And then your grace need not make any doubt,
But in twenty-four hours you'll ride it about.”

The king he laughed, and swore by St. Jone,
I did not think, it could be gone so soone!

- Now from the third question thou must not shrinke, But tell me here truly what I do thinke.

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“ Yea, that shall I do, and make your grace merry:
You thinke I'm the abbot of Canterbùry ;
But I'm his poor shepheard, as plain you may fee,
That am come to beg pardon for him and for mee."

100

The king he laughed, and swore by the malle,
Ile make thee lord abbot this day in his place!
“ Now naye, my liege, be not in such speede,
For alacke I'can neither write, ne reade.”

Four nobles a weeke, then I will give thee, 1ος
For this merry jest thou hast showne unto mee ;
And tell the old abbot when thou comest home,
Thou haft brought him a pardon from good king John.

VII. YOU

VII.

YOU MEANER BEAUTIES.

This little Sonnet was written by Sir Henry Wotton, Knight, on that amiable Princess, Elizabeth daughter of James I. and wife of the Elcctor i alatine, who was chosen King of Bohemia, Sept. 5, 1619. The consequences of this fatal election are well known: Sir Henry Wotton, who in that and the following year was employed in several embafies in Germany on behalf of this unfortunate lady Jeems to have had an uncommon attachment to ber merit and fortunes, for be

gave away a jewel worth a thousand pounds, that was prijented to him by the Emperor, because it came from aan

enemy to his royal mistress the Queen of Bohemia.” See Biog. Britan.

This fong is printed from the Reliquiæ Wottonianæ, 1651, with some corrections from an old MS. copy.

OU meaner beauties of the night,

That poorly satisfie our eies
More by your number, than your light;

You common people of the skies,
What are you when the Moon Thall rise ?

5

Ye

Ye violets that first appeare,

By your pure purple mantles known
Like the proud virgins of the yeare,

As if the Spring were all your own ;
What are you when the Rose is blown

Ye curious chaunters of the wood,

That warble forth dame Nature's layes,
Thinking your passions understood

By your weak accents: what's your praise,
When Philomell her voyce shall raise ?

IS

So when my mistris shal be seene

In sweetnesse of her looks and minde;
By virtue first, then choyce a queen ;

Tell me, if she was not design'd
Th' eclypfe and glory of her kind?

VIII.

THE OLD AND YOUNG COURTIER,

This excellent old song, the subject of which is a compari. fon between the manners of the old gentry, as still fubfifting in the times of Elizabeth, and the modern refinements af. Vol. II.

Y

feited

frated by their fons in the reigns of her successors, is given, with corrections, from an ancient black-letter copy in the Pepys colle&tion, compared with another printed among fome miscellaneous “ poems and fongs" in a book intitled, « Le « Prince d'amour," 1660, 8vo.

A

N old ,
Ofan old worshipful gentleman, who had a greate

estate,
That kept a brave old house at a bountiful rate,
And an old porter to relieve the poor at his gate;

Like an old courtier of the queen's,
And the queen's old courtier,

With an old lady, whose anger one word afswages ; They every quarter paid their old servants their wages, And never knew what belong'd to coachmen, footmen,

nor pages, But kept twenty old fellows with blue coats and badges;

Like an old courtier, &c.

With an old study filld full of learned old books,
With an old reverend chaplain, you might know hine

by his looks. With an old buttery hatch worn quite off the hooks, And an old kitchen, that maintain'd half a dozen old

cooks:
Like an old courtier, &c.

With an old hail, hung about with pikes, guns, and bows, With old swords, and bucklers, that had borne many

Ihrew de blows, And an old frize coat, to cover his worship's trunk hose, And a cup of old fherry, to comfort his copper nose;

Like an old courtier, &c.

With a good old fashion, when Christmaffe was come, To call in all his old neighbours with bagpipe and drum, With good chear enough to furnish every old room, And old liquor able to make a cat speak, and inan dumb,

Like an old courtier, &Co

With an old falconer, huntsman, and a kennel of hounds, That never hawked, nor hunted, but in his own grounds, Who, like a wise man, kept himself within his own

bounds, And when he dyed gave every child a thousand good

pounds;
Like an old courtier, &c.

But to his eldest son his house and land he assign'd, Charging him in his will to keep the old bountifull mind, To be good to his old tenants, and to his neighbours

be kiod: But in the ensuing ditty you shall hear how he was ina

clin'd;
Like a young courtier of the king's,
And the king's young courtier.

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