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This burgess mouse his passage well has spied.
Out of her hole she came and cried on high,
'How, fair sister, cry peep, where'er thou be.'

The rural mouse lay flatlings on the ground,
And for the death she was full dreadand,
For to her heart struck many woful stound,
As in a fever trembling foot and hand;
And when her sister in such plight her fand,
For very pity she began to greet,

Syne1 comfort gave, with words as honey sweet.

'Why lie ye thus? Rise up, my sister dear,
Come to your meat, this peril is o'erpast.'
The other answer'd with a heavy cheer,
'I may nought eat, so sore I am aghast.
Lever2 I had this forty dayis fast,

With water kail, and green beans and peas,
Than all your feast with this dread and disease.'

With fair 'treaty, yet gart she her arise;
To board they went, and on together sat,
But scantly had they drunken once or twice,
When in came Gib Huntér, our jolly cat,
And bade God speed. The burgess up then gat,
And to her hole she fled as fire of flint;
Bawdrons the other by the back has hent.4

From foot to foot he cast her to and frae,
Whiles up, whiles down, as cant as any kid;
Whiles would he let her run under the strae,6

Whiles would he wink and play with her buik-hid;7

1'Syne:' then.-2 Lever:' rather.-3 Bawdrons:' the cat.-4 Hent:' seized. -5 'Cant:' lively.-6 'Strae:' straw.' 'Buik-hid:' body.

Thus to the silly mouse great harm he did;
Till at the last, through fair fortune and hap,
Betwixt the dresser and the wall she crap.1

Syne up in haste behind the panelling,

So high she clamb, that Gilbert might not get her,
And by the cluiks2 craftily can hing,

Till he was gone, her cheer was all the better:
Syne down she lap, when there was none to let her;
Then on the burgess mouse loud could she cry,
'Farewell, sister, here I thy feast defy.

Thy mangery is mingets all with care,
Thy guise is good, thy gane-full1 sour as gall;
The fashion of thy feris is but fair,

So shall thou find hereafterward may fall.
I thank yon curtain, and yon parpane 5 wall,
Of
my defence now from yon cruel beast;
Almighty God, keep me from such a feast!

Were I into the place that I came frae,
For weal nor woe I should ne'er come again.'
With that she took her leave, and forth can gae,
Till through the corn, till through the plain.
When she was forth and free she was right fain,
And merrily linkit unto the muir,

I cannot tell how afterward she fure.6

But I heard syne she passed to her den,
As warm as wool, suppose it was not grit,

Full beinly stuffed was both butt and ben,

With peas and nuts, and beans, and rye and wheat;

1 'Crap:' crept.-2 Cluiks:' claws.-3 'Minget:' mixed.-4 Gane-full:' mouth

ful.- 'Parpane:' partition.-6 Fure:' went.-' Beinly:' snugly.

Whene'er she liked, she had enough of meat,
In quiet and ease, withouten [any] dread,
But to her sister's feast no more she gaed.

[FROM THE MORAL.]

Blessed be simple life, withouten dreid;
Blessed be sober feast in quieté;

Who has enough, of no more has he need,
Though it be little into quantity.
Great abundance, and blind prosperity,
Ofttimës make an evil conclusion;

The sweetest life, therefore, in this country,
Is of sickerness,1 with small possession.

THE GARMENT OF GOOD LADIES.

Would my good lady love me best,
And work after my will,
I should a garment goodliest
Gar2 make her body till.3

Of high honour should be her hood,
Upon her head to wear,
Garnish'd with governance, so good
No deeming should her deir,5

Her sark should be her body next,

Of chastity so white:

With shame and dread together mixt,

The same should be perfite.7

Her kirtle should be of clean constance,
Laced with lesumR love;

1'Sickerness:' security.-2 Gar:' cause.-3 Till:' to.- 'Deeming:' opinion. —5 'Deir:' injure.-6 Sark:' shift.-Perfite:' perfect.-8 'Lesum :' lawful.

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The mailies1 of continuance,

For never to remove.

Her gown should be of goodliness,
Well ribbon'd with renown;
Purfill'd2 with pleasure in ilk3 place,
Furred with fine fashioùn.

Her belt should be of benignity,
About her middle meet;

Her mantle of humility,

To thole both wind and weet.5

Her hat should be of fair having,
And her tippet of truth;
Her patelet of good pansing,6
Her hals-ribbon of ruth.7

Her sleeves should be of esperance,
To keep her from despair;
Her gloves of good governance,
To hide her fingers fair.

Her shoes should be of sickerness,8
In sign that she not slide;
Her hose of honesty, I guess,
I should for her provide.

Would she put on this garment gay,

I durst swear by my seill,9

That she wore never green nor gray
That set 10 her half so weel.

2

1 Mailies:' eyelet-holes.- 'Purfill'd:' fringed.-- 'Ilk:' each.—4 ‹ "Thole:' endure. 5 Weet:' wet.-6 'Pansing:' thinking.-7 'Her hals-ribbon of ruth:' her neck-ribbon of pity.-8 Sickerness:' firmness.-9 'Seill:' salvation.-10 Set:'

became.

WILLIAM DUNBAR.

THIS was a man of the true and sovereign seed of genius. Sir Walter Scott calls Dunbar a poet unrivalled by any that Scotland has ever produced.' We venture to call him the

Dante of Scotland; nay, we question if any English poet has surpassed 'The Dance of the Seven Deadly Sins through Hell' in its peculiarly Dantesque qualities of severe and purged grandeur, of deep sincerity, and in that air of moral disappointment and sorrow, approaching despair, which distinguished the sad-hearted lover of Beatrice, who might almost have exclaimed, with one yet mightier than he in his misery and more miserable in his might,

'Where'er I am is Hell-myself am Hell.'

all

Foster, in an entry in his journal, (we quote from memory,) says, 'I have just seen the moon rising, and wish the impression to be eternal. What a look she casts upon earth, like that of a celestial being who loves our planet still, but has given up hope of ever doing her any good or seeing her become any better-so serene she seems in her settled and unutterable sadness.' Such, we have often fancied, was the feeling of the great Florentine toward the world, and which-pained, pitying, yearning enthusiast that he was!-escaped irresistibly from those deep-set eyes, that adamantine jaw, and that brow, wearing the laurel, proudly yet painfully, as if it were a crown of everlasting fire! Dunbar was not altogether a Dante, either in melancholy or in power, but his Dance' reveals kindred moods, operating at times on a kindred genius.

In Dante humour existed too, but ere it could come up from his deep nature to the surface, it must freeze and stiffen into monumental scorn-a laughter that seemed, while mocking at all things else, to mock at its own mockery most of all. Aird speaks, in his 'Demoniac,' of a smile upon his hero's brow,

'Like the lightning of a hope about to DIE

For ever from the furrow'd brows of Hell's Eternity.' Dante's smile may rather be compared to the RISING of a false

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