V. Followed Envy.-n Filled full of quarrel and felony. For privy hatred that traitor trembled.-p Him followed many a dissembling renegado.-9 With feigned words fair, or white. And flatterers to men's faces.-* And backbiters in secret places. To lie that had delight. And spreaders of false lies.- Alas that courts of noble kings. Of them can never be rid.

VI. * Covetousness.-y Root of all evil and ground of vice. Caitiffs, wretches, and usurers.-a Misers, hoarders, and gatherers.-b All with that barloch or male fiend went. Out of their throats they shot on (each) other. Hot molten gold, methought, a vast quantityLike fire flakes most fervid.f Aye as they emptied themselves of shot. With gold of all kind of coin.

VII. Then Sloth at a second bidding.-i Came like a sow from a dunghill.- Full sleepy was his grunt.* Many a lazy glutton. Many a drowsy sleepy sluggard. Him served with care.

n He drew them forth in a chain.- And Belial with a bridle-rein.-p Ever lashed them on the back.-9 In dance they were so slow of feet. They gave them in the fire a heat.-s And made them quicker of apprehension.

VIII. Then Lechery, that loathsome body." Rearing like a stallion. And Idleness did him lead. There was with him an ugly sort. That had been dead in sin. -y When they were entered in the dance.- Like torches burning red.

IX. a Of womb insatiable and greedy.-b To dance then addressed himself.-e Him followed many a foul drunkard.-d Different names of drinking vessels.-e Full many a waistless sot. With bellies unwieldable did drag forth.-g In grease that did increase.-h The fiends gave them hot lead to lap. Their love of drinking was not the less.

X. J No minstrels without doubt.-k For gleemen there were kept out. By day and by night.-m Except a minstrel that slew a man." So till he won his inheritance.• And entered by letter of right.

XI.

Than cryd Mahoun for a Heleand Padyane",
Syn ran a Feynd to fetch Mac Fadyane,
Far northwart in a nuker,

Be he the Correnoch had done schouts,
Ersche-men so gadderit him about

In hell grit rume they tuke:

XI. P Then cried Satan for a highland pageant.The name of some highland laird. I suppose,' says Lord Hailes, this name was chosen by the poet as one of the harshest that occurred to him.'- Far northward in a nook. By the time that he had raised the Correnoch or cry of help.-t Highlanders so gathered about him.

Thae termegantis, with tag and tatter,
Full lowd in Ersche begowd to clatter,
And rowp like revin and ruke".
The devil sa devit was with thair yell,
That in the depest pot of hell

He smurit thame with smuke".

u And croaked like ravens and rooks.- The devil was so deafened with their yell.-w He smothered them with smoke.

DAVID LYNDSAY, according to the conjecture of his latest editor*, was born in 1490. He was educated at St. Andrew's, and leaving that university, probably about the age of nineteen, became the page and companion of James V. during the prince's childhood, not his tutor, as has been sometimes inaccurately stated. When the young king burst from the faction which had oppressed himself and his people, Lyndsay published his Dream, a poem on the miseries which Scotland had suffered during the minority. In 1530, the king appointed him Lyon King at Arms, and a grant of knighthood, as usual, accompanied the office. In that capacity he went several times abroad, and was one of those who were sent to demand a princess of the Imperial line for the Scottish sovereign. James having, however, changed his mind to a connexion with France, and having at length fixed his choice on the Princess Magdalene, Lyndsay was sent to attend upon her to Scotland; but her death happening six weeks after her arrival, occasioned another poem from our author, entitled the "Deploracion." On the arrival of Mary of Guise, to supply her place, he superintended the ceremony of her triumphant entry into Edinburgh; and, blending the fancy of a poet with the godliness of a reformer, he so constructed the pageant, that a lady like an angel, who came out of an artificial cloud, exhorted her majesty to serve God, obey her husband, and keep her body pure, according to God's commandments.

On the 14th of December, 1542, Lyndsay witnessed the decease of James V., at his palace of Falkland, after a connexion between them which had subsisted since the earliest days of the prince. If the death of James (as some of his biographers

*Mr. G. Chalmers.

have asserted) occasioned our poet's banishment from court, it is certain that his retirement was not of long continuance; since he was sent, in 1543, by the Regent of Scotland, as Lyon King, to the Emperor of Germany. Before this period the principles of the Reformed religion had begun to take a general root in the minds of his countrymen; and Lyndsay, who had already written a drama in the style of the old moralities, with a view to ridicule the corruptions of the popish clergy, returned from the Continent to devote his pen and his personal influence to the cause of the new faith. In the parliaments which met at Edinburgh and Linlithgow, in 1544-45 and 46, he represented the county of Cupar in Fife ; and in 1547, he is recorded among the champions of the Reformation, who counselled the ordination of John Knox.

The death of Cardinal Beaton drew from him a poem on the subject, entitled, a Tragedy, (the term tragedy was not then confined to the drama,) in which he has been charged with drawing together all the worst things that could be said of the murdered prelate. It is incumbent, however, on those who blame him for so doing, to prove that those worst things were not atrocious. Beaton's principal failing was a disposition to burn with fire those who opposed his ambition, or who differed from his creed; and if Lyndsay was malignant in exposing one tyrant, what a libeller must Tacitus be accounted!

His last embassy was to Denmark, in order to negotiate for a free trade with Scotland, and to solicit ships to protect the Scottish coasts against the English. It was not till after returning from this business that he published Squyre Meldrum, the last, and the liveliest of his works.

He was bota twintie yeirish of age,
Quehen he began his vassalage :
Proportionat weill, of mid statùre :
Feiried and wichte and micht endure
Ovirset with travell both nicht and day,
Richt hardie baith in ernist and play:
Blyith in countenance, richt fair of face,
And studer weill ay in his ladies grace :
For he was wondir amiabill,
And in all deidis honourabill;
And ay his honour did advance,

In Ingland first and syneb in France;
And thare his manheid did assail
Under the kingis great admirall,
Quhen the greit navy of Scotland
Passit to the sea againis Ingland.

EIS GALLANTRY TO AN IRISH DAMSEL.

And as they passit be Ireland coisti
The admirall gart land his oisti;
And set Craigfergus into fyre,
And saifit nouther barne nor byrek:
It was greit pitie for to heir,
Of the pepill the bail-full cheir;
And how the landfolk were spuilyeit",
Fair women under fute were fuilyeito.

But this young Squyer bauld and wicht
Savit all women quhair? he micht;
All priestis and freyeris he did save;
Till at the last he did persave
Behind ane gardin amiabill',
Ane woman's voces richt lamentabill;
And on that voce he followit fast,
Till he did see her at the last,
Spuilyeit, nakit" as scho' was born;
Twa men of weir were hir beforne*,
Quhilky were richt cruel men and kene,
Partand the spuilyie thame between.
Ane fairer woman nor sho wesa
He had not sene in onieb place.
Befoire him on hir kneis scho fell,
Sayand, "for him that heryeit hell,
Help me sweit sir, I am ane maid;"
Than softlie to the men he said,
I pray yow give againe hir sarke,
And tak to yow all uther wark.

Hir kirtill was of scarlot reid',
Of gold ane garland of hir heid,
Decorits with enamelyne :
Belt and brochis of silver fyne.
Of yellow taftaish wes hir sark,
Begaryit all with browderit wark,
Richt craftilie with gold and silk.
Than, said the ladie, quhytei as milk,
Except my sark nothing I crave,
Let thame go hence with all the lave.
Quod they to hir be Sanct Fillane
Of this ye get nathing agane.
Than, said the squyer courteslie,
Gude friendis I pray you hartfullie,
Gif ye be worthie men of weir,
Restoir to hir agane hir geir;

Or be greit God that all has wrocht,k
That spuilyie sall be full dere bocht'.
Quodm they to him we the defy,
And drew their swordis hastily,
And straik at him with sa greit ire,
That from his harness flew the fyre:
With duntis" sa derflyo on him dang",
That he was never in sic ane thrang:
Bot he him manfullie defendit,
And with ane bolt on thame he bendit.

h Mr. Chalmers omits explaining this word in his glossary to Lyndsay. [The meaning is plain enough: her sark or shirt was of yellow taffeta.] i White. Restore. k Wrought. 1 Bought. m Quoth. n Strokes.

• Strongly. P Drove. 9 Throng, trouble. r Grass, or field. Took his leave. ▾ Warriors.

Dress, clothing.

u Without more ado.

w Came.

The trenchour of the Squyreis speir
Stak still into Sir Talbart's geir;
Than everie man into that steidi
Did all beleve that he was dede.
The Squyer lap richt haistillie
From his coursouri deliverlie,
And to Sir Talbart made support,
And humilliek did him comfort.
When Talbart saw into his schield
Ane otter in ane silver field,
This race, said he, I sair may rew,
For I see weill my dreame was true;
Methocht yon otter gart' me bleid,
And buirm me backwart from my sted;
But heir I vow to God soverane,
That I sall never just" agane.
And sweitlie to the Squiyre said,
Thou knawis the cunning that we made,
Quhilk of us twa suld tyne' the field,
He suld baith hors and armour yield
Till him that wan, quhairfore I will
My hors and harness geve thé till.
Then said the Squyer, courteouslie,
Brother, I thank you hartfullie;
Of you, forsooth, nothing I crave,
For I have gotten that I would have.

SQUYRE MELDRUM, AFTER MANY FOREIGN EXPLOITS, COMES
HOME AND HAS THE FOLLOWING LOVE-ADVENTURE.

Out throw the land then sprang the fame,
That Squyer Meldrum was come hame.
Quhen they heard tell how he debaitit',
With every man he was sa treitet",

That quhen he travellit throw the land,
They bankettit him fra hand to hand
With greit solace, till, at the last,
Out throw Stratherne the Squyer past.
And as it did approach the nicht,
Of ane castell he gat ane sicht,
Beside ane montane in ane vale,
And then eftir his greit travaill
He purposit him to repoise
Quhare ilk man did of him rejois.
Of this triumphant pleasand place
Ane lustie lady was maistrés,
Quhais lord was dead schort time befoir,
Quhairthrow her dolour wes the moir:
Bot yit scho tuik some comforting,
To heir the plesant dulce talking
Of this young Squiyer, of his chance,
And how it fortunit him in France.
This Squyer and the ladie genta
Did wesche, and then to supper went :
During that nicht there wes nocht ellis
But for to heir of his novellis".
Enéas, quhen he fled from Troy,
Did not Quene Dido greiter joy :

The wonderis that he did rehers,
Were langsum for to put in vers,
Of quhilk this lady did rejois :
They drank and syned went to repois,
He found his chalmere well arrayit
With dornik work on bord displayit :
Of venison he had his waills,
Gude aquavitae, wyne, and aill,
With nobill confeittis, bran, and geill
And swa the Squyer fuir richt weill.
Sa to heir mair of his narration,
The ladie cam to his collation,
Sayand he was richt welcum hame,
Grand-mercie, then, quod he, Madame!
They past the time with ches and tabill,
For he to everie game was abill.
Than unto bed drew everie wicht;
To chalmer went this ladie bricht;
The quilk this Squyer did convoy,
Syne till his bed he went with joy.
That nicht he sleepit never ane wink,
But still did on the ladie think.
Cupido, with his fyrie dart,
Did piers him sa throwout the hart,
Sa all that nicht he did but murnit-

Sum tyme sat up, and sum tyme turnit—
Sichand, with mony gant and grane,
To fair Venus makand his mane,
Sayand', fair ladie, what may this mene,
I was ane free man lait yestreen,
And now ane cative bound and'thrall,
For ane that I think flowr of all.

I pray God sen scho knew my mynd,
How for hir saik I am sa pynd:
Wald God I had been yit in France,
Or I had hapnit sic mischance;
To be subject or serviture

Till ane quhilk takes of me na cure.
This ladie ludgit" nearhand by,
And hard the Squyer prively,
With dreidful hart makand his mane,
With monie careful gant and graneo;
Hir hart fulfillit with pitie,
Thocht scho wald haif of him mercie,
And said, howbeit I suld be slane,
He sall have lufe for lufe agayne:
Wald God I micht, with my honour,
Have him to be my paramour.
This was the mirrie tyme of May,
Quhen this fair ladie, freshe and gay,
Start up to take the hailsum P air,
With pantouns on hir feit ane pair,
Airlie into ane cleir morning,
Befoir fair Phoebus' uprysing:
Kirtill alone, withoutin clok,
And saw the Squyers door unlok.
n Lodged.
• Groan. P Wholesome.

q

And with hir keys oppenit the lokkis,
And made hir to take furth ane boxe,
Bot that was not hir errand thare :
With that this lustie young Squyar
Saw this ladie so pleasantlie
Com to his chalmer quyetlie,
In kirtill of fyne damais brown,
Hir golden tresses hingand doun;
t
Hir pappis were hard, round, and quhyte,
Quhome to behold was greit deleit;
Lyke the quhyte lillie was her lyre";
Hir hair wes like the reid gold weir;
Hir schankis quhyte, withouten hois",
Quhareat the Squyar did rejois,

And said, then, now vailye quod vailye",
Upon the ladie thow mak ane sailye.
Hir courtlyke kirtill was unlaist,

And sone into his armis hir braist.

Slippers.

CALLED the Elder, to distinguish him from his son, who suffered in the reign of Q. Mary, was born at Allington Castle, in Kent, in 1503, and was educated at Cambridge. He married early in life, and was still earlier distinguished at the court of Henry VIII. with whom his interest and favour were so great as to be proverbial. His person was majestic and beautiful, his visage (according to Surrey's interesting description) was "stern and mild:" he sung and played the lute with remarkable sweetness, spoke foreign languages with grace and fluency, and possessed an inexhaustible fund of wit. At the death of Wolsey he could not be more than 19; yet he is said to have contributed to that minister's downfall by a humorous story, and to have promoted the reformation by a seasonable jest. At the coronation of Anne Boleyn he officiated for his father as ewerer, and possibly witnessed the ceremony not with the most festive emotions, as there is reason to suspect that he was secretly attached to the royal bride. When the tragic end of that princess was approaching, one of the calumnies circulated against her was, that Sir Thomas Wyat had confessed having had an illicit intimacy with her. The scandal was certainly false; but that it arose from a tender partiality really believed to exist between them,

seems to be no overstrained conjecture. His poetical mistress's name is Anna and in one of his sonnets he complains of being obliged to desist from the pursuit of a beloved object, on account of its being the king's. The perusal of his poetry was one of the unfortunate queen's last consolations in prison. A tradition of Wyat's attachment to her was long preserved in his family. She retained his sister to the last about her person; and as she was about to lay her head on the block, gave her weeping attendant a small prayer-book, as a token of remembrance, with a smile of which the sweetness was not effaced by the horrors of approaching death. Wyat's favour at court, however, continued undiminished; and notwithstanding a quarrel with the Duke of Suffolk, which occasioned his being committed to the Tower, he was, immediately on his liberation, appointed to a command under the Duke of Norfolk, in the army that was to act against the rebels. He was also knighted, and, in the following year, made high sheriff of

Kent.

When the Emperor Charles the Fifth, after the death of Anne Boleyn, apparently forgetting the disgrace of his aunt in the sacrifice of her successor, showed a more conciliatory disposition towards England, Wyat was, in 1537, selected