nany of his productions show a laxity of principle which might justify the supposition. The best qualities in his character were the negative ones of temperance and affection for his family, to whom he sent small presents out of his first gains, and always spoke of their welfare as one of the principal ends of his exertions. But what deeper affliction could he have brought upon them than that caused by the last act of his life? His sister says, that "he was a lover of truth from the earliest dawn of reason;" yet his life was one continued career of deception. He is to be pitied for his misfortunes, and admired for his genius; but, with Kirke White in our remembrance, we could wish to forget all else that belonged to Chatterton. BRISTOWE TRAGEDIE; OR, THE DETHE OF SYR CHARLES BAWDIN. THE featherd songster chaunticleer Han wounde hys bugle horne, And tolde the earlie villager The commynge of the morne : Kynge Edwarde sawe the ruddie streakes And herde the raven's crokynge throte "Thou'rt ryght," quod he, "for, by the Godde That syttes enthroned on hyghe! Charles Bawdin, and hys fellowes twaine, Thenne wythe a jugge of nappy ale Hys knyghtes dydd onne hymm waite; "Goe tell the traytour, thatt to-daie Hee leaves thys mortall state." And to Syr Charles dydd goe. But whenne hee came, hys children twaine, And eke hys lovynge wyfe, Wythe brinie tears dydd wett the floore, For goode Syr Charleses lyfe. "O goode Syr Charles!" sayd Canterlone, "Badde tydyngs I doe brynge." My nobile leige! alle my request Ys for a nobile knyghte, Who, though may hap hee has donne wronge, 44 He thoughte ytte stylle was ryghte: Hee has a spouse and children twaine; Alle rewyn'd are for aie, Yff that you are resolved to lett "Speke not of such a traytour vile," "Justice does loudlie for hym calle, And hee shalle have hys meede : Speke, Maister Canynge! whatte thynge else Att present doe you neede?" "My nobile leige!" goode Canynge sayde, Leave justice to our Godde, And laye the yronne rule asyde; Be thyne the oly ve rodde. "Was Godde to serche our hertes and reines, The best were synners grete; Speke boldlie, manne," sayd brave Syr Charles, Christ's vicarr only knowes ne synne, Whatte says the traytour kynge?" Ynne all thys mortall state. "Lett mercie rule thyne infante reigne, "Twylle faste thye crowne fulle sure; From race to race thye familie Alle sovereigns shall endure: "But yff wythe bloode and slanghter thou Beginne thy infante reigne, Thy crowne upponne thy childrennes brows Wylle never long remayne." "Canynge, awaie! By Godde ynne heaven Thatt dydd mee being gyve I wylle nott taste a bitt of breade "By Marie, and alle seinctes ynne heaven, Wyth herte brymm-fulle of gnawynge grief, And sat hymm downe uponne a stoole, 'Wee all must die," quod brave Syr Charles; "Say why, my friende, thie honest soul Runns over att thyne eye; Quod godlie Canynge, "I doe weepe, And leave thy sonnes and helpless wyfe; "Thenne drie the tears thatt out thyne eye "Whan through the tyrant's welcome means The Godde I serve wylle soone provyde 44 For bothe my sonnes and wyfe. Before I sawe the lyghtsome sunne, Shall mortall manne repyne or grudge Howe oft ynne battaile have I stoode, Whan smokynge streemes of crimson bloode Imbrew'd the fatten'd grounde: "Howe dydd I knowe thatt every darte, "And shall I nowe, forr feere of dethe, "Ah, goddelyke Henry! Godde forefende, 'My honest friende, my faulte has beene To serve Godde and my prynce; And thatt I no tyme-server am, My dethe wylle soone convynce. "Ynne Londonne citye was I borne, "I make no doubte butt hee ys gone, Where soone I hope to goe; Where wee for ever shall bee blest, From oute the reech of woe. "Hee taughte mee justice and the laws And eke hee taughte mee howe to knowe Ne lett mye sarvants dryve awaie The hungrie fromm my doore: "And none can saye but alle mye lyfe "I have a spouse, goe aske of her I have a kynge, and none can laie "Yune Lent, and onne the holie eve, "Ne, hapless Henrie! I rejoyce Saie, were ye tyred of godlie peace, And godlie Henrie's reigne, Thatt you dydd choppe your easie daies For those of bloude and peyne? "Whatte though I onne a sledde be drawne, And mangled by a hynde, I doe defye the traytour's power, Hee can ne harm my mynde ; Whatte though, uphoisted onne a pole, "Yett ynne the holie book above, Whyche tyme can't eate awaie, There wythe the sarvants of the Lord "Thenne welcome dethe! for lyfe eterne I leave thys mortall lyfe : Farewell vayne worlde, and all that's deare Mye sonnes and lovynge wyfe! "Nowe dethe as welcome to mee comes Nor woulde I even wyshe to lyve, Quod Canynge, ""Tys a goodlie thynge And from thys worlde of peyne and grefe And nowe the belle began to tolle, And claryonnes to sound; Syr Charles hee herde the horses feete A prauncyng onne the grounde: And just before the officers His lovynge wyfe came ynne, Weepynge unfeigned teers of woe, Wythe loude and dysmalle dynne. "Sweet Florence! nowe I praie forbere, Ynn quiet lett mee die ; Praie Godde that every Christian soule "Sweet Florence! why these brinie teers? ""Tys butt a journie I shalle goe Untoe the lande of blysse; Thenne Florence, fault'ring ynne her saie, Ah, sweete Syr Charles! why wylt thou goe And nowe the officers came ynne "I goe to lyfe, and nott to dethe; Truste thou ynne Godde above, Florence! should dethe thee take-adieu ! Thenne Florence raved as anie madde, 66 Oh, staie mye husbande, lorde, and lyfe!"- "Tyll tyredd oute wythe ravynge loude, The Freers of Seincte Augustyne next Alle cladd ynne homelie russett weedes, Ynne diffraunt partes a godlie psaume Moste sweetlie theye dydd chaunt; Behynde theyre backes syx mynstrelles came, Who tuned the strunge bataunt. Thenne fyve-and-twenty archers came; Bolde as a lyon came Syr Charles, Drawne onne a cloth-ladye sledde. Behynde hym fyve-and-twenty moe Seincte Jameses Freers marched next, Thenne came the maior and eldermenne, And after them a multitude Of citizenns dydd thronge; The wyndowes were alle fulle of heddes And whenne hee came to the hyghe crosse, 44 O Thou thatt savest manne fromme synne, Washe mye soule clean thys daie!" Att the grete mynster wyndowe sat The kynge ynne myckle state, To see Charles Bawdin goe alonge Soone as the sledde drewe nyghe enowe, Thatt Edwarde hee myghte heare, The brave Syr Charles hee dydd stande uppe, Butt bee assured, disloyall manne! 64 I'm greaterr nowe thanne thee. Bye foule proceedyngs, murdre, bloude, Thou wearest nowe a crowne; And hast appoynted mee to die, "Thou thynkest I shall dye to-daie ; I have beene dede till nowe, And soone shall lyve to weare a crowne "Whylst thou, perhapps, for some few yeares, Shalt rule thys fickle lande, To lett them knowe howe wyde the rule "Twixt kynge and tyrante hande : Kynge Edwarde's soule rush'd to hys face, And to hys broder Gloucester "To hym that soe-much-dreaded dethe Beholde the manne! hee spake the truthe, Hee's greater thanne a kynge!" Soe lett hym die!" Duke Richarde sayde; • And maye echone oure foes Bende downe theyre neckes to bloudie axe, And feede the carryon crowes.' And nowe the horses gentlie drewe Syr Charles uppe the hyghe hylle; Syr Charles dydd uppe the scaffold goe, Of victorye, bye val'rous chiefs And to the people hee dyd saie, 44 Beholde you see mee dye, For servynge loyally mye kynge, Mye kynge most ryghtfullie. As longe as Edwarde rules thys lande, Your sonnes and husbandes shalle bee slayne. "You leave your goode and lawfulle kynge, Lyke mee, untoe the true cause stycke, Thenne kneelynge downe, hee layde hys hedde, And oute the bloude beganne to flowe, The blondie axe hys bodie fayre Ynnto foure partes cutte; One parte dyd rotte onne Kynwulph-hylle, The other onne Seyncte Powle's goode gate, Hys hedde was placed onne the hyghe crosse, Thus was the ende of Bawdin's fate : And grante hee maye, wyth Bawdin's soule, MYNSTRELLES SONGE. O! synge untoe mie roundelaie, Al under the wyllowe tree. Blacke hys cryne as the wyntere nyghte, Gon to hys death-bedde, Al under the wyllowe tree. Swote hys tongue as the throstles note, O! hee lyes bie the wyllowe tree : Gonne to hys death-bedde, Al under the wyllowe tree. Harke, the ravenne flappes hys wynge, Ynne the briered delle belowe ; Gonne to hys death-bedde, See the whyte moone sheenes onne hie, Gon to hys death-bedde, Al under the wyllowe tree. Heere uponne mie true love's grave, Mie love ys dedde, Al under the wyllowe tree. Wythe mie hondes I'll dente the brieres Gon to hys death-bedde, Al under the wyllowe tree. Comme, wythe acorne-coppe and thorne, Mie love ys dedde, Waterre wytches, crownede wythe reytes I die I comme; mie true love waytes.- WILLIAM GIFFORD. farthing on earth, nor a friend to give me one; pen, ink, and paper, therefore, (in despite of the flippant remark of Lord Orford,) were, for the most part, as completely out of my reach as a crown and sceptre. There was, indeed, a resource; but the utmost caution and secrecy were necessary in applying to it. I beat out pieces of leather as smooth as possible, and wrought my problems on them with a blunted awl; for the rest, my memory was tenacious, and I could multiply and divide by it to a great extent." WILLIAM GIFFORD, the son of a plumber and glazier, who dissipated his property by intemperance and extravagance, was born at Ashburton, in Devonshire, in April, 1755. He lost his father when only twelve years of age, and in about a year afterward his mother died, leaving himself and an infant brother, " without a relation or friend in the world." The latter was sent to the workhouse, and the subject of our memoir was received into the house of his godfather, who put him to school for about three months, but at the end of that period took him home, with the view of employing him as a ploughboy. Being unfitted, however, for this occupation, by an injury on his breast, he was sent to sea in a coasting vessel, in which he remained for nearly a year. "It will be easily conceived," he says in his autobiography, that my life was a life of hardship. I was not only a ship-boy on the high and giddy mast,' but also in the cabin, where every menial office fell to my lot; yet, if I was restless and discontented, I can safely say it was not so much on account of this, as of my being precluded from all possi-tomers, seized upon his books and papers, and probility of reading; as my master did not possess, nor do I recollect seeing, during the whole time of my abode with him, a single book of any description, except the Coasting Pilot." serves," Under the same unfavourable circumstances, he composed and recited to his associates small pieces of poetry, and, being at last invited to repeat them to other circles, little collections were made for him, which, he says, sometimes produced him "as much as sixpence in an evening." The sums which he thus obtained, he devoted to the purchase of pens, paper, &c.; books of geometry, and of the higher branches of algebra; but his master, finding that he had, in some of the verses before mentioned, satirized both himself and his cus hibited him from again repeating a line of his com positions. At length, in the sixth year of his apprenticeship, his lamentable doggerel, as he terms it, having reached the ears of Mr. Cookesley, a surgeon, that gentleman set on foot "a subscription for purchasing the remainder of the time of William Gifford, and for enabling him to improve himself in writing and English grammar." He was at length recalled by his godfather, and again put to school, where he made such rapid progress, that in a few months he was qualified to assist his master in any extraordinary emergency; and, although only in his fifteenth year, began to He now quitted shoemaking, and entered the think of turning instructer himself. His plans school of the Rev. Thomas Smerdon; and in two were, however, treated with contempt by his years and two months from what he calls the day guardian, who apprenticed him to a shoemaker, at of his emancipation, he had made such progress, Ashburton, to whom our author went "in sullen- that his master declared him to be fit for the uniness and in silence," and with a perfect hatred of versity. He was accordingly sent by Mr. Cookeshis new occupation. His favourite pursuit at this ley to Oxford, where he obtained, by the exertions time was arithmetic, and the manner in which he of the same gentleman, the office of Bible reader continued to extend his knowledge of that science at Exeter College, of which he was entered a is thus related by himself: "I possessed," he ob- member. Here he pursued his studies with unrebut one book in the world; it was a trea- mitting diligence, and had already commenced his tise on algebra, given to me by a young woman, poetical translation of the Satires of Juvenal, when who had found it in a lodging-house. I considered the death of Mr. Cookesley interrupted the progress it as a treasure, but it was a treasure locked up; of the work. A fortunate accident procured him for it supposed the reader to be well acquainted a new patron in Earl Grosvenor, in whose family with simple equations, and I knew nothing of the he for some time resided, and afterward accommatter. My master's son had purchased Fenning's panied to the continent his son, Lord Belgrave. Introduction: this was precisely what I wanted; On his return to England, he settled in London, but he carefully concealed it from me, and I was and, devoting himself to literary pursuits, publishindebted to chance alone for stumbling on his ed, in 1791, and 1794, successively, his poetical hiding-place. I sat up for the greatest part of satires, the Baviad, and the Mæviad; the one several nights successively; and, before he sus-containing an attack on the drama, and the other pected his treatise was discovered, had completely an invective against the favourite poets of the day. mastered it. I could now enter upon my own: and that carried me pretty far into the science. This was not done without difficulty. I had not a In 1800, he published his Epistle to Peter Pindar, in which he charged the satirist with blasphemy; and Wolcot accused him of obscenity This led to 162 |