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Directions for Cultivating a Hop-garden.

Whom fancy persuadeth, among other crops, To have for his spending sufficient of hops, Must willingly follow, of choices to choose, Such lessons approved, as skilful do use.

Ground gravelly, sandy, and mixed with clay,
Is naughty for hops, any manner of way.
Or if it be mingled with rubbish and stone,
For dryness and barrenness let it alone.

Choose soil for the hop of the rottenest mould,

Well dunged and wrought, as a garden-plot should;

Not far from the water, but not overflown,
This lesson, well noted, is meet to be known.

The sun in the south, or else southly and west,
Is joy to the hop, as a welcomed guest;
But wind in the north, or else northerly east,
To the hop is as ill as a fay in a feast.

Meet plot for a hop-yard once found as is told, Make thereof account, as of jewel of gold; Now dig it, and leave it, the sun for to burn, And afterwards fence it, to serve for that turn.

The hop for his profit I thus do exalt,
It strengtheneth drink, and it favoureth malt;
And being well brewed, long kept it will last,
And drawing abide-if ye draw not too fast.

Housewifely Physic.

'Good huswife provides, ere a sickness do come,
Of sundry good things in her house to have some.
Good Aqua composita, and vinegar tart,
Rose-water, and treacle, to comfort thine heart.
Cold herbs in her garden, for agues that burn,
That over-strong heat to good temper may turn.
White endive, and succory, with spinach enow;
All such with good pot-herbs, should follow the plough.
Get water of fumitory, liver to cool,
And others the like, or else lie like a fool.
Conserves of barbary, quinces, and such,
With syrups, that easeth the sickly so much.
Ask Medicus' counsel, ere medicine ye take,
And honour that man for necessity's sake.
Though thousands hate physic, because of the cost,
Yet thousands it helpeth, that else should be lost,
Good broth, and good keeping, do much now and then:
Good diet, with wisdom, best comforteth man.
In health, to be stirring shall profit thee best;
In sickness, hate trouble; seek quiet and rest.
Remember thy soul; let no fancy prevail
Make ready to God-ward; let faith never quail :
The sooner thyself thou submittest to God,
The sooner he ceaseth to scourge with his rod.

Moral Reflections on the Wind.

Though winds do rage, as winds were wood,1
And cause spring-tides to raise great flood;
And lofty ships leave anchor in mud,
Bereaving many of life and of blood;
Yet, true it is, as cow chews cud,
And trees, at spring, doth yield forth bud,
Except wind stands as never it stood,
It is an ill wind turns none to good.

1 Mad.


The difference between the English and Scottish languages had now become decided. In Barbour and Wyntoun, the variation is very slight; but before another century had elapsed, the northern dialect was a separate and independent speech. This distinction had probably existed long before in the spoken language of the people; but it was only developed in poetry in the writings of Henryson, Dunbar, and Lyndsay. The Anglo-Saxon element predominated in the north, and it was of poetry. Dunbar is a vigorous imaginative poet, proved to be not unfitted for the higher purposes greater than any that had appeared since the days of Chaucer, and only wanting a little more chivalrous feeling and a finer tone of humanity to rival the father of English verse.


This chivalrous Scottish prince was born in 1394. In order to save him from the unscrupulous hands of his uncle, the Duke of Albany, James was privately despatched to the court of Charles VI. of France, but the vessel in which he embarked was seized off the coast of Norfolk, and the young prince, then in his eleventh year, was forcibly detained by Henry IV. of England. This act of gross injustice completed the calamities of the infirm and imbecile King Robert III. of Scotland, who sank under the blow, and it led to the captivity of James for more than eighteen years. Henry, however, furnished the captive prince with liberal means of instruction. In all the learning and polite accomplishments of the English court he became a proficient, excelling not only in knightly and athletic exercises, but in the science of music and in acquaintance with the classic and romantic poets. Chaucer and Gower he studied closely. Original composition followed; and there are few finer strains than those with which James soothed his hours of solitary restraint within Windsor Tower. His description of the small garden which lay before his chamber windowonce the moat of the Tower-and the first glimpse he there obtained of his future queen, the Lady Joan Beaufort, form a beautiful and touching episode in our literary annals. James obtained his release, married the Lady Joan in February 1424, and in May of the same year was crowned king of Scotland-the most accomplished prince of his age, to rule over a turbulent and distracted country. He set himself vigorously to reduce the power of the profligate nobles, and to insure the faithful administration of justice, resolving, as he said, that the key should keep the castle, and the bush secure the cow. The sentiment was worthy a prince; but James pursued his measures, in some instances, too far, and clouded the aspect of justice with ineffaceable stains of cruelty and vengeance. A conspiracy was formed against him (the chief actor in which was his uncle, Walter Stuart, Earl of Athole), and he was assassinated at Perth, on the 20th of February 1437.

The principal poem of James I. is entitled The King's Quhair, meaning the King's Quire, or Book. Only one MS. of the poem (which extends to nearly 1400 lines) is extant, preserved in the Bodleian

Library, Oxford, and was printed in 1783, edited by William Tytler, Lord Woodhouselee. The subject is the royal poet's love for Lady Joan Beaufort, described in the allegorical style of the age, in the manner of Chaucer, and with much fine description, sentiment, and poetical fancy. It places James high in the rank of romantic poets. Two humorous Scottish poems are also ascribed to him-Christis Kirk on the Grene, and Peblis to the Play, both descriptive of rustic sports and pastimes, and the former ridiculing the Scottish want of skill in archery. They are excellent though coarse, humorous poems. The claim of James to the authorship of either has, however, been disputed, though it seems supported—at least in the case of Christis Kirk on the Grene-by good testimony. The style has certainly a more modern cast than would be looked for, but no claimant more probable than James I. has yet been named; and Sir Walter Scott-as well as Tytler and others-unhesitatingly ascribes Christis Kirk on the Grene to the royal poet. In the following quotation, and subsequent extracts, the spelling is modernised:

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And in my head I drew right hastily,
And eftesoons I leant it out again,
And saw her walk that very womanly,
With no wight mo', but only women twain.
Then gan I study in myself, and sayn: 1
'Ah, sweet! are ye a worldly creature,
Or heavenly thing in likeness of nature?

'Or are ye god Cupidis own princess,
And comin are to loose me out of band?
Or are ye very Nature the goddess,
That have depainted with your heavenly hand,
This garden full of flowers as they stand?
What shall I think, alas! what reverence
Shall I mister 2 unto your excellence?

'If ye a goddess be, and that ye like
To do me pain, I may it not astart:3
If ye be warldly wight, that doth me sike,
Why list God make you so, my dearest heart,
To do a seely prisoner this smart,
That loves you all, and wot of nought but woe?
And therefore mercy, sweet! sin' it is so.'

Of her array the form if I shall write,
Towards her golden hair and rich attire,
In fretwise couchit with pearlis white
And great balas 8 leaming as the fire,
With mony ane emeraut and fair sapphire;
And on her head a chaplet fresh of hue,
Of plumis parted red, and white, and blue.

Full of quaking spangis bright as gold,
Forged of shape like to the amorets,
So new, so fresh, so pleasant to behold,
The plumis eke like to the flower jonets,10
And other of shape, like to the flower jonets;
And above all this, there was, well I wot,
Beauty enough to make a world to dote.

About her neck, white as the fire amail,11
A goodly chain of small orfevory, 12
Whereby there hung a ruby, without fail,
Like to ane heart shapen verily,
That as a spark of low,13 so wantonly
Seemed burning upon her white throat,
Now if there was good party,14 God it wot.

And for to walk that fresh May's morrow,
Ane hook she had upon her tissue white,
That goodlier had not been seen to-forow,15
As I suppose; and girt she was alite,16
Thus halflings loose for haste, to such delight
It was to see her youth in good lihede,
That for rudeness to speak thereof I dread.

In her was youth, beauty, with humble aport,
Bounty, richess, and womanly feature,
God better wot than my pen can report:
Wisdom, largess, estate, and cunning 17 sure,
In every point so guided her measure,
In word, in deed, in shape, in countenance,
That Nature might no more her child avance! ...

And when she walked had a little thraw
Under the sweete greene boughis bent,
Her fair fresh face, as white as any snaw,
She turned has, and furth her wayis went ;
But tho began mine aches and torment,
To see her part and follow I na might;
Methought the day was turned into night.

2 Minister.

6 Wretched.

1 Say.

5 Pleased.

8 A kind of precious stone. 10 A kind of lily. It is conjectured that the royal poet may here allude covertly to the name of his mistress, which, in the diminutive, was Janet or Jonet.-Thomson's Edition of King's Quhair (Ayr, 1824). 11 Enamel. 15 Before.

14 Match.

12 Gold-work. 16 Slightly.

3 Fly. 4 Makes me sigh. 7 Inlaid like fret-work. 9 Glittering.

13 Flame. 17 Knowledge.

subjoin his strong arm and terrible sword, and delighting opening in the sufferings of his enemies. In the following passage, we have this relentless spirit blazing forth:

Of the lighter poems of King James, we a specimen. The following are the stanzas of Christ's Kirk of the Green:

Was never in Scotland heard nor seen
Sic dancing nor deray,1
Nouther at Falkland on the Green,
Nor Peebliss at the Play,2
As was of wooers, as I ween,

At Christ's Kirk on ane day :
There came our Kittys, washen clean,
In their new kirtles of gray,
Full gay,
At Christ's Kirk of the Green that day.

To dance thir damsellis them dight,
Thir lasses light of laits,3

Their gloves were of the raffel right,*
Their shoon were of the Straits,
Their kirtles were of Lincoln light,

Weel prest with many plaits.
They were so nice when men them nicht,
They squealit like ony gaits?
Sa loud
At Christ's Kirk of the Green that day.

Of all thir maidens mild as mead,
Was nane so jimp as Gillie,
As ony rose her rood was red,
Her lyre was like the lily.
Fu' yellow, yellow was her head,

But she of love was silly;
Though all her kin had sworn her dead,
She would have but sweet Willie

At Christ's Kirk of the Green that day.


The Adventures of Sir William Wallace, written about 1460, by a wandering poet usually called BLIND HARRY, enjoyed great popularity up to our own time. Of the author, nothing is known but that he was blind from his infancy; that he wrote this poem, and made a living by reciting it, or parts of it, before company. It is said by himself to be founded on a narrative of the life of Wallace, written in Latin by Arnold Blair, chaplain to the Scottish hero, and which, if it ever existed, is now lost. The chief materials, however, have evidently been the traditionary stories told respecting Wallace in the minstrel's own time, which was a century and a half subsequent to that of the hero. In this respect, The Wallace resembles The Bruce; but the longer time which had elapsed, the lettered character of the author, and the comparative humility of the class from whom he would chiefly derive his facts, made it inevitable that the work should be much less of a historical document than that of the learned archdeacon of Aberdeen. It is, in reality, such an account of Wallace as might be expected of Montrose or Dundee from some unlettered but ingenious poet of the present day, who should consult only Highland tradition for his authority. Harry's Wallace is a merciless champion, for ever hewing down the English with

Some of the incidents in Harry's narrative are so palpably absurd (such as the siege of York, the visit of the queen of England to Wallace's camp with her offer of £3000 in gold, and the combats of Wallace with the French champions and the lion), that they could never have been intended to be received as matters of real history. That Wallace was in France, however, has been confirmed by the discovery of authentic evidence. All the editors conclude that as Harry could not himself, from his blindness, have written out the work, it may have suffered greatly from amanuenses or transcribers; but they have not attended to dates. The only manuscript of the work which exists is dated 1488, and was written by that careful but obscure scribe, John Ramsay, who also transcribed Barbour's Bruce. The blind minstrel was in existence four years after the date of Ramsay's manuscript, as we know from the treasurer's books of the reign of James IV.; and Ramsay had most likely the benefit of the author's revision—perhaps took it down from his recitation. Few copies would be made of a poem extending to 11,858 lines, and this fact shews how enthusiastic and gifted must have been the blind bard who could compose and retain in his memory a poem of such length, and so various in its incidents and descriptions. The poem is in ten-syllable lines, the epic verse of a later age, and it is not deficient in poetical effect or elevated sentiment. A vulgar paraphrase of it into modern Scotch, by William Hamilton of Gilbertfield, has long been a favourite un-volume amongst the Scottish peasantry: it was the study of this book which had so great an effect in kindling the patriotic ardour and genius of Burns.

1 Merriment, disorder (from the French derayer).

2 At Falkland and Peebles, archery and other games took place. 3 Light of manners. 4 Supposed to be from ra or rae, a roe deer, and fell, a skin. 5 Shoes of morocco leather from the Straits.

Storming of Dunnottar Castle.

6 Came nigh them.

7 Goats.

8 Those parts of the face which in youth and health have a ruddy colour.-Jamieson. 9 Flesh, skin (Ang.-Sax. lira).

Wallace on fire gart set all hastily,

Brunt up the kirk, and all that was therein.
Attour the rock the lave1 ran with great din.
Some hang on crags right dolefully to dee,
Some lap, some fell, some flottered on the sea.
Na Southeron in life was leaved in that hauld,
And them within they brunt in powder cauld.
When this was done feill fell on kneeis down,
At the bishop asked absolution.

Then Wallace leuch, said: 'I forgive you all ;
Are ye war men repentis for sae small?
They rued nocht us into the town of Ayr;
Our true barons when that they hangit there.'

As a specimen of the original orthography, we subjoin a few of the opening lines of the poem :

Our antecessouris, that we suld of reide,
And hald in mynde thar nobille worthi deide,
We lat ourslide, throw werray sleuthfulnes;
And castis ws euir till vthir besynes.
Till honour ennymys is our haile entent,
It has beyne seyne in thir tymys bywent;
Our ald ennymys, cummyn of Saxonys blud,
That neuyr yeit to Scotland wald do gud,
Bot euir on fors, and contrar haile thair will
Quhow gret kyndnes thar has beyne kyth thaim till.

2 Many (Ang.-Sax. feala).

1 The rest, the remainder.

Adventure of Wallace while Fishing in Irvine Water.

Wallace, near the commencement of his career, is living in hiding with his uncle, Sir Ranald Wallace of Riccarton, near Kilmarnock. To amuse himself, he goes to fish in the river Irvine, when the following adventure takes place :

So on a time he desired to play.

In Aperil the three-and-twenty day, Till Irvine water fish to tak he went ;

Sic fantasy fell into his intent.

To lead his net a child furth with him yede ;1
But he, or 2 noon, was in a felon dread.
His swerd he left, so did he never again;
It did him gude, suppose he suffered pain.
Of that labour as than he was not slie:
Happy he was, took fish abundantly.
Or of the day ten hours o'er couth pass.
Ridand there came, near by where Wallace was,
The Lord Percy, was captain then of Ayr;
Frae then' he turned, and couth to Glasgow fare.3
Part of the court had Wallace' labour seen,
Till him rade five, clad into ganand green,
And said soon: 'Scot, Martin's fish we wald have!'
Wallace meekly again answer him gave.
'It were reason, methink, ye should have part,
Waith should be dealt, in all place, with free heart.'
He bade his child, 'Give them of our waithing.'
The Southron said: 'As now of thy dealing
We will not tak; thou wald give us o'er small.'
He lighted down and frae the child took all,
Wallace said then: 'Gentlemen gif ye be,
Leave us some part, we pray for charity.
Ane aged knight serves our lady to-day:
Gude friend, leave part, and tak not all away.'
"Thou shall have leave to fish, and tak thee mae,
All this forsooth shall in our flitting gae.
We serve a lord; this fish shall till him gang.'
Wallace answered, said: "Thou art in the wrang.'
"Wham thous thou, Scot? in faith thou 'serves a blaw.'
Till him he ran, and out a swerd can draw.
William was wae he had nae wappins there
But the poutstaff, the whilk in hand he bare.
Wallace with it fast on the cheek him took,
With sae gude will, while of his feet he shook.
The swerd flew frae him a fur-breid on the land.
Wallace was glad, and hint it soon in hand;
And with the swerd awkward he him gave
Under the hat, his creig in sunder drave.
By that the lave lighted about Wallace,
He had no help, only but God's grace.
On either side full fast on him they dang,
Great peril was gif they had lasted lang.
Upon the head in great ire he strak ane;
The shearand swerd glade to the collar bane.
Ane other on the arm he hit so hardily,
While hand and swerd baith in the field can lie.
The tother twa fled to their horse again;
He stickit him was last upon the plain.

Three slew he there, twa fled with all their might
After their lord; but he was out of sight,
Takand the muir, or he and they couth twine.
Till him they rade anon, or they wald blin,?
And cryit: 'Lord, abide; your men are martyred down
Right cruelly, here in this false region.
Five of our court here at the water bade,8
Fish for to bring, though it nae profit made.
We are scaped, but in field slain are three.'

The lord speirit:9 How mony might they be?'
'We saw but ane that has discomfist us all.'
Then leugh 10 he loud, and said: 'Foul mot you fall!
Sin' ane you all has put to confusion.

Wha meins it maist the devil of hell him drown!

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This day for me, in faith, he bees not sought.'
When Wallace thus this worthy wark had wrought,
Their horse he took, and gear that left was there,
Gave ower that craft, he yede to fish nae mair.
Went till his eme, and tald him of this deed,
And he for woe well near worthit to weid,1
And said: 'Son, thir tidings sits me sore,
And, be it known, thou may tak scaith therefore.'
'Uncle,' he said, 'I will no langer bide,
Thir southland horse let see gif I can ride.'
Then but a child, him service for to mak,
His eme's sons he wald not with him tak.
This gude knight said: 'Dear cousin, pray I thee,
When thou wants gude, come fetch eneuch frae me.'
Silver and gold he gart on him give,
Wallace inclines, and gudely took his leave.

6 Rest. 9 Inquired.

The Ghost of Fawdoun.

One of Wallace's followers, Fawdoun, was of broken reputation, and held in suspicion; and while the Scots were pursued by a formidable party of English, led by a blood-hound, Wallace slew Fawdoun, and retreated to Gask Hall with a small party of thirteen


In the Gask Hall their lodging have they ta'en;
Fire gat they soon, but meat then had they nane.
Twa sheep they took beside them aff a fauld,
Ordained to sup into that seemly hauld,
Graithed in haste some food for them to dicht,
So heard they blaw rude hornis upon heicht.
Twa sent he forth to look what it micht be;
They bade richt lang, and no tidings heard he,
But bousteous noise so brimly blew and fast
So other twa into the wood furth passed.
Nane came again, but bouteously gan blaw;
Into great ire he sent them furth on raw.3
When he alane Wallace was leaved there,
The awful blast abounded meikle mair.
Then trowed he weel they had his lodging seen;
His sword he drew, of noble metal keen;

Syne furth he went whereat he heard the horn;
Without the door Fawdoun was him beforn,
As till his sight, his awn head in his hand ;
A cross he made, when he saw him so stand.
At Wallace in the head he swaket there ;*
And he in haste soon hint [it] by the hair,
Syne out again at him he could it cast;
Intill his heart he was greatly aghast.

Right weel he trowed that was no sprite of man!
It was some devil, at sic malice began.
He wist no weel there langer for to bide,

Up through the hall thus wight Wallace gan glide
Till a close stair; the boardis rave in twyne, 6
Fifteen feet large he lap out of that in ;7
Up the water suddenly he could fare,

Again he blent what 'pearance he saw there;
Him thocht he saw Fawdoun that ugly squire ;
That hail Hall he had sent in a fire;

A great rafter he had intill his hand.
Wallace as then no longer would he stand,
Of his gude men full great marvel had he,
How they were through his feil 10 fantasy
Traists richt weel all this was sooth indeed,
Suppose that it no point be of the creed,
Power they had with Lucifer that fell
The time when he parted frae heaven to hell.
By sic mischief gif his men might be lost,
Drownit or slain amang the English host;

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Or what it was in likeness of Fawdoun,
Whilk brocht his men to sudden confusion;
Or if the man ended in evil intent,
Some wicked spreit again for him present,
I can not speak of sic divinity;
To clerks I will let all sic matters be.

Robin sat on gude green hill,
Keepand a flock of fe:1
Merry Makyne said him till:

Robin, thou rue on me;
I have thee lovit loud and still
Thir years two or three;
My dule in dern but gif thou dill,"
Doubtless but dreid I de.'


Among the minor yet popular poets about the middle of the fifteenth century, was HOLLAND, author of The Buke of the Howlat (owl), an allegorical poem, containing an exhibition of the feathered tribes under a great variety of civil and ecclesiastical characters, to which is added a digression on the arms and exploits of the Douglases. Nothing is known of the author Makyne explained and pleaded, but her advocacy

was out of tune:

-not even his Christian name; but Mr David Laing, editor of the Howlat, supposes the poet to have been Sir Richard Holland, a priest, one of the followers of the exiled family of Douglas. The poem appears to have been written about 1453 at Ternoway (now Darnaway), on the banks of the Findhorn, the seat of the Earls of Moray; and it was composed to please the Countess of Moray, dowit, or wedded, to a Douglas. The story is taken from the fable of the jackdaw with borrowed feathers. It is but a very mediocre alliterative production.

There are other alliterative Scottish poems of the beginning and middle of the fifteenth century-as the Tale of Rauf Coilzear, alluded to by Dunbar and Gavin Douglas; the Awntyrs of Arthure, Orfeo and Heurodis, &c. A selection of these early pieces, twenty-five in number, all

from sources anterior to the close of the sixteenth century, was published by Mr Laing in 1822, with the title of Select Remains of Ancient Popular Poetry of Scotland.

But far surpassing these early and obscure worshippers of the native Muse, was Master ROBERT HENRYSON, a moral poet, in character not unlike the English poet Daniel-gentle, meditative, and observant. Of Henryson there are no personal memorials, except that he was chief schoolmaster at Dunfermline-perhaps, as Lord Hailes suggests, preceptor in the Benedictine convent there-and that he was admitted a member of the university of Glasgow in 1462, being described as the 'Venerable Master Robert Henrysone, licentiate in arts, and bachelor in decrees.' Mr Laing, who has edited the works of Henryson (Edinburgh, 1865), places the time of his decease towards the close of the century, when he was probably about seventy years of age. The principal works of Henryson are: Moral Fables of Esop, thirteen in number, with two prologues; Robene and Makyne, a pastoral; Orpheus and Eurydice, and The Testament of Cresseide, being a sequel to Chaucer's Troilus and Cressida. The last of these poems is the most important, but the pastoral of Robene and Makyne is believed to be the earliest production of the kind in our national poetry. It is a simple love dialogue between a shepherd and shepherdess. The old stock properties of the pastoral-the pipe and crook, the hanging grapes, spreading beech, and celestial purity of the golden age-find no place in the northern pastoral. Henryson's Robin sits on a good green 2 My grief in secret unless thou share. hill keeping his flock, and is most ungallantly (Ang.-Sax. dyrn, secret). insensible to the advances of Makyne:

1 Sheep.

Robin answered: 'By the Rood,
Na thing of love I knaw,
But keepis my sheep under yon wude,
Lo! where they rake on raw :3
What has marred thee in thy mood,
Makyne to me thou shaw?

Or what is love, or to be lo'ed,
Fain wad I lear that law.'

Robin on his wayis went,

As licht as leaf of tree;
Makyne mourned in her intent,

And trowed him never to see.
Robin brayed attour the bent,

Then Makyne cryed on hie:
'Now thou may sing, for I am shent,
What aileth love with me?'

The tables, however, are soon turned. Robin grew sick as Makyne grew well, and then she had the malicious satisfaction of rejecting him. This is the old story with the old moral, which, though pastoral poetry has long been dead, will never become obsolete. We subjoin part of the fable of the Town and Country Mouse, called by the poet The Uplandis Mous and the Burges Mous:

Extract from the Town and Country Mouse.
With treaty fair at last sho gart her rise;
To board they went, and down together sat,
But scantly had they drunken anes or twice,
When in cam Gib Huntér, our jolly cat,
And bade God speed. The burgess up then gat,
And till her hole she fled like fire frae flint;
Bawdrons the other by the back has hent.

Frae foot to foot he cast her to and frae,
While up, while down, as cant as ony kid;
While wald he let her run beneath the strae,
While wald he wink and play with her buik-hid;
Thus to the silly mouse great harm he did :
While at the last, through fair fortune and hap,
Betwixt the dresser and the wall she crap.

Syne up in haste behind the panneling,
Sae hie sho clam, that Gibby might not get her,
And by the cluiks craftily can hing,
Till he was gane, her cheer was all the better:
Syne down sho lap, when there was nane to let her;
Then on the burgess mous loud couth sho cry:
'Fareweel, sister, here I thy feast defy.

'Thy mangery is minget 5 all with care;
Thy guise is gude, thy gane-full sour as gall;
The fashion of thy feris is but fair,
So shall thou find hereafterward may fall.
I thank yon curtain, and yon parpane wall,
Of my defence now frae yon cruel beast;
Almighty God, keep me fra sic a feast!

Chaucer has derne love

3 Range in a row. 4 To hinder her; hence the phrase 'without let or hinderance.' 5 Mingled.

6 Companionship, or friendship.

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