THE STORIE OF WILLIAM CANYNGE.
I
Beside a brooklet as I lay reclined,
List'ning to hear the water glide along,
Minding how thórough the green meads it twined,
Awhilst the caves responsed its muttering song,
At distant rising Avon to be sped,
Mingled with rising hills, did shew its head.
II
Engarlanded with crowns of osier weeds
And wreaths of alders of a bercie scent,
And sticking out with clod-agested reeds,
The hoary Avon shew'd dire semblament,
Whilst blatant Severn, from Sabrina cleped,
Roars flemie o'er the sandès that she heap'd.
III
These objects quickly bring unto my thought
The hardy champions knowen to the flood,
How on the banks therof brave Ælla fought,
Ælla descended from Merce kingly blood,
Warden of Bristol town and castle-stead,
Who ever and anon made Danes to bleed.
IV
Methought such doughty men must have a sprite
Dressed in the armour-brace that Michael bore,
When he with Satan, king of hell, did fight,
And earth was drenchèd in a mere of gore;
Or, soon as they did see the worldès light,
Fate had wrote down, this man is born to fight.
V
“Ælla,” I said, or else my mind did say,
“Why are thy actions left so spare in story?
Were I to dispose, there should liven aye
In earth and heaven's rolls thy tale of glory;
Thy acts so doughty should for aye abide,
And by their test all after-acts be tried.”
VI
Next holy Wareburghus filled my mind,
As fair a saint as any town can boast,
Or be the earth with light or mirk y-wrynd,
I see his image walking through the coast;
Fitz-Harding, Bithricus, and twenty mo
In vision 'fore my phantasy did go.
VII
Thus all my wandering faytour thinking strayed,
And each digne builder rushed upon my mind,
When from the distant stream arose a maid,
Whose gentle tresses moved not to the wind;
Like to the silver moon in frosty neet,
The damoisel did come, so blithe and sweet.
VIII
No broided mantle of a scarlet hue,
No shoe-peaks plaited o'er with riband-gear,
No costly paraments of woaden blue,
Naught of a dress but beauty did she wear;
Naked she was, and lookèd sweet of youth,
All did bewrayen that her name was Truth.
IX
The easy ringlets of her nutbrown hair
What not a man should see did sweetly hide,
Which on her milk-white bodykin so fair
Did show like brown streams fouling the white tide,
Or veins of brown hue in a marble quarr,
Which by the traveller are kenned from far.
X
Astounded mickle, there I silent lay,
Still skancing wondrous at the walking sight;
My senses, forgard, could not run away,
But were not forstraught when she did alight
Anigh to me, drest up in naked view,
Which might in some adulterous thoughts abrew.
XI
But I not once did think of wanton thought;
For well I minded what by vow I hete,
And in my pocket had a crouchee brought,
Which in the blossom would such sins anete;
I looked with eyne as pure as angels do,
And did the every thought of foul eschew.
XII
With a sweet semblance and an angel's grace
She 'gan to lecture from her gentle breast;
For Truthès words are in her mindès face,
False oratories she did aye detest;
Sweetness was in each word she did y-wreen,
Though she strove not to make that sweetness sheen.
XIII
She said, “My manner of appearing here
My name and slighted mindbruch may thee tell;
I'm Truth, that did descend from heavenwere,
Goulers and courtiers do not ken me well;
Thy inmost thoughts, thy labouring brain I saw,
And from thy gentle dream will thee adawe.
XIV
Full many champïons and men of lore,
Painters and carvellers have gained good name,
But there's a Canynge to increase the store,
A Canynge, who shall buy up all their fame.
Take thou my power, and see in child and man
What very nobleness in Canynge ran.”
XV
As when a cottager on easy bed,
Tired with the labours maynt of sultry day,
In sleepès bosom layeth his deft head,
So, senses sunk to rest, my body lay;
Eftsoons my sprite, from earthly bands untied,
Mingled in arching air with Truth aside.
XVI
Straight was I carried back to times of yore,
Whilst Canynge swathèd yet in fleshly bed,
And saw all actions which had been before,
And all the scroll of Fate unravellèd;
And when the fate-marked babe appeared to sight,
I saw him eager gasping after light.
XVII
In all his sheepen gambols and child's play,
In every merrymaking, fair, or wake,
I kenned a scattered light of Wisdom's ray;
He ate down learning with the wastel-cake.
As wise as any of the aldermen,
He'd wit enow to make a mayor at ten.
XVIII
As the soft downy beard began to gre,
So was the well-knit texture of his lore;
Each day enheeding mickler for to be,
Great in his counsel for the days he bore.
All tongues, all carols did unto him sing,
Wondering at one so wise, and yet so yinge.
XIX
Increasing in the years of mortal life,
And hasting to his journey into heaven,
He thought it proper for to choose a wife,
And use the sexes for the purpose given.
He then was youth of comely seemliheed,
And he had made a maiden's heart to bleed.
XX
He had a father (Jesus rest his soul!)
Who lovèd money as his cherished joy;
He had a brother (happy man be's dole !)
In mind and body his own father's boy.
What then could Canynge wishen as a part
To give to her who had made chop of heart?
XXI
But lands and castle-tenures, gold and bighes,
And hoards of silver rusted in the ent,
Canynge and his fair sweet did that despise;
To change of faithful love was their content.
They lived together in a house adigne,
Of goodly semblance, comely both and fine.
XXII
But soon his brother and his sire did die,
And left to William 'states and renting-rolls,
And at his will his brother John supply.
He gave a chantry to redeem their souls,
And put his brother unto such a trade,
That he lord mayor of London town was made.
XXIII
Eftsoons his morning turned to gloomy night,
His dame, his second self, gave up her breath,
Seeking for life eterne and endless light,
And fled good Canynge; sad mistake of Death!
So have I seen a flower in summer time
Trod down and broke, and wither in its prime.
XXIV
Next Redcliff church (oh, work of hand of heaven,
Where Canynge sheweth as an instrument!)
Was to my wondering eyesight newly given,
'Tis past to blazon it to good content!
You that would fain the handsome building see,
Repair to Redcliff, and contented be.
XXV
I saw the mindbruch of his noble soul
When Edward menacèd a second wife,
I saw what Pheryons in his mind did roll;
Now fixed from second dames a priest for life.
“This is the man of men,” the vision spoke;
Then bell for evensong my senses woke.
