In Yorke, in Somerset as I understonde, In Warrewik also is love and charite, In Sarisbury eke, and in Northumbrelande; That every man may reioise concord and unite.

Egremown, and Clifford, with other forsaide, Ben set in the same opynyon; In every quarter love is thus laide, Grace and wisdom hath thus the dominacion:

Awake Welthe, and walke in this region, Rounde aboute in toun and cite, And thanke them that brought hit to this concluson; Reioise Anglond to concorde and unite.

At Poules in Londone, with gret renoun, On oure Ladi day in Lente this peas was wrought; The kinge, the quene, with lordes many oone, To worship that virgine as thei ought,

Wenten a procession, and spariden right nought, In sighte of alle the comynalte, In token that love was in herte and thought; Reiose Anglond in concorde and unite.

Ther was bytwyn them lovely contynaunce, Whiche was gret ioy to alle that ther were, That long tyme hadden be in variaunce; As frendes for ever that had be in fere,

Thei wenten togeder, and made goud chere; France and Britayn repente shul thei, For the bargayn shul thei abye ful dere; Reiose Anglond in concorde and unite.

Oure soveraigne lord kyng God kepe alwey, The quene, and the archbisshope of Canterbury, And the bisshop of Wynchestre chanceller of Anglond, And other that han labured to this love day.

God preserve them we pray hertly, And London for thei ful diligently, Kepten the peas in trowbel and adversite, To bryng in reste thei labured ful truly; Reioise Anglond in concorde and unite.

Of thre thynges I praise the worshipful Cite; The first, the true faithe that thei have to the kyng; The seconde, of love to the comynalte; The thrid, goud rule for evermore kepynge;

The whiche God maynteyn evermore durynge, And save the Maier and alle the worthi Cite; And that is amys God brynge to amendynge, That Anglond may reioise to concord and unite.

* * * * *

Neither of the ensuing articles, the whole of which are the production of the indefatigable Lydgate, can possibly be assigned to its proper date; and they are therefore arranged in the following order.

1. A Balade sent by a Poursyant to the Shirreves of London, acompanyed with theire Bretherne upon Mayes Daye, at Busshopes Wod, at an honurable Dyner, ech of them bringginge his Dysshe.

This Ballad, which occurs in Ashmole's Collection of Manuscripts, is introduced from its having been addressed to the Sheriffs of London; but it contains little that is worthy of attention.

2. London Lickpenny.

Of the numerous Ballads composed by 'The Monk of Bury,' this is perhaps the most curious and the best known; and, from its presenting a great deal of information relative to the Metropolis in the fifteenth century, it is of considerable interest. Two copies exist in MS. in the British Museum; one in the Harleian MS. 367, which is printed in Noorthouck's and Dr. Pugh's History of London, as well as in several other works; the other, in Stow's hand-writing, in the Harleian MS. 542: and as they differ very materially from each other, a copy of each is inserted. To this Ballad, it has been thought right to add another, by the same writer, which has never been before printed, on a very similar subject; namely,

3. Upon the Emptiness of his Purse,—

In which he treats this, perhaps the greatest of all human misfortunes, since it prevents the alleviation of almost all others, with singular address. The subject seems to have been a favourite one with our early poets; for there is a Ballad with nearly the same title by Chaucer; and another is printed in 'The Boke of St. Albans.'

4. On Forked Head Dresses.

The head-dresses of females in the reign of Henry the Sixth closely resembled the cauchoises still worn by those of Normandy; and which excited the displeasure of Dan John in so great a degree as to have induced him to invoke the aid of his Muse in effecting their abolition. It seems no subject escaped that eternal scribbler's attention; and if his abilities had equalled his disposition, he would probably have become the Juvenal of his age. Upon this occasion, however, he appears to have soared on rather a higher wing than usual; and the moral of his lay is the truism which has since been so beautifully expressed, that loveliness

"Is when unadorn'd, adorn'd the most."

5. On Fraudulent Millers and Bakers.

This short Ballad would appear, from the following passage in Fabian's Chronicle, to have been written in the 15th of Edw. IV. A^{o} 1475, if it were not, that though the date of Lydgate's death has never been precisely ascertained, yet it is scarcely possible he could have lived to that year.

"This yere this mayer [Robert Bassett] dyd sharpe correccion upon bakers, for makynge of lyght brede; in so moche thatt he sett dyverse upon the pillory," &c.

A similar circumstance might however have occurred some years before, notwithstanding that it is not noticed by the writers of the period.

A BALADE MADE BY LYDEGATE, SENT BY A POURSYANT TO THE SHIRREVES OF LONDON, ACOMPANYED WITH THEIRE BRETHERNE UPON MAYES DAYE, AT BUSSHOPES WOD, AT AN HONURABLE DYNER, ECHE OF THEM BRINGGINGE HIS DYSSHE.

[Ashmole's MSS. No. 6943. Vol. 59. 2.]

Mighty Flourra, goddes of freshe floures, Whiche clothed hast the soyle in lousty grene; Made buddes springe with his swete showres, By influence of the sonnes so sheene, To do plesaunce of entent ful clene, Unto the states whiche that now sitte here; Hath veere doune sent hir owen doughter dere, Making the vertue that dured in the roote, Called of clerkes, the vertue vegytable, For to trascend moste holsome and moste sweete, Into the crope this saysoun so greable. The bawmy lykour is so comendable, That it rejoythe with the fresshe moysture, Man, beeste, and foole, and every creature, Whiche hathe repressed, swaged, and bore doune, The grevous constreinte of the frostes heere; And caused foolis for joye of this saysonne, To cheese their mates, thane by natures loore, With al gladnesse theire courage to restore, Sitting on bowes fresshly nowe to synge, Veere for to save at his home comynge; Ful pleinly meninge in theire ermonye, Wynter is goone, whiche did hem gret peyne; And with theire sweete sugre melodye, Thanking Nature theire goddesse sovereyne, That they nowe have no mater to compleyne, Hem for to proygne every morowneynge, With lousty gladnesse at Phebus uprysinge; And to declare ye hys magnifysence, Howe vere inbringethe al felicytee, After wynter's mighty prevolence Avoydinge stormys of al adversytee. For shee hathe brought al prosperitee To alle the states of this regyoun, At his comynge to fore youre hye renoun, To the mighty prynces, the palme of theire victorie; And til knighthode nowe, she dothe presente Noblesse in armes, laude, honnour, and glorie; Pees to the people, in al hir best entente, With grace and mercy fully to consente, That provydence of hys discressioun, Avoyde discorde and al derysyoun. Wynter shal passe of hevynesse and trouble; Flowres shal springe of perfite charite; In hertes there shal be no meninge double; Buddes shal of trouthe and unytee; Plenty for to exyle duplicytee; Lordes to regne in theire noble puissance; The people obeye with feythful obeyssaunce; Of alle estates there shal bee oone ymage; And princes first shal ocupye the hede; And prudent juges to correcte outrages, Shal trespassours consteynen under drede, That innosentes in theire lowlyhede, As truwe comunes may bee theire socour, Truwly contune in theire faithful labour; And by the grace of oure lorde Jhesu, That holly chirche may have parseveraunce, Bee faythfull founde in al pertinaunce, Mayre, provost, shirreff, eche in his substaunce, And aldremen, whiche have the governaunce Over the people, by vertue may abyde, That noone oppression bee done to the pourayle. Thus as the people of prudent pollycye, Prynces of the right shal governe; The chirche preye; the juges justefye; And knighthode, manly, and prudently discerne, Til light of trouthe so clerely the lanterne, That rightewysnesse throughe this regyoune, Represse the darknesse of al extorcyoune. Thes be the tythinges wheeche that wee have brought: Troubles exylinge of wynters rude derknesse; Wherfore rejoye yowe in hert, wille, and thought; Somer shal folowe to yowe, of al gladnesse; And sithen she is mynistre of lustynesse, Let her be welcome to yowe at hir comyng; Sith she to yowe hathe brought so glad tythinge, The noble princesse of moste magnifisence, Qweene of al joye, of gladde suffisaunce, May I be nowe comen to youre hye excellence, Presenting yowe prosperous plesaunce, Of al welfare moste foulsome haboundaunce; As shee that hathe under hir demayne, Of floures fresshe, moste holsome, and sovereraine.

L'ENVOYE TO ALLE THE STATES PRESENT.

This Princesse hathe by favour of nature, Repared ageine that wynter hathe defade, And foolis loustely reviv—— Theire lusty notes, and theire ermenye glade; And under braunches, under plesant shade, Rejoyssing theire with many swete odours, And Zepherus with many fresshe odours, Copirted fayre, with motleye whyte and rede, All hilles, pleynes, and lusty bankes grene, And made hir bawme to fleete in every mede; And fury Tytane shewe oute heer tresses sheene, And upon busshes, and hawthornes kene, The nightingale with plesant ermonye, Colde wynter stormes nowe she dothe defye. On Parnoso, the lusty Muses nyene, Citheera with hir sone nowe dwellis, This sayson singe, and theire notes tuwyne, Of poetrye, besyde the cristal wellis, Calyope the dytes of hem tellis; And Orpheus with hees stringes sharpe, Syngethe a roundell with his temperd herpe. Wherfore to alle estates here present, This plesant tyme, moste of lustynesse, May, is nowe comen to fore yowe of entent, To bringe yowe alle to joye and fresshnesse, Prosparitee, welfare, and al gladnesse; And al that may youre hyenesse qweerne and pleese, In any parte or doone youre hertes eese.

LONDON LICPENYE.

[From the Copy in the Autograph of John Stow, in the Harleian MS. 542, f. 102.]

In London ther I was lent, I saw myselfe where trouthe shuld be ateynte; Fast to Westminstar ward I went, To a man of lawe to make my complaynt; I sayd for Maris love, that holy seynt, Have pity on the powre that would procede; I would gyve sylvar, but my purs is faynt, For lacke of money I may not spede.

As I thrast thrughe out the thronge, Among them all my hode was gonn; Netheles I let not longe, To Kyngs benche tyll I come; Byfore a juge I knelyd anon, I prayd hym for Gods sake he would take hede; Full rewfully to hym I gan make my mone, For lacke of money I may not spede.

Benethe hym set clerks a great rowt, Fast they writen by one assent; There stode up one and cryed round about, Richard, Robert, and one of Kent: I wist not wele what he ment, He cried so thike there indede, There were stronge theves shamed and shent, But they that laked money mowght not spede.

Unto the Comon place y yowde thoo, Where sat one with a sylker houde; I dyd hym reverence as me ought to do; I tolde hym my case as well as I coude, And sayd all my goods by nowrd and by sowde, I am defrawdyd with great falshed; He would not geve me a momme of his mouthe, For lake of money I may not spede.

Then I went me unto the Rollis, Before the clerks of the Chauncerie; There were many qui tollis, But I herd no man speke of me; Before them I knelyd upon my kne, Shewyd them myne evedence, and they began to reade. They seyde trewer thinge might there nevar be, But for lacke of money I may not spede.

In Westminster hall I found one, Went in a longe gown of ray; I crowched and kneled before them anone, For Marys love of helpe I gan them pray; As he had be wrothe, he voyded away, Bakward his hand he gan me byd, I wot not what thow menest gan he say, Ley downe sylvar, or here thow may not spede.

In all Westminstar hall I could find nevar a one, That for me would do, thowghe I shuld dye; Without the dores were Flemings grete woon; Upon me fast they gan to cry, And sayd, Mastar, what will ye cepen or by? Fine felt hatts, spectacles for to rede; Of this gay gere a great cawse why, For lake of money I might not spede.

Then to Westminster gate y went, When the sone was at highe prime; Cokes to me, they toke good entent, Called me nere, for to dyne, And proferyd me good brede, ale, and wyne; A fayre clothe they began to sprede, Rybbes of beffe bothe fat and fine; But for lacke of money I might not spede.

In to London I gan me hy; Of all the lond it bearethe the prise, Hot pescods, one gan cry, Strabery rype, and chery in the ryse; One bad me come nere and by some spice, Pepar, and saffron, they gan me bede, Clove, grayns, and flowre of rise; For lacke of money I might not spede.

Then into Chepe I gan me drawne, Where I sawe stond moche people; One bad me come nere, and by fine cloth of lawne, Paris thred coton and umple; I seyd there upon I could no skyle, I am not wont there to in dede, One bad me by an hewre my hed to hele; For lake of money I might not spede.

Then went I forth by London stone, Thrught out all Canywike strete; Drapors to me they called anone, Grete chepe of clothe they gan me hete; Then come ther one, and cried hot shepes fete; Risshes faire and grene, anothar began to grede, Bothe melwell and makarell I gran mete; But for lacke of money I myght not spede.

Then I hied me into Est Chepe; One cries ribes of befe, and many a pie; Pewtar potts they clatteryd or a heape; Ther was harpe, pipe, and sawtry; Ye by cokke, nay by cokke, some began to cry; Some sang of Jenken and Julian, to get themselves mede; Ful fayne I wold hadd of that mynstralsie, But for lacke of money I cowld not spede.

Into Cornhill anon I yede, Where is moche stolne gere amonge; I saw wher henge myne owne hode, That I had lost in Westminstar amonge the throng; Then I beheld it with lokes full longe, I kenned it as well as I dyd my crede, To be myne owne hode agayne; me thought it wrong, But for lacke of money I might not spede.

Then came the Taverner, and toke me by the sleve, And seyd Ser, a pint of wyn would yow assay? Syr, qwod I, it may not greve, For a peny may do no more then it may: I dranke a pint, and therefore gan pay; Sore a hungred away I yede, For well London lykke peny for ones eye, For lake of money I may not spede.

Then I hyed me to Byllingesgate, And cried wagge wagge gow hens; I praye a barge man, for Gods sake, That they would spare me myn expens; He sayde, ryse up, man, and get the hens, What menist thow, I will do on the no almes dede, Here scapeth no man byneth ij pens, For lacke of money I myght not spede.

Then I conveyed me into Kent; For of the law would I medle no more, By caus no man to me would take entent, I dight me to the plowe even as I did before. Thus save London that in Bethelem was bore, And every trew man of law God graunt hymsels med, And they that be othar, God theyr state restore; For he that lacketh money with them he shall not spede.

EXPLICIT LONDON LIKKE PENY.

LONDON LYCKPENY.

A BALLADE COMPYLED BY DAN JOHN LYDGATE MONKE OF BERY, ABOUT —— YERES AGOE, AND NOW NEWLY OVERSENE AND AMENDED.

[Harleian MSS. 367, f. 126, 127.]

To London once, my stepps I bent, Where trouth in no wyse should be faynt: To Westmynster ward I forthwith went, To a man of law to make complaynt. I sayd, for Mary's love that holy saynt, Pity the poore that would proceede; But for lack of mony I cold not spede.

And as I thrust the prese amonge, By froward chaunce my hood was gone; Yet for all that I stayd not longe, Tyll at the kynge bench I was come. Before the judge I kneled anon, And prayd hym for Gods sake to take heede; But for lack of money I myght not spede.

Beneth them sat clarkes a great rout, Which fast dyd wryte by one assent; There stoode up one and cryed about, Rychard, Robert, and John of Kent; I wyst not wele what this man ment: He cryed so thycke there indede, But he that lackt mony myght not spede.

Unto the common place I yode thoo, Where sat one with a sylken hoode; I dyd hym reverence, for I ought to do so, And told my case as well as I coud, How my goods were defrauded me by falshood. I gat not a mum of his mouth for my meed, And for lack of mony I myght not spede.

Unto the Rolls I gat me from thence, Before the clarkes of the chauncerye, Where many I found earnyng of pence, But none at all once regarded mee: I gave them my playnt uppon my knee; They lyked it well when they had it reade, But lackyng mony I could not be sped.

In Westmynster hall I found out one, Which went in a long gown of raye; I crouched and kneled before hym anon: For Maryes love, of help I hym praye. I wot not what thou meanest, gan he say; To get me thence he dyd me bede, For lack of mony I cold not speed.

Within this hall, neithere ryche nor yett poor, Wold do for me ought, although I shold dye; Which seing, I gat me out of the doore, Where Flemynge began on me for to cry, Master, what will you copen or by, Fyne felt hatts, or spectacles to reede? Lay down your sylver, and here you may spede.

Then to Westmynster gate I presently went, When the sonn was at hyghe pryme; Cokes to me, they tooke good entent, And profered me bread with ale and wyne, Rybbs of befe both fat and ful fyne; A fayre cloth they gan for to sprede, But wantyng mony I might not be speede.

Then unto London I dyd me hye, Of all the land it beareth the pryse; Hot pescods one began to crye, Straberry rype, and cherryes in the ryse: One bad me come nere, and by some spyce, Peper, and sayforne, they gan me bede; But for lacke of money I myght not spede.

Then to the Chepe I began me drawne, Where mutch people I sawe for to stande; One ofred me velvet, sylke, and lawne, An other he taketh me by the haunde, Here is Parys thred, the fynest in the launde. I never was used to such thyngs in dede, And wanting mony I myght not spede.

Then went I forth by London stone, Throughout all Canwyke streete; Drapers mutch cloth me offred anone: Then comes me one, cryd hot shepes feete, One cryde makerell, ryshes grene, another gan greete, One bad me by a hood to cover my head; But fore want of mony I myght not be sped.

Then I hyed me into Estchepe; One cryes rybbs of befe, and many a pye; Pewter potts they clattered on a heape, There was harpe, pype, and mynstrelsye; Yea by cock, nay by cock, some began crye, Some songe of Jenken and Julyan for there mede; But for lack of mony I myght not spede.

Then into Cornhyll anon I yode, Where was much stolen gere amonge; I saw where honge myne owne hoode, That I had lost amonge the thronge; To by my own hood I thought it wronge, I knew it well as I dyd my crede; But for lack of mony I could not spede.

The Taverner took mee by the sleve; Sir, sayth he, wyll you our wyne assay? I answerd, that can not mutch me greve, A peny can do no more than it may: I dranke a pynt, and for it dyd pay; Yet sore a hungerd from thence I yede, And wantyng my mony I cold not spede.

Then hyed I me to Belyngsgate; And one cryed hoo, go we hence; I prayd a barge man for Gods sake, That he wold spare me my expence. Thou scapst not here, quod he, under ij pence, I lyst not yet bestow my almes dede: Thus lacking mony I could not speede.

Then I convayed me into Kent; For of the law wold I meddle no more, Because no man to me tooke entent, I dyght me to do as I dyd before. Now Jesus that in Bethlem was bore, Save London, and send trew lawyers there mede, For who so wants mony with them shall not spede.

EXPLICIT LONDON LYCKPENY.

UPON THE EMPTINESS OF HIS PURSE:

BY JOHN LYDGATE.

[Harleian MSS. 2255, f. 45^{b}.]

Riht myhty prynce, and it be your wille, Condescende leiser for to take, To seen the content of this litil bille, Which whan I wrot, myn hand I felte quake; Tokne of mornyng weryd clothys blake, Cause my purs was falle in gret rerage; Lynyng outward, his guttys wer out shake, Oonly for lak of plate, and of coignage.

I souhte leechys for a restoratiff, In whom I fond no consolacione; Appotecaryes for a confortatiff; Dragge nor dya was noon in Bury tone, Botme of his stomak was tournyd up so done; A laxatif did hym so gret outrage, Made hym slendre by a consumpcione, Oonly for lak of plate, and of coignage.

Ship was ther noon, nor seilis rede of hewe, The wynd froward to make hem ther to londe; The flood was passyd, and sodeynly of newe, A lowh ground ebbe was faste by the stronde; No maryneer durste take on honde, To caste an ankir for streihtnesse of passage, The custom skars, as fow may undirstonde, Oonly for lak of plate, and of coignage.

Ther was no tokne sent done from the Tour, As any gossomer the countirpeys was liht, A fretyng etyk causyd his langour, By a cotidian which heeld hym day and nyht: Sol and Luna wer clypsyd of ther liht, Ther was no cros nor preent of no visage, His lynyng dirk, ther wer no platys briht, Oonly for lak, and scarsete of coignage.

Harde to likke hony out of a marbil stoon, For ther is nouthir licour nor moisture; An ernest grote, whan it is dronke and goon, Bargeyn of marchauntys stant in aventure. My purs and I be callyd to the lure Off indigence, our stuff leyd in morgage; But ye, my lord, may al our soor recure, With a receyt of plate, and of coignage.

Nat sugre plate maad by thappotecarye, Plate of briht metal yevith a mery sone, In Boklerys bury is noon such letuary; Gold is a cordial, gladdest confeccione, Ageyn etiques of oold consumpcione, Auru' potabile, for folk ferre ronne in age, In quynt essence best restauracione, With silver plate, enprentyd with coignage.

O seely bille! why art thu nat ashamyd, So malapertly to shewe out thy constreynt; But povert hath so nyh thy tonne attamyd, That nichil habet is cause of thy compleynt. A drye tisyk makith oold men ful feynt; Reediest weye to renewe ther corage, Is a fresshe dragge of no spycis meynt, But of a briht plate, enpreentyd with coignage.

Thu mayst afferme, as for thyn excus, Thy bareyn soyl is sool and solitarye; Of cros nor pyl ther is no reclus, Preent nor impressione in al thy seyntuarye. To conclude breefly, and nat tarye, Ther is no noyse herd in thyn hermytage; God sende soone a gladdere letuarye, With a cleer sone of plate, and of coignage.

EX^{t}. Q^{d}. LYDGATE.

ON FORKED HEAD DRESSES:

BY JOHN LYDGATE.

[Harleian MSS. 2255, f. 6.]

Off God and kynde procedith al bewte: Crafft may shewe a foreyn apparence, But nature ay must have the sovereynte: Thyng countirfet hath noon existence, Twen gold and gossomer is gret difference; Trewe metal requerith noon allay, Unto purpoos by cleer experyence; Bewte wyl shewe, thouh hornes wer away.

Riche attires of gold, and perre, Charbonclis, rubies of moost excellence, Shewe in dirknesse, liht wher so they be, By ther natural hevenly influence. Doubletys of glas yeve a gret evidence; Thyng contirfet wil faylen at assay: On this mateer concludyng in sentence, Bewte wyl shewe, thouh hornys wer away.

Aleyn remembryth his compleynt, who lyst see In his book of famous eloquence; Clad al in floures and blosmys of a tree, He sawh Nature in hir moost excellence, Upon hir hed a keverchef of Valence, Noon othir richesse of countirfet array; T'exemplefye by kyndly providence, Bewte wil shewe, thouh hornys wer away.

Famous poetys of antiquyte, In Grece and Troye, renoumyd of prudence, Wroot of queen Helene, and Penelope, Off Polyceene with hir chaast innocence: For wyves trewe calle Lucrece to presence, That they wer fayr, ther can no man sey nay; Kynde wrouht hem with so gret dilligence, Ther bewte couthe, hornys wer cast away.

Clerkys recorde by gret auctorite, Hornys wer yove to beestys for diffence; A thyng contrary to femynyte, To be maad sturdy of resistence: But arche wyves egre in ther violence, Fers as tygre for to make affray, They have despyt ageyn conscience, Lyst nat of pryde, ther hornys cast away.

L'ENVOYE.

Noble Pryncessys, this litel shoort ditee, Rewdly compiled, lat it be noon offence, To your womanly merciful pitee, Thouh it be rad in your audience: Peysed ech thyng in your iust advertence, So it be no displesaunce to your pay, Undir support of your pacience, Yevyth example, hornys to cast away.

Grettest of vertues is humylite, As Salomon seith, sone of sapience, Moost was accepted to the Deite. Takith heed heer of yeuyth, to this woord credence, How Maria, whiche hadde a premynence Above alle women, in Bedleem whan she lay, At Cristes birthe no cloth of gret dispence, She weryd a keverche, hornys wer cast away.

Off birthe she was hihest of degre, To whom alle aungelis did obedience; Of David is lyne which sprang out of Jesse, In whom alle vertues by iust convenience, Maad stable in God, by goostly confidence: This roose of Jerycho, ther greuh noon suych in May, Poore in spirit, parfight in pacience, In whoom alle hornys of pryde wer put away.

Moodir of J'hu, myrour of chastite, In woord nor thouht that nevir did offence, Trewe exemplaire of virginite, Heedspryng and welle of parfit contynence, Was nevir clerk, by rethoryk nor science Kowde alle hir vertues reherse to this day; Noble Pryncessys of meeke benyvolence, B'example of hir, your hornys cast away.

ON FRAUDULENT MILLERS AND BAKERS.

[Harleian MSS. 2255.]

Put out his hed lyst nat for to dare, But lyk a man upon that tour to abyde, For cast of eggys wil not conys spare, Tyl he be quaylled body, bak, and syde; His heed endooryd, and of verray pryde, Put out his armys, shewith abrood his face, The fenestrallys be made for hym so wyde, Cleymyth to been a capteyn of that place.

The bastyle longith of verray dewe ryght, To fals bakerys it is trewe herytage; Severelle to them, this knoweth every wight, Be kynde assyngned for ther sittyng stage, Wheer they may freely shewe out ther visage, Whan they take oonys there possessione, Owthir in youthe or in myddyl age, Men doon hem wrong yif they take hym done.

Let mellerys and bakerys gadre hem a gilde, And alle of assent make a fraternite; Undir the pillory a litil chapell bylde, The place amorteyse and purchase liberte, For alle thoo that of ther noumbre be; Whatevir it coost afftir that they wende, They may cleyme be just auctorite, Upon that bastile to make an ende.

EXP^{t}. Q' LYDGATE.

THE END.

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LONDON:

PRINTED BY RICHARD TAYLOR.