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In ragges as she was to-tore
He set her on his horse to-fore,

and riding through all the lanes and by-ways, that no one might see him, ho arrives, by design, at the castle by night He then calls one or two of his trusty friends, and tells them that he was obliged

This beste wedde to his wife,
For elles he had lost his life.

The maids of honor were then sent in;

Her ragges they anon off draw,
And, as it was that tim£ law,
She hadde bath, she hadde rest.
And was arrayed to the best,

all except her matted and unsightly hair, which she would not allow them to touch.

But when she was fully array'd
And her attire was all assay'd,
Then was she fouler unto see.

But poor Florent must take her for better for worse, though the worse Beemed then rather to predominate. The company are all assembled, and the bride and bridegroom stand up to be united in the holy bonds of matrimony. The ceremony being over, the ill-fated knight covered up his head in grief

His body mighte well be there;
But as of thought and of memoire
His hearth was in Purgatoire,

She endeavored to ingratiate herself in his affections, and approached and look him softly by the hand. He turned suddenly, and saw one of the most beautiful beings that ever his eyes beheld. He was about to draw her unto himself—when she stopped him,

And sayth, that for to win or lose
He mote one of two thinges choose,
Wher1 he will have her such o' night
Or elles upon daye's light;
For he shall not have bothe two.

Here Florent was utterly at a loss what to say. At last he exclaims,

I n'ot what answer I shall give,
But ever, while that I may live,
I will that ye be my mistress,
For I can naught myselv£ guess
Which is the best unto my choice.
Thus grant I you mine whole voice.
Choose for us bothen, I you pray,
And, what as ever that ye say,
Eight as ye willS, so will L

This is the point—he yields up his will entirely to hers. This is what "llle

1 Whether.

women most desire," to be sovereign of man's love:—in short—to have their own way. The bride then thus answers the happy groom:

"My lord," she saide, "grand-merci1
For of this word that ye now sayn
That ye have made me sovereign,
My destiny is overpass'd;
That ne'er hereafter shall be lass'd*
My beauty, which that I now have,
Till I betake unto my grave.
Both night and day, as I am now,
I shall alway be such to you.
Thus, I am yours for evermo."


To an incident which happened in the reign of Henry IV. of England, we are indebted for the most elegant poem that was produced during the early part of the fifteenth century—"The King's Quair,"' by James L ol Scotland.

This prince was the second son of Robert III., and was born in 1395. Hii elder brother died, and the king determined to send his surviving son, James to be educated at the court of his ally, Charles VI., of France; and he embarked for that country with a numerous train of attendants in 1405. But the ship was stopped by an English squadron, and the passengers were, by order of Henry IV, sent to London. It was, of course, an outrageous violation tif all right, for Henry to make James a prisoner; but the accident that placed him in his power was ultimately advantageous to the prince as well as to the nation he was born to govern. He was at that time only ten years of age, but Henry, though he kept him closely confined, took great pains to have him educated in the most thorough manner, and so rapid was the progress that he made in his studies that he soon became a prodigy of erudition, and excelled in every branch of polite accomplishments.

During fifteen years of his captivity, he seemed forgotten or at least neglected by his^ subjects. The admiration of strangers and the consciousness of his own talents only rendered his situation more irksome, and he had begun to abandon himself to despair, when he was fortunately consoled for his seclusion at Windsor Castle by a passion of which sovereigns in quie' possession of a throne have seldom the good fortune to feel the influence The object of his admiration was the lady Jane Beaufort, (daughter of John Beaufort, duke of Somerset,) whom he afterwards married, and in whoso commendation he composed his principal poetical work, " The King's Quair." In 1423 he was released, and, taking possession of the throne of his ancestors, lie did very much to improve the civilization of his country, by repressing many disorders, and enacting many salutary laws. But his stringent measures

1 Many thanks, t Lessened.

8 "Quair," quire, pamphlet, or oook; hence the "King's Qnalr" meant the King's Book, sec Ellis's "Specimens," 1. 298, Warton's "History of English Poetry," U. «7, and Park's edition ol Walpole's " Xloyal and Noble Authors.'

of reform were very offensive to a lawless nobility; a conspiracy was foimed against him, and he was murdered at Perth, in 1437.

The chief poem of James I., as mentioned above, consists of one hundred and ninety-seven stanzas. It contains various particulars of his own life; is full of simplicity and feeling, and, as has been correctly said, is superior to any poetry besides that of Chaucer produced in England before the reign of Elizabeth,—as will be testified by the following stanzas.


The longe dayes and the nightis eke

I would bewail my fortune in this wise;

For which again' distress comfort to seek,
My custom was on mornis for to rise
Early as day: 0 happy exercise!

By thee come I to joy out of torment ;—

But now to purpose of my first intent.

Bewailing in my chamber thus alone,
Despaired of all joy and remedy,

For-tired of my thought, and woe-begone,
And to the window gan I walk in hye,'
To see the world and folk that went forliy;

As, for the time, (though I of mirtliis food

Might have no more,) to look it did me goat.

Now was there made, fast by the Touris wall.
A garden fair;3 and in the corners set

An herbere,4 green; with wandis long and siniili
Railed about, and so with treeis set
Was all the place, and hawthorn hedges knet

That life* was none [a] walking there forby,

That might within scarce any wight espy.

And on the smalle grene twlstis sat
The little sweete nightingale, and sung

So loud and clear the hymnis consecrate
Of lovis use, now soft, now loud among,
That all the gardens and the wallis rung

Right of their song; and on the couple noxta

Of their sweet harmony: and lo the text I

"Worshippe ye that lovers bene this May,
For of your bliss the calends are begun;
And sing with us, 'Away! winter away 1

i Against. 1 Haste.

'The garden! of this period seem to have been very ■mall. In Chancer'! "Trollus and Cicsscumv « fled the same place indifferenUy called a garde* and a yard; auj thl!, at Wiiidsur, /art tlUTtmrv mX was probably cither in the yard or on the terrace.

i Probably an arbour, though the word in also very frequenUy used for an hcrlnry, or garden of ample*. 6 Living person.

* Mr TyUer Imagines that this relate! to the pairing of the birds; but the word coapU seems here to be nacd aa a musical term.

Come, summer, come! the sweet seas8n and sun!

Awake, for shame! that have your heavens won 11
And amorously lift up your heaths all;
Thank Love, that list you to his mercy call I'"

When they this song had sung a little throw,*
They stent5 awhile, and, therewith unafraid

As I beheld, and cast mine eyen a-lowe,

From bough to bough they hipped4 and they play'd,
And freshly, in their birdis kind, array'd

Their feathers new, and fret5 them in the sun,

And thanked Love that had their makis6 won.
• ••••••

And therewith cast I down mine eye again,
Whereas I saw, walking under the Tower

Full secretly, new comyn her to pleyne,'
The fairest, or the freshest younge flower
That ever I saw, methought, before that hour;

For which sudden abate anon astert?

The blood of all my body to my heart

And though I stood abased tho a lyte,9
No wonder was; for why? my wittis all

Were so o'ercome with pleasance and delight
Only through letting of mine eyen fall,
That suddenly my heart become her thrall

For ever; of free will; for of menace

There was no token in her sweete face.

And in my head I drew right hastily;

And efl-soones I lent it forth again:
And saw her walk that very womanly.

With no wight mo10 but only women twain.

Then gan I study in myself, and sayri u Ah sweet, are ye a worldly creature, Or heavenly tiling in likeness of nature?

"Or are ye god Cupidis own princess,
And comen are to loose me out of band?

Or are ye very Nature the goddess,

That have depainted with your heavenly hand
This garden full of flouris as they stand J

What shall I think, alas! what reverence

Shall I mester" [un] to your excellence 1

"Giff" ye a goddess be, and that ye like

To do me pain, I may it not nstert:
Giff ye be worldly wight, that doth me sike,13

1 Mr. TyUer explains thli as follows: "Ye that have attained yonr highest bliss, by winning your mates."—See the last hne of the next stanza. s A. little tune. 3 Stopped

4 Hopped. ■ Pecked. « Mates.

"This seems to mean emtpLm; tint should It not rather be pfayen, to pi/iy or sport t « started back. • Then a little. 10 More. n AdainMcrl "If. >» Make me sigh. Why lest' God make you so, my dearest heart,

To do a -silly prisoner thus smart,
fhat loves you all, and wote of nought but wo?
And, therefore, mercy sweet! sen it is so."
• ••••••

Of her array the form gif I shall write,

Toward her golden hair and rich attire,
In fret-wise couch'd1 with pearlis white,

And greats balas' lemyng* as the fire,

With many an emerant and fair sapphire,
And on her head a chaplet fresh of hue
Of plumys, parted red, and white, and blue.

Full of quaking spangis5 bright as gold,
Forged of shape like to the amorettis ;*

So new, so fresh, so pleasant to behold;
The plumis eke like to the floure-jonettis,7
And other of shape like to the floure-jonettis ;9

And above all this there was, well I wote,

Beauty enough to make a world to dote I

About her neck, white as the fyre amaille,'
A goodly chain of small orfeverye ;">

Whereby there hung a ruby without fail,
Like to an heart [y-] shapen verily,
That as a spark of lowe," so wantonly

Seemed burning upon her white throat;

Now gif there was good party, God it wote.

And for to walk, that freshe Maye's morrow,
And hook she had upon her tissue white,

That goodlier had not been seen to-forrow,12
As I suppose; and girt she was a lyte ;13
Thus halfling'4 loose for haste, to such delight

It was to see her youth in goodlihead,

That, for rudeness, to speak thereof I dread.

In her was youth, beauty, with humble aport,
Bounty, richess, and womanly feature;

God better wote than my pen can report:
Wisdom, largess, estate, and cunning sure,
In every point so guided her measure,

In word, in deed, in shape, in countenance,

That Nature might no more her child avance.

1 Pleased: that la, "If thou art a goddesa, I cannot rettat thy power; bat If only a mortal eicalare, Ood aurely cannot leat or Incline you to grieve or give pain to a poor creature that loves roc"— Tytier. 8 Inlaid like fret-work. 8 A aort of predoua atone. * Shining.

6 Spangles. * "Made In the form of a love-knot or garland."—Tytier.

A kind of my. It la conjectured that the royal poet may here allude covertly to the name of hia alstreaa, which, In the diminutive, waa Janet or Jonet—Tnoimon's Edition of King't Qxhair. Ayr, 1824.

Tat repeUtion of this word la apparently a mistake of the original transcriber.

• On. Is this an error for Jmt cmil, I. e. enamel? 1° Gold-work. 11 Fire, flame. « Sdbre. « A little. H Half

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