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You let me know that all the worlde are knaves, All of wode eke longe and wyde,
That lordes and cits are robbers in disguise; Pryde and glorie of thee tyde;
I and my men, the Cockneies of the waves,

Whych yna tyme dydd falle awaie:
Will profitte by youre lessons and bee wise; Then erle Leof he bespedde
Make you give back the harvest of youre lies; Thys grete ry verr fromme hys bedde,
From deep fraught barques l'le take the mysers Round hys castle for to runne,
Make all the wealthe of every ' my prize, (soul, l’T was in trothe ann ancyante enne,
And cheating Londons pryde to dygner Bristowe But warre and tyme wyll all decaie.
rolle,

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,
Uponne thys brydge darde all to fyghte,

Standynge where the other stoode.
Forslagenn manie warriours laie,
And Dacyanns well nie wonne the daje.
Whanne doughiy Baldwinus arose,

SANCTE WARBUR.
And scatterd deathe amonge hys foes,

(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,
And gilded fishes wanton in the sunne,
Emyttynge to the feelds a dewie dank,

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.

ships.

4

THE WORLDE.

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.

spryghte,

[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

(snare,

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
Mie name is Intereste, tis I

purse.
Dothe yntoe alle bosoms flic,
Eche one hylten secret's myne,
None so wordie, goode, and dygne,
Butte wyll fynde ytte to theyr cost,

ONE CANTO OF AN ANCIENT POEM, CALLED
Intereste wyll rule the roaste.
I to everichone gyve lawes,

THE UNKNOWN KNIGHT, OR THE

TOURNAMENT.
Selfe ys fyrst yn everich cause.
SECOND MYNSTREL.

[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.]
Love somme behyghte mie name,
Some doe anemp ine Follie;

Tjie matten belle han sounded long,
Inne sprytes of meltynge molde

The cocks han sang their morning songe,
I sette mie burneynge sele;

When lo! the tuneful clarions sound,
To mee a goulers goulde

(Wherein all other noise was drown'd)
Doeth nete a pyne avele;

Did echo to the rooms around,
I pre upon the helthe,

And greet the ears of champyons stronge;
And from gode redeynge flee,

Arise, arise from downie bedde,
The manne who woulde gette wealthe For Sunne doth gin to show his hedde!
Muste never thynke of mee.

Then each did don in seemlie gear,

What armour eche beseem'd to wear,
THIRD MYNSTREL.

And on each sheelde devices shone,
I bee the queede of Pryde, mie spyrynge heade Of wounded hearts and battles won,
Mote reche the cloudes and styile be rysynge hie, All curious and nice echon;
Too lyttle is the Earthe to bee mie bedde, With manie a tassild spear;
Too hannow for mie breetheyuge place the skie; And mounted echeone on a steed
Daynous I see the worlde bineth me lie

Unwote made ladies hearts to blede.
Botte to mie betterres, I soe lyttle gree,
Aneuthe a shadow of a shade I bee,

Heraulds eche side the clarions wound,

The horses started at the sound;
Tys to the smalle alleyn that I canne multyplie.

The knyghtes echeone did poynt the launce,
FOURTH MYNSTREL.

And to the combattes did advance;
I am the queed of goulers; look arounde From Hyberne, Scotland, eke from Fraunce;
The ayrs aboute mee thieres doe represente, Thyre prancyng horses tare the ground;
Bloudsteyned robbers spryng from oute the All strove to reche the place of fyghte,
grounde,

The first to exercise their myghte
And airie vysyons swarme around mie ente;

O’Rocke upon his courser fleet,
O save mie monies, ytte ys theyre entente
To nymme the redde godde of mie fremded Swift as lightning were his feet,

First gain'd the lists and gatte him fame;
sprighte,
Whatte joie canne goulers have or daie or nyghte! 'roun west Hybernee isle he came,

His myghte depictur'd in his name'.

All dreded such an one to meet;
Vice bee 1 hyghte onne golde fulle ofte I ryde, Bold as a mountain wolf be stood,
Fulle fayre unto the syghte for aie I seeme; Upon his swerde sat grim dethe and bloude,
Mie ugsomness wythe goldenne veyles I hyde,

But when he threwe downe his asenglave,
Laieynge mie lovers ynne a sylkenne dreme;
Butte whan mie untrue pleasaunce have byn Next came in syr Botelier bold and brave,

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,

FIFTH MYNSTREL.

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,
Their launces with the furious stroke

And then one hour was gone and past.
Into a thousand shivers broke,
Even as the thunder tears the oak,
And scatters splinters here and there;
So great the shock, their senses did depart,

THE ROMAUNTE OF THE CNYGATE. The bloude all ran to strengthen up the harte.

BY JOHN DE BERGHAM,
Syr Botelier Rumsie first came from his traunce,
And from the inarshall toke the launce;

[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,
His prancynge stede the ground did tare;
In haste he made a false advance;

The floureys al arounde onspryngede,
Syr Botelier seeing, with myghte amain

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.
Tormented in mind and bodily peyne,

Begon for I wayte notte thye boones.
Syr Botelier crowy’d, most galantlie stode,
As some tall oak within the thick wode.

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,

Mr. Cottle]
He knew the tricks of tourneyinge full well,
In running race ne manne culd him excell,

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

wine,

were.

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
To seek for glory and renown, he goes

YNNE DAIES OF YORE.
To scatter death among his trembling foes;
Unnerv'd by fear they trembled at his stroke;

On thou, orr what remaynes of thee,
So cutting blasts shake the tall mountain oak. Ælla, the darlynge of futurity,

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,
He gropes the way from whence the cries proceed. And bie thie valyante hande
The arching trees above obscur'd the light,

Beesprengedd all the mees wythe gore.
Here 'twas all evening, there eternal night,

Drawne bie thyne anlace felle, And now the rustling leaves and strengthened cry

Downe to the depthe of Helle

Thousandes of Dacyanns went;
Bespeaks the cause of the confusion nigh;
Thro' the thick brake the astonish'd champion

Brystowannes, menne of myghte,
A weeping damsel bending on her knees; (sees

Ydar'd the bloudie fyghte,

And actedd deeds full quent.
A ruttian knyght would force her to the ground,
But still some small resisting strength she found. Oh thou whereer (tbie bones att reste)
(Women and cats, if you compulsion use

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
TO JOHNE LADGATE.

WERE COMPOSED BY JOHN LADGATE, A PRIEST (SENT WITH THE FOLLOWING SONGE TO ÆLLA.)

IN LONDON,

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.
Thatt thou and I a bowtynge matche muste have,
Lette ytt ne breakynge of oulde friendshyppe bee, Amongs the Greeces Homer was
Thys ys the onelie all-a-boone I crave,

A poett mouche renownde,

Amonys the Latyns Vyrgilius
Rememberr Stowe, the Bryghtstowe Carmalyte,

Was beste of posts founde.
Who whanne John Clarkynge, one of mycklė lore,
Dydd throwe hys gauntlette-penne, wyth hym to The Brytish Merlyn oftenne hanne
fyglite,

(nesse more. The gyfte of inspyration,
Hee showd smalle wytte, and showd hys weak- And Adled to the Sexonne menne

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,

eare.

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,

syght,

[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.

teethe,

(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.
Orig. Lydgate.
Chat. Ladgate.

Loughe loudlie dynneth from the dolte adrames'; ver. 3. Orig. goe.

Chat. doe.

He swelles on laudes of fooles, tho'kennes bem soe. 7. Orig. wryle.

Chat, fughte.

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,
ÆLLA,

Requyrynge wbatt I doe notte nowe possess,
A TRAGYCAL ENTERLUDE, OR DISCOORSEYNGE To you I leave the taske; I kenne your mrgote
TRAGEDIE,

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.

Chat. glare.

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