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compelled them to grant him an honourable sepulture in the very cloister of their convent.

The readers of Chaucer will remember the Legacy which the Friar receives in the Sompnour's Tale, and the humorous manner in which he performs his oath to distribute it equally among the members of his fraternity.

In proof of the hatred with which he was regarded by the clergy of his time, in consequence of the sharpness of his satire upon the corruptions which had crept into their order, and the licentiousness with which it was sullied, we need only cite an extract from Gerson, Chancellor of Paris. "There was," said he, 66 one called John of Meun, who wrote a book called the "Romaunt of the Rose," which book, if I only had, and that there were no more in the world, if I might have five hundred pounds for the same, I would rather burn it than take the money." And he further goes on to declare, "that if he thought the author thereof did not repent him for that book before he died, he would vouchsafe to pray for him no more than he would for Judas, that betrayed Christ."

THOMAS LODGE.

IN the Library of the British Museum, there is a tract of great rarity, from which Shakspeare is said to have borrowed the play of "As You Like It." It is entitled, "Euphue's Golden Legacy," by Thomas Lodge, a poet of the Elizabethan age, who was also the author of a great variety of works, in prose and verse.

Ellis, in his "Specimens of the Early English Poets," has given three of Lodge's poems, from "The Pleasant Historie of Glaucus and Scilla;" but has omitted to mention the following Madrigal, perhaps the most beautiful of all his compositions. The edition from which it is transcribed, is believed to be unique.

"Love in my bosom, like a bee,

Doth suck his sweete;

Now with his wings he plays with me,

Now with his feete.

Within mine eyes he makes his nest,

His bed amid my tender breast;

My kisses are his daily feast,

And yet he robs me of my rest.

Strike I my lute-he tunes the string;
He music plays if I do sing;

He lends me every living thing,

Yet, cruel, he my heart doth sting.

What, if I beat the wanton boy

With many a rod,

He will repay me with anoy,
Because a God.

Then, sit thou safely on my knee,
And let thy bower my bosom be;
O Cupid! do thou pity me,

I will not wish to part from thee."

ROYAL AND NOBLE POETS.

"MANY of the Troubadours, whose works now exist, and whose names are recorded, accompanied their Lords to the Holy Land. Some of the French nobility of the first rank were Troubadours, about the eleventh century; and the French critics, with much triumph, observe, that it is the glory of the French poetry to number Counts and Dukes, that is, Sovereigns, among its professors, from its commencement. What a glory! The Worshipful Company of Merchant-Tailors, in London, if I recollect right, boast the names of many Dukes, Earls, and Princes, enrolled in their community. This is, indeed, an honour to that otherwise respectable

society. But poets can derive no lustre from Counts, and Dukes, or even Princes, who have been enrolled in their lists; only in proportion as they have adorned the art by the excellence of their compositions."

WARTON.

PETRARCH'S BOOKS.

FEW persons knew the value of books better than this poet. His friends having written to him several apologies for not visiting him, in which they declaimed against his love of solitude, as unnatural to a human being, and reproached him for his unsocial mode of life; Petrarch smiled at their messages, and scorned their reproaches, and made the following excellent remarks: "These people consider the pleasures of the world as their supreme good, and not to be renounced. But I have friends of a very different description, whose society is far more agreeable to me: they are of all countries, and of all ages; they are distinguished in war, in politics, and in the sciences. It is very easy to see them; they are always at my service. I call for their company or send them away, whenever I please: they are never troublesome,

and immediately answer all my questions. Some relate the events of ages past, others reveal the secrets of nature; these teach me how to live in comfort, those how to die in quiet. In return for all these services, they only require a chamber of me in one corner of my mansion, where they may repose in peace."

POETRY AND PAINTING.

POPE occasionally amused himself with painting, and received instruction from his friend Jervas, the fashionable painter of the day. Of all the departments in this delightful art, portrait-painting, perhaps, is the most difficult; for here, the painting is directly compared with the prototype. Pope laboured and made but sorry work of it. He, however, was not blind to his own defects; and, in a letter to his friend Gay, he thus speaks of his progress: "I have thrown away three Doctor Swifts, each of which was once my vanity; two Lady Bridgwaters, a Duchess of Montagu, beside half-adozen Earls, and one Knight of the Garter. I have crucified Christ over again in effigy, and made a Madonna as old as her mother St. Anne.

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