Sidor som bilder

admit ko delay. Notwithfanding our libeller, Cromwell had excellent qualities; bis great fault was too much obfequiousness to the arbitrary will of his master; but let

it be considered that this master bad raised bim from obfcurity, and that the bigh-barn nobility had shewn him the way in every kind of mean and servile compliance. -The original copy printed at London in 1540, is intitled " A newe

ballade made of Thomas Crumwel, called Trolle or « AWAY.” To it is prefixed this diffich by way of burtben,

Trolle on away, trolle on awaye.
Synge heave and howe rombelowe trolle on away.


OTH man and chylde is glad to here tell

Of that false traytoure Thomas Crumwel, Now that he is set to learne to spell.

Synge trolle on away.

When fortune loky'd the in thy face,
Thou haddyst fayre tyme, but thou lackydyft grace; 5
Thy cofers with golde thon fyllydft a pace.

Synge, &c.

Both plate and chalys came to thy fyft,
Thoa lockydft them vp where no man wyst,
Tyll in the kynges treafoure suche thinges were myft.

Synge, &c.


Both cruft and crumme came thorowe thy handes,
Thy marchaundyse fayled over the fandes,
Therfore nowe thou art layde fast in bandes.

Synge, &c.


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Fyrfte when kynge Henry, God fane his grace!
Perceyud myschefe kyndlyd in thy face,
Then it was tyme to purchase the a place.

Synge, &c.


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Hys grace was euer of gentyll nature,
Mouyd with petye, and made the hys feruyture,
But thou, as a wretche, fuche thinges dyd procure.

Synge, &c.

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Thou dyd not remembre, false heretyke,
One God, one fayth, and one kynge catholyke,
For thou haft bene so long a scyfmatyke.

Synge, &c.

Thou woldyft not learne to knowe these thre,
But euer was full of iniquite;
Wherfore all this lande hathe ben troubled with the.

Synge, &c.



All they, that were of the new trycke,
Agaynst the churche thou baddest them stycke,
Wherfore nowe thou hafte touchyd the quycke.

Synge, &c.


Bothe facramentes and facramentalles
Thou woldyst not suffre within thy walles ;
Nor let vs praye for all chryften foules,

Synge, &c.



Of what generacyon thou were no tonge can tell,
Whyther of Chayme, or Syschemell,
Os'elfe fent vs frome the deuyll of hell.

Synge, &c.

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Thou woldest neuer to vertae applye,
But couetyd euer to cłymme to hye,
And nowe hafte thou trodden thy shoo awrye.

Synge, &c.


Who-so-euer dyd winne thou wolde not lose,
Wherfore al Englande doth hate the as I suppose,
Bycause thou walt false to the redolent rose.

Synge, &c.


Thou myghtest haue learned thy cloth to flocke,
Upon thy grefy fullers ftocke;
Wherfore lay downe thy heade vpon this blocke.

Synge, &c.

Yet faue that soule, that God hath bought,
And for thy carcas care thou nought,
Let it fuffre payne, as it hath wrought.

Synge, &c.


God saue kyng Henry with all his power,
And prynce Edwarde that goodly flowre,
With all hys lordes of great

Synge trolle on awaye, fyng trolle on away,
Hevye and how rombelowe trolle on awaye.


H A R P A L U S.



This beautiful poem, which is perhaps the first attempt at paftoral writing in our language, is preserved among the SONGS AND SONNettes of the earl of Surrey, &c. 460. 1574. in that part of the collection, which consists of pieces by UNCERTAIN AUCTOUR's. These poems were firft published in 1557, ten years after that accomplished nobleman fell a victim to the tyranny of Henry VIII: but it is presumed most of them were composed before the death of fir Tbomas Wyatt in 1541. See Surrey's poems, 4to. fol. 19. 49.

. Tho' written perhaps near half a century before the SHEPHERD'S CALENDAR *, this will be found for superior to any of those Eclogues in natural unaffe£ted sentiments, in fimplicity of style, in easy flow of versification, and all the beauties of paftoral poetry. Spenser ought to have profit. ed more by yo excellent a model.

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HILLIDA was a faire maide,

As fresh, as any flower;
Whom Harpalus the heard-man praide

To be his paramoure.


Harpalus, and eke Corin,

Were herdmen both yfere :
Aad Phillida would twist and spinne,

And thereto sing ful clere.


* First published in 1579.

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Harpalus prevayled nought,

His labour all was loft ;
For he was farthest from her thought,

And yet he loved her moft.


Therefore wax he both pale and leane,

And dry as clod of clay:
His fleshe it was consumed cleane;

His colour gone away.


His heard it had not long be shave;

His heare hong al unkempt :
A man most fit even for the grave,

Whom spiteful love had fhent.


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