Graunt us, Jhesu, of merciful pité,

Geyn our trespas gracious indulgence,
Nat lik our meritis peised the qualité,
Disespeyred of our owne offence,
Ner that good hoope with thy pacience,
With help of Ursula and hir sustris alle,
Shal be meenys to thy magnificence,

Us to socoure, Lord, whan we to the calle.

THE CHORLE AND THE BIRD.

THE "paunflet" from which this poem professes to be translated, was probably the old French Fabliau which is printed by Barbazan, (ed. Méon, iii. 114) under the title of "Le Lais de l'Oiselet." The original of the story is found in the Latin "Disciplina clericalis" of Petrus Alfonsi (fab. xx. Quidam habuit virgultum, &c.) The Fabliau is only an enlargement of the tale from the different old French metrical versions of the Disciplina Clericalis, known by the title of "Chastoiement," or "Castoiement," where it has the title "Du Vilein et de l'Oiselet." See the "Chastoiement" published by the Société des Bibliophiles Français, ii. 130, and that printed by Barbazan, ii. 140. The following English version is taken from MS. Harl. 116, fol. 146-152. It is mentioned as a piece of Lydgate's by Stephen Hawes, in his "Pastime of Plesure." It was at that time very popular, and was printed successively by Caxton, Wynkyn de Worde, and Coplande.

PROBLEMYS of olde likenese and figures,
Whiche proved been fructuous of sentence,
And hath auctorité grownded in scriptures,
By resemblances of nobille apparence,
Withe moralités concluding of prudence,
Like as the Bibylle rehersithe by writing,
How trees somtyme chase hemself a kyng.

First in their choise thay named the olive,

To reigne amonge hem, Judicum dothe expresse, But he hym dide excuse blithe,

He myght not forsake his fatnesse,

Ner the figge tree his amorows swettnes,

Ner the

vyne his holsom fressh tarage, Whiche yeveth comforte to al maner age.

And semlably Poetis Laureate,

By dyrke parables ful convenient,
Feyne that birddis and bests of estate,
As royalle egles and lyons be assent,
Sent out writtes to olde a parliament,
And made decres brefly for to saye,

Some for to have lordshippe and some for obeye.

Egles in the heyre highest to take hir flighte,
Power of lyouns on the grounde is sene,
Cedre among trees highest of sight,
And the laurealle of nature is ay grene,
Of flowres also Flora goddes and quene,
Thus of al thing ther beene diversités,
Some of estate and some of lowe degrés. ✅

Poetes writin wonderfulle liknesses,
And under covert kepe hemself ful closse;
They take bestis and fowles to witnesse,
Of whos feyninges fabilles first arosse.
And here I cast unto my purpose,
Out of the Frenssh a tale to translate,

Whiche in a paunflet I redde and saw but late.

This tale whiche I make of mencioun,
In gros rehersethe playnly to declare,
Thre proverbis payed for raunsoun,

Of a faire birdde that was take out of a snare,
Wondir desirous to scape out of hir care,
Of my autour folwyng the processe,
So as it fel, in order I shal expresse.

Whilom ther was in a smal village,
As myn autor makethe rehersayle,

A chorle whiche hadde lust and a grete corage,
Within hymself be diligent travayle,

To array his gardeyn withe notable apparayle,
Of lengthe and brede yeliche square and longe,
Hegged and dyked to make it sure and strong.

Alle the aleis were made playne with sond,
The benches turned with newe turvis grene,
Sote herbers, withe condite at the honde,
That wellid up agayne the sonne shene,
Lyke silver stremes as any cristalle clene,
The burbly wawes in up boyling,

Rounde as byralle ther beamys out shynynge.

Amyddis the gardeyn stode a fressh lawrer,

Theron a bird syngyng bothe day and nyghte,'
With shynnyng fedres brightar than the golde weere,
Whiche with hir song made hevy hertes lighte,
That to beholde it was an hevenly sighte,
How toward evyn and in the dawnyng,

She ded her payne most amourously to synge.

Esperus enforced hir corage,

Toward evyn whan Phebus gan to west,
And the braunches to hir avauntage,
To syng hir complyn and than go to rest;
And at the rysing of the quene Alcest,
To synge agayne, as was hir due,
Erly on morowe the day sterre to salue.

It was a verray hevenly melodye,

Evyne and morowe to here the byrddis songe,
And the soote sugred armonye,

Of uncouthe varblys and tunys drawen on longe,
That al the gardeyne of the noyse rong,

Til on a morwe, whan Tytan shone ful clere,
The birdd was trapped and kaute with a pantere.

The chorle was gladde that he this birdde hadde take,
Mery of chere, of looke, and of visage,
And in al haste he cast for to make,
Within his house a pratie litelle cage,
And with hir songe to rejoise his corage,
Til at the last the sely birdde abrayed,
And sobirly unto the chorle she sayde.

"I am now take and stand undir daunger,
Holde straite that I may not fle,

Adieu, my songe and alle notes clere,
Now that I have lost my liberté,

Now am I thralle that somtyme was fre,
And trust while I stand in distresse,

I canne not synge ner make gladnesse.

"And thowe my cage forged were with golde, And the pynacles of birrale and cristale,

I remembre a proverd said of olde,

Who lesethe his fredam, in faith! he loseth all, For I hadd levyr upon a braunche smale, Mekely to singe amonge the wodes grene, Than in a cage of silver brighte and shene.

66

Songe and prison have noon accordaunce, Trowest thou I wolle syng in prisoun ? Song procedethe of joy and of plesaunce, And prison causethe dethe and destruccioun ; Rynging of fetires makethe no mery sounde, Or how shuld he be gladde or jocounde Agayne his wylle, that ligthe in chaynes bounde.

"What avaylethe it a lyon to be kyng
Of bestes, alle shette in a towre of stone,
Or an egle, undir strayte kepyng,
Called also king of fowles everichone;
Fy on lordshippe whan liberté is gone,
Answere herto and lat it not asterte,

Who syngeth merily that syngeth not of herte?

"But if thou wilte rejoise of my syngyng,

Lat me go flye free from al daunger,
And every day in the mornyng,

I shall repayre unto thi lawrer,

And freshly syng withe lusty notes clere,
Undir thy chambire or afore thyne halle,
Every season whane thou list me calle.