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Some merchands taks unleesomel wine,

pying a prominent place in the history of his counWhilk maks their packs oft time full thin,

try, he died of the plague in London in the year By their succession, as ye may see,

1522. Douglas shines as an allegorical and descripThat ill-won gear 'riches not the kin:

tive poet. He wants the vigorous sense, and also In Taking sould Discretion be.

the graphic force, of Dunbar; while the latter is Some taks other mennis tacks,

always close and nervous, Douglas is soft and verAnd on the puir oppression maks,

bose. The genius of Dunbar is so powerful, that And never remembers that he maun die,

manner sinks beneath it; that of Douglas is so much Till that the gallows gars him rax :3

matter of culture, that manner is its most striking In Taking sould Discretion be.

peculiarity. This manner is essentially scholarly.

He employs an immense number of words derived Some taks by sea, and some by land,

from the Latin, as yet comparatively a novelty in And never fra taking can hald their hand, Till he be tyit up to ane tree ;

English composition. And even his descriptions of

nature involve many ideas, very beautiful in themAnd syne they gar him understand, In Taking sould Discretion be.

selves, and very beautifully expressed, but inappro

priate to the situation, and obviously introduced Some wald tak all his neighbour's gear;

merely in accordance with literary fashion. Had he of man as little fear

The principal original composition of Douglas is As he has dread that God him see ;

a long poem, entitled The Palace of Honour. It was To tak then sould he never forbear :

designed as an apologue for the conduct of a king, In Taking sould Discretion be.

and therefore addressed to James IV. The poet Some wald tak all this warld on breid ;4

represents himself as seeing, in a vision, a large And yet not satisfied of their need,

company travelling towards the Palace of Honour. Through heart unsatiable and greedie ; He joins them, and narrates the particulars of the Some wald tak little, and can not speed :

pilgrimage. The well-known Pilgrim's Progress In Taking sould Discretion be.

bears so strong a resemblance to this poem, that Great men for taking and oppression,

Bunyan could scarcely have been ignorant of it. Are set full famous at the Session,

King Hart, the only other long poem of Douglas, And puir takers are hangit hie,

presents a metaphorical view of human life. But Shawit for ever, and their succession :

the most remarkable production of this author was In Taking sould Discretion be.

a translation of Virgil's Æneid into Scottish verse, which he executed in the year 1513, being the first

version of a Latin classic into any British tongue. Gavin Douglas, born about the year 1474, a It is generally allowed to be a masterly performance, younger son of Archibald, fifth Earl of Angus, was though in too obsolete a language ever to regain its

popularity. The original poems, styled prologues, which the translator affixes to each book, are esteemed amongst his happiest pieces.

[Apostrophe to Honour.)

(Original Spelling.)
O hie honour, sweit heuinlie flour digest,
Gem verteuous, maist precious, gudliest,
For hie honour thou art guerdoun conding,
Of worschip kend the glorious end and rest,
But whome in richt na worthie wicht may lest,
Thy greit puissance may maist auance all thing,
And pouerall to meikali auail sone bring,
I the require sen thow but peir- art best,
That eftir this in thy hie blis we ring.

[Morning in May.*]
As fresh Aurore, to mighty Tithon spouse,
Ished of her saffron bed and ivor house,
In cram’sy clad and grained violate,

With sanguine cape, and selvage purpurate,

Unshet+ the windows of her large hall,
Spread all with roses, and full of balm royal,
And eke the heavenly portis chrystalline
Unwarps braid, the warld till illumine;
The twinkling streamers of the orient
Shed purpour spraings, with gold and azure ment;5
Eous, the steed, with ruby harness red,
Above the seas liftis furth his head,
Of colour sore, and somedeal brown as berry,
For to alichten and glad our emispery;
The flame out-bursten at the neisthirls,7
So fast Phaeton with the whip him whirls. * *

While shortly, with the bleczand torch of day,
Dunkeld Cathedral.

Abulyit in his lemande fresh array,
educated for the church, and rose through a variety of
inferior offices to be bishop of Dunkeld. After occu-

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1 Worthy reward.

8 Without equal. 8 Issued from.

* Opened. 1 Unlawful. 2 Lenses. 3 Till the gallows stretches him. 6 Purple streaks mingled with gold and azure. 4 In its whole breadth. 5 Get high places in the supreme

7 Nostrils. 8 Glittering. court of Lw.

* Part of the prologue to the 12th book of the Æneid.

6 Yellowish brown.

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Furth of his palace royal ishit Phoebus,

So dusty powder upatoursl in every street, With golden crown and visage glorious,

While corby gaspit for the fervent heat. Crisp hairs, bricht as chrysolite or topaz;

Under the bowis bene in lufely vales, For whase hue micht nane behald his face.

Within ferizance and parkis close of pales,
The auriate vanes of his throne soverare

The husteous buckis rakis furth on raw,
With glitterand glance o'crspread the oceane;' Herdis of hertis through the thick wood-shaw.
The largé fludes, lemand all of licht,

The young fawns followand the dun daes,
But with ane blink of his supernal sicht.

Kids, skippand through, runnis after raes. For to behald, it was ane glore to see

In leisurs and on leyis, little lambs The stabled windis, and the calmed sea,

Full tait and trig socht bletand to their dams. The soft season, the firmament serene,

On salt streams wolk? Dorida and Thetis, The loune illuminate air and firth amene.

By rinnand strandis, Nymphis and Naiadis, And lusty Flora did her bloomis spread

Sic as we clepe wenches and damysels, Under the feet of Phoebus' sulyart2 steed;

In gersy graves3 wanderand by spring wells ; The swarded soil embrode with selcouth3 hues, Of bloomed branches and flowers white and red, Wood and forest, obnumbrate with bews.4

Plettand their lusty chaplets for their head. Towers, turrets, kirnals, and pinnacles hie,

Some sang ring-songes, dances, leids, 4 and rounds. Of kirks, castles, and ilk fair citie,

With voices shrill, while all the dale resounds.
Stude painted, every fane, phiol,6 and stage,7 Whereso they walk into their caroling,
Upon the plain ground by their awn umbrage. For amorous lays does all the rockis ring.
of Eolus' north blasts havand no dreid,

Ane sang, “The ship sails over the salt faem,
The soil spread her braid bosom on-breid;

Will bring the merchants and my leman hame." The corn crops and the beir new-braird

Some other sings, ' I will be blythe and licht, With gladsome garment revesting the yerd.

My heart is lent upon so goodly wicht.'5 The praio besprent with springand sprouts dispers And thoughtful lovers rounish to and fro, For caller humours10 on the dewy nicht

To leis7 their pain, and plein their jolly woe. Rendering some place the gerse-piles their licht; After their guise, now singand, now in sorrow, As far as cattle the lang summer's day

With heartis pensive the lang summer's morrow. Had in their pasture eat and nip away;

Some ballads list indite of his lady; And blissful blossoms in the bloomed yerd,

Some livis in hope ; and some all utterly
Submits their heids to the young sun's safeguard. Despairit is, and sae quite out of grace,
Ivy leaves rank o'erspread the barmkin wall; His purgatory he finds in every place.
The bloomed hawthorn clad his pikis all;

Dame Nature's menstrals, on that other part,
Furth of fresh bourgeonsll the wine grapes ying12 Their blissful lay intoning every art,
Endland the trellis did on twistis hing;

And all small fowlis singis on the spray,
The loukit buttons on the gemmed trees

Welcome the lord of licht, and lampe of day, O'erspreadand leaves of nature's tapestries ;

Welcome fosterer of tender berbis green, Soft grassy verdure after balmy shouirs,

Welcome quickener of flourist flouirs sheen, On curland stalkis smiland to their flouirs.

Welcome support of every rute and vein, The daisy did on-breid her crownal small,

Welcome comfort of all kind fruit and grain, And every flouer unlappit in the dale.

Welcome the birdis beild upon the brier,
Sere downis small on dentilion sprang,

Welcome master and ruler of the year,
The young green bloomed strawberry leaves amang; Welcome weelfare of husbands at the plews,
Jimp jeryflouirs thereon leaves unshet,

Welcome repairer of woods, trees, and bews,
Fresh primrose and the purpour violet;

Welcome depainter of the bloomit meads, Heavenly lillies, with lockerand toppis white, Welcome the life of every thing that spreads Opened and shew their crestis redemite.

Welcome storer of all kind bestial,
Ane paradise it seemed to draw near

Welcome be thy bricht beamis, gladdand all.
Thir galyard gardens and each green herbere
Maist amiable wax the emeraut meads;
Swarınis souchis through out the respand reeds.
Over the lochis and the fludis gray,

Joun SKELTON flourished as a poet in the earlier Searchand by kind ane place where they should lay. part of the reign of Henry VIII. He was rector of Phoebus' red fow1,13 his cural crest can steer,

Dysse, in Norfolk, and chiefly wrote satires upon his Oft streikand furth his heckle, crawand cleer. own order, for which he was at one time compelled Amid the wortis and the rutis gent

to fly from his charge. The pasquils of Skelton are Pickand his meat in alleys where he went,

copious and careless effusions of coarse humour, disHis wivis Toppa and Partolet him by

playing a certain share of imagination, and much A bird all-time that hauntis bigamy.

rancour; but he could also assume a more amiable The painted pownelt pacand with plumes gym, and poetical manner, as in the following canzonet:Kest up his tail ane proud plesand wheel-rim,

To Mistress Margaret Hussey.
Ishrouded in his feathering bright and sheen,
Shapand the prent of Argus' hundred een.

Merry Margaret,
Amang the bowis of the olive twists,

As midsummer flower, Sere small fowls, workand crafty nests,

Gentle as falcon, Endlang the hedges thick, and on rank aiks

Or hawk of the tower; Ilk bird rejoicand with their mirthful makes.

With solace and gladness, In corners and clear fenestres of glass,

Much mirth and no madness, Full busily Arachne weavand was,

All good and no badness; To knit her nettis and her wobbis slie,

So joyously, Therewith to catch the little inidge or flie.

So maidenly,

So womanly,
3 Uncommon.
* Boughs.

Her demeaning,

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6 Cupola.
9 Meadow. 10 Cool vapours.
1 Rises in clouds. 9 Walked, 3 Grassy gloves.

• Laye
18 The cock. 14 The peacock.
5 Songs then popular. 6 Waisper. 7 Relieve. 8 Shelter.

1 Ocean.

I Earth. 19 Young.

7 Storey. 11 Sprouts.

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In everything,

correctness of style, and purity of expression; he Far, far passing

was the first to introduce the sonnet and blank verse That I can indite,

into English poetry. The gentle and melancholy Or suffice to write,

pathos of his style is well exemplified in the verses Of merry Margaret,

which he wrote during his captivity in Windsor As midsimmer flower,

Castle, when about to yield his life a sacrifice to
Gentle as falcon

tyrannical caprice :-
Or hawk of the tower;
As patient and as still,

Prisoner in Windsor, he recounteth his Pleasure there
And as full of goodwill,

As fair Isiphil,

So cruel prison how could betide, alas !
Sweet Pomander,

As proud Windsor ? where I, in lust and joy,
Good Cassander;

With a king's son, my childish years did pass,
Stedfast of thought,

In greater feast than Priam's son of Troy:
Well made, well wrought

Where each sweet place returns a taste full sour !
Far may be sought,

The large green courts where we were wont to hove,
Ere you can find

With eyes cast up into the Maiden Tower,
So courteous, so kind,

And easy sighs such as folk draw in love.
As merry Margaret,
This midsimmer flower,

The stately seats, the ladies bright of hue ;
Gentle as falcon,

The dances short, long tales of great delight,
Or hawk of the tower.

With words and looks that tigers could but rue,

Where each of us did plead the other's right.

The palm-play, where, despoiled for the game;
From Chaucer, or at least from James I., the Hare missed the ball and got sight of our dame,

With dazed eyes oft we by gleams of love, writers of verse in England had displayed little of the grace and elevation of true poetry. At length

To bait her eyes, which kept the leads above. a worthy successor of those poets appeared in The gravel ground, with sleeves tied on the helm Thomas Howard, eldest son of the Duke of Norfolk, Of foaming horse, with swords and friendly hearts; and usually denominated the EARL OF SURREY. With cheer, as though one should another whelm, This nobleman was born in 1516. He was educated Where we have fought, and chased oft with darts; at Windsor, in company with a natural son of the With silver drops the mead yet spread for ruth,

In active games of nimbleness and strength,
Where we did strain, trained with swarms of youth,

Our tender limbs that yet shot up in length:
The secret groves which oft we made resound,

Of pleasant plaint, and of our ladies' praise,
Recording oft what grace each one had found,

What hope of speed what dread of long delays:
The wild forest, the clothed holts with green,

With reins availed 3 and swift ybreathed horse; With cry of hounds and merry blasts between,

Where we did chase the fearful hart of force.
The wide vales, eke, that harboured us each night,

Wherewith, alas, reviveth in my breast,
The sweet accord such sleeps as yet delight,

The pleasant dreams, the quiet bed of rest :
The secret thoughts imparted with such trust,

The wanton talk, the divers change of play,
The friendship sworn, each promise kept so just;

Wherewith we passed the winter night away.
And with this thought, the blood forsakes the face,

The tears berain my cheeks of deadly hue,
Howard, Earl of Surrey.

The which, as soon as sobbing sighs, alas, king, and in early life became accomplished, not only Upsupped have, thus I my plaint renew : in the learning of the time, but in all

kinds of courtly place of bliss ! renewer of my woes, and chivalrous exercises. Having travelled into Italy, he became a devoted student of the poets of whom in thy walls thou dost each night enclose;

Give me accounts, where is my noble fere ;4 that country-Dante, Petrarch, Boccaccio, and Ariosto—and formed his own poetical style upon theirs.

To other leef,5 but unto me most dear: His poetry is chiefly amorous, and, notwithstanding Echo, alas ! that doth my sorrow rue, his having been married in early life, much of it con- Returns thereto a hollow sound of plaint. sists of the praises of a lady whom he names Geral. Thus I alone, where all my freedom grew, dine, supposed to have been a daughter of the Earl In prison pine with bondage and restraint, of Kildare. Surrey was a gallant soldier as well as a poet, and conducted an important expedition, in And with remembrance of the greater grief 1542, for the devastation of the Scottish borders. To banish the less, I find my chief relief. He finally fell under the displeasure of Henry VIII., 1 Hover ; loiter. and was beheaded on Tower Hill in 1547. The 2 A lover tied the sleeve of his mistress on the head of his poetry of Surrey is remarkable for a flowing melody, horse. 3 Reins droppod. • Companion. 3 Agreeable.



Description and Praise of his Love Geraldine. From Tuscan' came my lady's worthy race;

Fair Florence was some time their ancient seat; The western isle, whose pleasant shore doth face

Wild Camber's cliffs, did give her lively heat : Fostered she was with milk of Irish breast;

Her sire, an earl ; her dame of princes' blood : From tender years, in Britain she doth rest

With king's child, where she tasteth costly food. Hunsdon did first present her to mine een:

Bright is her hue, and Geraldine she hight: Hampton me taught to wish her first for mine:

And Windsor, alas, doth chase me from her sight. Her beauty of kind, her virtues from above; Happy is he that can obtain her love !

Whereat I sighed, and said,

Farewell my wonted joy,
Truss up thy pack, and trudge from me,

To every little boy ;
And tell them thus from me,

Their time most happy is,
If to their time they reason had,
To know the truth of this.

The Means to attain Happy Life.
Martial, the things that do attain

The happy life, be these, I find, The riches left, not got with pain ;

The fruitful ground, the quiet mind, The equal frend ; no grudge, no strife ;

No charge of rule, nor governance ; Without disease, the healthful life;

The household of continuance : The mean diet, no delicate fare ;

True wisedom joined with simpleness ; The night discharged of all care ;

Where wine the wit may not oppress. The faithful wife, without debate ;

Such sleeps as may beguile the night; Contented with thine own estate,

Ne wish for death, ne fear his might.

How no age is content with his own estate, and how the age of children is the happiest, if they had skill to understand it.

Laid in my quiet bed,

In study as I were,
I saw within my troubled head,

A heap of thoughts appear.
And every thought did show

So lively in mine eyes,
That now I sighed, and then I smiled,

As cause of thoughts did rise.
I saw the little boy,

In thought how oft that he
Did wish of God, to scape the rod,

A tall young man to be.
The young man eke that feels

His bones with pains opprest,
How he would be a rich old inan,

To live and lie at rest :
The rich old man that sees

His end draw on so sore,
How he would be a boy again,

To live so much the more.
Whereat full oft I smiled,

To see how all these three,
From boy to man, from man to boy,

Would chop and change degree:
And musing thus, I think,

The case is very strange,
That man from wealth, to live in woe,

Doth ever seek to change.
Thus thoughtful as I lay,

I saw my withered skin,
How it doth show my dented thws,

The flesh was wom so thin ;
And eke my toothless chaps,

The gates of my right way,
That opes and shuts as I do speak,

Do thus unto me say :
The white and hoarish hairs,

The messengers of age,
That show, like lines of true belief,

That this life doth assuage;
Bids thee lay hand, and feel

Them hanging on my chin.
The which do write two ages past,

The third now coming in.
Hang up, therefore, the bit

Of thy young wanton time;
And thou that therein beaten art,

The happiest life define:

SIR THOMAS WYATT. In amorous poetry, which may be said to have taken its rise in this age, Surrey had a fellow-labourer in Sir Thomas WYATT (1503-1541), another distinguished figure in the court of Henry VIII. Wyatt was a man highly educated for his age, a great traveller, and generally accomplished. He died of a fever caught by riding too fast on a hot day from Falmouth, while engaged on a mission to conduct the ambassador of the emperor, Charles V., to court. The songs and sonnets of this author, in praise of his mistress, and expressive of the various feelings he experienced while under the influence of the tender passion, though conceited, are not without refinement, and some share of poetical feeling. The lover's lute cannot be blamed, though it sing

of his lady's unkindness.
Blame not my Lute! for he must sound

Of this or that as liketh me;
For lack of wit the Lute is bound

To give such tunes as pleaseth me;
Though my songs be somewhat strange,
And speak such words as touch my change,

Blame not my Lute !
My Lute, alas ! doth not offend,

Though that per force he must agree
To sound such tunes as I intend,

To sing to them that heareth me;
Then though my songs be somewhat plain,
And toucheth some that use to feign,

Blame not my Lute !
My Lute and strings may not deny,

But as I strike they must obey ;
Break not them then so wrongfully,

But wreak thyself some other way;
And though the songs which I indite,
Do quit thy change with rightful spite,

Blame not my Lute !
Spite asketh spite, and changing change,

And falsed faith, must needs be known ;
The faults so great, the case so strange ;

Of right it must abroad be blown :
Then since that by thine own desert
My songs do tell how true thou art,

Blame not my Lute !

Blame but thyself that hast misdone,

And well deserved to have blame; Change thou thy way, so evil begone,

And then my Lute shall sound that same; But if till then my fingers play, By thy desert their wonted way,

Blame not my Lute ! Farewell! unknown ; for though thou break

My strings in spite with great disdain,
Yet have I found out for thy sake,

Strings for to string my Lute again :
And if perchance this silly rhyne,
Do make thee blush at any time,

Blame not my Lute.

The Courtier's Life.
In court to serve decked with fresh array,

Of sugared meats feeling the swect repast, The life in banquets and sundry kinds of play ;

Amid the press the worldly looks to waste ;

Hath with it joined oft times such bitter taste, That whoso joys such kind of life to hold, In prison joys, fettered with chains of gold.

Of the Mean and Sure Estate. Stand whoso lists upon the slipper' wheel,

Of high estate, and let me here rejoice, And use my life in quietness each deal,

Unknown in court that hath the wanton joys. In hidden place my time shall slowly pass,

And when my years be passed without annoy, Let me die old after the common trace,

For grips of death do he too hardly pass
That known is to all, but to himself, alas !
He dieth unknown, dased with dreadful face.

The re-cured Lorer exulteth in his Preedom, and

voweth to remain free until Death. I am as I am, and so will I be ; But how that I am none knoweth truly. Be it ill, be it well, be I bond, be I free, I am as I am, and so will I be. I lead my life indifferently ; I mean nothing but honesty; And though folks judge full diversely, I am as I am, and so will I die. I do not rejoice, nor yet complain, Both mirth and sadness I do refrain, And use the means since folks will feign ; Yet I am as I am, be it pleasant or pain. Divers do judge as they do trow, Some of pleasure and some of woe, Yet for all that nothing they know ; But I am as I am, wheresoever I go. But since judgers do thus decay, Let every man his judgment say; I will it take in sport and play, For I am as I am, whosoerer say nay. Who judgeth well, well God them send; Who judgeth evil, God them amend; To judge the best therefore intend, For I am as I am, and so will I end. Yet some there be that take delight, To judge folk's thought for envy and spito; But whether they judge me wrong or right, I am as I am, and so do I write. Praying you all that this do rend, To trust it as you do your creed ; And not to think I change my weed, For I am as I am, however I speed. But how that is I leave to you ; Judge as ye list, false or true, Ye know no more than afore ye knew, Yet I am as I am, whatever ensue. And from this mind I will not flee, But to you all that misjudge me, I do protest, as ye may see, That I am as I am, and so will be.

THOMAS TUSSER. Amongst the poets dating towards the conclusion of the present period, may be ranked Thomas Tug. SER, author of the first didactic poem in the language. He was born about 1523, of an ancient family : had a good education; and commenced life at court, under the patronage of Lord Paget. Afterwards he practised farming successively at Ratwood in Sussex, Ipswich, Fairsted in Essex, Norwich, and other places; but not succeeding in that walk, he betook himself to other occupations, amongst which were those of a chorister, and, it is said, a fiddler. As might be expected of one so inconstant, he did not prosper in the world, but died poor in London, in 1580.

Tusser's poem, entitled a Hondreth Good Points of Ilusbandrie, which was first published in 1557, is a series of practical directions for farming, expressed in simple and inelegant, but not always dull verse. It was afterwards expanded by other writers, and published under the title of Five Hundreth Points of Good Husbandrie : the last of a considerable number of editions appearcd in 1710.

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[Directions for Cultivating a Hop-Garden.] Whom fancy persuadeth, among other crops, To have for his spending sufficient of hops, Must willingly follow, of choices to choose, Such lessons approved, as skilful do use. Ground gravelly, sandy, and mixed with clay, Is naughty for hops, any manner of way. Or if it be mingled with rubbish and stone, For dryness and barrenness let it alone. Choose soil for the hop of the rottenest mould, Well dunged and wrought, as a garden-plot should ; Not far from the water, but not overflown, This lesson, well noted, is meet to be known. The sun in the south, or else southly and west, Is joy to the hop, as a welcomed guest; But wind in the north, or else northerly east, To the hop is as ill as a fay in a feast. Meet plot for a hop-yard once found as is told, Make thereof account, as of jewel of gold ; Now dig it, and leave it, the sun for to burn, And afterwards fence it, to serve for that turn. The hop for his profit I thus do exalt, It strengtheneth drink, and it favoureth malt; And being well brewed, long kept it will last, And drawing abide-if ye draw not too fast.

That Pleasure is mixed with every Pain. Venomous thorns that are so sharp and keen

Bear flowers, we see, full fresh and fair of hue, Poison is also put in medicine,

And unto man his health doth oft renew. The fire that all things eke conanmeth clean,

May hurt and heal : then if that this be true, I trust some time my harm may be my health, Since every woe is joined with some wealth.

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