Bid the starved soldier banquet in your halls,
And quaff your long-saved hogsheads-Turn them out
Thus primed with your good cheer, to guard your wall,
And they will venture for 't.

Old Play.

From the Abbot.

1820.

(1.) THE PARDONER'S ADVERTISE

MENT.

"AT length the pardoner pulled from his scrip a small phial of clear water, of which he vaunted the quality in the following verses:"—

Listneth, gode people, everiche one,
For in the londe of Babylone,
Far eastward I wot it lyeth,

And is the first londe the sonne espieth,

Ther, as he cometh fro out the sé;
In this ilk londe, as thinketh me,
Right as holie legendes tell,
Snottreth from a roke a well,
And falleth into ane bath of ston,
Wher chast Susanne in times long gon,
Was wont to wash her bodie and lim--
Mickle vertue hath that streme,
As ye shall se er that ye pas,
Ensample by this little glas-
Through nightés cold and dayés hote,
Hiderward I have it brought;
Hath a wife made slip or slide,

Or a maiden stepp'd aside;

Putteth this water under her nese,
Wold she nold she, she shall snese.

(2.)-MOTTOES.

(1.)-CHAP. V.

Chap. xxvii.

In thy face and gait are seen:

Tameless and sleepless, proof to fraud or bribe, And guard the hidden treasure of her beauty.

The Spanish Father.

(16.)-CHAP. XXXV.

It is a time of danger, not of revel,
When churchmen turn to masquers.

The Spanish Father.

(17.)-CHAP. XXXVII.

Ay, sir-our ancient crown, in these wild times,
Oft stood upon a cast-the gamester's ducat,
So often staked, and lost, and then regain'd,
Scarce knew so many hazards.

The Spanish Father

From Kenilworth.

1821.

(1.)-GOLDTHRED'S SONG.

"AFTER some brief interval, Master Goldthred, at the earnest instigation of mine host, and the joyous concurrence of his guests, indulged the company with the following morsel of melody: "—

Of all the birds on bush or tree, Commend me to the owl, Since he may best ensample be To those the cup that trowl. For when the sun hath left the west, He chooses the tree that he loves the best, And he whoops out his song, and he laughs at his jest,

Then, though hours be late, and weather foul, We'll drink to the health of the bonny, bonny owl.

The lark is but a bumpkin fowl,

He sleeps in his nest till morn; But my blessing upon the jolly owl, That all night blows his horn.

Then up with your cup till you stagger in speech, And match me this catch, till you swagger and screech,

And drink till you wink, my merry men each;
For, though hours be late, and weather be foul,
We'll drink to the health of the bonny, bonny owl.
Chap. ii.

(2.)-SPEECH OF THE PORTER AT
KENILWORTH.

"AT the approach of the Queen, upon sight of whom, as struck by some heavenly vision, the gigan