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You let me know that all the worlde are knaves, All of wode eke longe and wyde,
Whych yna tyme dydd falle awaie:
Now agayne, wythe bremie force,
Severn ynn hys aynciant course SONGE OF SEYNCTE BALDYWYNNE. Rolls lys rappyd streeme alonge,
With a sable swifte and stronge, [From Dean Milles's edition. According to Chat- Moreying 4 manie ann okie wood:
terton, this and the following poem were sung Wee the menne of Brystowe towne when the bridge at Bristol was completed in Have yreerd thys brydge of stone, 1247.]
Wyshyng echone that ytt maie laste WHANN Norrurs and hys mevne of myghte,
Till the date of daies be past,
Standynge where the other stoode.
(From the Supplement to Chatterton's MiscelFromme out the brydge the purlinge bloode
lanies. It is there entitled Imitation of ou Embolled bie the runnynge floude.
Old Poets. On oure Ladyes Chirch. 1769.] Dethe dydd uponne hys anlace hange,
In auntient dayes, when Kenewalchvn king And all hys arms were gutte de sangue2.
Of all the borders of the sea did reigde, His doughtinesse wrought thilk dismaye,
Whos cutting celess, as the bardyes synge, The foreign warriors ranne awaie,
Cut strakung furrowes in the foamie mayne, Erle Baldwynus regarded well,
Saucte Warbur cast aside his earles estate, How manie menn forslaggen fell; To Heaven lyft oppe hys holic eye,
As great as good, and eke as good as great.
Tho blest with what us men accounts as store, And thanked Godd for victorye; Thenne threw bys anlace ynn the tyde,
Saw something further, and saw something more. Lyvdd ynn a cell, and hermytte died.
Where smokyng Wasker scours the claiey baoš,
As in the twyning path-waye he doth runne; SONGE OF SEYNCTE WARBURGHE. Here stood a house, that in the ryver smile
Since valorous Ursa first wonne Bryttayn isle; (From Dean Milles's edition.]
The stones in one as firm as rock unite, WHANNE kynge Kynghill 3 ynn hys honde
And it defyde the greatest warriours mygbte. Helde the sceptre of thys londe, Sheenynge starre of Chrystes lyghte,
Around about the lofty elemens hie The merkie mysts of pagann nyghte
Proud as their planter reerde their greenie crest,
Bent out their heads, whene'er the windes came Gan to scatter farr and wyde: Thanne Seynete Warburghe bee arose,
In amorous dalliance the flete cloudes-kest. [bie, Dofled lys bonnores and fyne clothes;
Attendynge squires dreste ip trickynge brighte,
To each tenth squier an attendynge knygute, Preechynge hys Lorde Jesus name, Toe the lande of West Sexx came,
'The hallic bung with pendaunts to the fore, Whare blacke Severn rolls lys tyde. ·
A coat of nobil armes upon the doore; Stronge yon faithfullness, he trodde
Horses and dogges to hunt the fallowe deere, Overr the waterrs lyke a godde,
Of pastures many, wide extent of wode, Till he gavnde the distaunt hecke,
Faulkonnes in mewes, and, little birds to teir, Yan whose bankes hys stafle dydd steck,
The sparrow bawke, and manie hawkies gode. Witnesse to the myrracle;
Just in the prime of life, whan others court Thenne he preechedd nyghte and daie,
Some swottie nymph, to gain their tender hand, And set manee you ryghte uaie.
Greet with the kynge and trerdie greet with the Thys goode staffe great wonders wroughte
And as aforesed mickle much of land,
(court Moe than gueste bie mortalle thoughte, Orr thann mortall tonge can tell.
Moreying, rooting up, so explained in the Thenn the foulke a brydge dydd make Overr the streme antoe the hecke,
glossary to Robert Gloucester.-Mored, i. e. dig.
ged, grubbed. The roots of trees are still called · The word one, or mun, must be here supplied, mores in Devonshire. in order to complete the sense and the verse. 5 Celes, most probably from the ancient word
Gutte de sangue, drops of blood; an heraldic ceolis; which, in the Saxon, is slips. From whence allusion, suitable to the genius of that age, ceolar, we find in Brompton, are used for large 3 King Kynghill, king Cuenwolf.
SIXTH MYNSTREL. (From Barrett's History of Bristol.]
I bee greete Dethe, alle ken mee bie the name,
Botte none can saie howe I doe loose the FADRE, SONNE, and MYNSTRELLES.
[blame, Goode menne mie tardyinge delaje doethe FADRE.
Botte moste ryche goulerres from mee take a To the worlde newe and ytts bestoykenynge waie
flyghte; Thys coistrelle sonne of myne ys all mie care,
Myckle of wealthe I see whereere I came,
Doetbe mie ghastness mockle multyplye Yee mynstrelles warne hymme how wyth rede he straie
And maketh hem afrayde to lyve or die. Where guyided ryce dothe spredde hys mascill’d
FADRE. To gettyng wealth I woulde hee shoulde bee bredde,
(hys hedde. Howe, villeyn mynstrelles, and is this your rede, And couronnes of rudde goulde ne glorie rounde
Awaie: awaie: I wyll ne geve a curse, [hede,
Mie sonne, mie sonne, of mie speeche take FIRST MYNSTREL.
Nothynge ys goode thatte bryngeth not to
ONE CANTO OF AN ANCIENT POEM, CALLED
THE UNKNOWN KNIGHT, OR THE
[From the Supplement tu Chatterton's Miscella
nies. I amme a faytour flame
“ He offered this as a sample, having Of lemmies melancholi,
two more cantos. The author unknown.” 1769.]
Tjie matten belle han sounded long,
The cocks han sang their morning songe,
When lo! the tuneful clarions sound,
(Wherein all other noise was drown'd)
Did echo to the rooms around,
And greet the ears of champyons stronge;
Arise, arise from downie bedde,
Then each did don in seemlie gear,
What armour eche beseem'd to wear,
And on each sheelde devices shone,
Unwote made ladies hearts to blede.
Heraulds eche side the clarions wound,
The horses started at the sound;
The knyghtes echeone did poynt the launce,
And to the combattes did advance;
The first to exercise their myghte
O’Rocke upon his courser fleet,
First gain'd the lists and gatte him fame;
His myghte depictur'd in his name'.
All dreded such an one to meet;
But when he threwe downe his asenglave,
The dethe of manie a Saraceen; tryde, Thanne doe I showe alle horrownesse and row, Theie thought him a devil from Hells black den, And those I have ynne nette woulde feyne mie grype eschew.
· Probably alluding to the word rock,
Ne thinking that anie of mortalle menne
And wound his hand in furious geir; Could send so manie to the grave.
Syr Johns stele assenglave was wette: For his life to John Rumsee he render'd his thanks, Syr John then toe the marshal turn'd, Descended from Godred the king of the Manks. His breast with meekle furie burn'd.
The tenders of the feelde came in, Within bis sure rest he settled his speare,
And bade the champyons not begyn; And ran at O'Rocke in full career;
Eche tourney but one hour should last,
And then one hour was gone and past.
THE ROMAUNTE OF THE CNYGATE. The bloude all ran to strengthen up the harte.
BY JOHN DE BERGHAM,
[From a MS. in Chatterton's band-writing, in the O'Rocke eke chose another speere,
possession of Mr. Cottle.] And ran at syr Botelier full career;
The Sunne ento Vyrgyne was gotten,
The floureys al arounde onspryngede,
The woddie grasse blaunched the fenne Fellde hiin down upon the playne.
The quenis Ermyne arised fro bedde;
Syr knyghte dyd y nounte oponn a stede Syr Pigotte Novlin at the clarions sound,
Ne rouncie ne drybblette of make On a milk-white stede with gold trappings around, Thanne asterte for dur'sie dede He couchde in his rest bis silver-poynt speere, Wythe Morglaie hys fooemenne to make blede And ferslie ranne up in full career;
Eke swythyn as wynde. trees. theyre hartys to But for his appearance he payed full deare, Al doune in a delle a merke dernie delle (shake In the first course laid on the ground;
Wheere coppys eke thighe trees there bee, Besmeerd in the dust with his silver and gold, There dyd hee perehaunce I see No longer a glorious sight to behold.
A damoselle askedde for ayde on her kne
An cnyghte uncourteous dydde bie her stonde Syr Botelier then having conquer'd his twayne,
Hee hollyd herr faeste bie her honde, Rode conqueror off the tourneying playne,
Discorteous cnyghte, I doe praje nowe thou telle Receivying a garland from Alice's hand,
Whirst doeste thou bee so to thee damselle. The fayrest ladye in the lande.
The knyghte hyin assoled eftsoones, Syr Pigotte this viewed, and furious did stand,
Itte beethe ne mattere of thype.
Begon for I wayte notte thye boones.
The knyghte sed I proove on thie gaberdyne,
Alyche boars enchafed to fyghte heie flies. Awhile the shrill clarions sounded the word; The discoorteous knyghte bee strynge botte Next rode in syr John, of Arlderleigh lord,
stryuger the righte,
[fyghte Who over his back his thick shield did bryng,
The dynne bee berde a'myle for fuire in the In checkee of redde and silver sheeninge, With sticde and gold trappings beseeming a king, Tyl thee false knyshte y fallethe and dyes. A guilded tine adder twyned round hie swerde. Damoysel, quod the knyghte, now comme thoa De Bretville advanced, a man of great myghte And couched his launce in his rest for the fyghte. Y wotte wcile quod shee I nede thee ne fere,
The knyghte yfallen badd wolde Ischulde bee, Ferse as the falling waters of the lough,
Butte loe he ys dedde maie itte spede HeareoThat tum'sle hcadlonge from the mountains browe, Evn so they met in drierie sound, De Bretville fell upon the ground, The bloudle from inward bruised wound, Did out his stained helmet flowe;
THE ROMANCE OF THE KNIGHT. As some tall bark upon the foamie main, So laie De Bretville on the plain.
MODERNISED BY THOMAS CHATTERTON. Syr John of the Dale or Compton hight,
[From a MS. of Chatterton's in the possession of Advanced next in lists of fyght,
The pleasing sweets of spring and summer pes, Or how to wielde a sworde better tol,
The falling leaf flies in the sultry blast, And cke he was a manne of might:
The fields resign their spangling orbs of gold, On a black stede with silver trappynges dyglit
The wrinkled grass its silver joys unfold He darde the dangers of the tourneyd bghte.
Mantling the spreading moor in heavenly white,
Meeting from every hill the ravish'd sight. Within their rests their speeres they set,
The yellow tlag uprears its spotted head, So furiously ech other met,
Hanging regardant o'er its wat'ry bed: That Compton's well intended spcere
The worthy knight ascends bis foaming steed, Syr John his shield in pieces tare,
Of size uncommon, and no common breede
His sword of giant make hangs from his belt,
SONGE TO ÆLLA, Whose piercing edge his daring foes had felt.
LORDE OF THE CASTEL OF BRISTOWE
YNNE DAIES OF YORE.
On thou, orr what remaynes of thee,
Lett thys mnie songe bolde as thie courage be, Down in a dark and solitary vale
As everlastynge to posteritye. Where the curst screech-owl sings her fatal tale, Where copse and brambles interwoven lie, Whanne Dacya's sonnes, whose hayres of bloude Where trees intwining arch the azure sky,
redde hue Thither the fate-mark'd champion bent his way,
Lyche kynge-cuppes brastynge wythe the mornBy purling streams to lose the heat of day:
Arraung'd ynne dreare arraie, [ing due, A sudden cry assaults his list’ning ear,
Upponne the lethale daie, His soul's too noble to admit of fear.
Spredde farre and wyde onne Watchets shore; The cry re-echoes: with his bounding steed
Than dyddst thou furiouse stande,
Beesprengedd all the mees wythe gore.
Drawne bie thyne anlace felle, And now the rustling leaves and strengthened cry
Downe to the depthe of Helle
Thousandes of Dacyanns went;
Brystowannes, menne of myghte,
Ydar'd the bloudie fyghte,
And actedd deeds full quent.
Thye spryte to haunte delyghteth best, The pleasure which they die for, will refuse,)
Whetherr upponne the bloude-embrewedd pleyne, Thechampion thus: “Desist, discourteous knight,
Orr whare thou kennst fromın farre Why dost thou shamefully misuse thy might."
The dysmall crye of warre,
[sleyne; With eye contemptuous thus the knight replies,
Orr seest soinme mountayne made of corse of “ Begone! whoever dares my fury dies.”
Orr seest the hatchedd stede, Down to the ground the champion's gauntlet flew,
Ypraunceynge o'er the mede, “ I dare thy fury, and I'll prove it too.”
And neighe to be amenged the poynctedd spceres; Like two fierce mountain-boars enraged they fly,
Orr ynne blacke armoure staulke arounde The prancing steeds make echo rend the sky,
Embatteld Brystowe, once thie grounde, Like a fierce tempest is the bloody fight, [knight. And glowe ardurous on the castle steeres; Dead from his lofty steed falls the proud ruffian
Orr fierye round the mynsterr glare; The victor, sadly pleas'd, accosts the dame,
Lette Brystowe stylle be made thie care; “ I will convey you hence to whence you came.”
Guarde ytt fromme foemenne and consumynge With look of gratitude the fair replied,
fyre; “ Content: I in your virtue may confide.
Lyche Avones streme ensyrke ytt rounde, But," said the fair, as mournful she survey'd
Ne lette a flame enharme the grounde, The breathless corse upon the meadow laid,
Tylle ynne onc flame all the whole worlde expyre. “ May all thy sins from Heaven forgiveness find! May not thy body's crimes affect thy mind!”
THE UNDERWRITTEN LINES
WERE COMPOSED BY JOHN LADGATE, A PRIEST (SENT WITH THE FOLLOWING SONGE TO ÆLLA.)
And sent to Rowlie, as an answer to the preceding [This and the two following poems are printed from
Songe of Ælla. a copy in Mr. Catcott's hand-writing.]
HAVYNGE wythe mouche attentyon redde Well
Whatt you dydd too mee sende, ELL thanne, goode Johne, sythe ytt must needes be soe,
Admyre the varses mouche I dyd,
And thus an answer lende.
A poett mouche renownde,
Amonys the Latyns Vyrgilius
Was beste of posts founde.
(nesse more. The gyfte of inspyration,
Dydd synge wythe elocation. Thys ys mie formance, whyche 1 nowe have wrytte,
Ynne Norman ty mes, Turgotus and The best performance of nie lyttel wytte.
Goode Chaucer dydd excelle,
Thenn Stowe, the Bryghtstowe Carmelyte, The whole transcript is of Chatterton's hand. Dydd bare awaie the belle.
writing.) Nowe Rowlie ynne these mokie dayes
EPISTLE TO MASTRE CANYNGE ON ÆLLA. Lendes owte hys sheenynge lyghtes,
'Tys songe bie mynstrelles, thatte yn auntyent And Turgotus and Chaucer lyves
tym, Ynne ev'ry lyne he wrytes.
Whan Reasonn hylt herselfe in cloudes of nyghte,
The preest delyvered alle the lege yn rhym; Mr. Tyrwhitt compared the copy of this and
Lyche peyncted tyltynge speares to please the the two preceding poems, supplied by Mr. Catcott,
[dere, with one made by Mr. Barrett, from the piece of
The whyche yn yttes felle use doe make inoke vellum which Chatterton gave to him as the ori- Syke dyd theire auncyante lee deftlie delygbte the ginal MS. These are the variations of importance, exclusive of many in the spelling. Verses to Ladgate.
Perchaunce yn vyrtues gare rhym mote bee In the title, for Ladgate, r. Lydgate.
thenne, ver. 2. r. Thatl I and thee.
Butte efte nowe flyeth to the odher syde; 3. for bee, r. goe.
In hallie preeste apperes the ribaudes penne, 7. for fyghte, r. wryte.
Inne lithie moncke apperes the barronnes pryde:
But rhym wythe somme, as nedere widhout Songe to Ælla.
(lyttel scathe. The title in the vellum MS. was simply Songe Make pleasaunce to the sense, botte maje do foe Ælla, 'with a small mark of reference to a note below, containing the following words—Lord
Syr John, a knyghte, who hath a barne of lore, of the castelle of Brystowe ynne daies of yore. It may Kenns Latyn att fyrst sygbte from Frenche os be proper also to take notice, that the whole Greke, song was there written like prose, without any Pyghtethe hys knowlachynge ten yeres or more, breaks, or divisions into verses.
To rynge upon the Latynne worde to speke. ver. 6. for brastynge, r. burstynge.
Whoever spekethe Englysch ys despysed, 11. for valyante, r. burlie.
The Englysch hym to please moste fyrste be 23. for dysmall, r, honore.
latynized. Ladgate's Answer.
Vevyan, a moncke, a good requiem synges; No title in the vellum MS.
Can preache so wele, eche hynde bys meneynge ver. 3. for varses, r. pene.
knowes; antep. for Lendes r. Sendes.
Albeytte these gode guyfts awaie he flynges, ult. for lyne, r. thynge.
Beeynge as badde yn vearse as good yn prose.
Hee synges of seynctes who dyed for yer Godde, Mr. Barrett had also a copy of these poems by Everych wynter nyghte afresche he sheddes theyt Chatterton, which differed from that, which Chat
blodde. terton afterwards produced as the original, in the following particulars, among others:
To maydens, huswyfes, and unlored dames, In the title of the Verses to Ladgate,
Hee redes hys tales of merryment and woe.
Loughe loudlie dynneth from the dolte adrames'; ver. 3. Orig. goe.
He swelles on laudes of fooles, tho'kennes bem soe. 7. Orig. wryle.
Sommetyme at tragedie theie laughe and synge,
At merrie yaped fage somme hard-drayned rater Songe to Alla.
brynge. ver. 5. Orig. Dacyane. Chat. Dacya's. Orig. whose lockes. Chat. whose hayres.
Yette Vevyan ys ne foole, behynde hys lynés. 11. Orig. burlie.
Chat, bronded, Geofroie makes vearse, as handycraftes theyt 22. Orig. kennest. Chat, hearst. ware;
(tuynes 23. Orig. honore. Chat, dysmall.
Wordes wythoute sense full groffyngelye be 26. Orig. Yprauneynge Chat. İfrayning.
Cotteynge hys storie off as wythe a sheere; 30. Orig. gloue.
Waytesa monthes on nothynge, and hys storie donne,
(begonse. Ne moe you from ytte kenn, than gyf you recte
Enowe of odhers; of mieselfe to write,
Requyrynge wbatt I doe notte nowe possess,
Wyll make mie faultes, mie meynte of faultes,
be less. WROTENN BY THOMAS ROWLEIE; PLAIEDD BE
Ælla wythe thys I sende, and hope that you FORE MASTRE CANYNGE, ATTE HYS HOWSE NEMPTE THE RODDE LODGE: ALSOE BEFORE
Wylle from ytte cast awaie, whatte lynes maie be
untrue. THE DUKE OF NORFOLCK, JOHAN NOWARD.
Playes made from hallie tales I holde unmeete; (This poem, with the Epistle, Letter, and Entroductionne, is printed from a folio MS, furnished
Lette somme greate storie of a manne be songe; by Mr. Catcott, in the beginning of which he
Unauthorized. There is however the adjective has written, “Chatterton's trauscript, 1769." adraming, churlish. Perhaps sausies.