And suddenly, when the soote is past,
She of custome can give him a cast,
For to conclude falsely in the fine,
Of bitter eysell and of eager wine;
And corrosives that fret and pierce deep;
And narcotics that cause men to sleep.

MEDEA.

For as he sat at meat tho in that tide,
Her father next, and Jason by her side,
All suddenly her fresh and rosen hue
Full ofte-time gan changen and renew,
An hundred sithes in a little space.
For now, the bloode from her goodly face
Unto her heart unwarely gan avale:
And therewithal she waxeth dead and pale.
And eft anon (who thereto gan take heed)
Her hue returneth into goodly red:
But still among, t' embellish her colour,
The rose was meynt aye with the lily flower;
And though the rose some dele gan to pace,
Yet still the lily bideth in his place,
Till nature made them eft again to meet.

For now she brent, and now she gan to cold.
And aye the more that she gan behold
This Jason young, the more she gan desire
To look on him; so was she set a-fire
With his beautè, and his semelyness,
And every thing she inly gan impress.

What that she sawe, both in mind and thought
She all imprinteth, and forgetteth nought.
For she considereth every circumstance,
Both of his port and his governance;
His sunnish hair, crisped like gold wire,
His knightly look, and his manly cheer.

JAMES THE FIRST, King of Scotland, was the second son of Robert the Third, and was born in 1395. In 1405, while on his way to France, the ship in which he sailed was taken by an English squadron, and the young Prince, with a numerous train of attendants, were sent to London as prisoners of war. Notwithstanding that a peace between the two countries was concluded very soon after his capture, he was detained in captivity, chiefly, it is said, in consequence of the intrigues of his uncle, the Duke of Albany, who thus held, during his life, the Regency of Scotland. Henry the Fourth, however, although he kept him in confinement, gave him every advantage it was possible for him to bestow. Under apt and skilful tutelage he became a proficient in all the accomplishments of the age, excelling in music, oratory, jurisprudence, philosophy, and poetry, and attaining to unrivalled excellence in all manly sports. His prison became, therefore, his study; he had leisure to cultivate his mind; and gave such early proofs of its honourable bias, that King Henry is said to have exclaimed, "Happy shall be the subjects of a king who, in his tender years, shows himself to be endowed with so much wisdom." He subsequently fought in France, under the banner of England. He continued eighteen years in durance; but, during his seclusion at Windsor Castle, his thraldom was "made light" by his intimacy with the Lady Jane Beaufort, daughter of the Duke of Somerset, to whom he was subsequently married, in 1434, and in whose praise he composed his principal poem, "The King's Quair." Upon the death of his uncle, the Scottish nobility turned their attention towards their captive sovereign, and entered into serious negociations for the purchase of his liberty. A heavy ransom having been exacted, the king took possession of his throne, and after a reign of twelve years, honourable to himself and beneficial to his country, he perished by the hands of assassins, at Perth, in 1437.

Besides "The King's Quair"-(the King's Book)-James the First has left to us "Christ's Kirk on the Green," and "Pebles to the Play," the former being composed in the northern, and the latter in the southern, dialect of Scotland. "Christ's Kirk on the Green" is full of genuine wit and humour, and especially valuable as a picture of the customs and manners of the Scottish people four centuries ago. It is perhaps one of the finest pieces of rustic painting in the whole compass of our literature; the images are all vivid; the characters well relieved; and there is such a happy dance of words, as none of the northern bards, except Burns, has at all equalled. The authorship of "Pebles to the Play," however, is not a settled matter. "The King's Quair" consists of one hundred and ninety-seven stanzas; it abounds in allegorical machinery, is a record of the young monarch's life and love, and contains passages so full of strength and pathos, that it would not be derogatory to Chaucer to compare them with the happiest productions of our great English Bard, whom he acknowledges as his "master." It is at once elegant, natural, and uncommonly rich in language; the leading sentiments are eminently pure and beautiful; and there is a polish and a flow about the whole composition, surpassing any thing in our earlier poets.

Of this poem, only one manuscript is known to exist. It is a small folio, in the Bodleian Library; and it was not in print until so late as the year 1773, when Mr. Tytler, after a long and patient search, succeeded in rescuing it from oblivion. The MS. copy bears the following title,-"The Quair, maid be King James of Scotland, the first, callit the King's Quair. Maid qn his Mã was in England." The Poem is an allegory, to commemorate his love for the Lady Jane, the mistress of his heart, who is described by the historians of the time as of exceeding beauty and goodness. The Poet dreams a dream, and relates his early misfortunes, his long captivity, and the purity, constancy, and happy issue of his love, together with the incident that first called it into existence. Having heard a bell, that bids him "Tell on man, quat the befell," he at once commences, and proceeds with his task :

"His pen in hand he tuke
And made a + and thus begouth his buke."

He first relates his earlier adventures, then details the circumstances which led to his acquaintance with the Lady Jane: after which he is transported to the sphere of Love, conducted to the palace of Minerva, and goes a journey in quest of Fortune, until at length a Turtle Dove brings him "newis glad," which he reads with "hertfull gladnesse."

THE long dayes and the nyghtes eke,

I wold bewaille my fortune in this wise, For quhich again distresse confort to seke, My custum was on mornis for to rise Airly as day, O happy exercise!

By the come I to joye out of turment,
Bot now to purpose of my first entent.

Bewailling in my chamber thus allone,
Despeired of all joye and remedye,
For-tirit of my tho' and wo-begone,

And to the wyndow gan I walk in hye, To see the warld and folk y' went forbye

As for the tyme though I of mirthis fude,
My' have no more, to luke it did me gude.

Now was there maid fast by the Touris wall
A gardyn faire, and in the corneris set,
Ane herbere grene, with wandis long and small,
Railit about, and so w' treis set

Was all the place, and hawthorn hegis knet,
That lyf was non walkyng there forbye,
That my w'in scarce any wight aspye.

So thick the beuis and the leves grene
Bescadit all the allyes y' there were,
And myddis every herbere my' be sene
The scharp grene suete jenepere,
Growing so fair w' branchis here and there,
That, as it semyt to a lyf w'out,
The beuis spred the herbere all about.

And on the small grene twistis sat

The lytil suete nyghtingale, and song So loud and clere, the ympnis consecrat

Of luvis use, now soft now lowd among, That all the gardynes and the wallis rong Ry' of thaire song, and on the copill next Of thaire suete armony, and lo the text. Worschippe ze y' loveris bene this May,

For of zour bliss the kalendis are begonne, And sing w' us, away winter away,

Come somer come, the suete seson and sonne, Awake, for schame! ye have zour hevynis wonne, And amorously lift up zour hedis all, Thank lufe y' list zou to his merci call.

And therew' kest I doun myn eye ageyne,
Quhare as I saw walkyng under the Toure,
Full secretely, new cumyn hir to pleyne,
The fairest or the freschest zoung floure
That ever I sawe, metho', before that houre,
For quhich sodayne abate, anon astert,
The blude of all my body to my hert..

And though I stood abaiset tho a lyte,
No wonder was; for quhy? my wittis all

Were so ouercome w' plesance and delyte,
Only through latting of myn eyen fall,
That sudaynly my hert become hir thrall,
For ever of free wyll, for of menace
There was no takyn in hir suete face.

Of hir array, the form gif I sal write,
Toward hir goldin haire, and rich atyre,
In fretwise couchit w' perlis quhite,

And grete balas lemyng as the fyre,
W mony ane emerant and faire saphire,

And on hir hede a chaplet, fresch of hewe,
Of plumys partit rede, and quhite, and blewe.

About hir neck, quhite as the fyre amaille,
A gudelie cheyne of small orfeverye,
Quhare by there hang a ruby w'out faille
Like to ane hert schapin verily,

That, as a sperk of lowe so wantonly

Semyt birnyng upon her quhite throte,
Now gif there was gud perlye, God it wote.

And for to walk that fresche Mayes morowe,
Ane huke she had upon her tissew quhite,
That gudelaire had not bene sene to forowe,
As I suppose, and girt sche was alyte;
Thus halflyng lowse for haste, to suich delyte,
It was to see her zouth in gudelihed
That for rudenes to speke thereof I drede.

In her was zouth, beautee, wt humble aport,
Bountee, richesse, and womanly faiture,
God better wote than my pen can report,
Wisdome, largesse estate, and conyng sure
In every point, so guydit hir mesure,

In word, in dede, in schap, in contenance,
That nature my no more hir childe avance.