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His hopes of obtaining eminence as a political lyric and heroic poems, pastorals, epistles, ballads, writer now became extravagantly sanguine, and &c. Sublimity and beauty pervade many of them; he already seems to have considered himself a and they display wonderful powers of imagination man of considerable public importance. “My and facility of composition; yet, says Dr. Aikin, company," he says, in a letter to his sister, " is there is also much of the commonplace flatness courted everywhere, and could I humble myself and extravagance, that might be expected from a to go into a compter, could have had twenty places juvenile writer, whose feruility was greater than betore now; but I must be among the great ; state his judgment, and who had fed his mind upon maiters suit me better than commercial.” These stores collected with more avidity than choice. bright prospects, about July, appear to have been The haste and ardour, with which he pursued his suddenly clouded ; and, after a short career of various liierary designs, was in accordance with Gissipation, which kept pace with his hopes, he his favourite maxim, " that God had sent his creafound that he had nothing to expect from the pa- tures into the world with arms long enough to tronage of the great; and, to escape the scene of reach any thing, if they would be at the trouble of his mortification, made an unsuccessful attempt to extending them." obtain the post of surgeon's-mate to the coast of In 1778, a miscellaneous volume of the avowed Africa. It is less certain to what extent he was writings of Chatterton was published ; and, in 1803, now employed by the booksellers, than that he an edition of his works appeared, in three volumes, felt the idea of dependence upon them insup- octavo, with an account of his life, by Dr. Gregory, portable, and soon fell into such a state of india from whom we have before quoted. The general gence as to be reduced to the want of necessary character of his productions has been well appretod. Such was his pride, however, that when, ciated by Lord Orford, who, after expatiating upon aller a fast of three days, his landlady invited him his quick intuition, his humour, his vein of satire, to dinner, he refused the invitation as an insult, the rapidity with which he seized all the topics of assuring her he was not hungry. This is the last conversation, whether of politics, literature, or act recorded of his life; a few hours afterward. | fashion, remarks, “ Nothing in Chatterton can be he swallowed a dose of arsenic, and was found separated from Chatterton. His noblest flight, his dead the next morning, August the 25th, 1770, sweetest strain, his grossest ribaldry, and his most surrounded by fragments of numerous manuscripts, commonplace imitations of the productions of which he appeared to have destroyed. His sui magazines, were all the effervescences of the same cide took place in Brook-street, Ilolborn, and he ungovernable impulse, which, cameleon-like, imwas interred, in a shell, in the burying-ground | bibed the colours of all it looked on. It was Osof Shoe lane workhouse. This melancholy ca- sian, or a Saxon monk, or Gray, or Smollett, or tastrophe is heightened by the fact, that Dr. Fry, Junius ; and if it failed most in what it most affecthead of St. John's College, Oxford, had inst gone to led to be, a poet of the fifteenth century, it was beBristol, for the purpose of assisting Chatterton, cause it could not imitate what had not existed." when he was there informed of his death.

In person, Chatterton is said to have been, like his The controversy respecting the authenticity of genius, premature ; he had, says his biographer, a the poems attributed to Rowley is now at an end ; manliness and dignity beyond his years, and there though there are still a few, perhaps, who may was a something about him

was a something about him uncommonly preposside with Dean Milies and others, against the host sessing. Ilis most remarkable feature was his of writers, including Gibbon, Johnson, and the two eyes, which, thongh gray, were uncommonly piercWarons, who ascribe the entire authorship to ing; when he was warmed in argument, or otherChaterton. The laiter have, perhaps, come to a wise, they sparkled with fire; and one eye, it is conclusion, which is not likely to be again dis said, was still more remarkable than the other. pated, viz. that however extraordinary it was for The character of Chatterton has been sufficiently Chatterton to produce them in the eighteenth cen- developed in the course of the preceding memoir; tury, it was impossible that Rowley could have his ruling passion, we havo seen, was literary fame; writien them in the fifteenth. But, whether and it is doubtful whether his death was not Charterton was or was not the author of the poems rather occasioned through fear of losing the reputaascribed to Rowley, his transcendent genius must tion he had already acquired, than despair of being ever be the subject of wonder and admiration. able to obtain a future subsistence. This is renThe eulogy of his friends, and the opinions of the dered at least plausible, by the fact of his having controversialisis respecting him, are certainly too received pecuniary assistance from Mr. Hamilton, estravagant. Dean Milles prefers Rowley to llo. senior, the proprietor of the Critical Review, not rder, Virgil, Spencer, and Shakspeare ; Mr. Ma- long before his death, with a promise of more ; that lone " believes Chatterton to have been the great he was employed by his literary friends, almost to est genius that England has produced since the the last hour of his existence; and that he was days of Shakspeare ;" and Mr. Croil, the author aware of the suspicions existing that himself and of Love and Madness, asserts, that “no such hu- Rowley were the same. Though he neither conman being, at any period of life, has ever been | fessed nor denied this, it was evident that his conknown, or possibly ever will be known." This duct was influenced by some mystery, known only enthusiastic praise is not confined to the critical 10 himself; he grew wild, abstracted, and incohn. writers; the British muse has paid some of her rent, and a settled gloominess at length took posmost beautiful iributes to the genius and memory session of his countenance, which was a presage of Chatierion. The poems of Rowley, as published of his fatal resolution. Ile has been accused of by Dean Milles, consist of pieces of all the prin- libertinism, but there are no proofs of this during cipal classes of poetical composition: fragedies, his residence either at London or Bristol ; though

many of his productions show a laxity of principle caused by the last act of his life? His sister sars, which might justify the supposition. The best that “ he was a lover of truth from the earliest qualities in his character were the negative ones dawn of reason;" yet his life was one continued of temperance and affection for his family, to whom career of deception. He is to be pitied for his he sent small presents out of his first gains, and misfortunes, and admired for his genius ; but, with always spoke of their welfare as one of the princi Kirke White in our remembrance, we could pal ends of his exertions. But what deeper afflic- wish to forget all else that belonged to Chattion could he have brought upon them than that I terton.

1 Thenne Maister Canynge saughte the kynge, BRISTOWE TRAGEDIE;

And felle down onne hys knee;

“I'm come," quod hee, “ unto your grace, OR, THE DETIE OF SYR CHARLES BAWDIN. To move your clemencye.” The featherd songster chaunticleer

" Thenne," quod the kynge," youre tale speke out, Han wounde hys bugle horne,

You have been much oure friende : And tolde the earlie villager

Whatever youre request may bee, The commynge of the morne :

Wee wylle io ytte attende." Kynge Edwarde sawe the ruddie streakes “My nobile leige! alle my request Of lyghte eclypse the greie ;

Ys for a nobile knyghte, And herde the raven's crokynge throte

Who, though mayhap hee has donne wronge, Proclayme the fated daie.

He thoughte ytte slylle was ryghte: “Thou’rt ryght," quod he, “ for, by the Godde “ Hee has a spouse and children twaine ; That syttes onthroned on hyghe!

Alle rewyn'd are for aie, Charles Bawdin, and hys fellowes twaine, Yff that you are resolved to lett To-daie shall surelie die."

Charles Bawdin die to-daie." Thenne wythe a jigge of nappy ale

" Speke not of such a traytour vile," Hys knyghtes dydd onne hymm waite ;

The kynge ynn furie sayde, “ Goe tell the traytour, thatt to-daie

“ Before the evening starre doth shcene, Hee leaves thys mortall state.”

Bawdin shall loose hys hedde : Syr Canterlone thenne bendedd lowe

“ Justice does loudlie for hym calle, Wythe harte brymm-fulle of woe;

And hee shalle have hys meede : Hee journey'd to the castle-gate,

Speke, Maister Canynge! whatte thynge else And to Syr Charles dydd goe.

Att present doe you neede ?".
But whenne hee came, hys children twaine, "My nobile leige !" goode Canynge sayde,
And cke hys lovynge wyfe,

“ Leave justice to our Godde, Wythe brinie tears dydd wett the floore,

And laye the yronne rule asyde; For goode Syr Charleses lyfe.

Be thyne the olyve rodde. “O goode Syr Charles !" sayd Canterlone, “ Was Godde to serche our hertes and reines, “ Badde tydyngs I doe brynge."

The best were synners grete ; “Speke boldlie, manne," sayd brave Syr Charles, Christ's vicarr only knowes ne synne, " Whatte says the traytour kynge ?"

Ynne all thys mortall state. "I greeve to telle: before yonne sonne

“ Leit mercie rule thyne infante reigne, Does fromme the welkinn flye,

'Twylle faste thye crowne fulle sure ; Hee hath uppon hys honour sworne,

From race to race thye familie Thatt thou shalt surelie die."

Alle sovereigns shall endure : “We all must die,” quod brave Syr Charles, But yff wythe bloode and slanghter thou “Or thatie I'm not affearde ;

Beginne thy infante reigne, Whatte bootes to lyve a little space ?

Thy crowne upponne thy childrennes brows Thanke Jesu, I'm prepared :

Wylle never long remayne." “ Batt telle thye kynge, for myne hee's not, “Canynge, awaie! thys traytour vile I'de sooner die to-daie,

Has scorn'd my power and mee ; Thanne lyve hys slave, as manie are,

Howe canst thou then for such a manne Thongb I shoulde lyve for aie.”

Entreate my clemencye?" , Then Canterlone hee dydd goe out,

"My nobile leige! the trulie brave To tell the maior straite

Wylle val'rous actions prize, To gett all thynges ynne reddyness

Respect a brave and nobile mynde, For gonde Syr Charleses fate.

Although ynne enemies."

I make no double butt hee ys gone,

Where soone I hope to goe; Where wee for ever shall bee blest,

From oute the reech of woe. “ Hee taughte mee justice and the laws

Wyth pitie to unite ; And eke hee taughte mee howe to knowe

The wronge cause from the ryghte : “ Hee taughte mee wythe a prudent hando

To feede the hungrie poore,
Ne lett mye sarvants dryve awaie

The hungrie fromm my doore :
“ And none can saye but alle mye lyfe

I have hys wordyes kept;
And summ'd the actyonns of the daie

Eche nyghte before I slept.

“I have a spouse, goe aske of her

Yff I defyled her bedde; I have a kynge, and none can laie

Black treason onne my hedde.

“ Canynge, awaie! By Godde ynne heaven

Thatt dydd mee being gyve
I wylle nott taste a bit of breade

Whilst thys Syr Charles dothe lyve. * By Marie, and alle seinctes ynne heaven,

Thys sunne shall be hys laste." Thenne Canynge dropp'd a brinie teare,

And from the presence paste.
Wyth herte brymm-fulle of gnawynge grief,

Hee to Syr Charles dydd goe,
And sat hymm downe uponne a stoole,

And teares beganne to flowe. “Wee all must die," quod brave Syr Charles ;

- Whatte bootes ytre howe or whenne ; Dethe ys the sure, the certaine sate

Of all wee mortall menne.
“Say why, my friende, thie honest soul

Runns over att thyne eye ;
Ys ytte for my most welcome doome

Thatt thou dost child-lyke crye ?”
Quod godlie Canynge, “ I doe weepe,

Thatt thou so soone must die,
And leave thy sonnes and helpless wyfe;

"Tys thys thatt wettes myne eye."
* Thenne drie the tears thatt out thyne eye

From godlie fountaines sprynge ; Detbe I despise, and alle the power

Of Edwarde, traytour kynge. * Whan through the tyrant's welcome means

I shall resigne my lyfe,
The Godde i serve wylle soone provyde

For bothe my sonnes and wyse.
" Before I sawe the lyghtsome sunne,

Thys was appointed mee;
Shall mortall manne repyne or grudge

What Godde ordeynes to bee ?
“Howe oft ynne battaile have I stoode,

Whan thousands dyed arounde ; Whan smokynge streemes of crimson bloode

Imbrew'd the fatten'd grounde :
“Howe dydd I knowe thatt every darte,

Thatt cutte the airie waie,
Myghte nutt fynde passage toe my harte,

And close myne eyes for aie ?
" And shall I nowe, forr feere of dethe,

Looke wanne and bee dysmayde ?
Ne! fromm my herte flie childyshe feere;

Bee alle the manne display'd.
" Ah, goddelyke Henry! Godde forefende,

And guarde thee and thye sonne, Yff 'tis bys wylle ; but yff 'tis nott,

Why thenne hys wylle bee donne. * My honest friende, my faulte has beene

To serve Godde and my prynce ; And thatt I no tyme-server am,

My dethe wylle soone convynce. - Ynne Londonne citye was I borne,

Of parents of grete note; My fadre dydd a nobile armes

Emblazon onne hys cote :

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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 unseigned 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 ieers ?

Theye washe my soule awaie,
And almost make mee wyshe for lyse,

Wyth thee, sweete dame, to staie.

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 llenrie'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 trappyoges whyte,

Wyth plumes uponne theyre hedde:
Behynde hym syve-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 deckt;
And theyre aitendyng menne echone,

Lyke casterne princes trick't:

“ '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 wyse ?
The cruelle axe thait cuttes thye necke,

Ytte eke shall ende mye lyse.”
And nowe the officers came ynne

To brynge Syr Charles awaie, Who turnedd to hys lovynge wyse,

And thus to her dydd saie :
"I goe to lyse, 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 syghie,
Alle cladd ynne homelie russett weedes,

Of godlie monkysh plyghte :

And after them a multitude

Of citizenns dydd thronge;
The wyndowes were alle sulle 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 noit 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.

MYNSTRELLES SONGE.

krnge Edwarde's soule rush'd to hys face,

flee 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 greaier thanne a kynge!"
* Soe lett hym die !” Duke Richarde sayde ;

* 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,

Ilys pretious blonde 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 :
Ard to the people hee dyd saie,

* Beholde you see mee dye, For servynge loyally mye kynge,

Mye kynge most ryghtfullie. * Is longe as Edwarde rules thys lande,

Ne quiet you wylle knowe: Your sonnes and husbandes shalle bee slayne.

And brookes wythe bloude shalle fowe.
* You leave your goode and lawfulle kynge,

Whenne ynne adversitye ;
Luke mee, unioe 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 parlynge soule to take. Thenne kneelynge downe, hee layde hys hedde,

Mosi seemlie onne the blocke; Whyche fromme hys bodie fayre at once

The able heddes-manne stroke:

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And oute the bloude beganne to flowe,

And rounde the scaffolde twyne ; And teares, enow to washe't awaie,

Dydd flowe fromme each man's eyne.
The bloudie axe hys bodie fayre

Innto foure partes cutte;
And everye parte, and eke hys hedde,

Cponne 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 :

Heere uponne mie true love's grave,
Schalle the haren 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.

The other onne Seyncte Powle's goode gate,

A dreery spectacle ; Ulys hedde was placed onne the hyghe crosse,

Ynne hyghe strete most nobile. This was the ende of Bawdin's fate :

Godde prosper longe oure kynge, And grante hee inaye, wyth Bawdin's soule,

Ynne Heaven Godde's mercie synge!

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.

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