,

And then should strangers have

The good man's grave;

A loss like that would naturally grieve us, For he 'll be made a Saint of to be sure. Therefore we thought it prudent to secure His relics while we might; And so we meant to strangle him one night.»

THE KING OF THE CROCODILES.

The people at Isna, in Upper Egypt, have a superstition concerning Crocodiles similar to that entertained in the West Indies; they say there is a King of them who resides near Isna, and who has ears, but no tail; and he possesses an uncommon regal quality, that of doing no harm. Some are bold enough to assert that they have seen him.-Brown's Travels.'

«Now, Woman, why without your veil?
And wherefore do you look so pale?
And, Woman, why do you groan so sadly,
And wherefore beat your bosom madly?»>

Mr Browne had probably forgotten one of our legal axioms, or he would not have conceived that the privilege of doing no wrong was peculiar to this long-car'd Sovereign.

«Oh! I have lost my darling boy,
In whom my soul had all its joy;
And I for sorrow have torn my veil,
And sorrow hath made my very heart pale.

« Oh, I have lost my darling child,
And that's the loss that makes me wild;
He stoop'd to the river down to drink,
And there was a Crocodile by the brink.

«He did not venture in to swim,
He only stoop'd to drink at the brim;
But under the reeds the Crocodile lay,
And struck with his tail and swept him away.

«Now take me in your boat, I pray,
For down the river lies my way,
And me to the Reed-Island bring,
For I will go to the Crocodile King.

«The King of the crocodiles never does wrong,
He has no tail so stiff and strong,
He has no tail to strike and slay,
But he has ears to hear what I say.

«And to the King I will complain,
How my poor child was wickedly slain;
The King of the Crocodiles he is good,
And I shall have the murderer's blood.>>

The man replied, «No, Woman, no,
To the Island of Reeds I will not go;
I would not for any worldly thing
See the face of the Crocodile King.»

"Then lend me now your little boat,
And I will down the river float.
I tell thee that no worldly thing
Shall keep me from the Crocodile King.»

The Woman she leapt into the boat,
And down the river alone did she float,
And fast with the stream the boat proceeds,
And now she is come to the Island of Reeds.

The King of the Crocodiles there was seen,
He sat upon the eggs of the Queen,
And all around a numerous rout
The young Prince Crocodiles crawl'd about.

The Woman shook every limb with fear,
As she to the Crocodile King came near,
For never man without fear and awe
The face of his Crocodile Majesty saw.

She fell upon her bended knee,
And said, «O King, have pity on me,
For I have lost my darling child,
And that's the loss that makes me wild.

«A Crocodile ate him for his food;
Now let me have the murderer's blood,
Let me have vengeance for my boy,
The only thing that can give me joy.

"I know that you, Sire! never do wrong,
You have no tail so stiff and strong,
You have no tail to strike and slay,
But you have ears to hear what I say.»

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Betweene the Cytee and the Chirche of Bethlehem, is the felde Floridus, that is to seyne, the felde Boriched. For als moche as a fayre Mayden was blamed with wrong and sclaundred, that sche badd don fornicacioun, for whiche cause sche was demed to the dethe, and to be brent in that place, to the whiche sche was ladd. And as the fyre began to brenne about hire, she made her preyeres to oure Lord, that als wissely as sche was not gyity of that synne, that he wold help hire, and make it to be knowen to alle men of his mercyfulle grace; and whanne sche had thus seyd, sche entered into the fuyer, and anon was the fuyer quenched and oute, and the brondes that weren brennynge, becomen white Roseres, falle of roses, and theise werein the first Roseres and roses, both white and rede, that every ony man saugbe. And thus was this Maiden saved be the grace of God.-The Voiage and Traivaile of Sir John Maundeville.

NAY, EDITH! spare the Rose;-perhaps it lives,
And feels the noon-tide sun, and drinks refresh'd
The dews of night; let not thy gentle hand
Tear its life-strings asunder, and destroy
The sense of being!-Why that infidel smile?
Come, I will bribe thee to be merciful;
And thou shalt have a tale of other days,
For I am skill'd in legendary lore,

So thou wilt let it live. There was a time

Ere this, the freshest, sweetest flower that blooms,
Bedeck'd the bowers of earth. Thou hast not heard
How first by miracle its fragrant leaves
Spread to the sun their blushing loveliness.

There dwelt at Bethlehem a Jewish maid,
And Zillah was her name, so passing fair
That all Judea spake the virgin's praise.
He who had seen her eyes' dark radiance
How it reveal'd her soul, and what a soul
Beam'd in the mild effulgence, woe was he!
For not in solitude, for not in crowds,
Might he escape remembrance, nor avoid
Her imaged form which followed every where,
And fill'd the heart, and fix'd the absent eye.
Woe was he, for her bosom own'd no love
Save the strong ardours of religious zeal,
For Zillah on her God had center'd all
Her spirit's deep affections. So for her
Her tribes-men sigh'd in vain, yet reverenced
The obdurate virtue that destroy'd their hopes.

One man there was, a vain and wretched man,
Who saw, desired, despair'd, and hated her.
His sensual eye had gloated on her cheek
Even till the flush of angry modesty

Gave it new charms, and made him gloat the more.
She loath'd the man, for Hamuel's eye was bold,
And the strong workings of brute selfishness
Had moulded his broad features; and she fear'd

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