starve !"



The woman of a thousand summers back,

Then she rode back, clothed on with chastity : Godiva, wife to that grim Earl who ruled And one low churl, compact of thankless earth, In Coventry : for when he laid a tax

The fatal byword of all years to come, Upon his town, and all the mothers brought Boring a little auger-hole in fear, Their children, clamoring, “If we pay, we Peeped — but his eyes, before they had their

will, She sought her lord, and found him, where he strode Were shrivelled into darkness in his head, About the hall, among his dogs, alone,

And dropt before him. So the Powers, who wait His beard a foot before him, and his hair On noble deeds, cancelled a sense misused ; A yard behind. She told him of their tears, And she, that knew not, passed : and all at once, And prayed him, “If they pay this tax, they With twelve great shocks of sound, the shameless

starve." Whereat he stared, replying, half amazed, Was clashed and hammered from a hundred towers, “You would not let your little finger ache One after one : but even then she gained For such as these?"- “But I would die,” said Her bower; whence re-issuing, robed and crowned, she.

To meet her lord, she took the tax away, He laughed, and swore by Peter and by Paul: And built herself an everlasting name. Then filliped at the diamond in her ear; 0, ay, ay, ay, you talk !” — “Alas !” she said, “But prove me what it is I would not do." And from a heart as rough as Esau's hand,

THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS. He answered, “ Ride you naked through the town, And I repeal it"; and nodding, as in scorn, THERE also was a Nun, a Prioress, He parted, with great strides among his dogs. That in her smiling was full simple and coy ;

So left alone, the passions of her minui, Her greatest oath was but by Saint Eloy ; As winds from all the compass shift and blow, And she was cleped Madame Eglantine. Made war upon each other for an hour,

Full well she sang the service divine, Till pity won. She sent a herald forth,

Entuned in her nose full sweetly ; And bade him cry, with sound of trumpet, all And French she spake full faire and fetisly, The hard condition ; but that she would loose After the school of Stratford at Bow, The people : therefore, as they loved her well, For French of Paris was to her unknowe. From then till noon no foot should pace the street, At meat was she well ytaught withall; No eye look down, she passing ; but that all She let no morsel from her lips fall, Should keep within, door shut and window barred. Nor wet her fingers in her sauce deep;

Then fled she to her inmost bower, and there Well could she carry a morsel, and well keep, Unclasped the wedded eagles of her belt, That no drop neer fell upon her breast. The grim Earl's gift ; but ever at a breath In courtesie was set full much her lest. She lingered, looking like a summer moon Half dipt in cloud : anon she shook her head, And certainly she was of great disport, And showered the rippled ringlets to her knee; And full pleasant, and amiable of port, Unclad herself in haste ; adown the stair Stole on ; and, like a creeping sunbeam, slid And took much pains to imitate the air From pillar unto pillar, until she reached Of court, and hold a stately manner, The gateway ; there she found her palfrey trapt And to be thoughten high of reverence. In purple blazoned with armorial gold.

But for to speaken of her conscience, Then she rode forth, clothed on with chastity : She was so charitable and so piteous, The deep air listened round her as she rode, She would weep if that she saw a mouse And all the low wind hardly breathed for fear. Caught in a trap, if it were dead or bled ; The little wide-mouthed heads upon the spout Two small hounds had she that she fed Had cunning eyes to see : the barking cur With roasted flesh, and milk, and wasted bread, Made her cheek flame : her palfrey's footfall shot But sore she wept if one of them were dead, Light horrors through her pulses : the blind Or if men smote it with a staff smarte : walls

She was all conscience and tender heart. Were full of chinks and holes ; and overhead Full seemely her wimple pinched was ; Fantastic gables, crowding, stared : but she Her nose was strait; her eyes were grey as Not less through all bore up, till, last, she saw glass, The white-flowered elder-thicket from the field Her mouth full small, and thereto soft and red; Gleam through the Gothic archways in the wall. But certainly she had a fair forehead.


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The farthest in his parish, much and oft,
Upon his feet, and in his hand a staff.
This noble ensample to his sheep he gave.
That first he wrought, and afterward he taught,
Out of the gospel he the words caught,
And this figure he added yet thereto,
That if gold rust, what should iron do?
And if a priest be foul, on whom we trust,
No wonder if a common man do rust;
Well ought a priest ensample for to give,
By his cleanness, how his sheep should live.
He set not his benefice to hire,

Or left his sheep bewildered in the mire,
And ran unto London, unto Saint Paul's,
To seeken him a chanterie for souls,
Or with a brotherhood to be withold:
But dwelt at home, and kept well his fold,
So that the wolf ne made it not miscarry.
He was a shepherd and no mercenarie,
And though he holy were, and virtuous,
He was to sinful men not dispiteous,
Nor of his speech dangerous nor high,
But in his teaching discrete and benigne.
To draw his folk to heaven, with fairness,
By good ensample, was his business :
But if were any person obstinate,
Whether he were of high or low estate,
Him would he reprove sharply for the nones,
A better priest I trow that nowhere is.
He waited after neither pomp ne reverence,

Nor maked him no spiced conscience,
But Christ's lore and his Apostles twelve
He taught, but first he followed it himselve.



SOME years ago, ere time and taste
Had turned our parish topsy-turvy,
When Darnel park was Darnel waste,
And roads as little known as scurvy,
The man who lost his way between

St. Mary's Hill and Sandy Thicket
Was always shown across the green,

And guided to the parson's wicket. Back flew the bolt of lissom lath;

Fair Margaret, in her tidy kirtle, Led the lorn traveller up the path,

Through clean-clipt rows of box and myrtle, And Don and Sancho, Tramp and Tray,

Upon the parlor steps collected, Wagged all their tails, and seemed to say, "Our master knows you; you 're expected.”

Up rose the reverend Doctor Brown,

Up rose the doctor's "winsome marrow"; The lady laid her knitting down,

Her husband clasped his ponderous Barrow. Whate'er the stranger's caste or creed, Pundit or papist, saint or sinner, He found a stable for his steed,

And welcome for himself, and dinner.

If, when he reached his journey's end,

And warmed himself in court or college, He had not gained an honest friend,

And twenty curious scraps of knowledge; If he departed as he came,

With no new light on love or liquor, Good sooth, the traveller was to blame, And not the vicarage or the vicar.

His talk was like a stream which runs With rapid change from rocks to roses; It slipped from politics to puns;

It passed from Mahomet to Moses; Beginning with the laws which keep

The planets in their radiant courses, And ending with some precept deep

For dressing eels or shoeing horses.

He was a shrewd and sound divine,

Of loud dissent the mortal terror; And when, by dint of page and line,

He 'stablished truth or startled error, The Baptist found him far too deep,

The Deist sighed with saving sorrow, And the lean Levite went to sleep

And dreamt of eating pork to-morrow.

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He did not think all mischief fair,

Although he had a knack of joking; He did not make himself a bear,

Although he had a taste for smoking; And when religious sects ran mad,

He held, in spite of all his learning, That if a man's belief is bad,

It will not be improved by burning.

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And he was kind, and loved to sit

In the low hut or garnished cottage, And praise the farmer's homely wit,

And share the widow's homelier pottage. At his approach complaint grew mild,

And when his hand unbarred the shutter The clammy lips of fever smiled

The welcome that they could not utter.

I'll hold thee any wager, When we are both accoutred like young men, I'll prove the prettier fellow of the two, And wear my dagger with the braver grace ; And speak between the change of man and boy, With a reed voice ; and turn two mincing steps Into a manly stride ; and speak of frays, Like a fine bragging youth ; and tell quaint lies, How honorable ladies sought my love, Which I denying, they fell sick and died, I could not do withal ; then I'll repent, And wish, for all that, that I had not killed them : And twenty of these puny lies I 'll tell ; That men shall swear I have discontinued school Above a twelvemonth : I have within my mind A thousand raw tricks of these bragging Jacks, Which I will practise.

He always had a tale for me

Of Julius Cæsar or of Venus ;
From him I learned the rule of three,

Cat's-cradle, leap-frog, and Quæ genus. I used to singe his powdered wig,

To steal the staff he put such trust in, And make the puppy dance a jig

When he began to quote Augustine.


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From each she nicely culls with curious toil, Serenely full, the epicure would say,
And decks the goddess with the glittering spoil. “Fate cannot harm me, – I have dined to-day."
This casket India's glowing gems unlocks,

ind all Arabia breathes from yonder box.
The tortoise here and elephant unite,
Transformed to combs, the speckled and the white.

THE PEDLER'S PACK. llere files of pins extend their shining rows,

Pulls, powders, patches, bibles, billets-doux.
Vow awful beauty puts on all its arms;

Enter AUTOLY CUS, singing.
The fair each moment rises in her charms,

Lawn as white as driven snow; Repairs her smiles, awakens every grace,

Cyprus black as e'er was crow; And calls forth all the wonders of her face ;

Gloves as sweet as damask roses;
Sees by degrees a purer blush arise,

Masks for faces and for noses ;
And keener lightnings quicken in her eyes.
The busy sylphs surround their darling care,

Bugle bracelet, necklace-amber,
These set the head, and those divide the hair,

Perfume for a lady's chamber :

Golden quoifs and stomachers, Some fold the sleeve, whilst others plait the gown;

For my lads to give their dears;
And Betty's praised for labors not her own.

Pins and poking-sticks of steel,
What maids lack from head to heel :
Come buy of me,come; come buy, come bay;

Buy, lads, or else your lasses cry:

Come buy.

SHAKESPEARE To make this condiment your poet begs The pounded yellow of two hard-boiled eggs; Two boiled potatoes, passed through kitchen sieve, Smoothness and softness to the salad give;

Let onion atoms lurk within the bowl,

TROCHEE trips from long to short;
And, half suspected, animate the whole ;
Of mordent mustard add a single spoon,

From long to long in solemn sort
Distrust the condiment that bites so soon ;

Slow Spondee stalks ; strong foot ! yet ill able

Ever to come up with Dactyl trisyllable. But deem it not, thou man of herbs, a fault

Tambics march from short to long ; To add a double quantity of salt ;

With a leap and a bound the swist Anapæsts Four times the spoon with oil from Lucca crown, And twice with vinegar, procured from town;


One syllable long, with one short at each side, And lastly, o'er the flavored compound toss A magic soupçon of anchovy sauce.

Amphibrachys hastes with a stately stride ;

First and last being long, middle short, Amphi. () green and glorious ! O herbaceous treat! ”T would tempt the dying anchorite to eat; Back to the world he'd turn his fleeting soul,

Strikes his thundering hoofs like a proud high.

bred racer. Jud plunge his fingers in the salad-bowl ;



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