Sidor som bilder
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And thereat shall the Eagle be our Lord,
And other peers whose names are on record;
A summons to the Cuckoo shall be sent,
And judgment there be given; or that in-

tent

Failing, we finally shall make accord.

LVII.

And all this shall be done, without a nay,
The morrow after Saint Valentine's day,
Under a maple that is well beseen,
Before the chamber window of the Queen,
At Woodstock, on the meadow green and
gay

LVIII

Caused by the wish, as knows your sapience,
She of her liking proof to me would give;
For of all good she is the best alive.

L'ENVOY.

Pleasure's Aurora, day of gladsomeness!
Luna by night, with heavenly influence
Illumined! root of beauty and goodnesse,
Write, and allay, by your beneficence,
My sighs breathed forth in silence,-comfort
give!

Since of all good, you are the best alive.

EXPLICIT.

TROILUS AND CRESIDA.
NEXT morning Troilus began to clear
His eyes from sleep, at the first break of day,
And unto Pandarus, his own Brother dear,
For love of God, full piteously did say,
We must the Palace see of Cresida;
For since we yet may have no other feast,
Let us behold her Palace at the least!
And therewithal to cover his intent
A cause he found into the Town to go,
And they right forth to Cresid's Palace went,

She thanked them; and then her leave she But, Lord, the simple Troilus was woe, took,

And flew into a hawthorn by that brook;
And there she sate and sung-upon that

tree

"For term of life Love shall have hold of

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So loudly, that I with that song awoke.

Unlearned Book and rude, as well I know,
For beauty thou hast none, nor eloquence,
Who did on thee the hardiness bestow
To appear before my Lady? but a sense
Thou surely hast of her benevolence,
Whereof her hourly bearing proof doth give;
For of all good she is the best alive.

Alas, poor Book! for thy unworthiness,
To show to her some pleasant meanings
writ

In winning words, since through her genti-
less,

Thee she accepts as for her service fit!
Oh! it repents me I have neither wit
Nor leisure unto thee more worth to give;
For of all good she is the best alive.

Beseech her meekly with all lowliness,
Though I be far from her I reverence,
To think upon my truth and steadfastness,
And to abridge my sorrow's violence,

Him thought his sorrowful heart would break

in two;

For when he saw her doors fast bolted all,
Well nigh for sorrow down he 'gan to fall
Therewith when this true Lover 'gan behold
How shut was every window of the place,
Like frost he thought his heart was icy cold:
For which, with changed, pale, and deadly
face,

Without word uttered, forth he 'gan to pace,
And on his purpose bent so fast to ride
That no wight his continuance espied.
Then said he thus,-O Palace desolate!
O house of houses, once so richly dight!
O Palace empty and disconsolate!
Thou lamp of which extinguished is the
light;

O Palace whilom day that now art night,
Thou ought'st to fall and I to die; since she
Is gone who held us both in sovereignty.
O, of all houses once the crowned boast?
Palace illumined with the sun of bliss:
O ring of which the ruby now is lost,
O cause of woe, that cause has been of bliss:
Yet, since I may no better, would I kiss
Thy cold doors; but I dare not for this rout;
Farewell, thou shrine of which the Saint is

out!

Therewith he cast on Pandarus an eye,
With changed face, and piteous to behold;
And when he might his time aright espy,
Aye as he rode, to Pandarus he told
Both his new sorrow and his joys of old,
So piteously, and with so dead a hue,
That every wight might on his sorrow rue.

Forth from the spot he rideth up and down,
And everything to his rememberànce
Came as he rode by places of the town
Where he had left such perfect pleasure

once.

Lo, yonder saw I mine own Lady dance, And in that Temple she with her bright

eyes,

My Lady dear, first bound me captive-wise. And yonder with joy-smitten heart have I Heard my own Cresid's laugh; and once at play

I yonder saw her eke full blissfully;

And yonder once she unto me 'gan sayNow, my sweet Troilus, love me well, I pray!

And there so graciously did me behold,
That hers unto the death my heart I hold.

And at the corner of that self-same house
Heard I my most beloved Lady dear,
So womanly, with voice melodious
Singing so well, so goodly, and so clear,
That in my soul methinks I yet do hear
The blissful sound: and in that very place
My Lady first me took unto her grace.
O blissful God of Love! then thus he cried,
When I the process have in memory
How thou hast wearied me on every side,
Men thence a book might make, a history;
What need to seek a conquest over me,
Since I am wholly at thy will? what joy
Hast thou thy own liege subjects to destroy?
Dread Lord! so fearful when provoked,
thine ire

Well hast thou wreaked on me by pain and grief;

Now mercy, Lord! thou know'st well I desire

Thy grace above all pleasures first and chief;
And live and die I will in thy belief:
For which I ask for guerdon but one boon,
That Cresida again thou send me soon.
Constrain her heart as quickly to return
As thou dost mine with longing her to see,
Then know I well that she would not so
journ.

Now, blissful Lord, so cruel do not be
Unto the blood of Troy, I pray of thee,
As Juno was unto the Theban blood,
From whence to Thebes came griefs in multi-
tude.

And after this he to the gate did go
Whence Cresid rode, as if in haste she was;
And up and down there went, and to and
fro,

And to himself full oft he said, alas!
From hence my hope and solace forth did

pass.

O would the blissful God now for his joy,
I might see her again coming to Troy!

And up to yonder hill was I her guide;
Alas, and there I took of her my leave;
Yonder I saw her to her Father ride,
For very grief of which my heart shall
cleave ;-

And hither home I came when it was eve;
And here I dwell an outcast from all joy,
And shall, unless I see her soon in Troy.

And of himself did he imagine oft
That he was blighted, pale, and waxen less
Than he was wont; and that in whispers
soft

Men said, what may it be, can no one guess
Why Troilus hath all this heaviness?
All which he of himself conceited wholly
Out of his weakness and his melancholy.

Another time he took into his head
Had of him ruth, and fancied that they said,
That every wight, who in the way passed by,
I am right sorry Troilus will die :
And thus a day or two drove wearily;

As ye

have heard; such life 'gan he to lead As one that standeth betwixt hope and dread. For which it pleased him in his songs to

show

The occasion of his woe, as best he might; And made a fitting song, of words but tew,

Somewhat his woeful heart to make more light;

And when he was removed from all men's sight,

With a soft voice, he of his Lady dear, That absent was, 'gan sing as ye may hear.

O star, of which I have lost all the light, With a sore heart well ought I to bewail, That ever dark in torment, night by night, Toward my death with wind I steer and sail; For which upon the tenth night if thou fail

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That in my soul I feel the joy of it.
And certainly this wind, that more and

more

By moments thus increaseth in my face,
Is of my Lady's sighs heavy and sore;
I prove it thus; for in no other space
Of all this town, save only in this place,
Feel I a wind that soundeth so like pain,
It saith, Alas, why severed are we twain?
A weary while in pain he tosseth thus,
Till fully past and gone was the ninth
night;

And ever at his side stood Pandarus,
Who busily made use of all his might
To comfort him, and make his heart more
light;

Giving him always hope, that she the mor

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POEMS REFERRING TO THE PERIOD OF OLD AGE.

THE OLD CUMBERLAND BEGGAR. | May thence remount at ease.

The class of Beggars to which the Old Man
here described belongs will probably soon
be extinct. It consisted of poor, and mostly
old and infirm persons, who confined them-
selves to a stated round in their neighbor-
hood, and had certain fixed days, on which,
at different houses, they regularly received
alms, ometinies in money, but mostly in
provisions.

I SAW an aged Beggar in my walk;
And he was seated, by the highway side,
On a low structure of rude masonry
Built at the foot of a huge hill, that they
Who lead their horses down the steep rough
road

Man

The aged

Had placed his staff across the broad smooth

stone

That overlays the pile; and, from a bag
All white with flour, the dole of village
dames,

He drew his scraps and fragments, one by

one;

And scanned them with a fixed and serious
look

Of idle computation.
In the sun,
Upon the second step of that small pile,
Surrounded by those wild unpeopled hills,
He sat, and ate his food in solitude.
And ever, scattered from his palsied hand,

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