What needeth it thereof to sermon more? For right as they had cast his death before, Right so they have him slain, and that anon.

And when that this was done thus spake that

one:

'Now let us sit and drink, and make us merry, And afterward we will his body bury.'

And with that word it happen'd him par cas1
To take the bottle where the poison was,
And drank, and gave his fellow drink also,
For which anon they storven? bothé two.

But certés I suppose that Avicenne
Wrote never in no canon ne' in no fenne3
More wonder signés of empoisoning

Than had these wretches two, or their ending.
Thus ended been these homicidés two,
And eke the false empoisoner also.

[The Good Parson.]

A true good man there was there of religion,
Pious and poor-the parson of a town.
But rich he was in holy thought and work;
And thereto a right learned man; a clerk

That Christ's pure gospel would sincerely preach,
And his parishioners devoutly teach.
Benign he was, and wondrous diligent,
And in adversity full patient,

As proven oft; to all who lack'd a friend.
Loth for his tithes to ban or to contend,
At every need much rather was he found
Unto his poor parishioners around

Of his own substance and his dues to give :
Content on little, for himself, to live.

Wide was his cure; the houses far asunder,
Yet never fail'd he, or for rain or thunder,
Whenever sickness or mischance might call,
The most remote to visit, great or small,
And, staff in hand, on foot, the storm to brave.
This noble ensample to his flock he gave,
That first he wrought, and afterward he taught.
The word of life he from the gospel caught;
And well this comment added he thereto,
If that gold rusteth what should iron do?
And if the priest be foul on whom we trust,
What wonder if the unletter'd layman lust?
And shame it were in him the flock should keep,
To see a sullied shepherd, and clean sheep.
For sure a priest the sample ought to give
By his own cleanness how his sheep should live.
He never set his benefice to hire,
Leaving his flock acomber'd in the mire,
And ran to London cogging at St Poul's,
To seek himself a chauntery for souls,
Or with a brotherhood to be enroll'd;
But dwelt at home, and guarded well his fold,
So that it should not by the wolf miscarry.
He was a shepherd, and no mercenary.

Tho holy in himself, and virtuous,
He still to sinful men was mild and piteous :
Not of reproach imperious or malign;
But in his teaching soothing and benign.
To draw them on to heaven, by reason fair
And good example, was his daily care.
But were there one perverse and obstinate,
Were he of lofty or of low estate,

Him would he sharply with reproof astound.
A better priest is no where to be found.

He waited not on pomp or reverence,
Nor made himself a spiced conscience.
The lore of Christ and his apostles twelve
He taught but, first, he followed it himselve.

▲ By accident.

9 Storven (perfect tense of starve)-died.

3 The title of one of the sections in Avicenne's great work, entitled Canun.

[An Ironical Ballad on the Duplicity of Women.]

This world is full of variance
In everything, who taketh heed,

That faith and trust, and all constance,
Exiléd be, this is no drede,1
And save only in womanhead,

I can ysee no sikerness;2
But for all that yet, as I read,
Beware alway of doubleness.

Also that the fresh summer flowers,
The white and red, the blue and green,
Be suddenly with winter showers,
Made faint and fade, withouten ween,3
That trust is none, as ye may seen,
In no thing, nor no steadfastness,
Except in women, thus I mean;
Yet aye beware of doubleness.

The crooked moon, (this is no tale),
Some while isheen4 and bright of hue,
And after that full dark and pale,
And every moneth changeth new,
That who the very sothés knew
All thing is built on brittleness,
Save that women alway be true;
Yet aye beware of doubleness.

The lusty6 freshé summer's day,
And Phoebus with his beamés clear,
Towardés night they draw away,
And no longer list t' appear,
That in this present life now here
Nothing abideth in his fairness,
Save women aye be found entere,7
And devoid of all doubleness.

The sea eke with his sterné wawes8
Each day yfloweth new again,
And by the concourse of his lawes
The ebbe floweth in certain;
After great drought there cometh rain;
That farewell here all stableness,
Save that women be whole and plein ;9
Yet aye beware of doubleness.

Fortunes wheel go'th round about
A thousand timés day and night,
Whose course standeth ever in doubt
For to transmuel0 she is so light,
For which adverteth in your sight
Th' untrust of worldly fickleness,
Save women, which of kindly right!!
Ne hath no touch of doubleness.

What man ymay the wind restrain,
Or holden a snake by the tail?
Who may a slipper eel constrain
That it will void withouten fail!
Or who can driven so a nail
To make sure newfangleness,12
Save women, that can giel3 their sail
To row their boat with doubleness?

At every haven they can arrive
Whereas they wot is good passage;
Of innocence they cannot strive
With wawés, nor no rockés rage;
So happy is their lodemanagel+
With needle' and stone their course to dress,15
That Solomon was not so sage

To find in them no doubleness:

14 Steering, pilotage.

12 Novelty, inconstancy.

15 Manage.

13 Guide.

Therefore whoso doth them accuse
Of any double intentión,

To speaké rown, other to muse,1
To pinch at their conditión,
All is but false collusión,

I dare right well the soth express,
They have no better protectión,
But shroud them under doubleness.

So well fortunéd is their chance,
The dice to-turnen up so down,

With sice and cinque they can advance, And then by revolution

They set a fell conclusión

Of lombés,3 as in sothfastness,
Though clerkés maken mentión
Their kind is fret with doubleness.
Sampson yhad experience

That women were full true yfound;
When Dalila of innocence

With shearés 'gan his hair to round ;
To speak also of Rosamond,
And Cleopatra's faithfulness,
The stories plainly will confound
Men that apeach5 their doubleness.

Single thing is not ypraised,
Nor of old is of no renown,
In balance when they be ypesed,6

For lack of weight they be borne down,
And for this cause of just reason
These women all of rightwisness?
Of choice and free electión
Most love exchange and doubleness.

L'Envoye.

O ye women! which be inclinéd
By influence of your natúre
To be as pure as gold yfinéd,
And in your truth for to endure,
Armeth yourself in strong armúre,
(Lest men assail your sikerness),8
Set on your breast, yourself t' assure,
A mighty shield of doubleness.

[Last Verses of Chaucer, written on his Deathbed.]
Fly from the press, and dwell with sothfastness ;10
Suffice unto thy good though it be small;
For hoard hath hate, and climbing tickleness,
Press hath envy, and weal is blent13 o'er all;
Savour14 no more than thee behoven shall;
Redels well thyself, that otherfolk can'st rede,
And truth thee shall deliver 't is no drede.16

Pain thee not each crooked to redress
In trust of her that turneth as a ball;
Great rest standeth in little business;
Beware also to spurn against a nalle ;17
Strive not as doth a crocké18 with a wall;
Deemeth19 thyself that deemest other's deed,
And truth thee shall deliver 't is no drede.

That20 thee is sent receive in buxomness ;21
The wrestling of this world asketh a fall;
Here is no home, here is but wilderness;
Forth, pilgrim, forth, O beast out of thy stall;
Look up on high, and thank thy God of all;

Waiveth thy lust and let thy ghost1 thee lead, And truth thee shall deliver 't is no drede.

However far the genius of Chaucer transcended that of all preceding writers, he was not the solitary light of his age. The national mind and the national language appear, indeed, to have now arrived at a certain degree of ripeness, favourable for the production of able writers in both prose and verse.* Heretofore, Norman French had been the language of education, of the court, and of legal documents; and when the Normanised Anglo-Saxon was employed by literary men, it was for the special purpose, as they were usually very careful to mention, of conveying instruction to the common people. But now the distinction between the conquering Normans and subjected Anglo-Saxons was nearly lost in a new and fraternal national feeling, which recognised the country under the sole name of England, and the people and language under the single appellation of English. Edward III. substituted the use of English for that of French in the public acts and judicial proceedings; and the schoolmasters, for the first time, in the same reign, caused their pupils to construe the classical tongues into the vernacular.† The consequence of this ripening of the national mind and language was, that, while English heroism was gaining the victories of Cressy and Poitiers, English genius was achieving milder and more beneficial triumphs, in the productions of Chaucer, of Gower, and of Wickliffe.

JOHN GOWER.

JOHN GOWER is supposed to have been born some time about the year 1325, and to have consequently been a few years older than Chaucer. He was a gentleman, possessing a considerable amount of property in land, in the counties of Nottingham and Suffolk. In his latter years, he appears, like Chaucer, to have been a retainer of the Lancaster branch of the royal family, which subsequently ascended the throne; and his death took place in 1408, before which period he had become blind. Gower wrote a poetical work in three parts, which were respectively entitled Speculum Meditantis, Vox Clamantis, and Confessio Amantis; the last, which is a grave discussion of the morals and metaphysics of love, being the only part written in English. The solemn sententiousness of this work caused Chaucer, and sub

1 Spirit.

* It is always to be kept in mind that the language employed in literary composition is apt to be different from that used by the bulk of the people in ordinary discourse. The literary language of these early times was probably much more refined than the colloquial. During the fourteenth century, various dialects of English were spoken in different parts of the country, and the mode of pronunciation also was very far from being uniform. Trevisa, a historian who wrote about 1380, remarks that, Hit semeth a grete wonder that Englyssmen have so grete dyversyte in their owin langage in sowne and in spekyin of it, which is all in one ilonde.' The prevalent harshness of pronunciation is thus described by the same writer: Some use straunge wlaffing, chytryng, harring, garrying, and grysbyting. The langage of the Northumbres, and specyally at Yorke, is so sharpe, slytting, frotyng, and unshape, that we sothern men maye unneth understande that langage.' Even in the reign of Elizabeth, as we learn from Holinshed's Chronicle, the dialects spoken in different parts of the country were exceedingly various.

Mr Hallam mentions, on the authority of Mr Stevenson, sub-commissioner of public records, that in England, all letters, even of a private nature, were written in Latin till the beginning of the reign of Edward I., soon after 1270, when a sudden change brought in the use of French.-Hallam's Introduction to the Literature of Europe in the fifteenth, sixteenth, and seventeenth cen turies, i. 63.

sequently Lyndsay, to denominate its author "the moral Gower;" he is, however, considerably inferior to the author of the Canterbury Tales, in almost all the qualifications of a true poet.

Gower.

Mr Warton has happily selected a few passages from Gower, which convey a lively expression of natural feeling, and give a favourable impression of the author. Speaking of the gratification which his passion receives from the sense of hearing, he says, that to hear his lady speak is more delicious than to feast on all the dainties that could be compounded by a cook of Lombardy. These are not so restorative

As bin the wordes of hir mouth;
For as the wyndes of the south
Ben most of all debonnaire,
So when her list1 to speak faire
The vertue of her goodly speche
Is verily myne hartes leche.2

He adds (reduced spelling)

Full oft time it falleth so
My ear with a good pittance3
Is fed, with reading of romance
Of Isodyne and Amadas,
That whilom were in my case;
And eke of other many a score,
That loved long ere I was bore:
For when I of their loves read,
Mine ear with the tale I feed ;
And with the lust of their histoire
Sometime I draw into memoire,
How sorrow may not ever last,
And so hope cometh in at last.

*

That when her list on nights wake,4
In chamber, as to carol and dance,
Methink I may me more avance,
If I may gone upon her hond,
Than if I win a king's lond.
For when I may her hand beclip,
With such gladness I dance and skip,
Methinketh I touch not the floor;
The roe which runneth on the inoor,
Is then nought so light as I.

1 When she chooses. 2 Physician. 3 A dainty dish. 4 When she chooses to have a merry-making at night.

[Episode of Rosiphele.]

[Rosiphele, princess of Armenia, a lady of surpassing beauty, but insensible to the power of love, is represented by the poet as reduced to an obedience to Cupid, by a vision which befell her on a May-day ramble. The opening of this episode is as follows:-]

When come was the month of May,

She would walk upon a day,

And that was ere the sun arist,
Of women but a few it wist ;
And forth she went privily,
Unto a park was fast by,
All soft walkand on the grass,
Till she came there the land was,
Through which ran a great river,
It thought her fair; and said, here
I will abide under the shaw ;2
And bade her women to withdraw:
And there she stood alone still,
To think what was in her will,

She saw the sweet flowers spring,

She heard glad fowls sing,

She saw beasts in their kind,

The buck, the doe, the hart, the hind,
The males go with the female;
And so began there a quarrel
Between love and her own heart,
Fro which she could not astart.
And as she cast her eye about,
She saw clad in one suit, a rout
Of ladies, where they comen ride
Along under the woode side;
On fair ambuland horse they set,
That were all white, fair, and great;
And everich one ride on side.
The saddles were of such a pride,
So rich saw she never none;
With pearls and gold so well begone,
In kirtles and in copes rich
They were clothed all alich,
Departed even of white and blue,
With all lusts that she knew,
They were embroidered over all:
Their bodies weren long and small,
The beauty of their fair face

There may none earthly thing deface:
Crowns on their heads they bare,
As each of them a queen were;
That all the gold of Croesus' hall
The least coronal of all

Might not have bought, after the worth:
Thus comen they ridand forth.

[In the rear of this splendid troop of ladies, the princess beheld one, mounted on a miserable steed, wretchedly adorned in everything excepting the bridle. On questioning this straggler why she was so unlike her companions, the visionary lady replied that the latter were receiving the bright reward of having loved faithfully, and that she herself was suffering punishment for cruelty to her admirers. The reason that the bridle alone resembled those of her companions was, that for the last fortnight she had been sincerely in love, and a change for the better was in consequence beginning to show itself in her accoutrements. The parting words of the dame are-]

Now have ye heard mine answer;
To God, madam, I you betake,
And warneth all for my sake,

Of love that they be not idle.

And bid them think of my bridle.

[It is scarcely necessary to remark, that the hard heart of the princess of Armenia is duly impressed by this lesson.]

[The Envious Man and the Miser.]
Of Jupiter thus I find y-writ,
How whilom that he would wit,
Upon the plaints which he heard
Among the men, how it fared,
As of the wrong condition
To do justification;

And for that cause down he sent
An angel, that about went,
That he the sooth know may.

So it befel upon a day,

This angel which him should inform
Was clothed in a man's form,
And overtook, I understand,
Two men that wenten over lond;
Through which he thought to aspy
His cause, and go'th in company.
This angel with his words wise
Opposeth them in sundry wise;
Now loud words and now soft,
That made them to disputen oft;
And each his reason had,
And thus with tales he them led,
With good examination,
Till he knew the condition,
What men they were both two;
And saw well at last tho,1
That one of them was covetous,
And his fellow was envious.

And thus when he hath knowledging,
Anon he feigned departing,
And said he mote algate wend;

But hearken now what fell at end!
For than he made them understond,
That he was there of God's sond,
And said them for the kindship,
He would do them some grace again,

And bade that one of them should sain,2
What thing is him levest to crave,3

And he it shall of gift have.

And over that ke forth with all

He saith, that other have shall

The double of that his fellow axeth;

And thus to them his grace he taxeth.

The Covetous was wonder glad;
And to that other man he bade,
And saith, that he first ax should;
For he supposeth that he would
Make his axing of world's good;
For then he knew well how it stood;
If that himsell by double weight
Shall after take, and thus by sleight
Because that he would win,
He bade his fellow first begin.
This Envious, though it be late,
When that he saw he mote, algate,
Make his axing first, he thought,
If he his worship and profit sought
It shall be double to his fere,
That he would chuse in no manner.
But then he showeth what he was
Toward envy, and in this case,
Unto this angel thus he said,
And for his gift thus he prayed,
To make him blind on his one ee,
So that his fellow nothing see.
This word was not so soon spoke,
That his one ee anon was loke:
And his fellow forthwith also
Was blind on both his eyes two.

Tho was that other glad enough: That one wept, and that other lough. He set his one ee at no cost,

Whereof that other two hath lost.

The language at this time used in the lowland districts of Scotland was based, like that of England, in the Teutonic, and it had, like the contemporary English, a Norman admixture. To account for these circumstances, some have supposed that the language of England, in its various shades of improvement, reached the north through the settlers who are known to have flocked thither from England during the eleventh, twelfth, and thirteenth centuries. Others suggest that the great body of the Scottish people, apart from the Highlanders, must have been of Teutonic origin, and they point to the very probable theory as to the Picts having been a German race. They further suggest, that a Norman admixture might readily come to the national tongue, through the large intercourse between the two countries during the eleventh, twelfth, and thirteenth centuries. Thus, it is presumed, our common language was separately formed in the two countries, and owed its identity to its being constructed of similar materials, by similar gradations, and by nations in the same state of society."* Whatever

might be the cause, there can be no doubt that the language used by the first Scottish vernacular writers in the fourteenth century, greatly resembles that used contemporaneously in England.

JOHN BARBOUR.

The first of these writers was JOHN BARBOUR, archdeacon of Aberdeen. The date of his birth is unknown; but he is found exercising the duties of

Cathedral of Aberdeen.

that office in 1357. Little is known of his personal history: we may presume that he was a man of political talent, from his being chosen by the bishop of Aberdeen to act as his commissioner at Edinburgh when the ransom of David II. was debated; and of learning, from his having several times accompanied men of rank to study at Oxford. Barbour probably formed his taste upon the romance writers who flourished before him in England. A lost work of his, entitled The Brute, probably another in addition to the many versions of the story of Brutus of Troy, first made popular by Geoffrey of Monmouth, suggests the idea of an imitation of the romances; and

*Ellis.

his sole remaining work, The Bruce, is altogether of that character. It is not unlikely that, in The Brute, Barbour adopted all the fables he could find: in writing The Bruce, he would, in like manner, adopt every tradition respecting his hero, besides searching for more authoritative materials. We must not be surprised that, while the first would be valueless as a history, the second is a most important document. There would be the same wish for truth, and the same inability to distinguish it, in both cases; but, in the latter, it chanced that the events were of recent occurrence, and therefore came to our metrical historian comparatively undistorted. The Bruce, in reality, is a complete history of the memorable transactions by which King Robert I. asserted the independency of Scotland, and obtained its crown for his family. At the same time, it is far from being destitute of poetical spirit or rhythmical sweetness and harmony. It contains many vividly descriptive passages, and abounds in dignified and even in pathetic sentiment. This poem, which was completed in 1375, is in octo-syllabic lines, forming rhymed couplets, of which there are seven thousand. Barbour died at an advanced age in 1396.

[Apostrophe to Freedom.]

[Barbour, contemplating the enslaved condition of his country, breaks out into the following animated lines on the blessings of liberty.-Ellis.]

A! fredome is a nobill thing!
Fredome mayse man to haiff liking!
Fredome all solace to man giffis :
He levys at ese that frely levys!
A noble hart may haiff nane ese,
Na ellys nocht that may him plese,
Gyff fredome failythe: for fre liking
Is yearnyt our all othir thing
Na he, that ay hase levyt fre,
May nocht knaw weill the propyrte,
The angyr, na the wrechyt dome,
That is cowplyt to foule thyrldome.
Bot gyff he had assayit it,
Than all perquer he suld it wyt ;
And suld think fredome mar to pryse
Than all the gold in warld that is.

[Death of Sir Henry De Bohun.]

[This incident took place on the eve of the Battle of Bannockburn.]

And when the king wist that they were

In hale battle, comand sae near,

His battle gart' he weel array.

He rade upon a little palfrey,

Lawcht and joly arrayand

His battle, with an ax in hand.
And on his bassinet he bare
An hat of tyre aboon ay where ;
And, thereupon, into takin,
Ane high crown, that he was king.
And when Gloster and Hereford were
With their battle approachand near,
Before them all there came ridand,
With helm on heid and spear in hand,
Sir Henry the Boon, the worthy,
That was a wicht knicht, and a hardy,
And to the Earl of Hereford cousin ;
Armed in arms gude and fine;
Came on a steed a bowshot near,
Before all other that there were:
And knew the king, for that he saw

Him sae range his men on raw,

1 Caused, ordered.

In this and the subsequent extract, the language is as far as possible reduced to modern spelling.

And by the crown that was set
Also upon his bassinet.
And toward him he went in hy. 1
And the king sac apertly 2

Saw him come, forouth all his fears,
In hy till him the horse he steers.
And when Sir Henry saw the king
Come on, foroutin abasing,
Till him he rode in great hy.

He thought that he should weel lichtly
Win him, and have him at his will,
Sin' he him horsit saw sae ill.
Sprent they samen intill a lyng; 3
Sir Henry missed the noble king;
And he that in his stirrups stude,
With the ax, that was hard and gude,
With sae great main, raucht him a dint,
That nouther hat nor helm micht stint
The heavy dush, that he him gave,
That near the head till the harns clave.
The hand-ax shaft frushit in tway;
And he down to the yird5 gan gae
All flatlings, for him failit micht.
This was the first straik of the ficht,
That was performit douchtily.
And when the king's men sae stoutly
Saw him, richt at the first meeting,
Forouten doubt or abasing,
Have slain a knicht sae at a straik,
Sic hard❜ment thereat gan they tak,
That they come on richt hardily.
When Englishmen saw them sae stoutly
Come on, they had great abasing;
And specially for that the king

Sae smartly that gude knicht has slain,
That they withdrew them everilk ane,
And durst not ane abide to ficht:
Sae dreid they for the king's micht.
When that the king repairit was,
That gart his men all leave the chase,
The lordis of his company

Blamed him, as they durst, greatumly,
That he him put in aventure,
To meet sae stith a knicht, and stour,
In sic point as he then was seen.
For they said weel, it micht have been
Cause of their tynsal 6 everilk ane.
The king answer has made them nane,
But mainit 7 his hand-ax shaft sae
Was with the straik broken in tway.

[The Battle of Bannockburn.]

When this was said

The Scottismen commonally
Kneelit all doun, to God to pray.
And a short prayer there made they
To God, to help them in that ficht.
And when the English king had sicht
Of them kneeland, he said, in hy,
'Yon folk kneel to ask mercy.'

Sir Ingram said, Ye say sooth now-
They ask mercy, but not of you;
For their trespass to God they cry:
I tell you a thing sickerly,
That yon men will all win or die;
For doubt of deid9 they sall not flee.'
'Now be it sae then !' said the king.
And then, but langer delaying,
They gart trump till the assembly.
On either side men micht then see