Then home rode the Abbot, of comfort so cold,
And he met his shepherd a-going to fold:
How now! my Lord Abbot, you are welcome home,
What news do you bring us from good King John?

Sad news, sad news, shepherd, I must give,-
That I have but three days more to live:
For if I do not answer him questions three,
My head will be smitten from my body.

The first is, to tell him, there in that stead,
With his crown of gold so fair on his head,
Among all his liege men so noble of birth,
To within one penny of what he is worth.

The second, to tell him, without any doubt,
How soon he may ride this whole world about;
And at the third question I must not shrink,
But tell him there truly what he does think.

Now cheer up, Sir Abbot,-did you never hear yet,
That a fool he may learn a wise man wit?
Lend me horse, and serving-men, and your apparel,
And I'll ride to London, to answer your quarrel.

Nay, frown not, if it hath been told unto me,

I am like your Lordship as ever may be :
And if you will but lend me your gown,
There is none shall know us at fair London town.

Now horses and serving-men thou shalt have,
With sumptuous array, most gallant and brave,—
With crozier and mitre, and rochet and cope,-
Fit to appear 'fore our father the Pope.

Now welcome, Sir Abbot, the King he did say,
'Tis well thou 'rt come back to keep thy day:
For, and if thou canst answer my questions three,
Thy life and thy living both saved shall be.

And first, when thou seest me here in this stead,
With my crown of gold so fair on my head,
Among all my liege men so noble of birth,
Tell me, to one penny, what I am worth.

For thirty pence Our Saviour was sold
Among the false Jews, as I have been told,
And twenty-nine is the worth of thee,

For I think, thou art one penny worser than he.

The King he laughed, and swore by St. Bittel,
I did not think I had been worth so little :
Now secondly tell me, without any doubt,
How soon I may ride this whole world about.

You must rise with the sun, and ride with the same,
Until the next morning he riseth again,

And then your Grace need not make any doubt,
But in twenty-four hours you will ride it about.

The king he laughed, and swore by St. Jone,
I did not think it could be gone so soon:
Now from the third question thou must not shrink,
But tell me here truly what I do think.

Yea, that shall I do, and make your Grace merry-
You think I'm the Abbot of Canterbury,
But I'm his poor shepherd, as plain you may see,
That am come to beg pardon for him and for me.

The king he laughed, and swore by the mass,

I will make thee Lord Abbot this day in his place :
Now stay, my liege, be not in such speed,
For alack! I can neither write nor read.

Four nobles a week then, I will give thee,
For this merry jest thou hast shewn unto me;
And tell the old Abbot when thou comest home,

Thou hast brought him a pardon from good King John. PERCY.

VALENTINE AND URSINE.

THE common story of Valentine and Orson, was originally a translation from one of the oldest French romances, probably of the Thirteenth Century. It is likely that some facts were the groundwork, with a plentiful sprinkling of marvellous fable. In Dr. Percy's MS. was an old poem on this subject, in a very corrupt state, from which a few particulars were adopted by him, and the greater part of the rest taken from the prose story.

WHEN Flora 'gins to deck the fields
With colours fresh and fine,
Then holy clerks their matins sing,
To good Saint Valentine.

The King of France* that morning fair,
He would a hunting ride :

To Artoy's forest prancing forth,
In all his princely pride.

Το

grace his sports, a courtly train

Of gallant peers attend;

And with their loud and cheerful cries,

The hills and valleys rend.

* Afterwards called King Pepin; he reigned in the middle of the Eighth Century, and was the father of the great Charlemagne.

Through the deep forest swift they pass,

Through woods and thickets wild; When down within a lonely dell,

They found a new-born child.

The sudden sight surprised them all,
The courtiers gathered round;
They look, they call, the mother seek,—
No mother could be found.

At length the king himself drew near, And as he gazing stands,

The pretty babe looked up and smiled, And stretched his little hands.

Now, by the rood! King Pepin says,
This child is passing fair;

I wot he is of gentle blood,
Perhaps some prince's heir.

Go bear him home unto my court,
With all the care ye may;
Let him be christened Valentine,

In honour of this day.

And look me out some cunning nurse,

Well nurtured let him be;

Nor aught be wanting that becomes,
A bairn of high degree.

They look him out a cunning nurse,
And nurtured well was he;
Nor aught was wanting that became,
A bairn of high degree.

Thus grew the little Valentine,

Beloved of king and peers;
And shewed in all he spake or did,

A wit beyond his years.

But chief in gallant feats of arms
He did himself advance,

That ere he grew to man's estate
He had no peer in France.

And now the early down began,
To shade his youthful chin;
When Valentine was dubbed a knight,
That he might glory win.

A boon! boon! my gracious liege,
I beg a boon of thee;

The first adventure that befalls

May be reserved for me.

The first adventure shall be thine,
The king did smiling say.—
Nor many days, when lo! there came
Three Palmers clad in grey.

Help, gracious lord! they weeping said,
And knelt, as it was meet;
From Artoy's forest we be come,

With weak and weary feet.

Within those deep and dreary woods,

There wends a savage boy,

Whose fierce and mortal rage doth yield

Thy subjects dire annoy.

'Mong ruthless bears he sure was bred, He lurks within their den;

With bears he lives, with bears he feeds, And drinks the blood of men.

To more than savage strength he joins, A more than human skill;

For arms, no cunning may suffice

His cruel rage to still.