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Mr. KEATS is also dead. He gave the greatest promise of genius of any poet of his day. He displayed extreme tenderness, beauty, originality and delicacy of fancy; all he wanted was manly strength and fortitude to reject the temptations of singularity in sentiment and expression. Some of his shorter and later pieces are, however, as free from faults as they are full of beauties.

Mr. MILMAN is a writer of classical taste and attainments rather than of original genius. Poeta nascitur-non fit.

Of BOWLES'S Sonnets it is recommendation enough to say, that they were the favourites of Mr. Coleridge's youthful mind.

It only remains to speak of Mr. BARRY CORNWALL, who, both in the Drama, and in his other poems, has shewn brilliancy and tenderness of fancy, and a fidelity to truth and nature, in conceiving the finer movements of the mind equal to the felicity of his execution in express

ing them.

Some additions have been made in the Miscellaneous part of the volume, from the Lyrical effusions of the elder Dramatists, whose beauty, it is presumed, can never decay, whose sweetness can never cloy!

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IN VERSE.

CHAUCER-A.D. 1328-1400.

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PROLOGUE to the CANTERBURY TALES.
WHanne that April with his shoures sote
The drought of March hath perced to the rote,
And bathed every veine in swiche licour
of which vertue engendred is the flour;
Whan Zephirus eke with his sote brethe
Enspired hath in every holte and hethe
The tendre croppes; and the yonge sonne
Hath in the Ram his halfe cours yronne;
And smale foules maken melodie,
That slepen alle night with open eye,
So priketh hem nature in bir corages;-
Than longen folk to gon on pilgrimages,
And palmeres for to seken strange strondes,
To serve halwes couth in sondry londes;
And specially, from every shires ende
Of Englelond to Canterbury they wende,
The holy, blissful martyr for to seke
That hem hath holpen, whan that they were sike.

Befelle, that, in that seson, on a day,
In Southwerk at the Tabard as I lay,
Redy to wenden on my pilgrimage
To Canterbury with devoute corage,-
At night was come into that hostelrie
Wel nine-and-twenty in a compagnie
Of sondry folk, by aventure yfalle
In felawship, and pilgrims were they alle,
That toward Canterbury wolden ride,
The chambres and the stables weren wide,
And wel we weren esed, atte beste.

And shortly, whan the sonne was gon to reste,
So hadde I spoken with hem everich on,
That I was of hir felawship anon,
And made forward erly for to rise,
To take oure way ther as I you devise.

But, natheles, while I have time and space,
Or that I forther in this Tale pace,
Me thinketh it accordant to reson
To tellen you alle the condition
Of eche of hem, so as it semed me;
And whiche they weren ; and of what degre;
And eke in what araie that they were inne :-
And, at a knight, than wol I firste beginne.

A Knight ther was, and that a worthy man;
That fro the time that he first began
To niden out, he loved chevalrie,
Trathe and honour, fredom and curtesie.
Fal worthy was he in his lordes werre;
And, therto, hadde he ridden, none more ferre,
As wel in Cristendom as in Hethenesse,
And ever honoured for his worthinesse.

At Alisandre was he whan it was wonne,
Ful often time he hadde the bord begonne,
Aboven alle nations, in Pruce,
In Lettawe had he reysed, and in Ruce;
No Cristen-man so ofte, of his degre,
In Gernade,-at the siege, eke, hadde he be
Of Algesir; and ridden in Belmarie.
At Leyes was he, and at Satalie,
Whan they were wonne; and, in the Grete see
At many a noble armee hadde he be ;
At mortal batailles hadde he ben fiftene ;
And foughten for our faith, at Tramissene;
In listes, thries—and ay slain his fo.

This ilke worthy Knight hadde ben also,
Somtime, with the Lord of Palatie,
Agen another Hethen in Turkie;
And evermore he hadde a sovereine pris,
And though that he was worthy he was wise;
And of his port, as meke as is a mayde:
He never yet no vilainie ne sayde,
In all his lif, unto no manere wight,
He was a veray parfit gentil knight.

But, for to tellen you of his araie,-
His hors was good, but he ne was not gaie.
Of fustian he wered a gipon
Alle besmatred with his habergeon,
For he was late ycome fro his viage,
And wente for to don his pilgrimage.

With him, ther was his sone, a yonge Squier,
A lover, and a lusty bacheler;
With lockes crull as they were laide in presse.
Of twenty yere of age he was I gesse.
Of his stature he was of even lengthe;
And wonderly deliver, and grete of strengthe,
And he hadde be, somtime, in chevachie
In Flaundres; in Artois; and in Picardie;
And borne him wel, as of so litel space,
In hope to standen in his ladies grace.

Embrouded was he, as it were a mede
All full of freshe foures, white and rede.
Singing he was, or floyting, all the day:
He was as freshe as is the moneth of May.
Short was his goune, with sleves long and wide.
Wel coude he sitte on hors, and fayre ride,
He coude songes make, and wel endite;
Juste, and eke dance; and wel pourtraie and write:
So hote he loved, that by nightertale
He slep no more than doth the nightingale:

Curteis he was, lowly, and servisable; And carf before his fader at the table.

A Yeman hadde he; and servantes no mo At that time; for him luste to ride so:

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And he was cladde in cote and hode of grene; A Monk ther was, a fayre for the maistrie,
A shefe of peacock arwes bright and kene

An out-rider, that loved venerie;
Under his belt he bare ful thriftily;

manly man, to ben an abbot able. Wel coude he dresse his takel yemanly:

Ful many a deinte hors hadde he in stable; His arwes drouped not with fetheres lowe,

And when he rode, men mighte his bridel here
And in his hand he bare a mighty bowe.

Gingeling, in a whistling wind, as clere
A not-hed hadde he, with a broune visage, And eke as loude as doth the chapell belle,
Of wood-craft coude he wel alle the usage.

Ther as this lord was keper of the celle.
Upon his arme, he bare a gaie bracer;

The reule of Seint Maure and of Seiut Beneit, And by his side, a swerd and a bokeler;

Because that it was olde and somdele streit, And on that other side, a gaie daggere,

This ilke monk lette olde thinges pace Harneised wel, and sharpe as point of spere:

And held after the newe world the trace. A Cristofre on his brest of silver shene.

He yave not of the text a pulled hen, An horne he bare, the baudrik was of grene.

That saith that hunters ben not holy men ; A forster was he, sothely, as I gesse.

Ne that a monk, whan he is rekkeles,
Ther was also a Nonne, a Prioresse,

Is like to a fish that is waterles;
That of hire smiling was ful simple and coy; (This is to say, a monk out of his cloistre ;)
Hire gretest othe n’as but by Seint Eloy;

This ilke text he held not worth an oistre.
And she was cleped Madam Eglentine.

And I say, his opinion was good: Ful wel she sange the service divine,

What! shulde he studie, and make himselven wood, Entuned in hire nose ful swetely;

Upon a book in cloistre alway to pore,
And Frenche she spake, ful faire and fetisly, (Or swinken with his hondes, and laboure,)
After the scole of Stratford atte Bowe-

As Austin bit; how shal the world be served ?
For Frenche of Paris was to hire unknowe.

Let Austin have his swink to him reserved. At mete was she wel ytaughte withalle;

Therfore he was a prickasoure a right: She lette no morsel from hire lippes falle;

Greihoundes he hadde as swift as foul of Aight: Ne wette hire fingres in hire sauce depe.

Of pricking, and of hunting for the hare Wel coude she carie a morsel, and wel kepe,

Was all his lust; for no cost wolde he spare. That no drope ne fell upon hire brest,

I saw his sleves purfiled at the hond In curtesie was sette, ful moche, hire lest:

With gris, and that the finest of the lond, Hire over lippe wiped she so clene,

And, for to fasten his hood, under his chinne
That in hire cuppe was no ferthing sene

He hadde, of gold ywrought, a curious pinne,-
Of grese, whan she dranken hadde hire draught. A love-knotte in the greter ende ther was.
Full semely after hire mete she raught.

His hed was balled, and shone as any glas,
And, sikerly, she was of grete disport,

And eke his face, as it hadde ben anoint. And ful pleasant and amiable of port;

He was a lord ful fat and in good point. And peined hire, to contrefeten chere

His eyen stepe, and rolling in his hed, Of court, and ben estatelich of manere,

That stemed as a furneis of a led; And to ben holden digne of reverence.

His bootes souple, his hors in gret estat; But for to speken of hire conscience,

Now certainly he was a fayre prelat. She was so charitable and so pitous,

He was not pale as a forpined gost. She wolde wepe if that she saw a mous

A fat swan loved he best of any rost. Caughte in a trappe, if it were ded or bledde. His palfrey was as broune as is a bery. Of smale houndes hadde she, that she fedde

A Frere there was, a wanton and a mery, With rosted flesh, and milk, and wastel-brede;

A limitour, a ful solempne man, But sore wept she if on of hem were dede,

In all the ordres foure, is non that can Or if men smote it with a yerde smert:

So moche of daliance and fayre langage. And all was conscience and tendre herte.

He hadde ymade ful many a mariage Ful semely hire wimple ypiuched was;

Of yonge wimmen, at his owen cost; Hire nose tretis; hire eyen grey as glas;

Until his ordre he was a noble post. Ilire mouth ful smale, and therto soft and red; Ful wel beloved, and familier was he But, sikerly, she hadde a faire forehed,

With frankeleins, over all, in his contree; It was almost a spanne brode I trowe;

And, eke, with worthy wimmen of the toun; For hardily she was not undergrowe.

For he had power of confession, Ful fetise was hire cloke, as I was ware.

As saide himselfe, more than a curat, Of smale corall, about hire arm, she bare

For of his ordre he was a licentiat. A pair of bedes gauded all with grene;

Ful swetely herde he confession, And theron heng a broche of gold, ful shene, And plesant was his absolution. On whiche was first ywritten a crouned A,

He was an esy man to give penance, And after Amor vincit omnia.

Ther as he wiste to han a good pitance; Another Nonne also with hire hadde she

For unto a poure ordre for to give, That was hire chapelleine, and Preestes thre. Is signe that a man is wel yshrive;

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For if he gave,—he dorste make avant,

As lene was his hors as is a rake,
He wiste, that a man was repentant;

And he was not right fat, I undertake;
For many a man so hard is of his herte,

But looked holwe, and therto soberly.
He may not wepe although him sore smerte: Ful thredbare was his overest courtepy,
Therfore, in stede of weping and praieres,

For he hadde getcn him yet no benefice,
Men mote give silver to the poure freres.

He was nought worldly to have an office.
His tippet was, ay, farsed full of knives,

For him was lever han, at his beddes hed,
And piones, for to given fayre wives.

Twenty bokes, clothed in black or red,
And, certainly, he hadde a mery note;

Of Aristotle and his philosophie,
Wel coude he singe and plaien on a rote,

Than robes riche; or fidel; or sautrie:
Of yeddinges he bare utterly the pris;

But all be that he was a philosophre,
His nekke was white as the flour de lis.

Yet hadde he but litel gold in cofre;
Therto, he strong was as a champioun;

But all that he might of his frendes hente,
And knew wel the tavernes in every toun,

On bokes and on lerning he it spente;
And every hosteler and gay tapstere,-

And besily gan for the soules praie
Better than a lazar or a beggere;

Of hem that yave him wherwith to scolaie.
For unto swiche a worthy man as he

Of studie toke he most cure and hede.
Accordeth nought, as by his faculte,

Not a word spake he more than was nede;
To haven with sike lazars acquaintance;

And that was said in forme and reverence, It is not honest, it may not avance;

And short and quike, and full of high sentence :
As for to delen with no swiche pouraille,

Souning in moral vertue was his speche;
But all with riche and sellers of vitaille.

And gladly wolde he lerne, and gladly teche.
And, over all, ther as profit shuld arise

A Sergeant of the Lawe ware and wise,
Curteis he was, and lowly of servise;

That often hadde ben at the parvis,
Ther n'as no man no wher so vertuous,

Ther was also; ful riche of excellence.
He was the beste begger in all his hous;

Discrete he was, and of gret reverence;
And gave a certain ferme for the grant,

He semed swiche; his wordes were so wise:
Non of his brethren came in his haunt.

Justice he was full often in assise,
For though a widewe hadde but a shoo,

By patent, and by pleine commissioun;
(So plesant was his In Principio)

For his science, and for his high renoun.
Yet wold he have a ferthing or he went;

Of fees and robes had he many on.
His pourchas was wel better than his rent.

So grete a pourchaser was no wher non:
And rage he coude as it hadde ben a whelp,

All was fee simple to him in effect,
In lovedayes, there coude he mochel help;

His pourchasing might not ben in suspect.
For ther was he-nat like a cloisterere,

No wher so besy a man as he ther n'as,
With thredbare cope, as is a poure scolere-

And yet he semed besier than he was.
But he was like a maister or a pope.

In termes had he cas and domes alle
Of double worsted was his semicope,

That fro the time of King Will. weren falle:
That round was as a belle out of the presse,

Therto, he coude endite and make a thing; Somwhat he lisped for his wantonnesse,

Ther coude no wight pinche at his writing. swete upon his tonge ;

And every statute coude he plaine hy rote.
And in his harping, whan that he hadde songe,

He rode but homely,-in a medlee cote,
His eyen twinkeled in his hed aright,

Girt with a seint of silk, with barres smale.
As don the sterres in a frosty night.

Of his array tell I no lenger tale.
This worthy limitour was cleped Huberd.

A Frankelein was in this compagnie;
A Marchant was ther with a forked berd,

White was his berd as is the dayesie.
In mottelee, and highe on hors he sat,

Of his complexion he was sanguin.
And on his hed a Flaundrish bever hat,

Wel loved he by the morwe a sop in win.
His bootes clapsed fayre and fetisly,

To liven in delit was ever his wone.
His resons spake he ful solempnely,

For he was Epicures owen sone,
Suning alway the encrese of his winning.

That beld opinion, that plein delit
He wold the see were kept, for any thing,

Was veraily felicite parfite.
Betwixen Middelburgh and Orewell.

An housholder, and that a grete was he;

Seint Julian he was in his contree.
Wel coud he in eschanges sheldes selle.
This worthy man ful wel his wit besette ;

His brede, his ale, was alway after on ;

A better envyned man was no wher non. Ther wiste no wight that he was in dette,

Withouten bake mete never was his hous,
So stedfastly didde he in his governance,

Of fish and Resh, and that so plenteous,
With his bargeines, and with his chevisance.

It snewed in his hous of mete and drinke,
Forsothe he was a worthy man withalle.

Of alle deintees that men coud of thinke.
But soth to sayn, I no't how men him calle.

After the sondry sesons of the yere,
A Clerk ther was of Oxenforde also,

So changed he his mete and his soupere,
That unto logike hadde long ygo.

To make his English

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