Part 18 (1/2)

FRIAR'S SONG.

Some love the matin-chimes, which tell The hour of prayer to sinner: But better far's the mid-day bell, Which speaks the hour of dinner; For when I see a smoking fish, Or capon drown'd in gravy, Or n.o.ble haunch on silver dish, Full glad I sing my ave.

My pulpit is an alehouse bench, Whereon I sit so jolly; A smiling rosy country wench My saint and patron holy.

I kiss her cheek so red and sleek, I press her ringlets wavy, And in her willing ear I speak A most religious ave.

And if I'm blind, yet heaven is kind, And holy saints forgiving; For sure he leads a right good life Who thus admires good living.

Above, they say, our flesh is air, Our blood celestial ichor: Oh, grant! mid all the changes there, They may not change our liquor!

ATRA CURA.

Before I lost my five poor wits, I mind me of a Romish clerk, Who sang how Care, the phantom dark, Beside the belted horseman sits.

Methought I saw the grisly sprite Jump up but now behind my Knight.

And though he gallop as he may, I mark that cursed monster black Still sits behind his honor's back, Tight squeezing of his heart alway.

Like two black Templars sit they there, Beside one crupper, Knight and Care.

No knight am I with pennoned spear, To prance upon a bold destrere: I will not have black Care prevail Upon my long-eared charger's tail, For lo, I am a witless fool, And laugh at Grief and ride a mule.

REQUIESCAT.

Under the stone you behold, Buried, and coffined, and cold, Lieth Sir Wilfrid the Bold.

Always he marched in advance, Warring in Flanders and France, Doughty with sword and with lance.

Famous in Saracen fight, Rode in his youth the good knight, Scattering Paynims in flight.

Brian the Templar untrue, Fairly in tourney he slew, Saw Hierusalem too.

Now he is buried and gone, Lying beneath the gray stone: Where shall you find such a one?

Long time his widow deplored, Weeping the fate of her lord, Sadly cut off by the sword.

When she was eased of her pain, Came the good Lord Athelstane, When her ladys.h.i.+p married again.

LINES UPON MY SISTER'S PORTRAIT.

BY THE LORD SOUTHDOWN.

The castle towers of Bareacres are fair upon the lea, Where the cliffs of bonny Diddles.e.x rise up from out the sea: I stood upon the donjon keep and view'd the country o'er, I saw the lands of Bareacres for fifty miles or more.

I stood upon the donjon keep--it is a sacred place,-- Where floated for eight hundred years the banner of my race; Argent, a dexter sinople, and gules an azure field: There ne'er was n.o.bler cognizance on knightly warrior's s.h.i.+eld.

The first time England saw the s.h.i.+eld 'twas round a Norman neck, On board a s.h.i.+p from Valery, King William was on deck.