And nowe the belle began to tolle,
And claryonnes to sound;

Syr Charles hee herde the horses feete
A prauncyng onne the grounde:

And just before the officers

His lovynge wyfe came ynne, Weepynge unfeigned teers of woe, Wythe loude and dysmalle dynne.

"Sweet Florence! nowe I praie forbere,
Ynn quiet lett mee die ;

Praie Godde that every Christian soule
Maye looke onne dethe as I.

"Sweet Florence! why these brinie teers?
Theye washe my soule awaie,
And almost make mee wyshe for lyfe,
Wyth thee, sweete dame, to staie.

· "Tys butt a journie I shalle goe
Untoe the lande of blysse;

Nowe, as a proofe of husbande's love,
Receive thys holie kysse."

Thenne Florence, fault'ring ynne her saie,
Tremblynge these wordyes spoke,
"Ah, cruele Edwarde! bloudie kynge!
Mye herte ys welle nyghe broke :

Ah, sweete Syr Charles! why wylt thou goe Wythoute thye lovynge wyfe?

'The cruelle axe thatt cuttes thye necke,
Ytte eke shall ende mye lyfe."

And nowe the officers camo ynne
To brynge Syr Charles awaie,
Who turnedd to hys lovynge wyfe,
And thus to her dydd saie:

"I goe to lyfe, and nott to dethe;

Truste thou ynne Godde above,
And teache thy sonnes to feare the Lorde,
And ynne theyre hertes hym love:
"Teache them to runne the nobile race

Thatt I theyre fader runne;
Florence should dethe thee take-adieu !
Yee officers, leade onne.

Thenne Florence raved as anie madde,
And dydd her tresses tere ;
"Oh, staie mye husbande, lorde, and lyfe !"-
Syr Charles thenne dropt a teare.
"Tyll tyredd oute wythe ravynge loude,
Shee fellen onne the floore;
Syr Charles exerted alle hys myghte,
And march'd fromm oute the dore.
Uponne a sledde hee mounted thenne,
Wythe lookes fulle brave and sweete,
Lookes thatt enshone ne moe concern
Thanne anie ynne the strete.

Before hym went the council-menne,
Ynne scarlett robes and golde,
And tassils spanglynge ynne the sunne,
Muche glorious to beholde :

The Freers of Seincte Augustyne next
Appeared to the syghte,

Alle cladd ynne homelie russett weedes,
Of godlie monkysh plyghte:

Ynne diffraunt partes a godlie psaume

Moste sweetlie theye dydd chaunt; Behynde theyre backes syx mynstrelles came, Who tuned the strunge bataunt.

Thenne fyve-and-twenty archers came ;
Echone the bowe dydd bende,
From rescue of Kynge Henrie's friends
Syr Charles forr to defend.

Bolde as a lyon came Syr Charles,

Drawne onne a cloth-ladye sledde.
Bye two blacke stedes ynne trappynges whyte,
Wyth plumes uponne theyre hedde:
Behynde hym fyve-and-twenty moe
Of archers strong and stoute,
Wyth bended bowe echone ynne hande,
Marched ynne goodlie route:

Seincte Jameses Freers marched next,
Echone hys parte dydd chaunt;
Behynde theyre backes syx mynstrelles came,
Who tuned the strunge bataunt :

Thenne came the maior and eldermenne.
Ynne clothe of scarlett deck't;
And theyre attendyng menne echone,
Lyke easterne princes trick't:

And after them a multitude

Of citizenns dydd thronge;

The wyndowes were alle fulle of heddes
As hee dydd passe alonge.

And whenne hee came to the hyghe crosse,
Syr Charles dydd turne and saie,

"O Thou thatt savest manne fromme synne,
Washe mye soule clean thys daie!"
Att the grete mynster wyndowe sat
The kynge ynne myckle state,

To see Charles Bawdin goe alonge
To hys most welcom fate

Soone as the sledde drewe nyghe enowe,
Thatt Edwarde hee myghte heare,

The brave Syr Charles hee dydd stande uppe,
And thus hys wordes declare:

"Thou seest me, Edwarde! traytour vile!
Exposed to infamie;

Butt bee assured, disloyall manne!
I'm greaterr nowe thanne thee.

"Bye foule proceedyngs, murdre, bloude,
Thou wearest nowe a crowne;
And hast appoynted mee to die,
By power nott thyne owne.

"Thou thynkest I shall dye to daie ;

I have beene dede till nowe,

And soone shall lyve to weare a crowne
For aie uponne my browe:

"Whylst thou, perhapps, for some few yeares, Shalt rule thys fickle lande,

To lett them knowe howe wyde the rule
"Twixt kynge and tyrante hande:

"Thye power unjust, thou traytour slave!
Shall falle onne thye owne hedde❞—
Fromm out of hearyng of the kynge
Departed thenne the sledde.

Kynge Edwarde's soule rush'd to hys face,
Hee turn'd hys hedde awaie,
And to hys broder Gloucester
Hee thus dydd speke and saie:

To hym that soe-much-dreaded dethe
Ne ghastlie terrors brynge,

Beholde the manne! hee spake the truthe,
Hee's greater thanne a kynge!"

Soe lett hym die!" Duke Richarde sayde;

44

And maye echone oure foes

Bende downe theyre neckes to bloudie axe,
And feede the carryon crowes.'

And nowe the horses gentlie drewe

Syr Charles uppe the hyghe hylle;
The axe dydd glysterr ynne the sunne,
Hys pretious bloude to spylle.

Syr Charles dydd uppe the scaffold goe,
As uppe a gilded carre

Of victorye, bye val'rous chiefs

Gayn'd ynne the bloudie warre:

And to the people hee dyd saie,
Beholde you see mee dye,

For servynge loyally mye kynge,
Mye kynge most ryghtfullie.

'As longe as Edwarde rules thys lande,
Ne quiet you wylle knowe:

Your sonnes and husbandes shalle bee slayne.
And brookes wythe bloude shalle flowe.
"You leave your goode and lawfulle kynge,
Whenne ynne adversitye;

Lyke mee, untoe the true cause stycke,
And for the true cause dye."

Thenne hee, wyth preestes, uponne hys knees,
A prayer to Godde dyd make,
Beseechynge hym unto hymselfe
Hys partynge soule to take.

Thenne kneelynge downe, hee layde hys hedde,
Most seemlie onne the blocke;
Whyche fromme hys bodie fayre at once
The able heddes-manne stroke:

And oute the bloude beganne to flowe,
And rounde the scaffolde twyne;

And tearcs, enow to washe❜t awaie,
Dydd flowe fromme each man's eyne.

The bloudie axe hys bodie fayre

Ynnto foure partes cutte;
And everye parte, and eke hys hedde,
Uponne a pole was putte.

One parte dyd rotte onne Kynwulph-hylle,
One onne the mynster-tower,
And one from off the castle-gate

The crowen dydd devoure:

The other onne Seyncte Powle's goode gate,
A dreery spectacle ;

Hys hedde was placed onne the hyghe crosse,
Ynne hyghe strete most nobile.
Thus was the ende of Bawdin's fate.
Godde prosper longe oure kynge,

And grante hee maye, wyth Bawdin's soule,
Ynne Heaven Godde's mercie synge!

MYNSTRELLES SONGE

O synge untoe mie roundelaie,
O! droppe the brynie teare wythe mee,
Daunce ne moe atte hallie daie,
Lycke a rennynge ryver bee;
Mie love ys dedde,

Gon to hys death-bedde,

Al under the wyllowe tree.

Blacke hys cryne as the wyntere nyghte, Whyte hys rode as the sommer snowe, Rodde hys face as the mornynge lyghte, Cald he lyes ynne the grave belowe; Mie love ys dedde,

Gon to hys death-bedde,

Al under the wyllowe tree.

Swote hys tongue as the throstles note,
Quycke ynn daunce as thought canne bee,
Defe hys taboure, codgelle stote,

O hee lyes bie the wyllowe tree :
Mie love ys dedde,

Gonne to hys death-bedde,

Al under the wyllowe tree.

Harke, the ravenne flappes hys wynge,
Ynne the briered delle belowe ;
Harke! the dethe-owle loude dothe synge,
To the nyghte-mares as heie goe,
Mie love ys dedde,

Gonne to hys death-bedde,
Al under the wyllowe tree.

See the whyte moone sheenes onne hie,
Whyterre ys mie true love's shroude;
Whyterre yanne the mornynge skie,
Whyterre yanne the evenynge cloude;
Mie love ys dedde,

Gon to hys death-bedde,

Al under the wyllowe tree.

Heere uponne mie true love's grave,
Schalle the baren fleurs be layde,
Nee on hallie seyncte to save
Al the celness of a mayde.

Mie love ys dedde,
Gon to hys death-bedde,

Al under the wyllowe tree.

Wythe mie hondes I'll dente the brieres
Rounde his hallie corse to gre,
Ouphante fairie, lyghte your fyres,
Heere mie bodie still schalle bee.
Mie love ys dedde,

Gon to hys death-bedde,

Al under the wyllowe tree.

Comme, wythe acorne-coppe and thorne,
Drayne mie hartys blodde awaie;
Lyfe and alle yts goode I scorne,
Daunce bie nete, or feaste bie daie.

Mie love ys dedde,
Gon to hys death-bedde,
Al under the wyllowe tree.

Waterre wytches, crownede wythe reytes
Bere mee to yer leathalle tyde.

I die I comme; mie true love waytes.-
Thos the damselle spake, and dyed.

GEORGE CRABBE was born at Aldborough, Suf- | folk, December 24, 1754. His parents were quite illiterate, but had the good sense to discover and encourage his predilection for learning. He was sent to school at Bungay, and then to an academy where he was prepared for a medical education. Here he began to write rhymes, some of which are said to have been very creditable; and for one poem he received a prize.

At the age of fourteen he was apprenticed to a country surgeon near Bury St. Edmund's, who made of him an errand-boy rather than a student. Three years later he removed to Woodbridge, to finish the term of his apprenticeship with another surgeon. Here he made the acquaintance of Miss Sarah Elmy, whom he married after a long engagement. To her, as " Myra," he addressed numerous poems, none of which have survived the century which has elapsed since they were written-perhaps because his suit was successful and the course of his love comparatively smooth, except for the roughness of poverty.

About this time he published at Ipswich a poem of three hundred lines, entitled "Inebriety." It was in the heroic couplet, which then ruled the fashion of verse, and was a very respectable performance for a youth of twenty. It is still included in some editions of his works. After completing his apprenticeship he returned to Aldborough, where his father set him at work in a warehouse, being unable to bear the expense of any further professional education. This was so distasteful to Crabbe that he went to London, trusting to his own resources and good fortune. These failed him in five or six months, and he returned once more to Aldborough and soon succeeded to the establishment of the surgeon and apothecary there, but met with no encouraging success. In 1779 he gave it up, and went to London as a literary adventurer, borrowing the money for his travelling expenses from Mr. Dudley North, whose brother was then a candidate for Parliament as representative from Aldborough.

Crabbe embarked in a coasting-vessel, and

TALE I.

THE DUMB ORATORS; OR, THE BENEFIT OF SOCIETY. Deep shame hath struck me dumb.

King John, act iv. scene 2, He gives the bastinado with his tongue, Our ears are cudgell'd.

King John, act iv. scene 2. And thus the whirligig of time brings in his revenges. Twelfth Night, act v. scene last.

THAT all men would be cowards if they dare, Some men we know have courage to declare;

arrived in the metropolis with £3 and a few manuscripts in his pocket. In 1780 he published "The Candidate," which was not very successful; and the failure of the publisher soon after left the poet penniless. In 1781, finding himself on the threshold of a debtor's prison, he wrote a long letter to Edmund Burke, giving a full account of his situation. Burke responded at once, took Crabbe to his country residence of Beaconsfield, and introduced him to many of the literary and political celebrities of the day. Among these was Dr. Johnson, who was very favorably impressed with the style of Crabbe's poetry.

,,

The Library was published in 1781, and had a comparatively large sale. In the same year Crabbe took orders, and for a short time was curate at Aldborough. In 1782 he became chaplain to the Duke of Rutland, and went to reside at Belvoir Castle. There he wrote "The Village," which, after revision by Dr. Johnson, was published in 1783, and met with wide appreciation. In that year the duke was made Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland, and the chaplaincy ceased. In December Crabbe married, and in 1784 he became Curate of Strathern.

In 1785 he published "The Newspaper," which was as successful as "The Library" had been. For the next twenty years he was moving about with his family, living an unsettled life, and published nothing. In 1806 appeared "The Parish Register." In 1814 he became minister of Trowbridge, where he spent the remainder of his life. "Tales of the Hall" was published in 1819 by Murray, who had given £3,000 for the copyright of all his previous works.

Crabbe was earnestly devoted to his ministerial work, and was greatly beloved by his parishioners. He died on February 3, 1832. His poems are all of the same order, almost too roughly realistic to be deeply poetical. Byron called him

"Nature's sternest painter, but her best."

The selections here given are from "Tales of the Hall."

And this the life of many a hero shows,
That like the tide, man's courage ebbs and flows,
With friends and gay companions round them,
then

Men boldly speak and have the hearts of men ;
Who, with opponents seated, miss the aid
Of kind applauding looks, and grow afraid;
Like timid travellers in the night, they fear
Th' assault of foes, when not a friend is near.

In contest mighty, and of conquest proud, Was Justice Bolt, impetuous, warm, and loud; His fame, his prowess all the country knew, And disputants, with one so fierce, were few;

He was a younger son, for law design'd,
With dauntless look and persevering mind;
While yet a clerk, for disputation famed,
No efforts tired him, and no conflicts tamed.
Scarcely he bade his master's desk adieu,
When both his brothers from the world withdrew.
An ample fortune he from them possess'd,
And was with saving care and prudence bless'd.
Now would he go and to the country give
Example how an English 'squire should live;
How bounteous, yet how frugal man may be,
By a well-order a hospitality;

He would the rights of all so well maintain,
That none should idle be, and none complain.
All this and more he purposed-and what man
Could do, he did to realize his plan :
But time convinced him that we cannot keep
A breed of reasoners like a flock of sheep;
For they, so far from following as we lead,
Make that a cause why they will not proceed.
Man will not follow where a rule is shown,
But loves to take a method of his own;
Explain the way with all your care and skill,
This will he quit, if but to prove he will.-
Yet had our justice honour; and the crowd,
Awed by his presence, their respect avow'd.

In later years he found his heart incline,
More than in youth, to generous food and wine;
But no indulgence check'd the powerful love
He felt to teach, to argue, and reprove.

Meetings, or public calls, he never miss'd-
To dictate often, always to assist.

Oft he the clergy join'd, and not a cause
Pertain❜d to them but he could quote the laws;
He upon tithes and residence display'd
A fund of knowledge for the hearer's aid ;
And could on glebe and farming, wool and grain,
A long discourse, without a pause, maintain.
To his experience and his native sense
He join'd a bold imperious eloquence;
The grave, stern look of men inform'd and wise,
A full command of feature, heart, and eyes,
An awe compelling frown, and fear inspiring

size.

When at the table, not a guest was seen
With appetite so lingering, or so keen;
But when the outer man no more required,
The inner waked, and he was man inspired.
His subjects then were those, a subject true
Presents in fairest form to public view!
Of church and state, of law, with mighty strength
Of words he spoke, in speech of mighty length:
And now, into the vale of years declined,
He hides too little of the monarch mind:
He kindles anger by untimely jokes,
And opposition by contempt provokes;
Mirth he suppresses by his awful frown,
And humble spirits, by disdain, keeps down;
Blamed by the mild, approved by the severe,
The prudent fly him, and the valiant fear.

For overbearing is his proud discourse,
And overwhelming of his voice the force;
And overpowering is he when he shows
What floats upon a mind that always overflows
This ready man at every meeting rose,
Something to hint, determine, or propose;
And grew so fond of teaching, that he taught
Those who instruction needed not or sought:

Happy our hero, when he could excite
Some thoughtless talker to the wordy fight:
Let him a subject at his pleasure choose,
Physic or law, religion or the muse;
On all such themes he was prepared to shine,
| Physician, poet, lawyer, and divine.
Hemm'd in by some tough argument, borne down
By press of language, and the awful frown,
In vain for mercy shall the culprit plead;
His crime is past, and sentence must proceed:
Ah! suffering man, have patience, bear thy woes
For lo! the clock-at ten the justice goes.

This powerful man, on business or to please
A curious taste, or weary grown of ease,
On a long journey travell'd many a mile
Westward, and halted midway in our isle;
Content to view a city large and fair,
Though none had notice-what a man was there!
Silent two days, he then began to long
Again to try a voice so loud and strong:
To give his favourite topics some new grace,
And gain some glory in such distant place;
To reap some present pleasure, and to sow
Seeds of fair fame, in after-time to grow:
Here will men say, “We heard, at such an hour
The best of speakers-wonderful his power."

Inquiry made, he found that day would meet
A learned club, and in the very street:
Knowledge to gain and give, was the design;
To speak, to hearken, to debate, and dine:
This pleased our traveller, for he felt his force
In either way, to eat or to discourse.

Nothing more easy than to gain access
To men like these, with his polite address;
So he succeeded, and first look'd around,
To view his objects and to take his ground;
And therefore silent chose a while to sit,
Then enter boldly by some lucky hit;
Some observation keen or stroke severe,
To cause some wonder or excite some fear.
Now, dinner past, no longer he suppress'd
His strong dislike to be a silent guest;
Subjects and words were now at his command--
When disappointment frown'd on all he plann'd ·
For, hark-he heard, amazed, on every side
His church insulted, and her priests belied;
The laws reviled, the ruling power abused
The land derided, and its foes excused :-
He heard, and ponder'd--What, to men so vile,
Should be his language? For his threatening style
They were too many;-if his speech were meek,
They would despise such poor attempts to speak:
At other times with every word at will,
He now sat lost, perplex'd, astonish'd, still.
Here were Socinians, Deists, and indeed
All who, as foes to England's church, agreed;
But still with creeds unlike, and some without a
creed :

Here, too, fierce friends of liberty he saw.
Who own'd no prince and who obey no law;
There were reformers of each different sort,
Foes to the laws, the priesthood, and the court;
Some on their favourite plans alone intent,
Some purely angry and malevolent :

The rash were proud to blame their country s laws
The vain, to seem supporters of a cause;
One call'd for change that he would dread to see
Another sigh'd for Gallic liberty'

And numbers joining with the forward crew,
For no one reason-but that numbers do.

"How," said the justice," can this trouble rise,
This shame and pain, from creatures I despise ?"
And conscience answer'd-"The prevailing cause
Is thy delight in listening to applause;
Here, thou art seated with a tribe, who spurn
Thy favourite themes, and into laughter turn
Thy fears and wishes; silent and obscure.
Thyself, shalt thou the long harangue endure;
And learn, by feeling, what it is to force
On thy unwilling friends the long discourse:

seems,

Are traitors' projects, idiots' empty schemes?
Yet, minds like bodies cramm'd, reject their food,
Nor will be forced and tortured for their good!"
At length, a sharp, shrewd, sallow man arose,
And begg'd he briefly might his mind disclose;
"It was his duty, in these worst of times,
T'inform the govern'd of their rulers' crimes :"
This pleasant subject to attend, they each
Prepared to listen, and forbore to teach.

Then voluble and fierce the wordy man Through a long chain of favourite horrors ran :First, of the church, from whose enslaving power He was deliver'd, and he bless'd the hour,

Bishops and deans, and prebendaries all,"
He said," were cattle fattening in the stall;
Slothful and pursy, insolent and mean,
Were every bishop, prebendary, dean,
And wealthy rector: curates, poorly paid,
Were only dull, he would not them upbraid."
From priests he turn'd to canons, creeds, and
prayers,

Rubrics and rules, and all our church affairs:
Churches themselves, desk, pulpit, altar, all
The justice reverenced-and pronounced their
fall.

Then from religion Hammond turn'd his view,
To give our rulers the correction due;
Not one wise action had these triflers plann'd;
There was, it seem'd, no wisdom in the land;
Save in this patriot tribe, who meet at times
To show the statesman's errors and his crimes.
Now here was Justice Bolt compell'd to sit,
To hear the deist's scorn, the rebel's wit;
The fact mis-stated, the envenomed lie,
And staring, spell-bound, made not one reply.
Then were our laws abused; and with the laws
All who prepare, defend, or judge a cause:

We have no lawyer whom a man can trust," Proceeded Hammond, "if the laws were just; But they are evil; 'tis the savage state Is only good, and ours sophisticate! See! the free creatures in their woods and plains, Where without laws each happy monarch reigns, King of himself-while we a number dread, By slaves commanded and by dunces led; O, let the name with either state agree-Savage our own we'll name, and civil theirs shall be."

The silent justice still astonish'd sate, And wonder'd much whom he was gazing at; Twice he essay'd to speak, but in a cough The faint, indignant, dying speech went off. "But who is this?" thought he; "a demon vile, With wicked meaning and a vulgar style:

That all were slaves; nor had we better chance
For better times than as allies to France.
Loud groan'd the stranger-Why, he must relate,
And own'd, "In sorrow for his country's fate."

Nay, she were safe," the ready man replied.
"Might patriots rule her, and could reasoners guide
When all to vote, to speak, to teach, are free,
Whate'er their creeds or their opinions be;
When books of statutes are consumed in flames,
And courts and copyholds are empty names;
Then will be times of joy: but ere they come,
Havoc, and war, and blood must be our doom."

The man here paused; then loudly for reform He call'd, and hail'd the prospect of the storm; The wholesome blast, the fertilizing floodPeace gain'd by tumult, plenty bought with blood: Sharp means, he own'd; but when the land's disease Asks cure complete, no medicines are like these.

Our justice now, more led by fear than rage,
Saw it in vain with madness to engage;
With imps of darkness no man seeks to fight,
Knaves to instruct, or set deceivers right:
Then as the daring speech denounced these wċes
Sick at the soul, the grieving guest arose;
Quick on the board his ready cash he threw,
And from the demons to his closet flew :
There when secured, he pray'd with earnest zeal,
That all they wish'd these patriot souls migh
feel;

"Let them to France, their darling country haste,
And all the comforts of a Frenchman taste;
Let them his safety, freedom, pleasure know,
Feel all their rulers on the land bestow;
And be at length dismiss'd by one unerring blow;
Not hack'd and hêw'd by one afraid to strike,
But shorn by that which shears all men alike;
Nor, as in Britain, let them curse delay
Of law, but borne without a form away-
Suspected, tried, condemn'd, and carted in a day;
O! let them taste what they so much approve,
These strong fierce freedoms of the land they love "*
Home came our hero, to forget no more
The fear he felt and ever must deplore :
For though he quickly join'd his friends again,
And could with decent force his themes maintain
Still it occurred, that, in a luckless time,
He fail'd to fight with heresy and crime

The reader will perceive in these and the preceding verses, allusions to the state of France, as that country was circumstanced some years since, rather than as it appears to be in the present date,-several years elapsing between the alarm of the loyal magistrate on the occasion now related, and a subsequent event that farther illus trates the remark with which the narrative commences