Wyth flashyng feete to foule the same,

or troble at the leste: Wherein them selves to bathe

no byrdes had made repare, Nor leffe had fallen from any tree

the water to appeare,

About the which the grounde

had made some herbes to growe, And eke the trees had kept the sunne from commynge doune so lowe. Narcyssus theare through heate,

Glad to take rest, dyd lye hym downe,

and fast beheld the same:
And as he thought to drynke,

hys fervent thurste to slake,
A dryer far desyre hym toke,
by lokyng in the lake:
For seynge, as he dranke,

the image of hys grace,

Therewyth he, rapt, fell streyght in love

with shadowe of his face." &c.

This fable extends to five pages: the moralization thereupon, to twenty-six. And in the latter, persons scriptural and mythological, topics sacred and profane, are mingled together so as to produce no very felicitous effect. But the versification is superior to that employed in the Fable, and the lines in general have more cadence. I transcribe a few stanzas, in verification of these remarks.

"The ryche & proude, dysdaynefull, welthye man,
That Lazarus forbad the crommes to eate
Whiche from his borde shoulde fall, mighte after ban

His mouche aboundance and his dentye meate,
Which was the cause of all his torment greate;
Yet, yf he coulde have used well his gayne,
He lyttel shoulde have had of all his payne.

Now Cressus* eke, the welthy kinge of Lide,
Whose soms of goulde wer passinge to be toulde,
Dyd se at laste his ritches wolde not byde

(As Solon sayde) his ende that did behoulde.
Wherfore, we prove, who putteth truste in golde
Or slyppert welthe, are seene in care to dwell,
And lose, at laste, the good they like so well.
Of strengthe agayne who will him selfe avaunce,
Shall se that conqueste goes not all by myghte:
This David made the Phelystins to graunte,

That slue there giaunte Golyas, ther knighte,
Agaynste the which no man the thought to wyghte;
For al his pride, yet sawe they, at the laste,
Him overthrowne and ded, by Davyde's caste.

Nowe Sampson's strengthe that caused all this woe
I overpas, and Miloe's mighte so straunge
That coulde induer a forlonge wel to go,

And on his backe an oxe to beare the raunge;
For all his mighte to weke estate did chaunge,
When that his strengthe did bringe his latter [h]oure
To show the ende of myght and mortall power."

Two other selected stanzas may serve to exhibit his dialectic skill.

"Who thinkes he hath more then he doth posses, In this not only is dysseved quite,

But hath so moche of that he hath the lesse,

Of wit I meane, wherein who shall delyghte
More than he oughte, him selfe doth this dyspite
*Croesus, King of Lydia.
+ Slippery, unstable.

Unwittinge clene, the more he thinkes he hathe
Even by so moche hath lesse, as Plato sayth.
So he that demes his witte above the reste,

So moche the lesse then others hath hereby;
And he that thinkes his one of all the beste,

The worst of all it reason will replye: Although the same he never can espie, Bycause he trusteth the lying well of prayse, Whereby his wit and all he hath decayes,"

On the back of the title fourteen lines are addressed by "the printer to the booke," and a prose argument of the Fable follows on the next page.

T. P.

ART. XXXVIII. The Legend of Jane Shore. By Thomas Churchyard. 1559.

THE following is one of the last articles of the "Mirror for Magistrates," 1559 of which I have already given a full account.

The departed spirits of those who form the subject of each Legend are supposed to relate their complaints to Baldwin, the editor, and principal author; with whom, on an appointed day, the principal contributors are assembled,a nd whose contributions are introduced by prose epilogues, which serve as prologues, to those which succeed.

The epilogue which concludes the Legend of Richard III. introduces that of Jane Shore.

"When I had read this," (the Death of Rich. III.) "we had much talke about it. For it was thought not

vehement ynough for so violent a man as kyng Rychard had bene. The matter was wel ynough lyked of sum, but the meeter was mysliked almost of all. And when divers therefore would not allowe it, what quod one, you knowe not whereupon you sticke: elles you would not so much mislike this because of the uncertayne meter. The cumlynes called by the rhetoricians decorum, is specially to be observed in al thinges. Seyng than that kyng Rychard never kept measure in any of his doings, seing also he speaketh in hel, whereas is no order; it were agaynst the decorum of his personage, to use eyther good meter or order. And, therefore, if his oracion were far wurse, in my opinion it were more fyt for him. Mars and the Muses did never agree. Neyther is it to be suffred that their milde sacred arte shoulde seeme to proceede from so cruell and prophane a mouth as his : seynge they themselves do utterly abhorre it. And although we read of Nero, that he was excellent both in musicke, and in versifieng, yet do not I remember that ever I saw any song or verse of his makyng : Minerva, justlye providing, that no monument should remayne of any such unjust usurpacion. And therefore let thys passe even as it is, which the wryter I know both could and would amend in many places, save for kepyng the decorum, which he purposely hath observed herein.

"In deede, quod I, as you saye, it is not meete that so disorderly and unnatural a man as kyng Rychard was, should observe any metrical order in his talke; which, notwithstanding, in many places of his oracion is very wel kept. It shall passe therefore even as it.is, though to good for so yll a person. And to sup

plye that which is lackinge in him, here I have Shore's wyfe, an eloquent wentch, whyche shall furnishe out both in meter and matter, that which could not comlily be sayd in his person. Marke, I praye you, what she sayeth, and tell me howe you like it."

How Shore's wife, Edwarde the fourthe's concubine, was by King Richarde despoyled of all her goodes, and forced to do open penance.

[BY THOMAS CHURCHYARD.]

1:

Among the rest by Fortune overthrowen,

I am not least, that most may wayte her fate:
My fame and brute abrode the world is blowen:
Who can forget a thing thus done so late?
My great mischaunce, my fall, and heavye state,
Is such a marke whereat eche tounge doth shoote,
That my good name is pluckt up by the roote.

2.

This wandryng worlde bewitched me with wyles,
And wonne my wyttes wyth wanton sugred joyes,
In Fortunes frekes who trustes her when she smyles,
Shal fynde her false, and full of fickle toyes;
Her tryumphes al but fyl our eares wyth noyse,
Her flatteryng gyftes are pleasures myxt with payne:
Yea all her wordes are thunders threatnyng rayne.

3.

The fond desire that we in glory set,

Doth thirle our bartes to hope in slipper happe;
A blast of pompe is all the fruyt we get,
And under that lyes hidde a sodayne clappe:
In seeking rest unwares we fall in trappe.
In groping flowers with nettles stong we are;
In labouring long, we reape the crop of care.