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The Fall of Cambria in Twenty-Four Books

by Joseph Cottle. Second Edition

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BOOK VII.
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108

BOOK VII.

SCENE, Gloster Castle.
Warwick's high name, sounded in Talbot's ear,
At his approach like the death-boding owl
To weak despondency. The trumpet bray'd
Loud at the gate. The castle-turrets tall
Gave back the sound, in echoes loud and full,
Slowly receding, like the ruffled tide,
'Mid autumn, when some tree, pendent, and throng'd
With fruits luxuriant, to the subject stream
Drops of its load. The circle-teeming wave
Spreads wider, till, at length, it dies away
Into nonentity, so faint, so still.
Talbot distracted stood, irresolute.
A crowd of scenes, lowering and ominous,

109

Rush'd thro' his mind, till, with thought audible,
Frowning, he thus exclaim'd. “My foe is near!
“Hell sends him. His Vicegerent! Satan's self,
“All vile, had been an angel to this man.”
A meadow, stretching by old Severn's tide,
Pondering, he sought, and there, with folded arms,
Paces alone.
A warrior, clad in arms,
Hastens to meet the solitary Earl.
Warwick draws near! Upon his brow appear'd
Resentment fearful, whilst his eye sent forth
Imperishable hate and mortal scorn.
Talbot beheld him nigh, yet onward moved,
Tho' loud and hard his rebel heart would beat.
When Warwick eager cried. “Thee, do I seek!
“Withhold!” “And what of me” Talbot exclaim'd.
“Hear me!” cried Warwick. “Did I not, O man!
“Consign to thee (confiding in thy name,
“'Mid nobles, ancient) an illustrious Maid,
“Daughter of Leicester's Earl? and hast thou not
“Betray'd thy trust and brought to open day
“Thy most plebeian spirit and false heart?”
“Nay,” answer'd Talbot. “By the sword I wield,
“I proffer'd her the name of wedded wife.
“This breast, so fill'd with noble purposes,
“Never conceived, aught but the generous deed,
“And thought humane. Thou wrongest me, good Earl,”
Indignant, Warwick cried. “Traitor and vile!

110

Thou wed the damsel! was she not my charge?
“Did not I trust her, as a sacred pledge,
“Beneath thy roof, whilst thou didst utter loud,
“Lauding my purpose, ‘Leave her with this spear,
“Potent protector?’ Say, O traitor Earl!
“Didst thou not know (augmenting still thy crime)
“That her most solemn plight oft had been pass'd
“To Cambria's Prince? did not her own sweet words,
“Blended with tears, tell, with transcendent tones
“Of Angel tenderness, that solemn tale
“Where honor, in love's road, stops, and the knight,
“Whose heart is manhood, takes a last fond glance
“Of the fair prospect, and then turns away,
“Crying, with spirit resolute, “farewell!”
“Had I beheld a point where one fond hope
“Might have propell'd itself, how had I rushed
“To plant so fair a flower, of hues divine,
“In this my bosom. I, a lifted hand,
“Saw, rising from the earth! I heard a voice,
“Mystic, yet clear, each cast a sanctity
“Round Eleanor, pure as the balmy breath
“Of fragrant Eden. Thou art now debased,
“More abject than the worm! In infamy,
“Plunged deep, and scorn! If thou deni'st it, man!
“Here is my gauntlet!” as he spake, he cast
The emblem of defiance fierce on earth.
Talbot replied. “Earl! thine accusing words,
“I do pronounce are false! Not here and there

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“Speckled with truth, but in the mass, all false.
“Doubt not my honor. Shouldst thou thus persist
“In hurling stout defiance, I will prove
“My ancient valour and, by victory,
“This foul aspersion from the mouth of man
“Blot out forever. Yonder gauntlet raise!
“I would advise thee, with a brother's zeal,
“Sport not with fate! Mine is a heavy arm
“And potent is my spear! full many a knight
“Hath bent before it! I, from tenderness,
“Speak thus, O Baron! dare not my assault!
“Death is my firm retainer. I, a league,
“Have made, with the dread scourger of mankind.
“Baron! yon gauntlet raise!”
“My truant heart!”
Warwick exclaim'd! “Tho' tempests rage within,
“I could half laugh at thy mild sympathies,
“Thy woman's tenderness. Kindness for me!
“Dare not thy hand! if such thy real fame,
“And such thy prowess, to the farthest verge
“Of sea and earth, would I that champion seek,
“To measure sword with sword, and lance with lance.
Thou, talk of Honor! Raven of jet black!—
“Thou boast the argent plumage of the dove?
“The very word falls, lead-like from thy tongue,

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“Tame, spiritless. It sounds as tho' thy heart,
“Even while thou spak'st, call'd it, a sturdy lie.
“Hear me, O Earl! Yon gauntlet, from the ground
“Raise, and believe, as thou thy breath dost draw,
“Our spears shall clash! Upon the coming morn
“Dress for the combat!” Talbot stooping down,
With flexile nerve, uprais'd the harbinger
Of furious fight, and to conceal the ground,
Crumbling beneath, exalted the loud voice.
Bloated with rage, he answer'd.
“From the day,
“When in the youthful tournament, I wont
“To beat to earth my young competitors,
“Never hath Talbot shunn'd the proffer'd fight.
“Warwick, believe! thy blood, this arm shall shed!
“Past victories are cancelled if I fail
“To plunge my spear, deep in thy reeking heart!
“Make thou thy testament, and know assured,
“No quarter will I grant, thy life or mine!
“No middle state. I from this spot will haste.
“The lists shall be prepared; and, on the morn,
“Next coming, by Heaven's hierarchy, I swear,
“In death, thou shalt bewail thy hardihood.”
Warwick exclaim'd. “Like music to my ear,
“So come thy words. Th' obstructing hours will pass,

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“Sloth-like, till 'morrow decks the sky with gold.
“One small request is mine. As I must die,
“Let Eleanor survey thy victor spear.”
Talbot replied, “Agreed! Too many eyes
“Cannot behold thy near discomfiture.”
They said, when Warwick back his course pursued.
Talbot, thus foil'd, in the vindictive threat,
So oft his friend, in hour of jeopardy,
Stood, and, with muttering tongue, curs'd Maid and Earl,
Himself, trees, rivers, all which he beheld—
One deluge of rude oaths and curses dire.
Of mortal men, Warwick he dreaded most,
So known in tournament, so firm of heart.
He cast a doubtful glance far o'er the seas,
And half resolved, from the tremendous fight
To flee toward Erin's land, thus saving life,
Tho' all beside, mournful alternative!
He yielded up, no more to be redeemed,
Fame, honor, wealth, castle and proud domain.
The scales are pois'd. Shame weighs the balance down.
“Fight him, I must!” he cried. “Made desperate,
“I will put forth the vigour of this arm.
“To Erin's land (unknown of noxious thing)

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“I scorn to fly. It was a luckless hour.
“Well, be it so. If naught can stem his ire,
“What Talbot's spear can do, I will display,
“And if I die—I have no more to dread!
“I perish utterly. Futurity!
“Phantom, by Bravery scorn'd, I hold thee light!
“And who is the Most High! No watchful mind,
“No secret hand with the recording pen,

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“Marks Earth's delinquents, and a dread account,
“Faithful, preserves, to scare, when life is past,
“The haggard spirit. Will, (to men like me,)
“Alone is law. Talbot hath revell'd long
“In all earth's pleasures, and, before him, night
“A long and wintry night perpetual,
“Like downy sleep, that gentle sentinel
“(O pleasurable thought! Balm of the soul!)
“Her mantle spreads, to wrap him when he dies:
“This is my trust, and my consoling joy,
“For, what, beyond the grave, dare I to hope!
“I am no advocate for faiths and creeds;
“Never could I behold their arguments,
“Tho' I have toil'd thro' the dark labyrinth,
“Oft and with zeal (fce to uncertainty)
“Seeking to touch firm ground. I found it not.
“Let cloister'd cowls, tremble and count their fears,
“I breathe a purer air, a nobler sky.”
Which said he forth address'd him for the fight.
The dawn appears. Without the castle walls
Stately arise the lists, Fame spread the while,
Near and far off, news of the coming fray,
And many a trusty squire and valiant knight,
And damsel fair, eager advanced to view
England's two Earls strive for the mastery.
Beside the spot, in canopy august,
Like Hesperus, amid the stars of night,
Fair Eleanor appear'd circled with forms,

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Lovely, whose palpitating hearts inspired
The cheek of beauty, with transcendent grace,
Each, earnest, waiting (with impatient gaze)
The chieftain and the combat. Silence reign'd,
And every thought, of countless multitudes,
Dwelt on the scenes, just opening to the view—
Of spear and horse and warrior, and the fight,
Deathful and fierce, save when they cast an eye
Toward Eleanor, whose virtues far had spread,
And whose surpassing beauty, like a charm,
Absorbed their soul. They look'd on her entranced,
And spear and horse and warrior, were no more.
With trumpet sounding shrill, claiming regards,
A herald spake, bedizzen'd with his coat,
Crowded with ensigns. “Gazers!” loud he cries.
“Touch not these lists, sacred, or death is near.”
He scarce had ceased, when, to the eastern gate,
All eyes are turn'd. The circling multitude,
With general impulse, there direct their gaze,
As when the Autumn corn, bending, recedes
Before the breeze; no proud aspiring head
Stems the broad current; all are turn'd alike.
So was the general look, for at the gate,
Borne by his prancing steed, glittering and gay,
His beaver down, his armour shining bright,
His spear up-lifted, Warwick, dauntless stands.
A Herald, to the spot, speeding, exclaim'd.
“Strange Knight, thy errand? What thy name and state?”

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The champion cried, “Earl Warwick is my name!
“I come to meet Earl Talbot, him to prove
“A traitor knight, unfaithful to his word,
“Discourteous, and to damsel fair, untrue.
“Entrance I claim!” “By the Evangelists,”
The Herald spake, “swear thou thy words are just.”
He swears; when, leaving, with his trusty Squire,
His warrior steed, he enters;—his tall spear,
Poises, and to th' appointed chair, at hand,
Stately, moves on.
Now toward th' opposing gate,
Each, earnest, looks. Earl Talbot lifts his head,
High, 'mid the crowd. The Herald claims his name,
And what his purpose. “I am come, he cried,
“To fight the blaster of my fame, to prove
“Warwick a liar, and to feed my spear
“With his heart's blood.” He swears. He rushes in,
Wielding his lance, and hastens to the chair,
Near where Earl Warwick sat.
The Marshall cries,
“To try their equal length and lawful form,
“Champions and men at arms! hand me your spears!”
Swift as the shifting shadow of the cloud,
O'er some expanse of water, when the wind
Wars with the elements, Talbot arose,
And to the Marshall bears his massy lance.
Earl Warwick follow'd, calm and confident.
“Here,” Talbot spake, “Marshall! behold my spear,

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“So worn in victory. If this should fail,
“And Warwick, haply, force me to the ground,
“Here is my battle-axe, trusty and true;
“Should this be faithless found, to meet his blows,
“Here is my sword, sheath'd oft in crimson dye!
“But should surpassing strength, rob my fierce grasp
“Of this tried weapon, far a last resort,
“I have one friend behind, slender, but brave,
“A dagger! Here all are. View them well o'er.
“A trophy, ere an hour, Talbot shall wear,
“Crowning a life of fame.”
Warwick replied.
“Man! if thy heart be bold, as are thy words,
“Thou art no coward.” Turning, thus he spake.
“Marshall! survey my spear. If of just form,
“Restore it to its owner. Should I need
“Fresh weapon, in the combat, hard at hand,
“My faithful Squire, in his extremity,
“Will not forget his Lord. Now for the strife.”
The Marshall, to each knight, courteous, returns
The barbed shaft, when Talbot thus began.
“Before the die be cast, unchangeable,
“And parley shall be o'er, Warwick, attend.
“Fear hath no station in this veteran heart!
“I speak from thoughts alone, friendly to thee,
“Here on this field, before this noble host,
“And in the sight of damsels, and of her
“Fairest of women, own thy charge untrue.

119

“Confess thy rash and most injurious words
“Founded in air, so may my spear renounce
“The oath it made, and we henceforth be friends.
“Shouldst thou refuse, by the celestial host,
“Mark me most noble Earl, my greedy lance,
“Before we part, shall teach thee, thou hast err'd.
“No second offer! Loath to take thy life,
“I am importunate. Hear me, I pray!”
“I hear, but heed thee not!” Warwick replied.
“If I, before yon gorgeous sun descend,
“Should, to my former fame, prove recreant;
“If I should utter words, faint as the breath
“Of sleeping infant, or one thought admit
“That places thee, save in the light abhorred:
“If I a faithless and discourteous knight,
“Should prove thee not, down to thy heart and reins,
“False to thy word, thy honor, and thy God,
“Then plunge thy victor spear, deep in my heart!
“Talbot, no more! Our parley now hath ceas'd!
“Marshall, my horse!”
The Marshall raised his voice!
The coursers enter at th' opposing gates,
Led by their Squires. The Champions mount and stand,
Each, at his compeer, gazing, with an eye
Of stern defiance. Warwick's neighing steed,
Beheld the hostile charger, and partook
His master's fire; pawing the spongy turf,
And champing as he stood. His sinewy flanks

120

Sustain'd an azure mantle, trailing low,
Broider'd with antelopes, all silver bright,
And mulberry wreaths, and acorns, spreading far
Their moon-beam radiance. On his helm be bore,
A crest, the sailing swan. His beaver down,
His faithful Squire beside, his outstretch'd spear
Firm in its rest, the trumpets voice he waits
To meet the fray undaunted.
In his front,
Talbot appear'd, clad for the mortal fight.
His sable charger, like the lord he bore,
Stood firm in strength, his nervous chest, wide spread,
Received the breath, which like a torrent rush'd
Forth from his nostrils, spreading monstrous curls
Thro' the chill air, and snorting, as with eye,
Fiery, he gazed at th' opposing steed.
Down his broad sides th' embroider'd mantle hung,
Crimson, on which the rampant tyger, stretch'd
Paws, reeking, and the fang emboss'd with gore,
Warm from the bleeding lamb. Talbot's huge frame,
Sent from his armour and his beam-like spear,
Rays blazing wide, a moving mass of light.
The sun-illumin'd dew-drop dark to him.
His helmet in castilean furnace wrought,
Burnish'd, and gemm'd with gold, soaring, august,
Sustain'd the crest, terrific harmony!
The roaring lion, plunging on his prey.
Thus both appear'd. Their spears in order placed,

121

Their Squires beside them. Awful was the pause.
Silence prevail'd, and each of the vast host,
Encircling, look'd upon the combatants.
With such adhesive gaze, that the whole scene
Seem'd fix'd like the abiding rocks of earth.
The trumpet sounds! the prancing steeds receive,
Joyful, the note of war: against their flanks
The spur is driven, they rush to join in fight.
Warwick's firm spear, aim'd with a master's skill,
On Talbot's gorget rests. The faithful steel
Denies an entrance. The diverted shaft,
Beside him, wastes in air; whilst Talbot's lance
'Gainst Warwick's helmet strikes. It upward springs.
The slender thong is burst. The champions pass,
Each harmless. Talbot, thus escaping death,
Felt joy at heart. Worlds now would he have given
To end the strife. In vain; fight on he must.
The coward, hemm'd from flight, feels desperate.

122

With hostile front, again the champions stand,
Waiting the shrill-toned signal. Lo! it sounds!
The trumpet brays! they rush again to arms!
Never in tilt or tournament, appear'd,
(As from their form and attitude might seem
So oft the ivy hides the mouldering tree)
Two high-born knights of heart more resolute,
Or prowess carried nearer to the verge
Of strength miraculous. Their spears are seen
Firm in their rest; their bodies forward bent;
Their eyes thro' grated bars, fix'd on their foe;
Their legs, like pillars, stedfast; as the trump
Sounded aloud, to death they urge their steeds.
Against Earl Talbot's cuirass, Warwick's spear,
Full furious came. The shiver'd lance upsprang
High in the air, whilst Talbot's spear the while,
E'en at that moment, thro' the sinewy chest
Of Warwick's courser pierced, and cracking loud
Drown'd his death groan. Earl Warwick, to the earth,
Came headlong! having touch'd the ground, again,
Ball-like rebounding, on his feet he stands.
His trusty Squire the battle-axe presents,
Talbot, unhorsed, a kindred weapon seized,
And now, more furious, both advance to war,
Blow, following blow, falls on their sturdy crests!
Their armour, temper'd, like the yielding head
Of some gorged snake, bursts with the massive force
Of furious blows terrific. Still the fight

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Waxes more hot. Both given and received,
Each blow, inferior chiefs, had crushed to earth.
That arm of thine, O Warwick, falls like fate!
Ah! Talbot, thou art wounded! Staggering back,
He falls! whilst from his graspless hand, the axe
Sinks, ponderous, down!
O'er him stands Warwick's Earl,
His weapon raised, which, but to fall, would send,
Impatient of his prey, Talbot to Hell.
When Océan, vex'd by the unruly winds,
Breaking his slumber, lifts his lofty head,
And roars, in his stupendous majesty;
Thro' all the sky such soul-distracting sounds,
Join'd in one general burst when Talbot fell.
His menials, and his slaves, now that their voice,
Amid the noise, rose indiscriminate,
Even they, who daily tasted of his bread,
Unbound their ample hatred, sending forth,
The loudest shouts of frantic ecstasy.
Talbot, from his abased bed look'd up.
He saw the death-suspended battle-axe,
The victor Earl, darting a look of fire;
He heard the shout and curs'd the deafening sound
That drown'd his prayer, ascending, tho' unheard.
“Mercy!” he cries. Spare thou, thy prostrate Foe!
“Crown'd thus with victory, grant me my life!
“Send me not instant to the land of shade!
“Take all I have! I covet but my life!

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“My arms, my fame, my fortune, all are thine.”
His trembling hand he raised, warding the blow
So soon expected. “Spare!” again he cries,
“O spare my life, e'en make me evermore,
“Thy slave, brave Warwick, faithful, till I die.”
Here ceased his words, for Warwick's massy axe
The bars had beaten thro' that screen'd his face,
Nor left small scar. The blood in copious stream
His eager utterance choak'd; and now he lay,
For strength, a feeble infant, momently
Expecting his death-blow. Stretch'd on the earth,
Warwick, his hand suspended, thus replied.
“This arm, full many a man, in lethel tide,
“Hath plunged, with head-long fury; traitors vile,
“Oppressive tyrants, or discourteous knights;
“Yet, all, whom it hath sent to shades profound,
“Were purity, O man, compared with thee.”
“I own it.” Talbot cried. “O spare my life!”
“Yes.” Warwick answer'd. “I will spare thy life.
“It were a pity, of such dainty food,
“To rob contempt and scorn. As thus thou liest,
“Nobility and knighthood o'er thee blush!
“Thou would'st have spared my life, thee will I spare!
“This too refined and subtile shaft, I spurn,
“Nor me, nor thee it suits. To touch thy soul,
“To pierce thy heart, the weapon must be blunt,
“Forcing its way, with uncouth vehemence,
“Like dolphin, thro' th' entangling seaman's net.

125

“Rise! prostrate Earl, back to thy Castle haste!
“Scorn'd by the world thou blackenest with thy crimes.”
The startled lark, mounts not with swifter speed
Before the reaper, than Earl Talbot rose.
Thank thee, he would have cried, but shame's huge weight
Press'd his tongue down. Utt'rance had flown, and now,
Silent he turn'd, and, slow, paced toward the gate
That screen'd him from the sight of gaze abhorred.
One sigh, for fallen honor, he bestow'd,
Another and a deeper for his cheek,
So gash'd and marr'd, and of its grace bereft.—
He wept. His manhood melted into tears.
Warwick, and every eye toward Talbot turn'd.
They mark'd him enter the huge castle gate,
Smiting his breast, and as the shield of stone
Screen'd him from scornful gaze, Warwick advanced
To seek fair Eleanor. Her canopy

126

Peer'd high and sumptuous, and 'mid other forms,
Round her, all beauteous, Eleanor appear'd,

127

Holding proud eminence—no rival there;
Like th' rose of morn, turn'd to the eastern sky,

128

Yielding the dew-drop, in her hour of sweets,
And nodding o'er each humbler flower beneath;
Eclips'd, tho' lovely. She beheld the Chief—
The victor in her own and virtue's cause,
Hastening, majestic, and, as near he came,
Her bashful eye, upon the ground she cast.
She waited his approach, and when she heard,
Greeting and courteous, his well-known voice,
If ever pride she felt, and towering thought,
Nearer allied to joy than haughtiness,
It was to be thus singled, by the man,
Whom every eye admired and heart adored.
The blush upon her cheek, she, with a glance,
Expressive of all cordial confidence,
Welcom'd the Chief.
“Maiden! all hail! he cried.
“Heaven is propitious, thou from death art free.”
The pride of Beauty spake. “One feeble voice,
“Joins the loud chorus of surrounding praise.
“My thanks, high-hearted Earl! freely thou hast,

129

“And my eternal gratitude.” The Chief,
Bending, thus answer made.
“Maiden! believe,
“No secret end, that wounds a warrior's name,
“Prompts what I say. Still, dangers crowd around.
“Now do I see, spite of the semblance fair,
“This spot of earth teems with all hateful things,
“Fears, vices, venoms. Here the Prince of Air,
“The Fiends that revel in the mid-way sky,
“Oft, in their hour of pastime wend their flight
“And laugh and banquet, revelling sportively
“Upon the soil, most genial, and in hearts,
“Black as their own, but chiefly his, the man,
“Who, with a thousand brethren, would convert
“To the infernal realms, a land, a world,
“Fair as our own! Here every virtue droops
“Over a waste and barren solitude.
“Damsel, revered, flee the pestiferous air!
“I now am bound to traverse Dinevawr,
“Haste thou with me. I do design thee good,
“(As well befits the son of Chivalry)
“Greater than I may say, in hour like this.
“Trust to Earl Warwick. With some maiden near,
“Thy true attendant, thou mayst yet possess
“Portions of happiness, long days of joy.
“Doubt not one thing, that Warwick will defend,
“Against all powers that be, all swords, all spears,
“Fairest of maids, thy person, and thy fame.”

130

Thus Eleanor replied. “Chieftain renown'd,
“I have a friend far off, gallant, like thee,
“Whose heart I know, nor thine do I suspect.
“Where'er thou lead, with no foreboding dread,
“There will I follow.” Warwick earnest cried,
“A faithful knight receives thy confidence.
“Maiden, my spear, my heart, O pardon me!
“That gift thou needest not. A happier man
“Pre-occupies the pinnacle supreme—
“Yea, pardon me! Maiden, my all is thine.”
He spake, and from her honorable seat
Led forth the Damsel. As she moved along,
Each tongue with silent earnestness exclaim'd,
Gazing on Eleanor, “So sweet a maid,
“Pity that harm should reach, or sorrow wound.”
High on a charger placed, caparison'd,
Prancing, and whilst a thousand prayers arise,
The Maiden and the victor Earl advance,
While warrior hosts, with the loud shout, attend.
 

In the times of chivalry, the knight who threw his gauntlet on the ground offered the challenge, he who took it up accepted it.

The result of a combat, in the bad logic of our forefathers, was always admitted to refute or substantiate a charge. “William D'Ow, a Norman in the reign of William Rufus, was accused of Treason, and maintaining his innocence, by single combat, was defeated, upon which, by order of the King, he was deprived of his eyes.”—Camden.

The name given to the rails which excluded the gazers, and to approach so near as to touch which was proclaimed punishable with death.

From time immemorial references have been made to this extraordinary circumstance, as to an indubitable fact; but one who reasons on the subject, in the absence of direct evidence, must regard the assertion, that no venomous creature will live in Ireland, as utterly unfounded It is difficult to trace vulgar prejudices to their sources, but perhaps, from the infrequency with which noxious reptiles are found in Ireland, a person originally may have expressed a belief in the opinion. This is marvellous, and as the marvellous never wants propagators, another, on the faith of his predecessor, may have gone a little further, and roundly have asserted, what before was only a conjecture, and thus the story becomes strengthened by a progressive accession of worthless evidence, till at length no one is so unpolite as to doubt what every body believes. The old legends however assign a much easier cause for this peculiarity, by affirming, that, St. Patrick, at the approach of Lent, went into a mountain in Connaught, and, that after long abstinence, to this place he collected the several tribes of serpents and venomous creatures, when, after giving them a suitable address, he drove the whole of them into the Atlantic!

It is rather an unfortunate circumstance for those who espouse this sentiment, that the same story should have been propagated of the Isle of Thanet, in Kent; a privilege which it was supposed to enjoy from the virtue of St. Augustine, who, on coming over to Britain to convert the Saxons, first landed, it is said, on that island, when the whole of the poisonous brood, fled, never more to return. The assertion has long been refuted respecting Thanet, and it is an unaccountable circumstance that the evidence should be so lax respecting Ireland, as to allow any one, in the present day, to hesitate in affirming, that the whole is not more contrary to analogy than it is to fact. Giraldus (even in his time) mentions, that there was a dispute whether the Isle of Man should be regarded as naturally belonging to England or Ireland, it being about equally distant from both. It was at length however admitted to belong to England, as, upon inquiry, it was proved to contain “venomous creatures.”

The helmet was sometimes tied loosely, to save the wearer in a charge, Several instances have occurred where the helmet was cast from the head by the lance in tilting. This was the case at a tournament in which the champions were John of Holland, on the part of the English, and Raynard de Roye, on the part of the French. The latter had laced his helmet so slightly to his armour, that when the lance of his antagonist lighted on his visor, it fell from his head and averted the injury he would otherwise have received. This was considered as an artifice which gave great offence to the English spectators, but the Duke of Lancaster who was present commended the Frenchman's dexterity, and said that “both of them, in this matter should be permitted to do as they pleased, but added, for his part he should wish to have his helmet buckled as tight as it was possible.”

One of the most furious combats on record is that mentioned by Holinshed, in the reign of Richard II. between a Knight and a Squire, which, as a picture of the times, is here presented to the reader.

“On the seventh of June, 1380, a combat was fought afore the King's Palace at Westminster, on the pavement there, betwixt one Sir John Anneslie, Knight, and one Thomas Katering Esquier; the occasion of which strange and notable triall rose hereof. The Knight accused the Squire of treason, for that where the fortresse of St. Saviour, in Normandy, belonging sometime to Sir John Chandois (to which the Knight was heir. This is the Sir John Chandos, who was one of the chief military heroes, in the reign of Richard II. who won the battle of Auray, over the French, under disadvantageous circumstances, and whose death is so circumstantially and feelingly described by Froissart,) had been committed to the said Katrington, to keep it against the Enemy, whereas he, for money, had sold: and delivered it over to the Frenchmen, when he was sufficiently provided of men, munition and vittals to have defended it against them. By the opinion of true and ancient Knights it was ordained that the truth of the charge should be proven or refuted by fair battell. Hereupon was the place and day appointed, and all things provided readie, with rails and lists made so substantiallie as if the same should have endured forever. The concourse of people that came to London to see this sight was supposed to exceed that of the King's Coronation.

“The king, his nobles, and all the people being come together in the morning of the day appointed, to the place where the lists were set up, the Knight being armed mounted on a faire courser seemelie trapped, entered first as appellant, and shortly after was the Squire called to defend his cause. He, at the third call, did come armed likewise, and riding on a courser trapped with traps imbroidered with his arms. Before they entered battell, they take an oath, as well the Knight as the Squire, that the cause in which they were to fight was true, and that they dealt with no witchcraft, nor art magike, whereby they might obteine the victorie of their adversarie, nor had about them any herbe or stone, or other kind of experiment with which magicians used to triumph over their enemies. This oath received of either of them, and therewith having made their praiers devoutlie, they began the battell, first with spears, after with swords, and lastlie with daggers. They fought long, till finallie the Knight had bereft the Esquier of all his weapons, and at length the Esquier was manfully overthrown by the Knight. But as the Knight would have fallen upon the Esquier, through sweat that ran down by his helmet, his sight was hindered, so that thinking to fall upon the Esquier he fell down sideling himselfe, not coming neere to the Esquire, who perceiving what had happened, although he was almost overcome with long fighting, made to the Knight and threw himselfe upon him, so that many thought the Knight should have beene overcome, other doubted not but that the Knight would recover his feete againe, and get the victorie of his adversary.

“The King in the mean time caused it to be proclaimed that they should staie, and that the Knight should be raised up from the ground, and so meant to take up the matter petwixt them. To be short, such were sent as should take up the Esquier, but coming to the Knight, he besought them that it might please the King to permit them to lie still, for he thanked God he was well, and mistrusted not to obteine the victorie, if the Esquier might be laid on him in manner as he was earst. Finallie when it would not be so granted, he was contented to be raised up, and was no sooner set on his feet, but he cheerfullie went to the King, without any man's helpe, where the Esquier could neither stand nor go without the helpe of two men to hold him up, and therefore was set in his chair to take his ease, to see if he might recover his strength.

“The Knight, at his comming before the King besought him and his nobles to grant him so much that he might be oftsoones laid on the ground, as before, and the Esquier to be laid aloft upon him: for the Knight perceived that the Esquier, through excessive heat, and the weight of his armour, did marvellouslie faint, so as his spirits were in a manner taken from him.

“The King and his nobles perceiving the Knight so couragiouslie to demand to try the battle forth to the uttermost, offering great summes of monie that so it might be doone, decreed that they should be restored againe to the same plight in which they laie when they were raised up. But in the mean time the Esquier fainting, and falling downe in a swoone, fell out of his chaire, as one who was like to yeeld up his last breath presentlie among them. Those that stood about him cast wine and water upon him, seeking to bring him again, but all would not serve till they plucked off the armor and his whole apparell, which thing proved the Knight to be vanquisher. After a little time the Esquier begane to come to himselfe, and lifting up his eyes, began to hold up his head, and to cast a ghostlie looke on every one about him, which when it was reported to the Knight, he cometh to him armed as he was and speaking to him, called him Traitor and false perjured man, asking him if he durst trie the battell with him againe, but the Esquier having neither sense nor spirit whereby to make answer, proclamation was made that the battell was ended. The Esquier immediatelie after he was brought to his lodging and laid in bed, began to war raging words, and so continuing still out of his wits, about nine of the clocke the next day, he yeelded up the ghost. This combat was fought the seventh of June to the great rejoicing of the common people and discouragement of Traitours.”

The appointed battle at Coventry, in the year 1398, between the Duke of Norfolk and the Duke of Hereford, as detailed by Stow, and Holinshed, presents a better exhibition than the preceding of the circumstances attendant on a solemn combat, but it is too long for a note in this place.