Dan John (quoth he) well brouke ye your name, Thogh ye be sole, beeth right glad and light, Praying you to soupe with us this night; And ye shall have made at your devis, A great Pudding, or a round hagis, A Franche Moile, a Tanse, or a Froise, To been a Monk slender is your [A]coise, Ye have been sick I dare mine head assure, Or let feed in a faint pasture.  Lift up your head, be glad, take no sorrow, And ye should ride home with us to morrow, I say, when ye rested have your fill.  After supper, sleep will doen none ill, Wrap well your head, clothes round about, Strong nottie Ale will make a man to rout; Take a Pillow, that ye lye not low; If nede be, spare not to blow; To hold wind, by mine opinion, Will engender colles passion, And make men to greven on her [B]rops, When they have filled her maws and her crops; But toward night, eate some Fennell rede, Annis, Commin, or Coriander-seed, And like as I have power and might, I charge you rise not at midnight, Thogh it be so the Moon shine clere, I will my self be your [C]Orlogere, To morrow early, when I see my time, For we will forth parcel afore prime, Accompanie [D]parde shall do you good.

[Footnote A:  Countenance.]

[Footnote B:  Guts.]

[Footnote C:  Clock.]

[Footnote D:  Verily.]

But I have digressed too far:  To return therefore unto Lydgate. Scripsit partim Anglice, partim Latine; partim Prosa, partim Versu Libros numero plures, eruditione politissimos.  He writ (saith my Author) partly English, partly Latine; partly in Prose, and partly in Verse, many exquisite learned Books, saith Pitseus, which are mentioned by him and Bale, as also in the latter end of Chaucer’s Works; the last Edition, amongst which are Eglogues, Odes, Satyrs, and other Poems.  He flourished in the Reign of Henry the Sixth, and departed this world (aged about 60 years) circiter An. 1440. and was buried in his own Convent at Bury, with this Epitaph,

  Mortuus saeclo, superis Superstes,
  Hic jacet Lydgate tumulaetus Urna: 
  Qui fuit quondam celebris Britannae
     Fama Poesis.

  Dead in this World, living above the Sky,
  Intomb’d within this Urn doth Lydgate lie;
  In former time fam’d for his Poetry,
       All over England.

* * * * *

JOHN HARDING.

John Harding, our Famous English Chronologer, was born (saith Bale) in the Northern parts, and most likely in Yorkshire, being an Esquire of an eminent Parentage.  He was a man equally addicted to Arms and Arts, spending his Youth in the one, and his Age in the other:  His first Military Employment was under Robert Umfreuil, Governor of Roxborough-Castle, where he did good Service against the Scots.  Afterwards he followed the Standard of King Edward the Fourth, to whom he valiantly and faithfully adhered, not only in the Sun-shine of his Prosperity, but also in his deepest Distress.