have the playful satiric wit, sparkling as of welldrawn Moet or Clicquot, of Mortimer Collins, H. S. Leigh, Arthur Locker and Frederick LockerLampson, W. S. Gilbert, Austin Dobson, Bret Harte, F. Anstey, Dr. Walter C. Smith, and many other graceful and delightful social satirists whose verses are household words amongst us. From week to week also there appear in the pages of that trenchant social censor, Punch, and the other highclass comico-satiric journals, many pieces of genuine and witty social satire. Every year the demand seems increasing, and yet the supply shows no signs of running dry.

Political satire, in its metrical form, has had from time to time a temporary revival of popularity in such compositions as James Russell Lowell's inimitable Biglow Papers, as well as in more recent volumes, of which Mr. Owen Seaman's verse is an example; while are not its prose forms legion in the pages of our periodical press? It has, however, now lost that vitriolic quality which made it so scorching and offensively personal. The man who wrote nowadays as did Dryden, and Junius, and Canning, or, in social satire, as did Peter Pindar and Byron, would be forthwith ostracized from literary fellowship.

But what more need be said of an introductory character to these selections that are now placed before the reader? English satire, though perhaps less in evidence to-day as a separate department in letters, is still as cardinal a quality as ever in the productions of our leading authors. If satires are no longer in fashion, satire is perennial as an attri

bute in literature, and we have every reason to cherish it and welcome it as warmly as of old. The novels of Thackeray, as I have already said, contain some of the most delicately incisive shafts of satire that have been barbed by any writer of the present century. "George Eliot ", also, though in a less degree, has shown herself a satirist of much power and pungency, while others of our latter-day novelists manifest themselves as possessed of a faculty of satire both virile and trenchant. It is one of the indispensable qualities of a great writer's style, because its quarry is one of the most widely diffused of existing things on the face of the globe. There is no age without its folly, no epoch without its faults. So long, therefore, as man and his works are imperfect, so long shall there be existent among us abuses, social, political, professional, and ecclesiastical, and so long, too, shall it be the province and the privilege of those who feel themselves called upon to play the difficult part of censor morum, to prick the bubbles of falsehood, vanity, and vice with the shafts of ridicule and raillery.

ENGLISH SATIRES.

I.

WILLIAM LANGLAND.

(1330?-1400?)

PILGRIMAGE IN SEARCH OF DO-WELL.

This opening satire constitutes the whole of the Eighth Passus of Piers Plowman's Vision and the First of Do-Wel. The "Dreamer" here sets off on a new pilgrimage in search of a person who has not appeared in the poem before-Do-Well. The following is the argument of the Passus.-"All Piers Plowman's inquiries after Do-Well are fruitless. Even the friars to whom he addresses himself give but a confused account; and weary with wandering about, the dreamer is again overtaken by slumber. Thought now appears to him, and recommends him to Wit, who describes to him the residence of Do-Well, Do-Bet, Do-Best, and enumerates their companions and attendants."

'HUS y-robed in russet romed I aboute

THUS

Al in a somer seson •

for to seke Do-wel;

And frayned1 full ofte⚫ of folk that I mette

If any wight wiste⚫ wher Do-wel was at inne;

that me wisse kouthe2

And what man he myghte be of many man I asked.
Was nevere wight, as I wente
Where this leode lenged3,

lasse ne moore1,

Til it bifel on a Friday two freres I mette
Maisters of the Menours. men of grete witte.

1 questioned.

3 Where this man dwelt.

of the Minorite order.

2 could tell me.

mean or gentle.

I hailsed them hendely, as I hadde y-lerned.

And preède them par charité, er thei passed ferther,
If thei knew any contree ⚫ or costes as thei wente,
"Where that Do-wel dwelleth dooth me to witene".
For thei be men of this moolde⚫ that moost wide walken,
And knowen contrees and courtes, and many kynnes

places,

Bothe princes paleises⚫ and povere mennes cotes 2,

And Do-wel and Do-yvele⚫ where thei dwelle bothe. "Amonges us" quod the Menours, "that man is dwel

lynge,

And evere hath as I hope,

and evere shal herafter." "Contra", quod I as a clerc, and comsed to disputen, And seide hem soothly, "Septies in die cadit justus”. "Sevene sithes3, seeth the book And who so synneth," I seide,

thynketh;

synneth the rightfulle;

"dooth yvele, as me

And Do-wel and Do-yvele mowe noght dwelle togideres. Ergo he nis noght alway⚫ among you freres:

He is outher while ellis where

to wisse the peple."

seide the frere thanne,

"I shal seye thee, my sone" "How seven sithes the sadde man, • on a day synneth; By a forbisne1" quod the frere, "I shal thee faire

showe.

Lat brynge a man in a boot, amydde the brode watre;
The wynd and the water
Maketh the man many
For stonde he never so stif,
Ac yet is he saaf and sound,

For if he ne arise the rather, and raughte to the steere, The wynd wolde with the water⚫ the boot over throwe; And thanne were his lif lost, thorough lackesse of hym

selve 5.

1 I saluted them courteously.
3 times.
⚫ example.

2 and poor men's cots.

5 through his own negligence.

And thus it falleth," quod the frere, "by folk here on

erthe;

The water is likned to the world

wexeth;

The goodes of this grounde arn like to the grete wawes, That as wyndes and wedres walketh aboute;

The boot is likned to oure body that brotel1 is of kynde, That thorough the fend and the flesshe and the frele

worlde

Synneth the sadde man a day seven sithes.

Ac2 dedly synne doth he noght, for Do-wel hym kepeth; And that is Charité the champion, chief help ayein

Synne;

For he strengtheth men to stonde, and steereth mannes

soule,

And though the body bowe as boot dooth in the watre, Ay is thi soul saaf, but if thou wole thiselve

Do a deedly synne, and drenche so thi soule,

God wole suffre wel thi sleuthe3. if thiself liketh.

For he yaf thee a yeres-gyve1, • to yeme5 wel thiselve, And that is wit and free-wil, to every wight a porcion, To fleynge foweles, to fisshes and to beastes:

Ac man hath moost thereof, and moost is to blame, But if he werch wel therwith, • as Do-wel hym techeth." "I have no kynde knowyng," quod I, "to conceyven alle your wordes:

Ac if I may lyve and loke, I shall go lerne bettre."
"I bikenne thee Christ,"
And I seide "the same

quod he, "that on cros deyde!"

And gyve you grace on this grounde goode men to

worthe 8!"

And thus I wente wide wher⚫ walkyng myn one9,