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They coucht their speares, (their horses ran,
As though there had been thunder)
And strucke them each immidst their shields,
Wherewith they broke in sunder.

Their horsses backes brake under them,
The knights were both astound:

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To avoyd their horsses they made haste
And light upon the ground.

They tooke them to their shields full fast,
Their swords they drew out than,

With mighty strokes most eagerlye

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Each at the other ran.

They wounded were, and bled full sore;
For both for breath did stand,

And leaning on their swordes awhile,
Quoth Tarquine, Hold thy hand,

And tell to me what I shall aske.

Say on, quoth Lancelot tho.

Thou art, quoth Tarquine, the best knight
That ever I did know;

And like a knight, that I did hate:

Soe that thou be not hee,

I will deliver all the rest,

And eke accord with thee.

That is well sayd, quoth Lancelott;
But sith it must be soe,

What knight is that thou hatest thus?
I pray thee to me show.

His name is Lancelot du Lake,
He slew my brother deere;
Him I suspect of all the rest:
I would I had him here.

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1 Rashing seems to be the old hunting term to express the stroke made by the wild-boar with his fangs. To rase has apparently a meaning some thing similar. See Mr. Steevens's Note to King Lear, act iii. sc. 7, (ed. 1793, vol. xiv., p. 193,) where the quartos read,

"Nor thy fierce sister In his anointed flesh rash boarish fangs." So in King Richard III., act iii. sc. 2, (vol. x., pp. 567, 583.)

"He dreamt

To night the boar had rased off his helm."

Forthwith he strucke his necke in two,
And, when he had soe done,

From prison threescore knights and four
Delivered everye one.

X.

Corydon's Farewell to Phillis,

Is an attempt to paint a lover's irresolution, but so poorly executed, that it would not have been admitted into this collection, if it had not been quoted in Shakspeare's Twelfth Night, act ii. sc. 3.-It is found in a little ancient miscellany, entitled The Golden Garland of Princely Delights, 12mo. bl. let.

In the same scene of the Twelfth Night, Sir Toby sings a scrap of an old ballad, which is preserved in the Pepys Collection, (vol. i. pp. 33. 496,) but as it is not only a poor dull performance, but also very long, it will be sufficient here to give the first stanza:

THE BALLAD OF CONSTANT SUSANNA.

There dwelt a man in Babylon

Of reputation great by fame;
He took to wife a faire woman,
Susanna she was callde by name:

A woman fair and vertuous:

Lady, lady:

Why should we not of her learn thus

To live godly?

If this song of Corydon, &c. has not more merit, it is at least an evil of less magnitude.

FAREWELL, dear love; since thou wilt needs be gone,
Mine eyes do shew, my life is almost done.

Nay I will never die, so long as I can spie

There be many mo, though that she doe goe,
There be many mo, I fear not:

Why then let her goe, I care not.

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Farewell, farewell; since this I find is true,

I will not spend more time in wooing you:

But I will seek elsewhere, if I may find love there:
Shall I bid her goe? what and if I doe?
Shall I bid her goe and spare not?

O no, no, no, I dare not.

Ten thousand times farewell;-yet stay a while:-
Sweet, kiss me once; sweet kisses time beguile:

I have no power to move.

How now am I in love?

Wilt thou needs be gone? Go then, all is one.

Wilt thou needs be gone? Oh, hie thee!

Nay stay, and do no more deny me.

Once more adieu, I see loath to depart

Bids oft adieu to her, that holds my heart.

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But seeing I must lose thy love, which I did choose,

Goe thy way for me, since that may not be.

Goe thy ways for me. But whither?

Goe, oh, but where I may come thither.

What shall I doe? my love is now departed.

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She is as fair, as she is cruel-hearted.

She would not be intreated, with prayers oft repeated,

If she come no more, shall I die therefore?

If she come no more, what care I?

Faith, let her goe, or come, or tarry.

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XI.

Gernutus the Jew of Menice.

Is the Life of Pope Siztus V., translated from the Italian of Greg. Leti, by the Rev. Mr. Farneworth, folio, is a remarkable passage to the following effect:

"It was reported in Rome, that Drake had taken and plundered St. Domingo in Hispaniola, and carried off an immense booty. This account came in a private letter to

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Paul Secchi, a very considerable merchant in the city, who had large concerns in those parts, which he had insured. Upon receiving this news, he sent for the insurer, Sampson Ceneda, a Jew, and acquainted him with it. The Jew, whose interest it was to have such a report thought false, gave many reasons why it could not possibly be true, and at last worked himself into such a passion, that he said, I'll lay you a pound of my flesh it is a lye. Secchi, who was of a fiery hot temper, replied, I'll lay you a thousand crowns against a pound of your flesh that it is true. The Jew accepted the wager, and articles were immediately executed betwixt them, That if Secchi won, he should himself cut the flesh with a sharp knife from whatever part of the Jew's body he pleased. The truth of the account was soon confirmed; and the Jew was almost distracted, when he was informed that Secchi had solemnly sworn he would compel him to an exact performance of his contract. A report of this transaction was brought to the Pope, who sent for the parties, and being informed of the whole affair, said, When contracts are made, it is but just they should be fulfilled, as this shall: take a knife therefore, Secchi, and cut a pound of flesh from any part you please of the Jew's body. We advise you, however, to be very careful; for if you cut but a scruple more or less than your due, you shall certainly be hanged."

The editor of that book is of opinion, that the scene between Shylock and Antonio in the Merchant of Venice, is taken from this incident. But Mr. Warton, in his ingenious Observations on the Faerie Queen, vol. i. p. 128, has referred it to the following ballad. Mr. Warton thinks this ballad was written before Shakspeare's play, as being not so circumstantial, and having more of the nakedness of an original. Besides, it differs from the play in many circumstances, which a mere copyist, such as we may suppose the balladmaker to be, would hardly have given himself the trouble to alter. Indeed he expressly informs us, that he had his story from the Italian writers. See the Connoisseur, vol. i. no. 16.

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