Before hym went the council-menne,
Ynne scarlett robes and golde,
And tassils spanglynge ynne the Sunne,
Muche glorious to beholde:

The free of seincte Augustyne next
Appeared to the syghte,

Alle cladd ynne homelie russett weedes,
Of godlie monkysh plyghte:

Ynne diffraunt partes a godlie psaume
Moste sweetlie theye dydd chaunt;
Behynde theyre backs syx mynstrelles came,
Who tun'd the strunge bataunt.

Thenne fyve-and-twentye archers came;
Echone the bowe dydd bende,

From rescue of kynge Henrie's friends
Syr Charles forr to defend.

Bolde as a lyon came syr Charles,

Drawne onne a clothe-layde sledde,

Bye two blacke stedes ynne trappynges white,
Wyth plumes uponne theyre hedde:

Behynde hym five-and-twenty moe
Of archers stronge and stoute,
Wyth bended bowe echone yan hande,

Marched ynne goodlie route;

Seincte Jameses freers marched next,

Echone hys parte dydd chaunte;
Behynde theyre backes syx mynstrells came,
Who tun'd the strunge bataunt:

Thenne came the maior and eldermenne,
Ynne clothe of scarlett deck't;
And theyre attendynge menne echone,
Lyke easterne princes trickt:

And after them, a multitude

Of citizenns dydd thronge;

The wyndowes were all fulle of heddes,
As hee dydd passe alonge.

And whenne hee came to the hyghe crosse,
Syr Charles dydd turne and saie,
"O thou, thatt savest manne fromme synne,
Washe mie soule clean thys daie!"

At the grete mynsterr wyndowe sat
The kynge ynne mycle state,

To see Charles Bawdin goe alonge
To hys most welcom fate.

Soone as the sledde drewe nyghe enowe,

Thatt Edwarde hee myghte heare,

The brave syr Charles hee dydd stande uppe,
And thus hys wordes declare:
"Thou seest me, Edwarde! traytour vile!
Expos'd to infamie;

Butt be assur'd, disloyall manne!

I'm greater nowe thanne thee.

"Bye foule proceedynges, murdre, bloude,
Thou wearest nowe a crowne;
And hast appoynted mee to dye,
By power nott thyne owne.
"Thou thynkest I shall die to-dai;
I have been dede 'till nowe,

And soon shall lyve to wear a crowne
For aie uponne my browe:

"Whylst thou, perhapps, for som few years,

Shalt rule thys fickle lande,

To lett them knowe howe wyde the rule
Twixt kynge and tyrant hande:

"Thye pow'r unjust, thou traytour slave!
Shall falle onne thye owne hedde”—
Fromm out of hearyng of the kynge
Departed thenue the sledde.

Kynge Edwarde's soul rush'd to hys face,
Hee turn'd hys hedde awaie,

And to hys broder Gloucester

Hee thus dydd speke and saie:

"To hym that soe-much-dreaded dethe
Ne ghastlie terrors brynge,

Beholde the manne! he spake the truthe,
Hee's greater thanne a kynge!"

"Soe lett hym die!" Duke Richarde sayde; And maye echone oure foes

Bende downe theyre neckes to bloudie axe,
And feede the carryon crowes."

And nowe the horses gentlie drewe

Syr Charles uppe the hyghe bylle;
The axe dydd glysterr ynne the Sunne,
Hys pretious bloude to spylle.

Syrr Charles dydd uppe the scaffolde goe,
As uppe a gilded carre

Of victorye, bye val'rous chiefs

Gayn'd ynne the bloudie warre:

And to the people hee dydd sai,
"Beholde you see mee dye,

For servynge loyally mye kynge,
Mye kynge most rightfullie,

"As longe as Edwarde rules thys land,
Ne quiet you wylle knowe;
Youre sonnes and husbandes shall bee slayne,
And brookes wythe bloude shalle flowe.

"You leave youre goode and lawfulle kynge, Whenn ynne adversitye;

Lyke mee, untoe the true cause stycke,
And for the true cause dye."

Then hee, wyth preestes, uponne hys knees,
A pray'r to Godde dydd make,
Beseechynge hym unto hymselte
Hys partynge soule to take.

Thenne, kneelynge downe, hee layd hys hedde
Most seemlie onne the blocke;
Whyche fromme hys bodie fayre at once

The able heddes-manne stroke;

And oute the bloude beganne to flowe,
And rounde the scaffolde twyne;
And tears, enowe to wash 't awaie,
Dydd flowe fromme each mann's eyne.

The bloudie axe hys bodie fayre
Ynnto foure parties cutte;

And ev'rye parte, and eke hys hedde,
Uponne a pole was putte.

One parte dydd rotte onne Kynwulph hylle,
One onne the myuster-tower,

And one from off the castle-gate

The crowen dydd devoure;

WITH daitive steppe Religyon, dyghte in greie, [waie, Her face of doleful hue, Swyfte as a takel thro'we bryghte Heav'n tooke her And ofte and ere anon dyd saie "Aie! mee! what shall I doe; "See Brystoe citie, whyche I nowe doe kenne, Arysynge to mie view,

"Thycke throng'd wythe soldyers and wythe Butte saynctes I seen few." [traffyckmenne; Fytz-Hardynge rose; he rose lyke bryghte sonne in the morne,

"Faire dame adryne thein eyne, "Let alle thie greefe bee myne, For 1 wylle rere thee uppe a mynster hie; "The toppe whereof shall reach ynto the skie; "And wylle a monke be shorne;" Thenne dyd the dame replie,

"I shall ne be forelourne;

Here wyll I take a chérysaunied reste, And spend mie daies upon Fytz-Hardynges breste."

Ne moe, ne moe, alass! I call you myne:
Whydder must you, ah! whydder must I goe?
I kenn not either; oh mie emmers dygne,
To parte wyth you wyll wurcke mee myckle
woe;

I muste be gonne, botte whare I dare ne telle;
O storthe, unto mie mynde! I goe to Helle.
Soone as the morne dyddyghte the roddie Sunne,
A shade of theves eche streake of lyght dyd
seeme;
[runn,
Whan ynn the Heavn full half hys course was
Eche stirrying nayghbour dyd mie harte afleme:
Thye loss, or quyck or slepe, was aie mie

ON HAPPIENESSE.

BY WILLIAM CANYNGE.

[This, and the two following poems, attributed to Mr. Canynge, are printed from Mr. Catcott's copies.]

MAIE Selynesse on Erthes boundes bee hadde?
Maie yt adyghte yn human shape be found?
Wote yee, yt was wyth Edin's bower bestadde,
Or quite eraced from the scaunce-layd grounde,
Whan from the secret fontes the waterres dyd
abounde?

Does yt agrosed shun the bodyed waulke,
Lyve to ytself and to yttes ecchoe taulke?

All hayle, Contente, thou mayd of turtle-eyne,
As thie behoulders thynke thou arte iwreene,
To ope the dore to Selynesse ys thyne,
And Chrystis glorie doth upponne thee sheene.
Doer of the foule thynge ne hath thee seene;
In caves, ynn wodes, ynn woe, and dole distresse,
Whoere hath thee hath gotten Selynesse.

THE ACCOUNT OF W. CANYNGES FEAST. BY THE SAME.

[This poem is taken from a fragment of vellum, which Chatterton gave to Mr. Barrett as an original. With respect to the three friends of Mr. Canynge, mentioned in the last line, the name of Rowley is sufficiently known from the preceding poems. Iscamm appears as an actor in the tragedy of Ella, and in that of Goddwyn; and a poem, ascribed to him, entitled, The Merry Tricks of Laymington, is inserted in the Sir Discorse of Bristow. Theobald Gorges was a knight of an ancient family seated at Wraxhall, within a few miles of Bristol. (See Rot. Parl. 3 H. VI. n. 28. Leland's Itin. vol. VII. p. 98.) He has also appeared as an actor in both the tragedies, and as the author of one of the mynstrelles songes in Ella. His connection with Mr. Canynge is verified by a deed of the latter, dated 20th October, 1467, in which he gives to trustees, in part of a benefaction of 5001. to the church of St. Mary Redcliffe, "certain jewels of sir Theobald Gorges, kut." which had been pawned to him for 1601.]

THIS mornynee starre of Radcleves rysynge raie,
A true man goode of mynde and Canynge hyghte,
Benethe thys stone lies moltrynge ynto claie,
Untyle the darke tombe sheene an eterne lyghte.
Thyrde from hys loynes the present Canynge
Houton are wordes for to telle his doe; [came;
For aye shall lyve hys heaven-recorded name,
Ne shall yt dye whanne tyme shall bee no moe;
Whanne Mychael's trumpe shall sounde to rise
the solle,
[hys dolle.
He'll wynge to Heaven with kynne, and happy be

THE STORIE OF WILLIAM CANYNGE. [The first 34 lines of this poem are extant upon another of the vellum fragments, given by Chatterton to Mr. Barrett. The remainder is printed from another copy, furnished by Mr. Catcott, with some corrections from another copy, made by Mr. Barrett from one in Chatterton's hand-writing. This poem makes part of a prose work, attributed to Rowley, giving an account of painters, carvellers, poets, and other eminent natives of Bristol, from the earliest times to his own.

It may be proper just to remark here, that Mr. Canynge's brother, mentioned in ver. 129, who was lord mayor of London in 1456, is called Thomas, by Stowe, in his List of Mayors, &c. The transaction alluded to in the last stanza is related at large in some prose memoirs of Rowley. It is there said that Mr. Canynge went into orders, to avoid a marriage, proposed by king Edward, between him and a lady of the Widdevile family. It is certain, from the register of the bishop of Worcester, that Mr. Canynge was ordained Acolythe by bishop Carpenter on 19 September, 1467, and received the higher orders of subdeacon, deacon, and priest, on the 12th of March, 1467, O. S. the 2d and 16th of April, 1468, respectively.]

ANENT a brooklette as I laie reclynd,
Listeynge to heare the water glyde alonge,
Myndeynge how thorowe the greene mees yt
twynd,

Awhilst the cavys respons'd yts mottring songe,
At dystaunt rysyng Avonne to be sped,
Amenged wyth rysyng hylles dyd shewe yts head;

Engarlanded wyth crownes of osyer weedes
And wraytes of alders of a bercie scent,
And stickeynge out wyth clowde agested reedes,
The hoarie Avonne show'd dyre semblamente,
Whylest blataunt Severne, from Sabryna clepde,
Rores flemie o'er the sandes that she hepde.
These eynegears swythyn bringethe to my thowghte
Of hardie champyons knowen to the floude,
How onne the bankes thereof brave Elle foughte,
Elle descended from Merce kynglie bloude,
Warden of Brystowe towne and castel stede,
Who ever and anon made Danes to blede.
Methoughte such, doughtie menn must have a
sprighte

Dote yn the armour brace that Mychael bore,
Whan he wyth Satan kynge of Helle dyd fyghte,
And Earthe was drented yn a mere of gore;

Next holie Wareburghus fylld mie mynde,
As fayre a sayncte as anie towne can boaste,
Or bee the erthe wyth lyghte or merke ywrynde,
I see hys ymage waulkeyng throwe the coaste:
Fitz-Hardynge, Bithrickus, and twentie moe
Ynn visyonn fore mie phantasie dyd goe.

Thus all mie wandrynge faytour thynkeynge
strayde,
[myade,
And eche dygne buylder dequac'd onn mie
Whan from the distaunt streeme arose a mayde,
Whose gentle tresses mov'd not to the wynde;
Lyche to the sylver Moone yn frostie neete,
The damoiselle dyd come soe blythe and sweete.
Ne browded mantell of a scarlette hue,
Ne shoone pykes plaited o'er wyth ribbande getre,
Ne costlie paraments of woden blue,
Noughte of a dresse, but bewtie dyd shee weere;
Naked shee was and loked swete of youthe,
All dyd bewryen that her name was Trouthe.

The ethie ringletts of her notte-browne hayre
What ne a manne shoulde see dyd swotelie hyde,
Whych on her milk-white bodykin so fayre
Dyd showe lyke browne streemes fowlyng the
white tyde.

Or veynes of brown hue yn a marble cuarr,
Whyche by the traveller ys kenn'd from farr.
Astounded mickle there I sylente laie,
Still scauncing wondrous at the walkynge syghte,
Mie senses forgarde ne coulde reyn awaie;
But was ne forstraughte whan she dyd alyghte
Anie to mee, dreste up yn naked viewe,
Whyche mote yn some ewbrycious thoughtes
abrewe.

But I ne dyd once thyuke of wanton thoughte:
For well I mynded what bie vowe I hete,
And yn mie pockate han a crouchee broughte,
Whych yn the blosom woulde such sins ancte';
I lok'd wyth eyne as pure as angelles doe,
And dyd the everie thoughte of foule eschewe.

Wyth sweet semblate and an angel's grace
She 'gan to lecture from her gentle breste;
For Trouthis wordes ys her myndes face,
False oratoryes she dyd aie deteste:
Sweetnesse was yn eche worde she dyd ywreene,
Tho shee strove not to make that sweetnesse
sheene.

1 Unauthorized. Dean Milles says it is the old English word nete or nought, with the prefix; to which corresponds the old French verb aneantised (annihilated) used by Chaucer. But there is no proof, that the word nete has ever been used as a verb, even if it exists.

Shee sayd; "Mie manner of appereynge here

Mie name and sleyghted myndbruch maie thee telle;

[were,

Goulers and courtiers doe not kenne mee welle; Thie inmoste thoughtes, thie labrynge brayne I

sawe,

And from thie gentle dreeme will thee adawe.

"Full manie champyons and menne of lore,
Payncters and carvellers have gaind good name,
But there's a Canynge, to encrease the store,
A Canynge, who shall buie uppe all theyre fame.
Take thou mie power, and see yn chylde and

manne

What troulie noblenesse yn Canynge ranne."

As when a bordelier onn ethie bedde,
Tyr'd wyth the laboures maynt of sweltrie daie,
Yn slepeis bosom laieth hys deft headde,
So, senses sonke to reste, my boddie laie;
Eftsoons mie sprighte, from erthlie bandes un-
tyde,

Immengde yn flanched ayre wyth Trouthe asyde.

Strayte was I carryd back to tymes of yore,
Whylst Canynge swathed yet yn fleshlie bedde,
And saw all actyons whych han been before,
And all the scroll of Fate unravelled;
And when the fate-mark'd babe acome to sygthe,
I saw hym eager gaspyng after lyghte.

In all hys shepen gambols and chyldes plaie,
In everie merriemakeyng, fayre or wake,
I kenn'd a perpled lyghte of wysdom's raie;
He cate downe learnynge wyth the wastle cake.
As wise as anie of the eldermenne,
He'd wytte enowe toe make a mayre at tenne.

As the dulce downie barbe beganne to gre,
So was the well thyghte texture of hys lore;
Eche daie enhedeynge mockler for to bee,
Greete yn hys councel for the daies he bore.
All tongues, all carrols dyd unto hym synge,
Wondryng at one soe wyse, and yet soe yinge.

Encreaseynge yn the yeares of mortal lyfe,
And hasteynge to hys journie ynto Heaven
Hee thoughte ytt proper for to cheese a wyfe,
And use the sexes for the purpose gevene.
Hee then was yothe of comelie semelikeede,
And hee had made a mayden's herte to blede.

He had a fader, (Jesus rest his soule!)
Who loved money, as bys charie joie;
Hee had a broder (happie manne be's dole!)
Yn mynde and boddie, hys owne fadre's boie;
What then could Canynge wissen as a parte
To gyve to her whoe had made chop of hearte?

But landes and castle tenures, golde and bighes,
And hoardes of sylver rousted yn the ent,
Canynge aud hys fayre sweete dyd that despyse,
To change of troulie love was theyre content;
Theie lyv'd togeder yn a house adygne,
Of goode sendaument commilie and fyne.

But soon hys broder and hys syre dyd die,
And lefte to Willyam states and renteynge rolles,
And at hys wyll hys broder Johne supplie.
Hee gave a chauntrie to redeeme theyre soules;

Seekynge for eterne lyfe and endless lyghte,
And sleed good Canynge; sad mystake of dethe!
So have I seen a flower ynn sommer tyme
Trodde downe and broke and widder ynn ytts

pryme.

Next Radcleeve chyrche (oh worke of hande of
Heav'n,

Whare Canynge sheweth as an instrumente,)
Was to my bismarde eyne-syghte newlie giv'n;
'Tis paste to blazonne ytt to good contente.
You that woulde fayn the fetyve buyldynge scc
Repayre to Radcleve, and contented bee.

I save the myndbruch of hys nobille soule
Whan Edwarde meniced a seconde wyfe;
I sawe what Pheryons yn hys mynde dyd rolle;
Nowe fyx'd fromm seconde dames a preeste for
lyfe.

Thys ys the manne of menne, the vision spoke;
Then belle for even-songe mie senses woke.

HERAUDYN.

A FRAGMENTE.

[From a MSS. by Chatterton in the British Museum.]

YYNGE Heraudyn al bie the grene wode sate, Hereynge the swote Chelandrie ande the Oue, Seeinge the kenspecked amaylde flourettes nete, Envyngynge to the birds hys love songe true. Syrre preeste camme bie ande forthe his bede-rolle drewe,

Fyve Aves ande on Pater moste be sedde; Twayne songe, the on hys songe of Willowe Rue The odher one

FRAGMENT,

BY JOHN, SECOND ABBATTE OF SEYNCTE AUSTYNS MYNSTERRE.

[From Barrett's History of Bristol. It was sent
by Chatterton to Horace Walpole, as a note to
Rowleie's Historie of Peyncters. "This John,"
he says,
"was inducted abbot in the year 1186,
and sat in the dies 29 years. He was the
greatest poet of the age in which he lived; he
understood the learned languages. Take a spe-
cimen of his poetry on King Richard 1st."]

HARTE of lyone! shake thie sworde,
Bare thie mortheynge steinede honde:
Quace whole armies to the queede,
Worke thie wylle yn burlie bronde.
Barons here on bankers-browded,
Fyghte yn furres gaynste the cale;
Whilest thou ynne thonderynge armes
Warriketh whole cyttes bale.
Harte of lyon! sound the beme!
Sounde ytte ynto inner londes,
Freare flies sportine ynne the cleeme,
Inne thie banner terror stondes.