thing that wore an air of antiquity, passed it over. It contains a few verses nevertheless written with a tinge of comic spirit about them, an uncommon rarity in this class of English productions. An unfortunate suitor, apparently rejoicing that some misfortune has happened to his once loved Kytt, bursts into the subject at once

Kytt hathe lost hur key hur key,
Goode Kytt hath lost hur key,
She is so sorry for the cause-
She wotts not what to say--

She wotts not what to say goode Kytt-
She wotts not what to say,

Goode Kitt's so sorry for the cause-
She wotts not what to say.

Goode Kytt she wept, I ask'd why so
That she made all this mone,
She sayde alas! I am so woo
My key is lost and gone.

Kytt hathe lost, &c.

Kytt why did ye losse your key

Fore sothe ye were to blame,
Now eu'y man to yow will say
Kytt Losse Key is your name.
Kytt hathe lost, &c.

Goode Kytt she wept and cry'd, alas!
Hur key she cowde not fynde

In faythe I trow in bowrs she was
With sum that were not kinde.
Kytt hathe lost, &c.

Now farewell Kytt I can no more
I wot not what to say,

But I shall pray to Gode therfore
That yow may fynde your key.
Kytt hathe lost, &c.

INTRODUCTION.

Another of the little pieces contained in it, which has likewise never before been referred to, comes from a favoured lover in praise of his mistress.

If I hade wytt for to endyte

Off my lady both fayre and free

Of her goodnesse then wolde I write,
Shall no man know her name for me.

I love hur well wyth hart and mynde
She ys ryght true I doo hyt see
My hart to haue she dothe me bynde
Shall no man know hur name for me.

She doth not wauer as the wynde,
Nor for no new me chaunge dothe she
But all wayes true I doo hur fynde
Shall no man know hur name for me.

He concludes by saying that she hath his heart

and ever shall

Tyll by dethe departyd we bee.

The same writer who keeps up a mystery about his love, is probably the author of the following

lines.

The little pretty nightingale

[Sings sweet] among the levis green
I would I were with her all night
But yet ye wote not whom I mean.

The nightingale sat on a brere
Among the thornys sharp and keen
And comfort me with merry cheer
But yet ye wote not whom I mean.

The Editor has modernised the spelling of one of the exclamations in the song against Fortune, and slightly altered one or two lines.

O Fortune now my wounds redress
And help me from my smart,
It cometh well of gentleness

To case a mourning heart.

O Fortune cruel harsh and hard
What aileth thee at me

My pleasures all thou dost retard
To aid Adversity.

Alas! I love a goodly one,

Who loveth me again

It is for her I live alone

Though thou dost shower disdain.

To have her hand I think me sure,

O Fortune cry consent

And change thy frown of displeasure,
Not make our love misspent.

Woe worth thy power my foremost foe

That art so rude to me

Thou turnest all to care and woe

That joys and sweets should be.

Among the Cottonian MSS. [Vesp. A. 25.] there is a " Dyttie to hey Downe," which Percy inserted with a few alterations in the Reliques of Ancient Poetry. The volume contains "Divers things of Hen. viij's time"-this is the first verse:

Who sekes to tame the blustering wind,

Or cause the floods bend to his will,

Or else against dame Natures kind,

To change things frame [d] by cunning skill:
That man I think bestoweth pain,

Though that his labour be in vain.

Henry Howard, Lord Surrey, and Sir Thomas Wyatt, were the chief poets adorning the reign of the last Henry. Neither of them wrote what may strictly be called songs, Surrey's "description of the

restless state of a lover," borders closely on the debateable land:

When youth had led me half the race
That Cupid's scourge had made me run;
I looked back to mete the place

From whence my weary course begun.

as also does Wyatt's "description of the sorrow of true lovers parting:"

There was never nothing more me pain'd,

Nor more my pity mov'd,

As when my sweetheart her complain'd,
That ever she me lov'd-

Alas! the while!

The beautiful pastoral ballad Harpalus,' is a composition of this period, the exquisite simplicity of the description, that want of straining for effect cannot be too greatly admired. The author whoever he was had the feelings of a true poet, and wrote like one.

To the short reign of the sixth Edward, Ritson ascribes a very singular and clever song written in dispraise of women; here are one or two of the

verses:

These women all,

Both great and small,

Are wavering to and fro,

Now her[e] now ther[e]

Now every wher[e],

But I will not say so.

They love to range,

Ther[e] minds doth change

And make ther friend' ther foe;

As lovers trewe,

Eche daye they chewse new

But I will not say so.

A discontented husband during the same reign complains in stanzas which no doubt he thought just and good. They are clever and happy, these will serve as a specimen :

'The religious morality' of lusty Juventus opens with this not inelegant song for the sixteenth century:

In a herber grene aslepe where as I lay,

The byrdes sange swete in the middes of the daye,

I dreamed fast of myrth and play;

In youth is pleasure, in youth is pleasure.

Methought I walked stil to and fro,

And from her company I could not go;

But when I waked it was not so:

In youth is pleasure, in youth is pleasure.

Harl. MS .7578.