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mounted by a heart and trophy; the hero and heroine full size, uniting their hands under the direction of Love, with other devices incident to the work, and afterwards minutely described in eight couplets. Four commendatory poems follow from the several pens of Io. Mat. and Ralph Egnirawniam, and six lines subscribed "your kinsman, brother-in-law, and friend, Richard Mynshull."

From the type it appears to have been printed early in the seventeenth century. A character having the power of enchantment, so materially necessary in forming a legitimate romance, is wanting; but every page is pregnant with adventures and fictions of splendid tournaments and fearful battles, or teems with the wailings of suffering love and cruel disappointment. The feats of Sir Paris are numerous, and would have entitled him to an honorary seat at Arthur's round table had he flourished at that period. The precise time at which the author means to place his history is the nearest ascertained by the following passage.

"Fortune, that wayted (though yet a farre off) on Paris unknowne merit, gave him a befitting occasion to doe Vienna (though still covertly) more pleasing and more glorious service. For there had lately falne out in the French court a great contention, betwixt the native barons and some severall noble forraigners, that then for their pleasures followed that court in honour of the king. The controversy was, whether was most fairer or the more vertuous of these three ladies; Valentia, the great Duke of Burbon's daughter; Vienna, the Dauphin's sole heyre of Viennoys; or the Lady Margaret, sister to the King of England." To decide this important question the French King

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manded

manded that a solemne and royall Iusts (in honour of the three ladies) should be proclaimed throughout all his kingdome to be holden in Paris, at Pentecost following free for all commers." On the appointed day "Aurora no sooner shewed her morning's blush, but that the French King, ashamed of his sluggishnesse, rose and rid to see the three high artificiall mounts, which he had caused to be erected and made for the three ladies to sit on; who no sooner were come and placed, but that the Duke of Burbon eame marching in with a rich garland, made all of orient pearle, hanging on a blew banner, with his coate of armes on the other side, and placed it on the mount belonging to Valentia, on her left aside. Then followed the Daulphin of Viennois with a rich coller of esses, beset all over with rubies, hanging on a white banner, with his armes displayed on the other side, and plac'd it on Vienna's mount, on the right hand of his daughter. Then came England's royall king, with an imperiall crowne of burnisht gold, set with indian diamonds and blew saphirs, supported betwixt two regall lyons hanging on a red banner, and plac'd it on the middle mount before his sister the Lady Margaret." Hither Sir Paris comes disguised, and, as customary, triumphs in obtaining the crown of artificial lilies to be placed on Vienna's head "for sole and soveraigne Queene of absolute and matchlesse beauty."

The narrative has, occasionally, an attempt at humour, or wit, by an artificial or garbled language of half puns, in a quibbling repetition of words of similar sound, but varied meaning. There are some pieces of poetry interspersed, of which the following is sufficient specimen.

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«Sleepe,

"Sleepe, sleepe, O sleepe! sweete lady sleepe, Cloud not your beauty with blacke care; Cares doe consume, griefe hath no grace

Your graces griefe, weares beauty bare. Then sleepe, O sleepe, sweete lady sleepe, Let me, ah me; your sorrowes keepe.

Sigh not at all, all is in vaine,

In vaine are sighes; sighes doe confound: Times haue their turnes, turne then your teares,

Your woe, with woe my heart doth wound. Then sleepe, O sleepe, sweete lady sleepe, Your slaue alone for you will weepe!

O cruell dame, Loue's second choise,
O choise the change of Nature's loue,
O Loue forlorne, slaue vnto time.

O time corrupt, vertues remoue;
Why trouble you her quiet sleepe,
Since I for her doe daily weepe.

Sleepe, sleepe, O sleepe! faire lady sleepe,
Your sorrowes haue all sorrowes spent,
Hope doubt hath slaine, dead is dispaire,

And Loue will crowne you with content.
Then sleepe, O sleepe, sweet lady sleepe,
No cause there is why you should weepe.”

In the title are two small shields, one having a blazing star dexter chief and nine cross crosslets, pearl; the other two bars surmounted with a lozenge, and alluded to in the last couplet describing the title:

"If that the barres were red and scutch'on white, The coate would show who did this story write." At the conclusion of the story is another couplet

which

which, in an Ænigma, gives the name, as I conceive, of Man-war-ring.*

"The image of God, the wrath of Mars, and pledge of nuptiall rites,

Records his name, that for his friend, this triviall toy did write."

The friend was, probably, his brother-in-law, Mynshull, whose lines finish

with thankes for this thy well wrote story, Though mine it is; yet thine shall be the glory." Conduit street.

J. H.

ART. VII. The Xiii bukes of Eneados of the famose Poete Virgill. Translatet out of Latyne verses into Scottish metir, bi the Reuerend father in God, Mayster Gawin Douglas, Bishop of Dunkel, & vnkil to the Erle of Angus. Euery buke hauing hys perticular prologe. Imprinted at Londỡ 1553. b. l. Ccc lxxxi leaves. Fo.

This is the first edition of a work generally known by the more valuable republication of Ruddiman in 1710. The name of Gawin Douglas, with specimens of his poetry, must be in the possession of every reader; I shall therefore only add, to assist in perfecting early copies (according to the suggestion of Herbert) a collated transcript of the last leaf.

The strange signature to the first three induction poems reversed, (Mainwaringe) appears to establish this suggestion of the author's name.

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"Ane exclamacion aganis detractouris and uncurtase redaris, that bene ouer studious, but occasioun, to note and spye out faltis, or offensis, in this volume or any vthir thrifty werkis.

"Now throw the depe fast to the porte I merk,
For here is endit the lang disparit werk,

And Virgil has his volume to me lent :
In souir raid now ankerit is our werke;
We dout na storme, our cabillis ar sa sterk;
We haue eschapit, full mony perrellis went;
Now God belouit has, sic grace till vs sent,
Sen Virgil beis wyde quhare, in Latine soung,
Thus be my laboure red in vulgare toung.

But quhat dangere is ocht, to compile allace,
Her and thir detractouris in till euery place,
Or euer thay rede the werk, biddis birn the buke,
Sum bene sa frawart in malice and wangrace
Quhat is wele sayd thay loif not worth ane ace,
Bot castis thame euir to spy out falt and cruke,
Al that thay fynd in hiddillis, hirne, and nuke,
Thay blaw out, sayand, in euery mannis face,
Lo here he failzeis, lo here he leis, luke.

Bot gif I le lat Virgill be our iudge,
His werk is patent, I may haue na refuge:
Thareby go not, my faltis one be one
No wounder is the volume is sa huge,
Quhay mycht perfectly, al his hie termes luge
In barbare language, or thame deulic expone
Bot wele I wate of his sentence wantis none
Quha can do bettir lat se, quhare I foruayit
Begyn of new, al thing is gude vnassayit.⚫

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