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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.

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It is and is not-'tis the thing I sought for,
Have kneel'd for, pray'd for, risk'd my fame and life

for,

And yet it is not-no more than the shadow
Upon the hard, cold, flat, and polish'd mirror,
Is the warm, graceful, rounded, living substance
Which it presents in form and lineament.
Old Play.

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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 Futher

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.
Chup. 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

tic warder dropped his club, resigned his keys, and gave open way to the Goddess of the night, and all her magnificent train."

What stir, what turmoil, have we for the nones?
Stand back, my masters, or beware your bones!
Sirs, I'm a warder, and no man of straw;
My voice keeps order, and my club gives law.

Yet soft-nay stay-what vision have we here?
What dainty darling 's this-what peerless peer?
What loveliest face, that loving ranks enfold,
Like brightest diamond chased in purest gold?
Dazzled and blind, mine office I forsake,
My club, my key, my knee, my homage take.
Bright paragon, pass on in joy and bliss;-
Beshrew the gate that opes not wide at such a sight

as this!!

(3.)-MOTTOES.

(1.)-CHAP. IV.

Chap. xxx.

Look to the helm, good master; many a shoal
Marks this stern coast, and rocks where sits the siren,
Who, like ambition, lures men to their ruin.
The Shipwreck.

(6.)-CHAP. XXIII.

Now God be good to me in this wild pilgrimage!
All hope in human aid I cast behind me.
Oh, who would be a woman? who that fool,
A weeping, pining, faithful, loving woman?
She hath hard measure still where she hopes kindest,
And all her bounties only make ingrates.

Love's Pilgrimage.

(7.)—CHAP. XXV.

Hark! the bells summon, and the bugle calls,
But she the fairest answers not; the tide

Of nobles and of ladies throngs the halls,
But she the loveliest must in secret hide.

What eyes were thine, proud Prince, which in the gleam

Of yon gay meteors lost that better sense,
That o'er the glow-worm doth the star esteem,

NoT serve two masters ?—Here's a youth will try it- And merit's modest blush o'er courtly insolence!

Would fain serve God, yet give the devil his due;
Says grace before he doth a deed of villany,
And returns his thanks devoutly when 'tis acted.

(2.)-CHAP. V.

-He was a man

Old Play.

Versed in the world as pilot in his compass.
The needle pointed ever to that interest
Which was his loadstar, and he spread his sails
With vantage to the gale of others' passion.
The Deceiver-a Tragedy.
(3.)-CHAP. VII.

-This is He

Who rides on the court-gale; controls its tides; Knows all their secret shoals and fatal eddies; Whose frown abases, and whose smile exalts. He shines like any rainbow-and, perchance, His colours are as transient.

The Glass Slipper.

(8.)-CHAP. XXVIII.

What, man, ne'er lack a draught, when the full can
Stands at thine elbow, and craves emptying!—
Nay, fear not me, for I have no delight

To watch men's vices, since I have myself

Of virtue nought to boast of.-I'm a striker, Would have the world strike with me, pell-mell, all. Pandemonium.

(9.)-CHAP. XXIX.

Now fare thee well, my master! if true service
Be guerdon'd with hard looks, e'en cut the tow-line,
And let our barks across the pathless flood
Hold different courses.

Shipwreck.

(10.)-CHAP. Xxx.

(4.)-CHAP. XIV.

Old Play.

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Now bid the steeple rock--she comes, she comes! Speak for us, bells! speak for us, shrill-tongued

tuckets!

Stand to the linstock, gunner; let thy cannon

Play such a peal, as if a Paynim foe

Came stretch'd in turban'd ranks to storm the ram.

parts.

We will have pageants too; but that craves wit, And I'm a rough-hewn soldier.

The Virgin-Queen, a Tragi-Comedy.

(11.)-CHAP. XXXII.

The wisest sovereigns err like private men,
And royal hand has sometimes laid the sword

Pleasures of Kenilworth, by the same author, in the History of Kenilworth. Chiswick, 1821.

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STERN eagle of the far north-west,

Thou that bearest in thy grasp the thunderbolt,
Thou whose rushing pinions stir ocean to madness,
Thou the destroyer of herds, thou the scatterer of
navies,

Amidst the scream of thy rage,

Amidst the rushing of thy onward wings,

Though thy scream be loud as the cry of a perishing nation,

Though the rushing of thy wings be like the roar of ten thousand waves,

Yet hear, in thine ire and thy haste,

Hear thou the voice of the Reim-kennar.

2.

Thou hast met the pine-trees of Drontheim,

Their dark-green heads lie prostrate beside their up

rooted stems;

Thou hast met the rider of the ocean,
The tall, the strong bark of the fearless rover,

Enough of woe hast thou wrought on the ocean,
The widows wring their hands on the beach;
Enough of woe hast thou wrought on the land,
The husbandman folds his arms in despair;
Cease thou the waving of thy pinions,
Let the ocean repose in her dark strength;
Cease thou the flashing of thine eye,
Let the thunderbolt sleep in the armoury of Odin;
Be thou still at my bidding, viewless racer of the north-

western heaven,

Sleep thou at the voice of Norna the Reim-kennar.

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