This was a man of the true and sovereign seed of genius. Sir Walter Scott calls Dunbar 'a poet unrivalled by any—that Scotland has ever produced.' We venture to call him the Dante of Scotland; nay, we question if any English poet has surpassed 'The Dance of the Seven Deadly Sins through Hell' in its peculiarly Dantesque qualities of severe and purged grandeur; of deep sincerity, and in that air of moral disappointment and sorrow, approaching despair, which distinguished the sad-hearted lover of Beatrice, who might almost have exclaimed, with one yet mightier than he in his misery and more miserable in his might,
'Where'er I am is Hell—myself am Hell.'
Foster, in an entry in his journal, (we quote from memory,) says, 'I have just seen the moon rising, and wish the impression to be eternal. What a look she casts upon earth, like that of a celestial being who loves our planet still, but has given up all hope of ever doing her any good or seeing her become any better—so serene she seems in her settled and unutterable sadness.' Such, we have often fancied, was the feeling of the great Florentine toward the world, and which—pained, pitying, yearning enthusiast that he was!—escaped irresistibly from those deep- set eyes, that adamantine jaw, and that brow, wearing the laurel, proudly yet painfully, as if it were a crown of everlasting fire! Dunbar was not altogether a Dante, either in melancholy or in power, but his 'Dance' reveals kindred moods, operating at times on a kindred genius.
In Dante humour existed too, but ere it could come up from his deep nature to the surface, it must freeze and stiffen into monumental scorn —a laughter that seemed, while mocking at all things else, to mock at its own mockery most of all. Aird speaks in his 'Demoniac,' of a smile upon his hero's brow,
'Like the lightning of a hope about to DIEFor ever from the furrow'd brows of Hell's Eternity.'
Dante's smile may rather be compared to the RISING of a false and self- detected hope upon the lost brows where it is never to come to dawn, and where, nevertheless, it remains for ever, like a smile carved upon a sepulchre. Dunbar has a more joyous disposition than his Italian prototype and master, and he indulges himself to the top of his bent, but in a style (particularly in his 'Twa Married Women and the Widow,' and in 'The Friars of Berwick,' which is not, however, quite certainly his) too coarse and prurient for the taste of this age.
'The Merle and the Nightingale' is one of the finest of Moelibean poems. Beautiful is the contest between the two sweet singers as to whether the love of man or the love of God be the nobler, and more beautiful still their reconciliation, when
'Then sang they both with voices loud and clear,The Merle sang, "Man, love God that has thee wrought."The Nightingale sang, "Man, love the Lord most dear,That thee and all this world made of nought."The Merle said, "Love him that thy love has soughtFrom heaven to earth, and here took flesh and bone."The Nightingale sang. "And with his death thee bought:All love is lost, but upon him alone."
'Then flew these birds over the boughis sheen,Singing of love among the leaves small.'
William Dunbar is said to have been born about the year 1465. He received his education at St Andrews, and took there the degree of M.A. in 1479. He became then a friar of the Franciscan order, (Grey Friars,) and in the exercise of his profession seems to have rambled over all Scotland, England, and France, preaching, begging, and, according to his own confession, cheating, lying, and cajoling. Yet if this kind of life was not propitious, in his case, to morality, it must have been to the development of the poetic faculty. It enabled him to see all varieties of life and of scenery, although here and there, in his verses, you find symptoms of that bitterness which is apt to arise in the heart of a wanderer. He was subsequently employed by James IV. in some official work connected with various foreign embassies, which led him to Spain, Italy, and Germany, as well as England and France. This proves that he was no less a man of business-capacity and habits than a poet. For these services he, in 1500, received from the King a pension of ten pounds, afterwards increased to twenty, and, in fine, to eighty. He is said to have been employed in the negotiations preparatory to the marriage of James with Margaret Tudor, daughter of Henry VII., which took place in 1503, and which our poet celebrated in his verses, 'The Thistle and the Rose.' He continued ever afterwards in the Court, hovering in position between a laureate and a court-fool, charming James with his witty conversation as well as his verses, but refused the benefices for which he petitioned, and gradually devoured by chagrin and disappointment. Seldom has genius so great been placed in a falser position, and this has given a querulous tinge to many of his poems. He seems to have died about 1520. Even after his death, misfortune pursued him. His works were, with the exception of two or three pieces, locked up in an obscure MS. till the middle of last century. Since then, however, their fame has been still increasing. In 1834, Mr David Laing, so favourably known as one of our first antiquarians, published a complete and elaborate edition of Dunbar's works; and in a newspaper this very day (May 23) we see another edition announced, in a popular and modernised shape, of the poetry of this great old ScottishMakkar.
Of Februar' the fifteenth night,Full long before the dayis light,I lay into a trance;And then I saw both Heaven and Hell;Methought among the fiendis fell,Mahoun[1] gart[2] cry a Dance,Of shrewis[3] that were never shrevin,[4]Against the feast of Fastern's even,To make their observànce:He bade gallants go graith[5] a guise,[6]And cast up gamounts[7] in the skies,As varlets do in France.
II.* * * * *Holy harlottis in hautane[8] wise,Came in with many sundry guise,But yet laugh'd never Mahòun,Till priests came in with bare shaven necks,Then all the fiends laugh'd and made gecks,[9]Black-Belly and Bawsy-Broun.[10]* * * * *
'Let's see,' quoth he, 'now who begins:'With that the foul Seven Deadly SinsBegan to leap at anis.[11]And first of all in dance was Pride,With hair wyld[12] back, and bonnet on side,Like to make wasty weanis;[13]And round about him, as a wheel,Hang all in rumples to the heel,His kethat[14] for the nanis.[15]Many proud trompour[16] with him tripped,Through scalding fire aye as they skipped,They girn'd[17] with hideous granis.[18]
Then Ire came in with sturt[19] and strife,His hand was aye upon his knife,He brandish'd like a beir;Boasters, braggers, and barganeris,[20]After him passed into pairis,[21]All bodin in feir of weir.[22]In jackis, scripis, and bonnets of steel,Their legs were chenyiet[23] to the heel,Froward was their affeir,[24]Some upon other with brands beft,[25]Some jaggit[26] others to the heft[27]With knives that sharp could shear.
Next in the dance follow'd Envy,Fill'd full of feud and felony,Hid malice and despite,For privy hatred that traitor trembled;Him follow'd many freik[28] dissembled,With feigned wordis white.And flatterers into men's faces,And backbiters in secret placesTo lie that had delight,And rowneris[29] of false lesìngs;[30]Alas, that courts of noble kingsOf them can never be quite![31]
Next him in dance came Covetice,Root of all evil and ground of vice,That never could be content,Caitiffs, wretches, and ockerars,[32]Hood-pikes,[33] hoarders, and gatherers,All with that warlock went.Out of their throats they shot on otherHot molten gold, methought, a fother,[34]As fire-flaucht[35] most fervènt;Aye as they tumit[36] them of shot,Fiends fill'd them new up to the throatWith gold of all kind prent.[37]
Syne[38] Sweirness[39] at the second biddingCame like a sow out of a midding,[40]Full sleepy was his grunyie.[41]Many sweir bumbard[42] belly-huddroun,[43]Many slute daw[44] and sleepy duddroun,[45]Him served aye with sounyie.[46]He drew them forth into a chenyie,[47]And Belial with a bridle-rennyie,[48]Ever lash'd them on the lunyie.[49]In dance they were so slow of feetThey gave them in the fire a heat,And made them quicker of counyie.[50]
Then Lechery, that loathly corse,Came bearing like a bagged horse,[51]And Idleness did him lead;There was with him an ugly sort[52]And many stinking foul tramort,[53]That had in sin been dead.When they were enter'd in the dance,They were full strange of countenance,Like torches burning reid.* * * * *
Then the foul monster Gluttony,Of wame[54] insatiable and greedy,To dance he did him dress;Him followed many a foul drunkàrtWith can and collep, cop and quart,[55]In surfeit and excess.Full many a waistless wally-drag[56]With wames unwieldable did forth drag,In creish[57] that did incress;Drink, aye they cried, with many a gape,The fiends gave them hot lead to laip,[58]Their leveray[59] was no less.
X.* * * * *No minstrels play'd to them but[60] doubt,For gleemen there were holden out,By day and eke by night,Except a minstrel that slew a man;So till his heritage he wan,[61]And enter'd by brief of right.* * * * *
Then cried Mahoun for a Highland padyane,[62]Syne ran a fiend to fetch Mac Fadyane,[63]Far northward in a nook,By he the Correnoch had done shout,[64]Ersch-men[65] so gather'd him aboutIn hell great room they took:These termagants, with tag and tatter,Full loud in Ersch began to clatter,And roup[66] like raven and rook.The devil so deaved[67] was with their yell,That in the deepest pot of hellHe smored[68] them with smoke.
[1] 'Mahoun:' the devil. [2] 'Gart:' caused. [3] 'Shrewis:' sinners. [4] 'Shrevin:' confessed. [5] 'Graith:' prepare. [6] 'Guise:' masque. [7] 'Gamounts:' dances. [8] 'Hautane:' haughty. [9] 'Gecks:' mocks. [10] 'Black-Belly and Bawsy-Broun:' names of spirits. [11] 'Anis:' once. [12] 'Wyld:' combed. [13] 'Wasty weanis:' wasteful children. [14] 'Kethat:' cassock. [15] 'Nanis:' nonce. [16] 'Trompour:' impostor. [17] 'Girn'd:' grinned. [18] 'Granis:' groans. [19] 'Sturt:' violence. [20] 'Barganeris:' bullies. [21] 'Into pairis:' in pairs. [22] 'Bodin in feir of weir:' arrayed in trappings of war. [23] 'Chenyiet:' covered with chain-mail. [24] 'Affeir:' aspect. [25] 'Beft:' struck. [26] 'Jaggit:' stabbed. [27] 'Heft:' hilt. [28] 'Freik:' fellows. [29] 'Rowneris:' whisperers. [30] 'Lesìngs:' lies. [31] 'Quite:' quit. [32] 'Ockerars:' usurers. [33] 'Hood-pikes:' misers. [34] 'Fother:' quantity. [35] 'Flaucht:' flake. [36] 'Tumit:' emptied. [37] 'Prent:' stamp. [38] 'Syne:' then. [39] 'Sweirness:' laziness. [40] 'Midding:' dunghill. [41] 'Grunyie:' grunt. [42] 'Bumbard:' indolent. [43] 'Belly-huddroun:' gluttonous sloven. [44] 'Slute daw:' slovenly drab. [45] 'Duddroun:' sloven. [46] 'Sounyie:' care. [47] 'Chenyie:' chain. [48] 'Rennyie:' rein. [49] 'Lunyie:' back. [50] 'Counyie:' apprehension. [51] 'Bagged horse:' stallion. [52] 'Sort:' number. [53] 'Tramort:' corpse. [54] 'Wame:' belly. [55] 'Can and collep, cop and quart:' different names of drinking-vessels. [56] 'Wally-drag:' sot. [57] 'Creish:' grease. [58] 'Laip:' lap. [59] 'Leveray:' desire to drink. [60] 'But:' without. [61] 'Wan:' got. [62] 'Padyane:' pageant. [63] 'Mac Fadyane:' name of some Highland laird. [64] 'By he the Correnoch had done shout:' by the time that he had raised the Correnoch, or cry of help. [65] 'Ersch-men:' Highlanders. [66] 'Roup:' croak. [67] 'Deaved:' deafened. [68] 'Smored:' smothered.
In May, as that Aurora did upspring,With crystal een[1] chasing the cluddës sable,I heard a Merle[2] with merry notës singA song of love, with voice right comfortáble,Against the orient beamis, amiable,Upon a blissful branch of laurel green;This was her sentence, sweet and delectable,'A lusty life in Lovë's service been.'
Under this branch ran down a river bright,Of balmy liquor, crystalline of hue,Against the heavenly azure skyis light,Where did upon the other side pursueA Nightingale, with sugar'd notës new,Whose angel feathers as the peacock shone;This was her song, and of a sentence true,'All love is lost but upon God alone.'
With notës glad, and glorious harmony,This joyful merle, so salust[3] she the day,While rung the woodis of her melody,Saying, 'Awake, ye lovers of this May;Lo, fresh Flora has flourish'd every spray,As nature, has her taught, the noble queen,The fields be clothed in a new array;A lusty life in Lovë's service been.'
Ne'er sweeter noise was heard with living man,Than made this merry gentle nightingale;Her sound went with the river as it ran,Out through the fresh and flourish'd lusty vale;'O Merle!' quoth she, 'O fool! stint of thy tale,For in thy song good sentence is there none,For both is tint,[4] the time and the travail,Of every love but upon God alone.'
'Cease,' quoth the Merle, 'thy preaching, Nightingale:Shall folk their youth spend into holiness?Of young saintis, grow old fiendis, but[5] fable;Fy, hypocrite, in yearis' tenderness,Against the law of kind[6] thou goes express,That crooked age makes one with youth serene,Whom nature of conditions made diverse:A lusty life in Lovë's service been.'
The Nightingale said, 'Fool, remember thee,That both in youth and eild,[7] and every hour,The love of God most dear to man should be;That him, of nought, wrought like his own figour,And died himself, from death him to succour;Oh, whether was kythit[8] there true love or none?He is most true and steadfast paramour,And love is lost but upon him alone.'
The Merle said, 'Why put God so great beautyIn ladies, with such womanly havíng,But if he would that they should loved be?To love eke nature gave them incliníng,And He of nature that worker was and king,Would nothing frustir[9] put, nor let be seen,Into his creature of his own making;A lusty life in Lovë's service been.'
The Nightingale said, 'Not to that behoofPut God such beauty in a lady's face,That she should have the thank therefor or love,But He, the worker, that put in her such grace;Of beauty, bounty, riches, time, or space,And every goodness that been to come or goneThe thank redounds to him in every place:All love is lost but upon God alone.'
'O Nightingale! it were a story nice,That love should not depend on charity;And, if that virtue contrar' be to vice,Then love must be a virtue, as thinks me;For, aye, to love envy must contrar' be:God bade eke love thy neighbour from the spleen;[10]And who than ladies sweeter neighbours be?A lusty life in Lovë's service been.'
The Nightingale said, 'Bird, why does thou rave?Man may take in his lady such delight,Him to forget that her such virtue gave,And for his heaven receive her colour white:Her golden tressed hairis redomite,[11]Like to Apollo's beamis though they shone,Should not him blind from love that is perfite;All love is lost but upon God alone.'
The Merle said, 'Love is cause of honour aye,Love makis cowards manhood to purchase,Love makis knightis hardy at essay,Love makis wretches full of largëness,Love makis sweir[12] folks full of business,Love makis sluggards fresh and well beseen,[13]Love changes vice in virtuous nobleness;A lusty life in Lovë's service been.'
The Nightingale said, 'True is the contrary;Such frustis love it blindis men so far,Into their minds it makis them to vary;In false vain-glory they so drunken are,Their wit is went, of woe they are not 'ware,Till that all worship away be from them gone,Fame, goods, and strength; wherefore well say I dare,All love is lost but upon God alone.'
Then said the Merle, 'Mine error I confess:This frustis love is all but vanity:Blind ignorance me gave such hardiness,To argue so against the verity;Wherefore I counsel every man that heWith love not in the fiendis net be tone,[14]But love the love that did for his love die:All love is lost but upon God alone.'
Then sang they both with voices loud and clear,The Merle sang, 'Man, love God that has thee wrought.'The Nightingale sang, 'Man, love the Lord most dear,That thee and all this world made of nought.'The Merle said, 'Love him that thy love has soughtFrom heaven to earth, and here took flesh and bone.'The Nightingale sang, 'And with his death thee bought:All love is lost but upon him alone.'
Then flew these birds over the boughis sheen,Singing of love among the leavës small;Whose eidant plead yet made my thoughtis grein,[15]Both sleeping, waking, in rest and in travail;Me to recomfort most it does avail,Again for love, when love I can find none,To think how sung this Merle and Nightingale;'All love is lost but upon God alone.'
[1] 'Een:' eyes. [2] 'Merle:' blackbird. [3] 'Salust:' saluted. [4] 'Tint:' lost. [5] 'But:' without. [6] 'Kind:' nature. [7] 'Eild:' age. [8] 'Kythit:' shewn. [9] 'Frustrir:' in vain. [10] 'Spleen:' from the heart. [11] 'Redomite:' bound, encircled. [12] 'Sweir:' slothful. [13] 'Well beseen:' of good appearance. [14] 'Tone:' taken. [15] 'Whose eidant plead yet made my thoughtis grein:' whose close disputation made my thoughts yearn.
This eminent prelate was a younger son of Archibald, the fifth Earl of Angus. He was born in Brechin about the year 1474. He studied at the University of Paris. He became a churchman, and yet united with attention to the duties of his calling great proficiency in polite learning. In 1513 he finished a translation, into Scottish verse, of Virgil's 'Aeneid,' which, considering the age, is an extraordinary performance. It occupied him only sixteen months. The multitude of obsolete terms, however, in which it abounds, renders it now, as a whole, illegible. After passing through various subordinate offices, such as the 'Provostship' of St Giles's, Edinburgh, and the 'Abbotship' of Arbroath, he was at length appointed Bishop of Dunkeld. Dunkeld was not then the paradise it has become, but Birnam hill and the other mountains then, as now, stood round about it, the old Cathedral rose up in mediaeval majesty, and the broad, smooth Tay flowed onward to the ocean. And, doubtless, Douglas felt the poetic inspiration from it quite as warmly as did Thomas Brown, when, three centuries afterwards, he set up the staff of his summer rest at the beautiful Invar inn, and thence delighted to diverge to the hundred scenes of enchantment which stretch around. The good Bishop was an ardent politician as well as a poet, and was driven, by his share in the troubles of the times, to flee from his native land, and take refuge in the Court of Henry VIII. The King received him kindly, and treated him with much liberality. In 1522 he died at London of the plague, and was interred in the Savoy Church. He was, according to Buchanan, about to proceed to Rome to vindicate himself before the Pope against certain charges brought by his enemies. Besides the translation of the 'Aeneid,' Douglas is the author of a long poem entitled the 'Palace of Honour;' it is an allegory, describing a large company making a pilgrimage to Honour's Palace. It bears considerable resemblance to the 'Pilgrim's Progress,' and some suppose that Bunyan had seen it before composing his allegory. 'King Hart' is another production of our poet's, of considerable length and merit. It gives, metaphorically, a view of human life. Perhaps his best pieces are his 'Prologues,' affixed to each book of the 'Aeneid.' From them we have selected 'Morning in May' as a specimen. The closing lines are fine.
'Welcome the lord of light, and lamp of day,Welcome fosterer of tender herbis green,Welcome quickener of flourish'd flowers sheen,Welcome support of every root and vein,Welcome comfort of all kind fruit and grain,' &c.
Douglas must not be named with Dunbar in strength and grandeur of genius. His power is more in expression than in conception, and hence he has shone so much in translation. His version of the 'Aeneid' is the first made of any classic into a British tongue, and is the worthy progenitor of such minor miracles of poetical talent—all somewhat more mechanical than inspired, and yet giving a real, though subordinate glory to our literature-as Fairfax's 'Tasso,' Dryden's 'Virgil,' and Pope's, Coper's, and Sotheby's 'Homer.' The fire in Douglas' original verses is occasionally lost in smoke, and the meaning buried in flowery verbiage. Still he was an honour alike to the Episcopal bench and the Muse of Scotland. He was of amiable manners, gentle temperament, and a noble and commanding appearance.
As fresh Aurore, to mighty Tithon spouse,Ished of[1] her saffron bed and ivor' house,In cram'sy clad and grained violate,With sanguine cape, and selvage purpurate,Unshet[2] the windows of her largë hall,Spread all with roses, and full of balm royal,And eke the heavenly portis crystallineUnwarps broad, the world to illumine;The twinkling streamers of the orientShed purpour spraings,[3] with gold and azure ment;[4]Eous, the steed, with ruby harness red,Above the seas liftis forth his head,Of colour sore,[5] and somedeal brown as berry,For to alighten and glad our hemispery;The flame out-bursten at the neisthirls,[6]So fast Phaeton with the whip him whirls. * *While shortly, with the blazing torch of day,Abulyit[7] in his lemand[8] fresh array,Forth of his palace royal ished Phoebus,With golden crown and visage glorious,Crisp hairs, bright as chrysolite or topaz;For whose hue might none behold his face. * *The aureate vanes of his throne soverainWith glittering glance o'erspread the oceane;The largë floodës, lemand all of light,But with one blink of his supernal sight.For to behold, it was a glore to seeThe stabled windis, and the calmed sea,The soft season, the firmament serene,The loune[9] illuminate air and firth amene. * *And lusty Flora did her bloomis spreadUnder the feet of Phoebus' sulyart[10] steed;The swarded soil embrode with selcouth[11] hues,Wood and forest, obumbratë with bews.[12] * *Towers, turrets, kirnals,[13] and pinnacles high,Of kirks, castles, and ilk fair city,Stood painted, every fane, phiol,[14] and stage,[15]Upon the plain ground by their own umbrage.Of Aeolus' north blasts having no dreid,The soil spread her broad bosom on-breid;The corn crops and the beir new-brairdWith gladsome garment revesting the yerd.[16] * *The prai[17] besprent with springing sprouts disperseFor caller humours[18] on the dewy nightRendering some place the gersë-piles[19] their light;As far as cattle the lang summer's dayHad in their pasture eat and nip away;And blissful blossoms in the bloomed yerd,Submit their heads to the young sun's safeguard.Ivy-leaves rank o'erspread the barmkin wall;The bloomed hawthorn clad his pikis all;Forth of fresh bourgeons[20] the wine grapës ying[21]Endlong the trellis did on twistis hing;The loukit buttons on the gemmed treesO'erspreading leaves of nature's tapestries;Soft grassy verdure after balmy showers,On curling stalkis smiling to their flowers. * *The daisy did on-breid her crownal small,And every flower unlapped in the dale. * *Sere downis small on dentilion sprang.The young green bloomed strawberry leaves amang;Jimp jeryflowers thereon leaves unshet,Fresh primrose and the purpour violet; * *Heavenly lilies, with lockerand toppis white,Open'd and shew their crestis redemite. * *A paradise it seemed to draw nearThese galyard gardens and each green herbere.Most amiable wax the emerald meads;Swarmis soughis throughout the respand reeds,Over the lochis and the floodis gray,Searching by kind a place where they should lay.Phoebus' red fowl,[22] his cural crest can steer,Oft stretching forth his heckle, crowing clear.Amid the wortis and the rootis gentPicking his meat in alleys where he went,His wivës Toppa and Partolet him by—A bird all-time that hauntis bigamy.The painted powne[23] pacing with plumës gym,Cast up his tail a proud pleasand wheel-rim,Yshrouded in his feathering bright and sheen,Shaping the print of Argus' hundred een.Among the bowis of the olive twists,Sere[24] small fowls, working crafty nests,Endlong the hedges thick, and on rank aiks[25]Ilk bird rejoicing with their mirthful makes.In corners and clear fenestres[26] of glass,Full busily Arachne weaving was,To knit her nettis and her webbis sly,Therewith to catch the little midge or fly.So dusty powder upstours[27] in every street,While corby gasped for the fervent heat.Under the boughis bene[28] in lovely vales,Within fermance and parkis close of pales,The busteous buckis rakis forth on raw,Herdis of hartis through the thick wood-shaw.The young fawns following the dun does,Kids, skipping through, runnis after roes.In leisurs and on leais, little lambsFull tait and trig sought bleating to their dams.On salt streams wolk[29] Dorida and Thetis,By running strandis, Nymphis and Naiadis,Such as we clepe wenches and damasels,In gersy[30] groves wandering by spring wells;Of bloomed branches and flowers white and red,Platting their lusty chaplets for their head.Some sang ring-songës, dances, leids,[31] and rounds.With voices shrill, while all thel dale resounds.Whereso they walk into their carolling,For amorous lays does all the rockis ring.One sang, 'The ship sails over the salt faem,Will bring the merchants and my leman hame.'Some other sings, 'I will be blithe and light,My heart is lent upon so goodly wight.'[32]And thoughtful lovers rounis[33] to and fro,To leis[34] their pain, and plain their jolly woe;After their guise, now singing, now in sorrow,With heartis pensive the long summer's morrow.Some ballads list indite of his lady;Some lives in hope; and some all utterlyDespaired is, and so quite out of grace,His purgatory he finds in every place. * *Dame Nature's minstrels, on that other part,Their blissful lay intoning every art, * *And all small fowlis singis on the spray,Welcome the lord of light, and lamp of day,Welcome fosterer of tender herbis green,Welcome quickener of flourish'd flowers sheen,Welcome support of every root and vein,Welcome comfort of all kind fruit and grain,Welcome the birdis' bield[35] upon the brier,Welcome master and ruler of the year,Welcome welfare of husbands at the ploughs,Welcome repairer of woods, trees, and boughs,Welcome depainter of the bloomed meads,Welcome the life of every thing that spreads,Welcome storer of all kind bestial,Welcome be thy bright beamis, gladding all. * *
[1] 'Ished of:' issued from. [2] 'Unshet:' opened. [3] 'Spraings:' streaks. [4] 'Ment:' mingled. [5] 'Sore:' yellowish brown. [6] 'Neisthirls:' nostrils. [7] 'Abulyit:' attired. [8] 'Lemand:' glittering. [9] 'Loune:' calm. [10] 'Sulyart:' sultry. [11] 'Selcouth:' uncommon. [12] 'Bews:' boughs. [13] 'Kirnals:' battlements. [14] 'Phiol:' cupola. [15] 'Stage:' storey. [16] 'Yerd:' earth. [17] 'Prai:' meadow. [18] 'Caller humours:' cool vapours. [19] 'Gersë:' grass. [20] 'Bourgeons:' sprouts. [21] 'Ying:' young. [22] 'Red fowl:' the cook. [23] 'Powne:' the peacock. [24] 'Sere:' many. [25] 'Aiks:' oaks. [26] 'Fenestres:' windows. [27] 'Upstours:' rises in clouds. [28] 'Bene:' snug. [29] 'Wolk:' walked. [30] 'Gersy:' grassy. [31] 'Leids:' lays. [32] Songs then popular. [33] 'Rounis:' whisper. [34] 'Leis:' relieve. [35] 'Bield:' shelter.
HAWES, BARCLAY, &c.
Stephen Hawes, a native of Suffolk, wrote about the close of the fifteenth century. He studied at Oxford, and travelled much in France, where he became a master of French and Italian poetry. King Henry VII., struck with his conversation and the readiness with which he repeated old English poets, especially Lydgate, created him groom of the privy chamber. Hawes has written a number of poems, such as 'The Temple of Glasse,' 'The Conversion of Swearers,' 'The Consolation of Lovers,' 'The Pastime of Pleasure,' &c. Those who wish to see specimens of the strange allegories and curious devices of thought in which it abounds, may find them in Warton's 'History of English Poetry.'
In that same valuable work we find an account of Alexander Barclay, author of 'The Ship of Fools.' He was educated at Oriel College in Oxford, and after travelling abroad, was appointed one of the priests or prebendaries of the College of St Mary Ottery, in Devonshire—a parish famous in later days for the birth of Coleridge. Barclay became afterwards a Benedictine monk of Ely monastery; and at length a brother of the Order of St Francis, at Canterbury. He died, a very old man, at Croydon, in Surrey, in the year 1552. His principal work, 'The Ship of Fools,' is a satire upon the vices and absurdities of his age, and shews considerable wit and power of sarcasm.
John Skelton is the name of the next poet. He flourished in the earlier part of the reign of Henry VIII. Having studied both at Oxford and Cambridge, and been laureated at the former university in 1489, he was promoted to the rectory of Diss or Dysse, in Norfolk. Some say he had acted previously as tutor to Henry VIII. At Dysse he attracted attention by satirical ballads against the mendicants, as well as by licences of buffoonery in the pulpit. For these he was censured, and even, it is said, suspended, by Nykke, Bishop of Norwich. Undaunted by this, he flew at higher game—ventured to ridicule Cardinal Wolsey, then in his power, and had to take refuge from the myrmidons of the prelate in Westminster Abbey. There Abbot Islip kindly entertained and protected him till his dying day. He breathed his last in the year 1529, and was buried in the adjacent church of St Margaret's.
Skelton as well as Barclay enjoyed considerable popularity in his own age. Erasmus calls him 'Britannicarum literarum lumen et decus!' How dark must have been the night in which such a Will-o'-wisp was mistaken for a star! He has wit, indeed, and satirical observation; but his wit is wilder than it is strong, and his satire is dashed with personality and obscenity. His style, Campbell observes, is 'almost a texture of slang phrases, patched with shreds of French and Latin.' His verses on Margaret Hussey, which we have quoted, are in his happiest vein. The following lines, too, on Cardinal Wolsey, are as true as they are terse:—
'Then in the Chamber of StarsAll matter there he mars.Clapping his rod on the board,No man dare speak a word.For he hath all the saying,Without any renaying.He rolleth in his recòrds;He sayeth, How say ye, my Lords?Is not my reason good?Good even, good Robin Hood.Some say, Yes; and someSit still, as they were dumb.'
It is curious that Wolsey's enemies, in one of their charges against him in the Parliament of 1529, have repeated, almost in the words of Skelton, the same accusation.
Merry Margaret,As midsummer flower,Gentle as falcon,Or hawk of the tower;With solace and gladness,Much mirth and no madness,All good and no badness;So joyously,So maidenly,So womanly,Her demeaning,In everything,Far, far passing,That I can indite,Or suffice to write,Of merry Margaret,As midsummer flower,Gentle as falcon,Or hawk of the tower;As patient and as still,And as full of good-will,As fair Isiphil,Coliander,Sweet Pomander,Good Cassander;Steadfast of thought,Well made, well wrought.Far may be sought,Ere you can findSo courteous, so kind,As merry Margaret,This midsummer flower,Gentle as falcon,Or hawk of the tower.
Returning to Scotland, we find a Skelton of a higher order and a brawnier make in Sir David Lyndsay, or, as our forefathers were wont familiarly to denominate him, 'Davie Lyndsay.' Lyndsay was descended from a noble family, a younger branch of Lyndsay of the Byres, and born in 1490, probably at the Mount, the family-seat, near Cupar-Fife. He entered the University of St Andrews in the year 1505, and four years later left it to travel in Italy. He must, however, have returned to Scotland before the 12th of October 1511, since we learn from the records of the Lord Treasurer that he was presented with a quantity of 'blue and yellow taffety to be a playcoat for the play performed in the King and Queen's presence in the Abbey of Holyrood.' On the 12th of April 1512, Lyndsay, then twenty-two years of age, was appointed gentleman-usher to James V., who had been born that very day. In his poem called 'The Dream,' he reminds the King of his having borne him in his arms ere he could walk; of having wrapped him up warmly in his little bed; of having sung to him with his lute, danced before him to make him laugh, and having carried him on his shoulders like a 'pedlar his pack.' He continued to be page and companion to the King till 1524, when, in consequence of the unprincipled machinations of the Queen- mother—who was acting as Regent—he, as well as Bellenden, the learned translator of Livy and Boece, was ejected from his office. When, however, in 1528, the young King, by a noble effort, emancipated himself from the thraldom of his mother and the Douglasses, Lyndsay wrote his 'Dream,' in which, amidst much poetic or fantastic matter, he congratulates James on his deliverance; reminds him, as aforesaid, of his early services; and takes occasion to paint the evils the country had endured during his minority, and to give him some bold and salutary advice as to his future conduct. The next year (1529) he produced 'The Complaint,' a poem in which he recurs to former themes, and remonstrates with great freedom and severity against the treatment he had undergone. Here, too, the religious reformer peeps out. He exhorts the King to compel the clergy to attend to the duties of their office; to preach more earnestly; to administer the sacraments according to the institution of Christ; and not to deceive their people with superstitious pilgrimages, vain traditions, and prayers to graven images, contrary to the written command of God. He with quaint iron says, that if his Grace will lend him
'Of gold ane thousand pound or tway,'
he will give him a sealed bond, obliging himself to repay the loan when the Bass and the Isle of May are set upon Mount Sinai; or the Lomond hills, near Falkland, are removed to Northumberland; or
'When kirkmen yairnis [desire] na dignity,Nor wives na soveranitie.'
Still finer the last lines of the poem. 'If not,' he says, 'my God
'Shall cause me stand contentWith quiet life and sober rent,And take me, in my latter age,Unto my simple hermitage,To spend the gear my elders won,As did Diogenes in his tun.'
This 'Complaint' proved successful, and in the next year (1530) Lyndsay was appointed Lion King-at-Arms—an office of great dignity in these days. The Lion was the chief judge of all matters connected with heraldry in the realm; was also the official ambassador from his sovereign to foreign countries; and was inaugurated in his office with a pomp and circumstance little inferior to those of a royal coronation, the King crowning him with his own hands, anointing him with wine instead of oil, and putting on his head the Royal Crown of Scotland, which he continued to wear till the close of the feast. It is of Lyndsay in the full accoutrements of this office that Sir Walter Scott speaks in his 'Marmion,' although he antedates by sixteen years the time when he assumed it:—
'He was a man of middle age,In aspect manly, grave, and sage,As on king's errand come;But in the glances of his eye,A penetrating, keen, and slyExpression found its home—The flash of that satiric rageWhich, bursting on the early stage,Branded the vices of the age,And broke the keys of Rome.On milk-white palfrey forth he paced;His cap of maintenance was gracedWith the proud heron-plume;From his steed's shoulder, loin, and breastSilk housings swept the ground,With Scotland's arms, device, and crestEmbroider'd round and round.The double treasure might you see,First by Achaius borne,The thistle and the fleur-de-lis,And gallant unicorn.So bright the king's armorial coat,That scarce the dazzled eye could note;In living colours, blazon'd brave,The lion, which his title gave.A train which well beseem'd his state,But all unarm'd, around him wait;Still is thy name in high account,And still thy verse has charms,Sir David Lyndsay of the Mount,Lord Lion King-at-Arms.'
Soon after this appointment, Lyndsay wrote 'The Complaint of the King's Papingo,' in which, through the mouth of a dying parrot, he gives some sharp counsel to the king, his courtiers and nobles, and administers severe satirical chastisement to the corruptions of the clergy. It is an exceedingly clever production, and has some beautiful poetry as well as stinging sarcasm. Take the following address to Edinburgh, Stirling, Linlithgow, and Falkland:—
Adieu, Edinburgh! thou high triumphant town,Within whose bounds right blitheful have I been;Of true merchandis, the rule of this region,Most ready to receive court, king, and queen;Thy policy and justice may be seen;Were devotion, wisdom, and honesty,And credence tint, they micht be found in thee.
Adieu, fair Snawdoun! [Stirling] with thy towers hie,Thy chapel-royal, park, and table round;May, June, and July would I dwell in thee,Were I a man to hear the birdis sound,Which doth against the royal rock rebound.Adieu, Lithgow! whose palace of pleasanceMeets not its peer in Portingale or France.
Farewell, Falkland! the forteress of Fife,Thy velvet park under the Lomond Law;Sometime in thee I led a lusty life.The fallow deer to see them raik on raw [walk in a row],Caust men to come to thee, they have great awe, &c.
In the year 1535, Lyndsay wrote his remarkable drama, 'The Satire of the Three Estates'—Monarch, namely, Barons, and Clergy. It is made up in nearly three equal parts of ingenuity, wit, and grossness. It is a drama, and was acted several times—first, in 1535, at Cupar-Fife, on a large green mound called Moot-hill; then, in 1539, in an open park near Linlithgow, by the express desire of the king, who with all the ladies of the Court attended the representation; then in the amphitheatre of St Johnston in Perth; and in 1554, at Edinburgh, in the village of Greenside, which skirted the northern base of the Calton Hill, in the presence of the Queen Regent and an enormous concourse of spectators. Its exhibition appears to have occupied nearly the whole day. In the 'Pictorial History of Scotland,' chapter xxiv., our readers will find a full and able analysis with extracts of this extraordinary performance. It is said to have done much good in opening the eyes of the people to the evils of the Papacy, and in paving the way for the Reformation.
In 1536 Sir David, in company with Sir John Campbell of Lundie, was sent to the Court of France to demand in marriage for James V. a daughter of the House of Vendome; but the King chose rather to take the matter in his own hands, and, going over in person, wedded Magdalene, daughter of Francis. She died two months after her arrival in Scotland, universally regretted; and Lyndsay made the sad event the subject of a poem, entitled 'Deploration of the Death of Queen Magdalene,' whom he designates
'The flower of France, and comfort of Scotland.'
When James subsequently married Mary of Guise, Sir David's ingenuity was strained to the utmost in providing pageants, masques, and shows to welcome her Majesty. For forty days in St Andrews, festivities continued; and it was during this prolonged festival that the Lion King, as if sick and satiated with vanities, wrote two poems, one entitled 'The Justing between James Watson and John Barbour,' a dull satire on tournaments, &c., and the other a somewhat cleverer piece, entitled 'Supplication directed to the King's Grace in Contemptioun of Side Tails,' the long trains then worn by the ladies. It met, we presume,with the fate ofPunch'ssarcasms against crinoline,—the 'phylacteries' would for a season, instead of being lessened, be enlarged, till Fashion lifted up her omnipotent rod, and told it to be otherwise.
King James died prematurely on the 14th of December 1542, and Lyndsay closed his eyes at Falkland, and mourned for him as a brother. From that day forth he probably felt that there was 'less sunshine in the sky for him.' In the troublous times which succeeded this, he had to retire for a season from the Court, having become obnoxious to the rigid Papists on account of his writings. After the death of Cardinal Beatoun he wrote the tragedy of 'The Cardinal,' a poem in which the spectre of the Cardinal is the spokesman, and which teems with good advice to all and sundry. The execution, however, is not so felicitous as the plan. In 1548 Lyndsay went to Denmark to negotiate a free trade with Scotland. On his return in 1550 he wrote his very pleasing and chivalric 'History of Squire Meldrum,' founded on the actual adventures of William Meldrum, the Laird of Cleish and Binns, a distinguished friend of the poet, who had gained laurels as a warrior both in Scotland and in France. This poem is, in a measure, an anticipation of the rhymed romances of Scott, and is full of picturesque description and spirit-stirring adventure. In 1553 he completed his last and most elaborate work, which had occupied him for years, entitled 'The Monarchic,' containing an account of the most famous monarchies which have existed on earth, and carrying on the history to the general judgment. From this date we almost entirely lose sight of our poet. He seems to have retired into private life, and is supposed to have died about the close of 1557. He was probably buried in the family vault at Ceres, but no stone marks the spot. Dying without issue, his estates passed to his brother Alexander, and were continued in the possession of his descendants till the middle of last century. They now belong to the Hopes of Rankeillour. The office of Lord Lion was held by two of the poet's relatives successively—Sir David, his nephew, who became Lion King in 1591, and his son-in-law, Sir Jerome Lyndsay, who succeeded to it in 1621.
Sir David Lyndsay, unlike most satirists, was a good, a blameless, and a religious man. The occasional loftiness of his poetic vein, the breadth of his humour, the purity of his purpose, and his strong reforming zeal combined to make his poetry exceedingly popular in Scotland for a number of ages, particularly among the lower orders. Scott introduces Andrew Fairservice, in 'Rob Roy,' saying, in reference to Francis Osbaldistone's poetical efforts, 'Gude help him! twa lines o' Davie Lyndsay wad ding a' he ever clerkit,' and even still there are districts of the country where his name is a household word.
Then clarions and trumpets blew,And warriors many hither drew;On every side came many manTo behold who the battle wan.The field was in the meadow green,Where every man might well be seen:The heralds put them so in order,That no man pass'd within the border,Nor press'd to come within the green,But heralds and the champions keen;The order and the circumstanceWere long to put in remembrance.When these two noble men of weirWere well accoutred in their geir,And in their handis strong burdouns,[1]Then trumpets blew and clariouns,And heralds cried high on height,'Now let them go—God show the right.'
* * * * *
Then trumpets blew triumphantly,And these two champions eagerly,They spurr'd their horse with spear on breast,Pertly[2] to prove their pith they press'd.That round rink-room[3] was at utterance,But Talbart's horse with a mischanceHe outterit,[4] and to run was loth;Whereof Talbart was wonder wroth.The Squier forth his rink[5] he ran,Commended well with every man,And him discharged of his spearHonestly, like a man of weir.
* * * * *
The trenchour[6] of the Squier's spearStuck still into Sir Talbart's geir;Then every man into that stead[7]Did all believe that he was dead.The Squier leap'd right hastilyFrom his courser deliverly,[8]And to Sir Talbart made support,And humillie[9] did him comfort.When Talbart saw into his shieldAn otter in a silver field,'This race,' said he, 'I sore may rue,For I see well my dream was true;Methought yon otter gart[10] me bleed,And bore me backward from my steed;But here I vow to God soverain,That I shall never joust again.'And sweetly to the Squier said,'Thou know'st the cunning[11] that we made,Which of us two should tyne[12] the field,He should both horse and armour yieldTo him that won, wherefore I willMy horse and harness give thee till.'Then said the Squier, courteously,'Brother, I thank you heartfully;Of you, forsooth, nothing I crave,For I have gotten that I would have.'
[1] 'Burdouns:' spears. [2] 'Pertly:' boldly. [3] 'Rink-room:' course-room. [4] 'Outterit:' swerved. [5] 'Kink:' course. [6] 'Trencliour:' head. [7] 'Stead:' place. [8] 'Deliverly:' actively. [9] 'Humillie:' humbly. [10] 'Gart:' made. [11] 'Cunning:' agreement. [12] 'Tyne:' lose.
Sovereign, I mene[2] of these side tails,Whilk through the dust and dubbës trails,Three quarters lang behind their heels,Express against all commonweals.Though bishops, in their pontificals,Have men for to bear up their tails,For dignity of their office;Right so a queen or an emprice;Howbeit they use such gravity,Conforming to their majesty,Though their robe-royals be upborne,I think it is a very scorn,That every lady of the landShould have her tail so side trailand;Howbeit they be of high estate,The queen they should not counterfeit.
Wherever they go it may be seenHow kirk and causey they sweep clean.The images into the kirkMay think of their side tailës irk;[3]For when the weather be most fair,The dust flies highest into the air,And all their faces does begary,If they could speak, they would them wary. * *But I have most into despitePoor claggocks[4] clad in raploch[5] white,Whilk has scant two merks for their fees,Will have two ells beneath their knees.Kittock that cleckit[6] was yestreen,The morn will counterfeit the queen. * *In barn nor byre she will not bide,Without her kirtle tail be side.In burghs, wanton burgess wivesWho may have sidest tailës strives,Well bordered with velvet fine,But following them it is a pine:In summer, when the streetës dries,They raise the dust above the skies;None may go near them at their ease,Without they cover mouth and neese. * *I think most pain after a rain,To see them tucked up again;Then when they step forth through the street,Their faldings flaps about their feet;They waste more cloth, within few years,Nor would cleid[7] fifty score of freirs. * *Of tails I will no more indite,For dread some duddron[8] me despite:Notwithstanding, I will conclude,That of side tails can come no good,Sider nor[9] may their ankles hide,The remanent proceeds of pride,And pride proceedis of the devil;Thus alway they proceed of evil.
Another fault, Sir, may be seen,They hide their face all but the een;When gentlemen bid them good-day,Without reverence they slide away. * *Without their faults be soon amended,My flyting,[10] Sir, shall never be ended;But would your grace my counsel take,A proclamation ye should make,Both through the land and burrowstowns,To show their face and cut their gowns.Women will say, This is no bourds,[11]To write such vile and filthy words;But would they cleanse their filthy tails,Whilk over the mires and middings[12] trails,Then should my writing cleansed be,None other' mends they get of me.
Quoth Lyndsay, in contempt of the side tails,That duddrons[13] and duntibours[14] through the dubbës trails.
[1] 'Side tails:' long skirts. [2] 'Mene:' complain. [3] 'Irk:' May feel annoyed. [4] 'Claggocks:' draggle-tails. [5] 'Raploch:' homespun. [6] 'Cleckit:' born. [7] 'Cleid:' clothe. [8] 'Duddron:' slut. [9] 'Nor:' than. [10] 'Flyting:' scolding. [11] 'Bourds:' jest. [12] 'Middings:' dunghills. [13] 'Duddrons:' sluts. [14] 'Duntibours:' harlots.
Of Tusser we know only that he was horn in the year 1523, was well educated, commenced life as a courtier under the patronage of Lord Paget, but became a farmer, pursuing agriculture at Ratwood in Sussex, Ipswich, Fairsted in Essex, Norwich, and other places; that he was not successful, and had to betake himself to other occupations, such as those of a chorister, fiddler, &c.; and that, finally, he died a poor man in London in the year 1580. Tusser has left only one work, published in 1557, entitled 'A Hundred Good Points of Husbandrie,' written in simple but sometimes strong verse. It is our first, and not our worst didactic poem.
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 fray 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 brew'd, long kept it will last,And drawing abide—if ye draw not too fast.
Good housewife provides, ere a sickness do come,Of sundry good things in her house to have some.Goodaqua composita, and vinegar tart,Rose-water, and treacle, to comfort thine heart.Cold herbs in her garden, for agues that burn,That over-strong heat to good temper may turn.White endive, and succory, with spinach enow;All such with good pot-herbs, should follow the plough.Get water of fumitory, liver to cool,And others the like, or else lie like a fool.Conserves of barbary, quinces, and such,With sirops, that easeth the sickly so much.AskMedicus'counsel, ere medicine ye take,And honour that man for necessity's sake.Though thousands hate physic, because of the cost,Yet thousands it helpeth, that else should be lost.Good broth, and good keeping, do much now and than:Good diet, with wisdom, best comforteth man.In health, to be stirring shall profit thee best;In sickness, hate trouble; seek quiet and rest.Remember thy soul; let no fancy prevail;Make ready to God-ward; let faith never quail:The sooner thyself thou submittest to God,The sooner he ceaseth to scourge with his rod.
Though winds do rage, as winds were wood,[1]And cause spring-tides to raise great flood;And lofty ships leave anchor in mud,Bereaving many of life and of blood:Yet, true it is, as cow chews cud,And trees, at spring, doth yield forth bud,Except wind stands as never it stood,It is an ill wind turns none to good.
[1] 'Wood:' mad.
VAUX, EDWARDS, &c.
In Tottell's 'Miscellany,' the first of the sort in the English language, published in 1557, although the names of many of the authors are not given, the following writers are understood to have contributed:—Sir Francis Bryan, a friend of Wyatt's, one of the principal ornaments of the Court of Henry VIII., and who died, in 1548, Chief Justiciary of Ireland; George Boleyn, Earl of Rochford, the amiable brother of the famous Anne Boleyn, and who fell a victim to the insane jealousy of Henry, being beheaded in 1536; and Lord Thomas Vaux, son of Nicholas Vaux, who died in the latter end of Queen Mary's reign. In the same Miscellany is found 'Phillide and Harpalus,' the 'first true pastoral,' says Warton, 'in the English language,' (see 'Specimens.') To it are annexed, too, a collection of 'Songes, written by N. G.,' which means Nicholas Grimoald, an Oxford man, renowned for his rhetorical lectures in Christ Church, and for being, after Surrey, our first writer of blank verse, in the modulation of which he excelled even Surrey. Henry himself, who was an expert musician, is said also to have composed a book of sonnets and one madrigal in praise of Anne Boleyn. In the same reign occur the names of Borde, Bale, Bryan, Annesley, John Rastell, Wilfred Holme, and Charles Bansley, all writers of minor and forgotten poems. John Heywood, called the Epigrammatist, was of a somewhat higher order. He was the favourite of Sir Thomas More and the pensioner of Henry VIII. He gained favour partly through his conversational humour, and partly through his writings. He is the author of various comedies; of six hundred epigrams, most of them very poor; of a dialogue, in verse, containing all the proverbs then afloat in the language; of an apologue, entitled 'The Spider and the Fly,' &c. Heywood, who was a rigid Papist, left the kingdom after the decease of Queen Mary, and died at Mechlin, in Brabant, in 1565. Warton has preserved some specimens of Sir Thomas More's poetry, which do not add much to our conception of his genius. In 1542, one Robert Vaughan wrote an alliterative poem, entitled 'The Falcon and the Pie.' In 1521, 'The Not-browne Maid,' (given by us in 'Percy's Reliques,') appeared in a curious collection, called 'Arnolde's Chronicle, or Customs of London.' In the same year Wynkyn de Worde printed a set of 'Christmas Carols,' and in 1529 'A Treatise of Merlin, or his Prophecies in Verse.' In Henry's days, too, there commences the long line of translators of the Psalms into English metre, commencing with Thomas Sternhold, groom of the robes to the King, who versified fifty-one psalms, which were published in 1549, and with John Hopkins, a clergyman and schoolmaster in Suffolk, who added fifty-eight more, and progressing with Whyttingham, Thomas Norton, (the joint author, along with Lord Buckhurst, of the curious old tragedy of 'Gorboduc,') Robert Wisdome, William Hunnis, William Baldwyn, Parker, the scholarly and celebrated Archbishop of Canterbury, &c. &c. Parker trans- lated all the Psalms himself; and John Day published in 1562, and attached to the Book of Common Prayer, the whole of Sternhold and Hopkins' 'Psalms, with apt notes to sing them withall.' In Edward's reign appeared a very different strain—the first drinking-song of merit in the language, 'Back and sides go bare'—(see 'Specimens,' vol. 2.) This song occurs at the opening of the second act of 'Gammer Gurton's Needle,' a comedy written (by a 'Mr S.') and printed in 1551, and afterwards acted at Christ's College in Cambridge.
In the reign of Mary, flourished Richard Edwards, a man of no small versatility of genius. He was a native of Somersetshire, was born about 1523, and died in 1566. He wrote two comedies, one entitled 'Damon and Pythias,' and the other 'Palamon and Arcité,' both of which were acted before Queen Elizabeth. He also contrived masques and wrote verses for pageants, and is said to have been the first fiddler, the most elegant sonnetteer, and the most amusing mimic of the Court. He is the author of a pleasing poem, entitled 'Amantium irae,' and of some lines under the title, 'He requesteth some friendly comfort, affirming his constancy.' We quote a few of them:—
'The mountains nigh, whose lofty tops do meet the haughty sky,The craggy rock, that to the sea free passage doth deny,The aged oak, that doth resist the force of blust'ring blast,The pleasant herb, that everywhere a pleasant smell doth cast,The lion's force, whose courage stout declares a prince-like might,The eagle, that for worthiness is borne of kings in fight—Then these, I say, and thousands more, by tract of time decay,And, like to time, do quite consume and fade from form to clay;But my true heart and service vow'd shall last time out of mind,And still remain, as thine by doom, as Cupid hath assign'd.'
Edwards also contributed some beautiful things to the well-known old collection, 'The Paradise of Dainty Devices.'
Gascoigne was born in 1540, in Essex, of an ancient family. He was educated at Cambridge, and entered at Gray's Inn, but was disinherited by his father for extravagance, and betook himself to Holland, where he obtained a commission from the Prince of Orange. After various vicissitudes of fortune, being at one time taken prisoner by the Spaniards, and at another receiving a reward from the Prince of three hundred guilders above his pay for his brave conduct at the siege of Middleburg, he returned to England. In 1575, he accompanied Queen Elizabeth in one of her progresses, and wrote for her a mask, entitled 'The Princely Pleasures of Kenilworth.' He is said to have died at Stamford in 1578. He is the author of two or three translated dramas, such as 'The Supposes,' a comedy from Ariosto, and 'Jocasta,' a tragedy from Euripides, besides some graceful and lively minor pieces, one or two of which we append.
You that have spent the silent nightIn sleep and quiet rest,And joy to see the cheerful lightThat riseth in the east;Now clear your voice, now cheer your heart,Come help me now to sing:Each willing wight come, bear a part,To praise the heavenly King.
And you whom care in prison keeps,Or sickness doth suppress,Or secret sorrow breaks your sleeps,Or dolours do distress;Yet bear a part in doleful wise,Yea, think it good accord,And acceptable sacrifice,Each sprite to praise the Lord.
The dreadful night with darksomenessHad overspread the light;And sluggish sleep with drowsinessHad overpress'd our might:A glass wherein you may beholdEach storm that stops our breath,Our bed the grave, our clothes like mould,And sleep like dreadful death.
Yet as this deadly night did lastBut for a little space,And heavenly day, now night is past,Doth show his pleasant face:So must we hope to see God's face,At last in heaven on high,When we have changed this mortal placeFor immortality.
And of such haps and heavenly joysAs then we hope to hold,All earthly sights, and worldly toys,Are tokens to behold.The day is like the day of doom,The sun, the Son of man;The skies, the heavens; the earth, the tomb,Wherein we rest till than.
The rainbow bending in the sky,Bedcck'd with sundry hues,Is like the seat of God on high,And seems to tell these news:That as thereby He promisedTo drown the world no more,So by the blood which Christ hath shed,He will our health restore.
The misty clouds that fall sometime,And overcast the skies,Are like to troubles of our time,Which do but dim our eyes.But as such dews are dried up quite,When Phoebus shows his face,So are such fancies put to flight,Where God doth guide by grace.
The carrion crow, that loathsome beast,Which cries against the rain,Both for her hue, and for the rest,The devil resembleth plain:And as with guns we kill the crow,For spoiling our relief,The devil so must we o'erthrow,With gunshot of belief.
The little birds which sing so sweet,Are like the angels' voice,Which renders God His praises meet,And teach[1] us to rejoice:And as they more esteem that mirth,Than dread the night's annoy,So much we deem our days on earthBut hell to heavenly joy.
Unto which joys for to attain,God grant us all His grace,And send us, after worldly pain,In heaven to have a place,When we may still enjoy that light,Which never shall decay:Lord, for thy mercy lend us might,To see that joyful day.
[1] 'Teach:'forteacheth.
When thou hast spent the ling'ring dayIn pleasure and delight,Or after toil and weary way,Dost seek to rest at night;Unto thy pains or pleasures past,Add this one labour yet,Ere sleep close up thine eyes too fast,Do not thy God forget,
But search within thy secret thoughts,What deeds did thee befall,And if thou find amiss in aught,To God for mercy call.Yea, though thou findest nought amissWhich thou canst call to mind,Yet evermore remember this,There is the more behind:
And think how well soe'er it beThat thou hast spent the day,It came of God, and not of thee,So to direct thy way.Thus if thou try thy daily deeds,And pleasure in this pain,Thy life shall cleanse thy corn from weeds,And thine shall be the gain:
But if thy sinful, sluggish eye,Will venture for to wink,Before thy wading will may tryHow far thy soul may sink,Beware and wake,[1] for else thy bed,Which soft and smooth is made,May heap more harm upon thy headThan blows of en'my's blade.
Thus if this pain procure thine ease,In bed as thou dost lie,Perhaps it shall not God displease,To sing thus soberly:'I see that sleep is lent me here,To ease my weary bones,As death at last shall eke appear,To ease my grievous groans.
'My daily sports, my paunch full fed,Have caused my drowsy eye,As careless life, in quiet led,Might cause my soul to die:The stretching arms, the yawning breath,Which I to bedward use,Are patterns of the pangs of death,When life will me refuse;
'And of my bed each sundry part,In shadows, doth resembleThe sundry shapes of death, whose dartShall make my flesh to tremble.My bed it safe is, like the grave,My sheets the winding-sheet,My clothes the mould which I must have,To cover me most meet.
'The hungry fleas, which frisk so fresh,To worms I can compare,Which greedily shall gnaw my flesh,And leave the bones full bare:The waking cock that early crows,To wear the night away,Puts in my mind the trump that blowsBefore the latter day.
'And as I rise up lustily,When sluggish sleep is past,So hope I to rise joyfully,To judgment at the last.Thus will I wake, thus will I sleep,Thus will I hope to rise,Thus will I neither wail nor weep,But sing in godly wise.
'My bones shall in this bed remainMy soul in God shall trust,By whom I hope to rise againFrom, death and earthly dust.'
[1] 'Wake:' watch.