HUGHE.

Onwordie syke a marvelle of a kynge!
O Edwarde, thou deservest purer leege;

To thee heie shulden al theire mancas brynge; Thie nodde should save menne, and thie glomb forslege.

I amme no curriedowe, I lacke no wite,

I speke whatte bee the trouthe, and whatte all see is ryghte.

KYNGE.

Thou arte a nallie manne, I doe thee pryze. Comme, comme, and here and hele mee ynn mie Fulle twentie mancas I wylle thee alise, [praires. And twayne of hamlettes to thee and thie heyres.

Soe shalle all Normannes from mie londe be fed, Theie alleyn have syke love as to acquyre yer bredde.

CHORUS,

TO GODDWYN, A TRAGEdie.

Whan Freedom, dreste yn blodde-steyned veste, To everie knyghte her warre-songe sunge, Uponne her hedde wylde wedes were spredde; A gorie anlace bye her honge.

She daunced onue the heathe;

She hearde the voice of deathe; Pale-eyned affryghte, hys harte of sylver hue, In vayne assayled her bosomme to acale; She hearde onflemed the shrickynge voice of woe, And sadnesse ynne the owlette shake the dale.

She shooke the burled speere,

On hie she jeste her sheeide, Her foemen all appere, And flizze alonge the feelde. Power, wythe his heafod straught ynto the skyes, Hys speere a sonne-beame, and hys sheelde a

Heckled yn beastskyns, slepte uponne the waste, And wyth the morneynge rouzed the wolfe to fyghte,

Swefte as descendeynge lemes of roddie lyghte Plonged to the hulstred bedde of laveynge seas, Gerd the blacke mountayn okes yn drybblets twighte,

And ranne yn thoughte alonge the azure mees, Whose eyne dyd feerie sheene, like blue-hayred defs,

That dreerie bange upon Dover's emblaunched clefs.
Soft boundeynge over swelleynge azure reles
The salvage natyves sawe a shyppe appere;
An uncouthe denwere to theire bosomme steles,
Theyre myghte ys knopped ynne the froste of

fere.

The headed javlyn lisseth here and there; Theie stonde, theie ronne, theie loke wyth eger eyne; [ayre, The shyppes sayle, boleynge wythe the kyndelie Ronneth to harbour from the beatynge bryne; Theie dryve awaie aghaste, whanne to the stronde A burled Trojan lepes, wythe morglaien sweerde yn honde.

Hymme followede eftsoones hys compheeres, whose swerdes

Glestred lyke gledeynge starres yn frostie nete, Hayleynge theyre captayne in chirckyngewordes Kynge of the lande, whereon theie set theyre fete. The greete kynge Brutus thanne theie dyd hym greete,

Prepared for battle, mareschalled the fyghte; Theie urged the warre, the natyves fledde, as [syghte;

flete

As fleaynge cloudes that swymme before the Tyll tyred wythe battles, for to ceese the fraie, Theie uncted Brutus kynge, and gave the Trojanns swaje.

Twayne of twelve years han lemed up the myndes,

Leggende the salvage unthewes of theire breste, Improved in mysterk warre, and lymmed theyre

kyndes,

[reste.

Whenne Brute from Brutons sonke to æterne
Eftsoons the gentle Locryne was possest
Of swaie, and vested yn the paramente;
Halceld the bykrous Huns, who dyd infeste
Hys wakeynge kyngdom wyth a foule intente;
As hys broade swerde oer Homberres heade was
honge,
[alonge,

He tourned toe ryver wyde, and roarynge rolled

He wedded Gendolyne of roical sede, [spreade;
Upon whose countenance rodde healthe was
Bloushing, alyche the scarlette of her wede,
She sonke to pleasaunce on the marryage bedde.
Eftsoons her peacefull joie of mynde was fledde;
Elstrid ametten with the kynge Locryne;
Unnombered beauties were upon her shedde,
Moche fyne, moche fayrer thanne was Gendo-
lyne;

The mornynge tynge, the rose, the lillie floure, In ever ronneynge race on her dyd peyncte theyre powere.

The gentle suyte of Locryne gayned her love;
Theie lyved soft momentes to a swotie age;
Eft wandringe yn the coppyce, delle, and grove,
Where ne one eyne mote theyre disporte engage;

There dydde theie tell the merrie lovynge fage,
Croppe the prymrosen floure to decke theyre
headde;

The feerie Gendolyne yn woman rage
Gemoted warriours to bewreck her bedde;
Theie rose; ynne battle was greete Locryne
sleene;

The faire Elstrida fledde from the enchafed queene.

A tye of love, a dawter fayre she hanne, [daie, Whose boddeynge morneyng shewed a fayre Her fadre Locrynne, once an hailie manne. Wyth the fayredawterre dydde she haste awaie, To where the Western mittee pyles of claie Arise ynto the cloudes, and doe them beere; There dyd Elstrida and Sabryna staie;

The fyrste tryckde out a whyle yn warryours gratch and gear,

Vyncente was she ycleped, butte fulle soone fate Sente deathe, to telle the dame, she was notte yn regrate.

The queene Gendolyne sente a gyaunte knyghte, Whose doughtie heade swepte the emmertleynge skies,

To slea her wheresoever she shulde be pyghte, Eke everychone who shulde her ele emprize. Swefte as the roareynge wyndes the gyaunte flies, Stayde the loude wyndes, and shaded reaulmes yn nyghte,

Stepte over cytties, on meint acres lies, [lighte; Meeteynge the herehaughtes of morneynge Tyll mooveynge to the Weste, myschaunce hys gye,

He thorowe warriours gratch fayre Elstrid did espie.

He tore a ragged mountayne from the grounde, Harried uppe noddynge forrests to the skie, Thanne wythe a fuirie, mote the erthe astounde, To meddle ayre he lette the mountayne flie. The flying wolfynnes sente a yelleynge crie; Onne Vyncente and Sabryna felle the mount; To lyve æternalle dyd theie eftsoones die; Thorowe the sandie grave boiled up the pourple founte,

On a broad grassie playne was layde the hylle, Staieynge the rounynge course of meint a limmed rylle.

The goddes, who kenned the actyons of the wyghte,

To leggen the sadde happe of twayne so fayre, Houton dyd make the mountaine bie theire mighte.

Forth from Sabryna ran a ryverre cleere, Roarynge and rolleynge on yn course by smare; From female Vyncente shotte a ridge of stones, Eche syde the ryver rysynge heavenwere; Sabrynas floode was helde ynne Elstryds bones. So are theie cleped; gentle and the hynde Can telle, that Severnes streeme bie Vyncentes rocke's ywrynde.

The bawsyn gyaunt, hee who dyd them slee, To telle Gendolyne quycklie was ysped; Whanne, as he strod alonge the shakeynge lee, The roddie levynne glesterrd on hys headde: Into hys hearte the azure vapoures spreade; He wrythde arounde yn drearie dernie payne; Whanne from his lyfe-bloode the rodde lemes were fed,

He felle an hepe of ashes on the playne:

Stylle does hys ashes shoote ynto the lyghte, A wondrous mountayne hie, and Snowdon ys ytte hyghte.

AN EXCELENTE BALADE OF CHARITIE.

AS WROTEN BIE THE GODE PRIESTE THOMAS ROWLEIE'. 1464.

[This poem is printed from a single sheet in Chatterton's hand-writing, communicated by Mr. Barrett, who received it from Chatterton.]

IN Virgyne the sweltrie Sun gan sheene, And hotte upon the mees did caste his raie; The apple rodded from its palie greene, And the mole peare did bende the leafy spraie; The peede chelandri sunge the lyvelong daie; 'Twas nowe the pryde, the manhode of the yeare, And eke the grounde was dighte in its mose defte

aumere.

The Sun was glemeing in the midde of daie,
Deadde still the aire, and eke the welken blue,
When from the sea arist in drear arraie
A hepe of cloudes of sable sullen hue,
The which full fast unto the woodlande drewe,
Hiltring attenes the Sunnis fetyve face,
And the blacke tempeste swolne and gatherd
up apace.

Beneathe an holme, faste by a pathwaie side,
Which dide unto Seyncte Godwine's covent
A hapless pilgrim moneynge dyd abide, [lede,
Pore in his viewe, ungentle in his weede,
Longe bretful of the miseries of neede,
Where from the hail-stone coulde the almer3 flie?
He had no housen theere, ne anie covent nie.

Look in his glommed 4 face, his sprighte there

scanne;

Howe woe-be-gone, howe withered, forwynd, deade! [manne!

Haste to thie church-glebe-house, asshrewed Haste to thie kiste, thie onlie dortoure bedde, Cale, as the claie which will gre on thie hedde, Is charitie and love aminge highe elves; Knightis and barous live for pleasure and themselves.

Thomas Rowley, the author, was born at Norton Mal-reward, in Somersetshire, educated at the convent of St. Kenna, at Keynesham, and died at Westbury in Gloucestershire.

It would have been

2 Seyncte Godwine's Covent. charitable, if the author had not pointed at personal characters in this Ballad of Charity. The Abbott of St. Godwin's at the time of the writing of this was Ralph de Bellomont, a great stickler for the Lancastrian family. Rowley was a Yorkist.

3 Unauthorized, and contrary to analogy. 4 Glommed, clouded, dejected. A person of some note in the literary world is of opinio.., that glum and glom are modern cant words; and from this circumstance doubts the authenticity of Rowley's Manuscripts. Glummong in the Saxon signifies twilight, a dark or dubious light; and the modern word gloomy is derived from the Saxon glum.

The gatherd storme is rype; the bigge drops
falle;
[raine;

The forswat meadowes smethe, and drenche the
The comyng ghastness do the cattle pall,
And the full flockes are drivynge ore the plaine;
Dashde from the cloudes the waters flott againe;
The welkin opes; the yellow levynne flies;
And the hot fierie smothe in the wide lowings dies.
Liste! now the thunder's rattling clymmynge
sound

Cheves slowlie on, and then embollen clangs, Shakes the hiespyre, and losst,dispended,drown'd, Still on the gallard 5 eare of terroure hanges; The windes are up; the lofty elmen swanges; Agayn the levynne and the thunder poures, And the full cloudes are braste attenes in stonen showers.

Spurreynge his palfrie oere the watrie plaine, The Abbote of Seyncte Godwynes convente came;

His chapournette was drented with the reine, And his pencte gyrdle met with mickle shame; He aynewarde told his bederoll" at the same; The storme encreasen, and he drew aside, [bide. With the mist almes craver neere to the holme to

His cope was all of Lyncolne clothe so fyne, With a gold button fasten'd neere his chynne; His autrèmete was edged with golden twynne, And his shoone pyke a loverds mighte have binne; Full well it shewn he thoughten coste no sinne: The trammels of the palfrye pleasde his sighte, For the horse-millanare his head with roses dighte.

5 Gallied is still used in this sense in the country around Bristol.

6 Chapournette, a small round hat, not unlike the shapournette in heraldry, formerly worn by ecclesiastics and lawyers.

He aynewarde tolde his bederoll, he told his beads backwards; a figurative expression to signify eursing.

8 Horse-millanare, I believe this trade is still in being, though but seldom employed.

Mr. Steevens has left a curious note upon this word. "One morning, while Mr. Tyrwhitt and I were at Bristol, in 1776, we had not proceeded far from our lodging, before he found he had left on his table a memorandum book which it was neces sary he should have about him. He therefore returned to fetch it, while I stood still in the very place we parted at, looking on the objects about

me.

was

An almes, sir prieste! the droppynge pilgrim saide,

O! let me waite within your covente dore, Till the Sunne sheneth bie above our heade, And the loud tempeste of the aire is oer; Helpless and ould am I alass! and poor; No house, ne friend, ne moneie in my pouche; All yatte I call my owne is this my silver crouche.

Varlet, replyd the Abbatte, cease your dinne; This is no season almes and prayers to give; Mie porter never lets a faitour in;

None touch mie rynge who not in honour live. And now the Sonne with the blacke cloudes did

stryve,

And shettynge on the grounde his glairie raie, The Abbatte spurrde his steede, and eftsoones roadde awaie.

Once moe the skie was blacke, the thounder rolde; Faste reyneynge oer the plaine a prieste was seen;

Ne dighte full proude, ne buttoned up in golde; His cope and jape 9 were graie, and eke were A Limitoure he was of order seene; [clene; And from the pathwaie side then turned hee, Where the pore almer laie binethe the holmen tree.

An almes, sir priest! the droppynge pilgrim sayde,

For sweete seyncte Marie and your order sake.
The Limitoure then loosen'd his pouche threade,
And did thereoute a groate of sylver take;
The mister pilgrim dyd for halline shake.
Here take this silver, it maie eathe thie care;
We are Goddes stewards all, nete of oure owne we
bare.

But ah! unhailie pilgrim, lerne of me,
Scathe anie give a rentrolle to their Lorde.
Here take my semecope, thou arte bare I see;
Tis thyne; the seynctes, will give me mie re-
warde.

He left the pilgrim, and his waie aborde. Vyrgyuneand ballie Seyncte, who sitte yn gloure, Or give the mittee will, or give the gode man

power.

BATTLE OF HASTINGS.

[In printing the first of these poems two copies have been made use of, both taken from copies of Chatterton's handwriting, the one by Mr.Cat

trade had been extant in 1464; but his wonder that, in a public part of Bristol, full in sight of would have ceased, had he been convinced as I am, every passer by, was a Sadler's shop, over which was inscribed A or B (no matter which) HorseMilliner. On the outside of one of the windows

For the horse-millanare his head with roses dighte.

The considerate reader must obviously have stared on being informed that such a term and such a

of the same operator, stood (and I suppose yet

to explain the nature of horse-millinery. We have here, perhaps, the history of this modern image, which was impressed by Chatterton into his description of an Abbote of Seyncte Godwynes Convente."

9 Jape, a short surplice, worn by friars of an inferior class, and secular priests.