hospitality, suited to the high rank of his guest; and, after this, David Llwyd of Mathafarn, in Montgomeryshire, was honoured in like manner. David had been one of the earliest of the Earl's adherents, and, in his capacity of Bard, had used his utmost skill to influence the people in Richmond's behalf. A curious and characteristic occurrence took place on this occasion. In his anxiety for the issue of his hazardous enterprise, Richmond privately requested the opinion of his host, who was esteemed by his contemporaries a most distinguished Prophet. The seer cautiously replied, that a question of such importance could not be immediately answered; and that he would give his reply in the morning. He was greatly perplexed by the question, and his wife observed an unusual and inexplicable gravity in his manner during the remainder of the evening. She inquired the cause; of which when she was informed, she exclaimed, with much astonishment, "How can you possibly have any difficulty about the answer? Tell him that the issue of his enterprise will certainly be most successful and glorious. If your prediction be verified, you will receive honours and rewards; but if he fail, depend upon it he will never come here to reproach you." Hence originated the Welch Proverb "Cynghor gwraig heb ei ofyn;" that is, A wife's advice without asking it.

Richard, being duly apprised of his rival's approach, prepared to meet him. He began now " to think it high time to look about him; therefore, in all haste, he sends for his most trusty friends, Norfolk, Northumberland, and others. And so raising a puissant army, like an expert commander (as, indeed, in feats of arms, and matters of chivalry, to give the devil his due, he was nothing inferior to the best,) falls, forthwith, to dispose them with a great deal of judgment. Then, calling for his horse, a goodlie white courser,* with as much speed as the down-pressing plummets of his villainies would give leave, attended by his footmen, and guarded with wings of horse, with a meagre and dreadful countenance he comes to Leicester."

The battle of Bosworth Field ensues, where, according to our biographer, his hero, Rice, is the chief actor.

"And now the time was come, appointed by God in his secret judgment to determine for the garland, so that, without any further delay, these two royal combatants, by their prayers, recommended themselves to the protection of the Highest, whetting the valorous spirits of their followers, with cheerful orations, large promises, and their own personal bravery. And so, upon summons from the deathmenacing trumpet, they encounter and fall to blows.

"Saddle white Surrey for the field to-morrow." Shakspeare.

Pede pes et cuspide cuspis

Arma sonant armis, vir petiturque viro.

While the avant-guards were in this hot chase, the one of the other, King Richard held not his hands in his pocket; but grinding and gnashing his teeth, up and down he goes in quest of Richmond, whom, no sooner espying, than he makes at him, and, by the way, in his fury, manfully overthrew Sir William Brandon, the Earl's standardbearer, as also Sir John Cheney, both men of mighty force and known valiancy. In Wales we say, that Rice ap Thomas, who, from the beginning, closely followed the Earl, and ever had an eye to his person, seeing his party begin to quail, and the King's to gain ground, took this occasion to send unto Sir William Stanley, giving him to understand the danger they were in, and entreating him to join his forces for the disengaging of the Earl, who was not only in despair of victory, but almost of his life. Whereupon (for, it seems, he understood not the danger before) Sir William Stanley made up to Rice ap Thomas, and joining both together, rushed in upon their adversaries and routed them, by which means the glory of the day fell on the Earl's side, King Richard, as a just guerdon for all his facinorous actions and horrible murders, being slain in the field. Our Welch tradition says, that Rice ap Thomas slew Richard, manfully fighting with him hand to hand; and we have one strong argument in defence of our tradition, to prove that he was the man, who, in all likelihood, had done the deed; for, from that time forward, the Earl of Richmond, as long as he lived, did ever honour him with the title of FATHER RICE. And seldom, or never, shall we read that our Kings have given these honorifica gratulationis cognomina to their subjects, but for some singular and transcendant merit; and, therefore, we may probably conjecture that either Rice ap Thomas (as the speech goes) slew Richard, or else, without doubt, he performed some meritorious piece of service in that place, which made the Earl give so honourable addition to his name * * * Well; now the tragedy

*

being ended, and the tyrant slain, I shall fit him with an epitaph out of Doctor Case, in his Prolegomenon on Aristotle's politics, who notes him for one, Qui vulpis caput, et caudem leonis habuit; sanguine suorum petiit sceptrum, sanguine suo amisit regnum, and there I leave him. *After Te Deum sung, the Earl being saluted King, he resolved to lay some special marks of his favour upon certain gentlemen, who had that day well deserved for their fidelity and courage; wherefore, he began with Rice ap Thomas, and there knighted him in the place. The like honour he did to some few others, who were of prime note and noble blood. After which, he sets forward for London."*

Another Welsh chieftain, an ancestor of Sir Edward Lloyd, Bart. of Pengwern, in Flintshire, came with a thousand men to Bosworth Field, and signalized himself with much bravery. When Henry was securely seated on the throne, he graciously invited the knight of Pengwern to Court; but he desired no such distinction, and meekly replied, "Sire, I love to dwell among mine own people."

Our hero, now Sir Rice ap Thomas, became speedily invested with those honours, which his beneficial services merited; and he became, also, an actor in all the busy scenes of his patron's reign. In the disturbances caused by the rebellion of the Lord Lovell and the two Staffords," he was actively engaged by the King; as he was in the anarchy occasioned by the pretensions of the impostors Lambert Simnell, and Perkin Warbeck. He assisted the King in his wars with the French, and was of considerable service in the cabinet at home; and it was only during the latter part of Henry's reign, that the Knight found any repose from the toil and peril of the war. He, then, retired into Wales, where he lived among his dependants in a style of magnificence every way worthy of so eminent a personage. We regret that our limits,—already, we fear, by far exceeded, will not permit us to show in detail the princely manner in which "Sir Rice feasted divers of his friends and kinsmen at his castle of Carew, in Pembrokeshire, where were held solemn jousts and tournaments, with other warlike pastimes, to the honour of St. George, chief patron of men of war." We know of nothing comparable to this splendid display of the wealth and hospitality of the Welch chieftain, excepting Leicester's festivities in honour of his august mistress, at the castle of Kenilworth. Magnificent, indeed, was the pageant, and the dinner was not the least superb portion of the ceremony. After " a world of show," the company was ushered into the great hall, "which hall was a goodly spacious room, richly hanged with cloth of Arras and tapestry. At the upper end, under a canopy of crimson velvet, was placed a table for the King, which, although not graced with his Majesty's presence, was duly reverenced by the company: the tables for the guests occupied the sides and middle of the hall. At the sound of the trumpet, the King's service was brought in by persons properly appointed, Sir Rice's son Griffith acting as Sewer, Sir William Herbert, of Colebrook, as carver, and " young Griffith of Penthyn, as pocillator or cup-bearer." The King's meat being laid on the table, the Bishop of St. David stood on the right of the King's chair, and Sir Rice on the left," and all the while the meat was a laying down, the cornets, hautboys, and other wind instruments, were not silent." After the other tables were served, the Bishop made his humble obeisance to the King's chair, and then descended to say grace, returning again to his situation near the throne. "When the tables were voided, and the meat removed to the side-board for the waiters, then the King's chair was turned, and every man at liberty to put on his hat."

After dinner came the tournament.

"The first that appeared was Sir William Herbert, having

a trumpeter before him, and a page carrying his shield without any device, the motto Et quæ non fecimus ipsi. The next was Robert Salisbury, who had for an impress on his shield, a giant running at a pigmy, with this motto,-Pudet congredi cum homine vinci parato. Then came Jenkyn Mansell, the valiant, whose sentence was Perit sine adversario virtus. After, followed Vaughan, of Trelower, who took this for his dictum-Ingens gloria calorem habet. After these, the inceptors, or enterprisers, follow the no less brave defendants or propugnators. Their manner was the same. Sir Griffith Rice had written on his scutcheon, Et vinci et vincere pulchrum. Sir Thomas Perrott, in a more lofty language, made choice of this for his mottoSi non invenio singulos pares, pluribus simul objicier. Sir William Wogan, meaning to do honour to his noble adversaries, took a more humble motto, which was this-Profuit hoc vincente capi; and Sir Griffith Dunn, a man of an active spirit, used these words to express his inclination-Industrioso otium pone. These gallant gentlemen, in good order, rode twice or thrice about the tilt, and, as they passed along, they by their pages presented their shields to the judge, which done, both parties severed, and took their stand, the one at one end, and the other at the other end of the tilt. Then the trumpets sounded, whereupon the two first combatants put their lances into their rests, and so ran each their six courses.

While the magnates were thus bravely employed, their friends and followers were not idle:

"Some were wrestling, some hurling of the bar, some tossing of the pike, some running at the quinteine, every man striving in a friendly emulation to perform some act, or other, worthy the name of soldier. With these, and the like delights, the day vanished.”

But we must conclude. After a long life of labour and renown, our knight was peaceably gathered to his fathers. An exemplary temperance, a regular distribution of his time, and a discreet husbanding of his vital powers, had secured to him a serenity of mind, and its constant concomitant, the blessing of health; "nor do I learn," observes his annalist, "that his last glass was hurried by any violent or painful disease, but was, by the favour of heaven, suffered to run out gradually and smoothly, after a course of seventy and six years." He was buried with all due pomp, first in the monastery of the Friars, at Carmarthen, but his remains were afterwards removed, and re-interred in the eastern aisle of St. Peter's church, in that town, where a monument was erected to his memory. This monument is still extant, and bears the effigies of the knight and his lady but being composed of a soft and crumbling free-stone, it has long ceased to exhibit any further marks of the sculptor's art or original design, except such as are barely sufficient to distinguish the recumbent figures.

In conclusion, we would add, that a publication of the

curious manuscript, whence we have derived the foregoing particulars, would furnish a great treat to the admirers of our national history, and to those who delight to inform themselves of the manners and occupations of by-gone times.

ART.V.-Il Rinaldo del Sig. Torquato Tasso, nella Parte seconda delle Rime e Prose del Tasso. Venezia, Aldo, 1583.

In the daily increasing taste for Italian literature, perhaps few of our readers know by name, and still fewer, we imagine, have read, the poem, which will form the subject of this article, and which, even in Italy, is only known by the curious in literary history. Were it only out of respect for the name of the great author, we think a slight essay on the work will not be unacceptable, and that our friends will agree with us, that if we do not feel, in the youthful poet, the full heat and shady splendour of the Gerusalemme Liberata, we may, at least, see the rising of that great orb, which, at its meridian, poured forth floods of fire and light. In a few comparisons, that we propose making, of Tasso, in his younger days, with Tasso seated by the side of Homer and Virgil; of Tasso, in the infancy of his genius," lisping numbers," with Tasso, in his prime, treading, with a firm step, and erect mien, the path of glory and immortality, it cannot be an unpleasing task, to mark the progress of this extraordinary man, just as it is a source of delight, to the lovers of painting, to compare the Muletti of the boyish Coreggio, with the "night scene," and "Saint Jerome," of his riper years.

Whoever has read the life of Tasso, must allow, that of few, perhaps of none, can it so justly be said, that he was born a poet. Setting aside the wonders which his friend, the Marquis Manso, has recounted in his life of him, it is an undoubted fact, that such was the power of his astonishing genius, such, and so great, his taste and sensibility for the beautiful and sublime during his childhood, that, at the age of barely ten years, there was not a Greek or Italian author that he could not understand, and that he composed Latin verse and prose with equal ease. But it will appear still more extraordinary, that the poem we are going to notice was conceived at the age of seventeen, finished in the course of ten months, and published before the author had attained his eighteenth year. A poem, containing eight thousand verses, at the age of eighteen! written at moments stolen from more serious studies. His father, Bernardo, who, by sad experience, had seen and felt how profit