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matter for serious reflection to some of y ers; I see no evidence that any other was required to sanction this decree, but of the king alone. Let us compare th with the present.

Proclamation of Edward, anno 131 EDWARD, by the grace of God king of Eng to all sheriffs, mayors, bailiffs of Franchise ing. For as much as we have heard an standed the greivious complaints of arch bishops, prelates, and barons, touching grea of victuals in our realm, We ordain, fro forward, that no ox stalled or corn-fed, be more than 23 s. no other grass-fed ox f than 16 s. a fat stalled cow at 12s. another worth, 10 s. a fat mutton, corn-fed, or who is well grown, twentypence, another fat fhorn, fourteenpence, a fat hog of two ye 3 s. 4 d. a fat goose twopence, in the city pence, a fat capon twopence, a fat hen one two chickens one penny, four pigeons one three in the city for one penny, twenty-four penny, twenty in the city a penny.

We ordain to all our sheriffs and our oth nisters whatsoever they be, that if any pers or sell, any of the things above named, cont our ordinance aforesaid, that the ware be fo and due penalty set upon them for their des Given at Westminster under our great se 14th day of March, in the 8th year of our r

MODERN MARRIAGE DELINEATED,
An old Scots song, never before publifhed.

ом

To the tune of the highway to Dublin.

I.

<< COME under my plaidy, the night's ga'en to fa'; "Come in frae the cauld blast, the drift and the snaw; "Come under my plaidy, and lie down beside me; "There's room in't, dear lafsie! believe me, for twa. "Come under my plaidy, and lie down beside me,, "I'll hap ye frae ev'ry cauld blast that will blaw: "O come under my plaidy, and lie doun beside me, "There's room in't, dear lafsie! believe me for twa."

II.

• Gae 'wa wi' your plaidy! auld Donald gae 'wa!
I fear na the cauld blast, the drift, nor the fnaw
Gae 'wa wi your plaidy! I'll no lie beside ye;
Ye may be my gutchard; auld Donald gae 'wa.
I'm ga'en to meet JOHNNY, he's young and he's bonny;
He's been at Meg's bridal, fou trig and fou braw!

O there's nane dance sae lightly, sae gracefu' sae tightly,
His cheek's like the new rose, his brow's like the snaw."

III.

"Dear MARION let that flee stick fast to the wa;
"Your Jack's but a gowk, and has naithing ava;
"The hale o' his pack, he has now on his back:
"He's thretty, and I am but threescore and tra.
"Be frank now and kindly: I'll bufk ye aye finely;
"At kirk or at market they'll few gang sae braw;
"A bein house to bide in, a chaise for to ride in,
"And flunkies to tend ye as aft as ye ca.'

IV.

'My father's ay tell'd me, my mither and a',
Ye'd mak a gude husband, and keep me ay braw;
It's true I loo Johnny, he's gude and he's bonny,
But waes me! ye ken he has naething ava!
I hae little tocher; you've made a gude offer;
'I'm now mair than twenty; my time is but sma'!
Sae gi me your plaidy; I'll creep in beside ye,
⚫ I thought ye'd been aulder than threescore and twa.

V.

She crap in ayont him, beside the stane wa'
Whar Johnny was list'ning and heard her tell a',
The day was appointed, his proud heart it dunted,
And strack 'gainst his side as if bursting in twa

He wander`d hame weary, the night it was dreary!
And thowlefs, he tint his gait deep 'mang the snaw:
The howlet was screaming, while Johnny cried, "Women
Wa'd
marry auld nick if he'd keep them ay bra'."

VI.

O the deel's in the lafses! they gang now sae bra',
They'll lie down wi auld men o' FOUR SCORE and twa;
The hale o 'this marriage, is gowd and a carriage;
Plain LUVE is the cauldest blast now that can blaw!
Yet doitards be wary, take tent how ye marry;
Young wives in their saddles will whip and will ca;

Oh they'll meet wi' some Johnny, that's youthfu' and bonny,
And gi ye something on ilk haft to claw.

GLEANINGS OF ANCIENT POETRY.

THOSE who believe that smooth numbers, and a regular recurrence of certain sounds, at stated intervals, constitute the whole of poetry, may pafs over the following poem; for it will not suit their taste. But such as think that the great end of poetry is to excite strong and vivid ideas, by delicately touching the sympathetic chords of the human mind, may peruse it without fear of being disappointed. They will indeed regret, that a person, whose natural feelings has suggested some of the tenderest and most unaffected exprefsions that are to be found in our language, fhould have been so very deficient in the general melody of sounds. For poetry never produces its fullest effect, but where the natural impafsioned tones, suggested by those ideas which totally fill the mind at the time, are allowed to be fully expanded without restraint. Had it not been for the swelling rotundity of Milton's numbers, his poems would now have been idolized like precious relics only by a few, instead of affording delight to persons of all ranks. Shakespeare, himself, would have been allowed to moulder on the fhelf, were it not for that inimitable talent he pofsefsed of uniting bold and delicate touches of nature, with that infinitely varied modulation of exprefsive tones, which every where occur in all his works.

Dr Henry King, the author of this piece, was bishop of Winchester, a clergyman of distinguished talents, and conspicuous piety: He was born anno 1591, and died anno 1669.

THE EXEQUY.

ACCEPT thou fhrine of my dead saint.

Instead of dirges this complaint;

And for sweet flowres to crown thy hearse,

Receive a strew of weeping verse

From thy griev'd friend, whom thou might'st see

Quite melted into tears for thee.

Dear lofs! since thy untimely fate

My task hath been to meditate

On thee, on thee: thou art the book,
The library whereon I look,

My exercise and bus'ness is:
So I compute the weary hours
With sighs difsolved into show'rs
Nor wonder if my time go thus
Backward and most preposterous;
Thou hast benighted me; thy set,
This eve of blacknefs did beget,
Who wast my day, (tho' overcast
Before thou hadst thy noontide past,)
And I remember must in tears,
Thou scarce hadst seen so many years
As day tells houres, by thy clear sun
My love and fortune first did run;
But thou wilt never more appear
Folded within my hemisphear,
Since both thy light and motion
Like a fled star is fall'n and gon;
And twixt me and my soule's dear wifh
The earth now interposed is,

Which such a strange eclipse doth make
As ne'er was read in almanake.

I could allow thee for a time

To darken me and my sad clime,
Were it a month, a year, or ten,
I would thy exile live till then;
And all that space my mirth adjourn,
So thou would'st promise to return;
And putting off thy afhy fhrowd
At length disperse this sorrow's cloud.
But woe is me! the longest date
Too narrow is to calculate,
These empty hopes: never fhall I
Be so much blest, as to descry

A glimpse of thee, till that day come.
Which fhall the earth to cinders doome,

And a fierce fever must calcine

The body of this world like thine,

(My little world) that fit of fire

Once off, our bodies fhall aspire

To our soule's blifs: then we shall rise,,
And view ourselves with cleerer eyes
In that calm region, where no night
Can hide us from each other's sight.

* * * * *

Sleep on, my love, in thy cold bed Never to be disquieted!

Stay for me there; I will not faile
To meet thee in that hollow vale.
And think not much of my delay:
I am already on the way,

And follow thee with all the speed.
Desire can make, or sorrows breed.
Each minute is a fhort degree,
And ev'ry houre a step towards thee.
At night when I betake to rest,
Next morn I rise neerer my west
Of life, almost by eight houres saile,
Then when sleep breath'd his drowsie gale.

*

The thought of this bids me go on, And wait my dissolution

With hope and comfort, dear (forgive

The crime) I am content to live

Divided, with but half a heart,

Till we shall meet and never part.

THE ROSE.

THE rose had been wash'd, just wash'd in a fhow'r,
Which Marry to Anna convey'd,

The plentiful moisture encumber'd the flow'r,
And weigh'd down its beautiful head.

The cup was all fill'd, and the leaves were all wet,
And it seem'd, to a fanciful view,

To weep for the buds it had left with regret
On the flourishing bush where it grew.

I hastily seiz'd it, unfit as it was

For a nosegay, so drooping and drown'd,
And wringing it rudely, too rudely, alas!
I snapt it, it fell to the ground.

And such, I exclaim'd, is the pitylefs part
Some act by the delicate mind,
Regardless of wringing and breaking a heart
Already to sorrow resign'd.

This elegant rose, had I fhaken it less,
Might have bloom'd with its owner a while;
And a tear that is wip'd with a little address
May be follow'd, perhaps, by a smile.

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