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Pull off, pull off thy silken shoon,

And deliver them unto me; Methinks that they are too fine and gay To rot in the salt, salt sea.

Pull off, pull off thy bonnie green plaid,
That floats in the breeze so free;

It is woven fine with the silver twine,
And comely it is to see.

If I must pull off my bonnie green plaid,
O turn thy back to me;

And gaze on the sun which has just begun To peer o'er the salt, salt sea.

He turn'd his back on the damoselle

And gaz'd on the bright sunbeam

She grasp'd him tight with her arms so white, And plung'd him into the stream.

Lie there, sir knight, thou false-hearted wight,
Lie there instead of me;

Six damsels fair thou hast drown'd there,
But the seventh has drowned thee.

That ocean wave was the false one's grave,
For he sunk right hastily;

Though with dying voice faint, he pray'd to his saint,
And utter'd an Ave Marie.

No mass was said for that false knight dead,

No convent bell did toll;

But he went to his rest, unshriv'd and unblestHeaven's mercy on his soul!

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She mounted her on her dapple-grey steed, And led the steed milk-white;

She rode till she reach'd her father's hall,
Three hours before the night.

The parrot, hung in the lattice so high,
To the lady then did say,

Some ruffian, I fear, has led thee from home,
For thou hast been long away.

Do not prattle, my pretty bird,

Do not tell tales of me;

And thy cage shall be made of the glittering gold, Instead of the greenwood tree.

The earl as he sat in his turret high,

On hearing the parrot did say,

What ails thee, what ails thee, my pretty bird? Thou hast prattled the live-long day.

Well may I prattle, the parrot replied,
And call, brave earl, on thee;

For the cat has well nigh reach'd the lattice so high,
And her eyes are fix'd on me.

Well turn'd, well turn'd, my pretty bird,
Well turn'd, well turn'd for me;

Thy cage shall be made of the glittering gold,
Instead of the greenwood tree.

PRIDE AND GOOD-WILL.

It is related of a certain class of French nobility, who, in their winter residence at Aix, were objects of dislike from their arrogance and self-importance, that they were beloved and esteemed for their kindness and benevolence by the dependants around their chateaus in the country. Many instances might be cited to show that the respect paid them was no more than they deserved; and one is particularly striking:

A seigneur, when he resided in the country, used to distribute among the women and children, and the old men who were unable to work in the field, raw wool, and flax, which they spun and wove into cloth or stuff at their pleasure: every week they were paid wages according to the quantity of work done, and had a fresh supply of raw materials whenever it was wanted. At the end of the year, a general feast was given by the seigneur to the whole village, when all who had been occupied in spinning and weaving brought in their work, and a prize of a hundred livres was given to each person who had spun the best skein, and woven the best web. They had a dinner in a field adjoining to the chateau, at which the seigneur himself presided, and on each side of him sat those who had gained the prizes. The evening was concluded with a dance. The victors, besides the hundred livres, had their work given them: the rest were allowed to purchase theirs at a very moderate price, and the money resulting from it was laid by to distribute among any persons of the village who wanted relief on account of sickness, or who had suffered from unavoidable accident, either in their persons or property. At the death of this excellent man, who unfortunately left no immediate heirs to follow his good example, the village presented a scene of the bitterest lamentation and distress: the peasants assembled round the body, and it was almost forced away from them for interment, They brought their shuttles, their distaffs, their skeins of thread and worsted, their pieces of linen and stuff, and strewed them upon his grave, saying that now they had lost their patron and benefactor, they could no longer be of use to them. If this man felt the pride of conscious superiority, it was scarcely to be condemned when accompanied with such laudable exertions to render himself, through that superiority, a benefactor to society.*

Miss Plumtree.

Garrick Plays.

No. II.

[From the "Parliament of Bees," a Masque, by John Day, printed 1607. Whether this singular production, in which the Characters are all Bees, was ever acted, I have no information to determine. It is at least as capable of representation, as we can conceive the "Birds" of Aristophanes to have been.]

Ulania, a female Bee, confesses her passion for Meletus, who loves Arethusa.

not a village Fly, nor meadow Bee,
That trafficks daily on the neighbour plain,
But will report, how all the Winged Train
Have sued to me for Love; when we have flown
In swarms out to discover fields new blown,
Happy was he could find the forward'st tree,
And cull the choicest blossoms out for me;
Of all their labours they allow'd me some,

And (like my champions) mann'd me out, and home:
Yet loved I none of them. Philon, a Bee
Well-skill'd in verse and amorous poetry,
As we have sate at work, both of one Rose,*

Has humm'd sweet Canzons, both in verse and prose,
Which I ne'er minded. Astrophel, a Bee
(Although not so poetical as he)

Yet in his full invention quick and ripe,
In summer evenings, on his well-tuned pipe,

Upon a woodbine blossom in the sun,

(Our hive being clean-swept, and our day's work done),
Would play me twenty several tunes; yet I
Nor minded Astrophel, nor his melody.

Then there's Amniter, for whose love fair Leade
(That pretty Bee) flies up and down the mead
With rivers in her eyes; without deserving
Sent me trim Acorn bowls of his own carving,

To drink May dews and mead in. Yet none of these,
My hive-born Playfellows and fellow Bees,
Could I affect, until this strange Bee came ;
And him I love with such an ardent flame,
Discretion cannot quench.

He labours and toils,

Extracts more honey out of barren soils
Than twenty lazy Drones. I have heard my Father,
Steward of the Hive, profess that he had rather

Lose half the Swarm than him. If a Bee, poor or weak,
Grows faint on his way, or by misfortune break
A wing or leg against a twig; alive,
Or dead, he'll bring into the Master's Hive
Him and his burthen. But the other day,
On the next plain there grew a fatal fray

Prettily pilfered from the sweet passage in the
Midsummer Night's Dream, where Helena recounts to
Hermia their school-days' friendship:

We, Hermia, like two artificial Gods,
Created with our needles both one flower,
Both on one sampler, sitting on one cushion.

Betwixt the Wasps and us; the wind grew high,
And a rough storm raged so impetuously,

Our Bees could scarce keep wing; then fell such rain,
It made our Colony forsake the plain,
And fly to garrison: yet still He stood,
And 'gainst the whole swarm made his party good;
And at each blow he gave, cried out His Vow,
His Vow, and Arethusa !-On each bough
And tender blossom he engraves her name
With his sharp sting. To Arethusa's fame
He consecrates his actions; all his worth
Is only spent to character her forth.

On damask roses, and the leaves of pines,

I have seen him write such amorous moving lines
In Arethusa's praise, as my poor heart
Has, when I read them, envied her desert;
And wept and sigh'd to think that he should be
To her so constant, yet not pity me.

Porrex, Vice Roy of Bees under King
Oberon, describes his large prerogative.

To Us (who, warranted by Oberon's love,
Write Ourself Master Bee), both field and grove,
Garden and orchard, lawns and flowery meads,
(Where the amorous wind plays with the golden heads
Of wanton cowslips, daisies in their prime,
Sun-loving marigolds; the blossom'd thyme,
The blue-vein'd violets and the damask rose;
The stately lily, Mistress of all those);
Are allow'd and giv'n, by Oberon's free areed,
Pasture for me, and all my swarms to feed.

the doings,

The births, the wars, the wooings,

of these pretty little winged creatures
are with continued liveliness portrayed
throughout the whole of this curious
old Drama, in words which Bees would
talk with, could they talk; the very air
seems replete with humming and buzzing
melodies, while we read them. Surely
Bees were never so be-rhymed before.
C. L.

Biographical Memoranda.

JOHN SCOT, A FASTING FANATIC.

In the year 1539, there lived in Scotland one John Scot, no way commended for his learning, for he had none, nor for his good qualities, which were as few. This man, being overthrown in a suit of law, and knowing himself unable to pay that wherein he was adjudged, took sanctuary in the abbey of Holyrood-house; where, out o discontent, he abstained from all meat and drink, by the space of thirty or forty days together.

Fame having spread this abroad, the

king would have it put to trial, and to that effect shut him up in a private room within the castle of Edinburgh, whereunto no man had access. He caused a little water and bread to be set by him, which he was found not to have diminished in the end of thirty days and two. Upon this he was dismissed, and, after a short time, he went to Rome, where he gave the like proof of his fasting to pope Clement VII.; from whence he went to Venice, carrying with him a testimony of his long fasting under the pope's seal and there also he gave the like proof thereof. After long time, returning into England, he went up into the pulpit in St. Paul's Church-yard, where he gave forth many speeches against the divorce of king Henry VIII. from his queen Katherine, inveighing bitterly against him for his defection from the see of Rome; whereupon he was thrust into prison, where he continued fasting for the space of fifty days: what his end was I read not.-Spotswood, &c.

HART THE ASTROLOGER.

There lived in Houndsditch, about the year 1632, one Alexander Hart, who had been a soldier formerly, a comely old man, of good aspect, he professed questionary astrology and a little of physic; his greatest skill was to elect young gentlemen fit times to play at dice, that they might win or get money. Lilly relates that "he went unto him for resolutions for three questions at several times, and he erred in every one." He says, that to speak soberly of him he was but a cheat, as appeared suddenly after; for a rustical fellow of the city, desirous of knowledge, contracted with Hart, to assist for a conference with a spirit, and paid him twenty pounds of thirty pounds the contract. At last, after many delays, and no spirit appearing, nor money returned, the young man indicted him for a cheat at the Old Bailey in London. The jury found the bill, and at the hearing of the cause this jest happened: some of the bench inquired what Hart did?" He sat like an alderman in his gown," quoth the fellow; at which the court fell into a laughter, most of the court being aldermen. He was to have been set upon the pillory for this cheat; but John Taylor the water poet being his great friend, got the lord chief justice Richardson to bail him, ere he stood upon the pillory, and so Hart fled presently into Holland, where he ended his days.*

* Autobiography, vol. ii. Lilly's Life.

REV. THOMAS COOKE.

The verses at the end of the following which would otherwise be out of place in a letter may excuse the insertion of a query, publication not designed to be a channel of inquiry.

To the Editor.

Sir, I should feel much obliged, if the Table Book can supply some account of a clergyman of the name of Thomas Cooke, who, it is supposed, resided in Shropshire, and was the author of a very beautiful poem, in folio, (published by subscription, about ninety years since,) entitled "The Immortality of the Soul." I have a very imperfect copy of this work, and am desirous of ascertaining, from any of your multifarious readers, whether or not the poem ever became public, and where it is probable I could obtain a glimpse of a perfect impression. Mine has no title-page, and about one moiety of the work has been destroyed by the sacrilegious hands of some worthless animal on two legs!

The list of subscribers plainly proves that Mr. Cooke must have been a man of

good family, and exalted conections. On one of the blank leaves in my copy, the following lines appear, written by Mr. Cooke himself; and, considering the trammels by which he was confined, I think the verses are not without merit; at any rate, the subject of them appears to have been a beautiful creature.

By giving this article a place in the Table Book, you will much oblige

Your subscriber and admirer,
G. J. D.

Islington-green.

AN ACROSTIC

On a most beautiful and accomplished young Lady. London, 1748.

Meekness-good-humour-each transcendent grace,
I s seen conspicuous on thy joyous face;
Sweet's the carnation to the rambling bee,
So art thou, CHARLOTTE! always sweet to me!

Can aught compare successfully with those
High beauties which thy countenance compose,
A 11 doubly heighten'd by that gentle mind,
Renown'd on earth, and prais'd by ev'ry wind?
Lov'd object! no-then let it be thy care
O. f fawning friends, at all times, to beware---
To shun this world's delusions and disguise,
The knave's soft speeches, and the flatt'rer's lies,
E steeming virtue, and discarding vice!

Go where I may, howe'er remote the clime,
Where'er my feet may stray, thy charms sublime,
I llustrious maid! approv'd and prais'd by all,
Like some enchantment shall my soul enthrall→
Light ev'ry path-illuminate mind-
my

I nspire my pen with sentiments refin'd→→→
And teach my tongue on this fond pray'r to dwell,
"May Heav'n preserve the maid it loves so well!"
THOMAS COOKE.

Varieties.

CURIOUS PLAY BILL.

The following remarkable theatrical announcement is a mixed appeal of vanity and poverty to the taste and feelings of the

inhabitants of a town in Sussex.

(Copy.)

At the old theatre in East Grinstead, on Saturday, May, 1758, will be represented (by particular desire, and for the benefit of Mrs. P.) the deep and affecting Tragedy of Theodosius, or the Force of Love, with magnificent scenes, dresses, &c.

Varanes, by Mr. P., who will strive, as far as possible, to support the character of this fiery Persian Prince, in which he was so much admired and applauded at Hastings, Arundel, Petworth, Midworth, Lewes,

&c.

Theodosius, by a young gentleman from the University of Oxford, who never appeared on any stage.

Athenais, by Mrs. P. Though her present condition will not permit her to wait on gentlemen and ladies out of the town with tickets, she hopes, as on former occasions, for their liberality and support.

Nothing in Italy can exceed the altar, in the first scene of the play. Nevertheless, should any of the Nobility or Gentry wish to see it ornamented with flowers, the bearer will bring away as many as they choose to favour him with.

As the coronation of Athenais, to be introduced in the fifth act, contains a number of personages, more than sufficient to fill all the dressing-rooms, &c., it is hoped no gentlemen and ladies will be offended at being refused admission behind the scenes.

N. B. The great yard dog, that made so much noise on Thursday night, during the last act of King Richard the Third, will be sent to a neighbour's over the way; and on account of the prodigious demand for places, part of the stable will be laid into the boxes on one side, and the granary be open for the same purpose on the other. Vivat Rex.*

* Boaden's Life of Mrs. Siddons.

IT'S NEVER TOO LATE TO MEND. At Chester, in the beginning of the year 1790, a reputable farmer, on the evening of a market-day, called at the shop of Mr. Poole, bookseller, and, desiring to speak with him at the door, put a shilling into his hand, telling him, "he had owed it to him many years." The latter asked, for what? To which the farmer replied, that "When a boy, in buying a book-almanac at his shop, he had stolen another-the reflection of which had frequently given him much uneasiness." If any one who sees this ever wronged his neighbour, let him be encouraged by the courage of the farmer of Chester, to make reparation in like manner, and so make clean his conscience.

CONSCIENCE.

-There is no power in holy men,

Nor charm in prayer-nor purifying form
Of penitence-nor outward look-nor fast-
Nor agony-nor, greater than all these,
The innate tortures of that deep despair,
Which is remorse without the fear of hell,
But all in all sufficient to itself

Would make a hell of heaven-can exorcise
From out the unbounded spirit, the quick sense
Of its own sins, wrongs, sufferance, and revenge
Upon itself; there is no future pang
Can deal that justice on the self-condemn'd
He deals on his own soul.

Byron.

EPITAPH BY DR. Lowтn, late bishop of London, on a monument in the church of Cudesden, Oxfordshire, to the memory of his daughter, translated from the Latin :—

Dear as thou didst in modest worth excel,
More dear than in a daughter's name-farewell!
Farewell, dear Mary-but the hour is nigh
When, if I'm worthy, we shall meet on high:
Then shall I say, triumphant from the tomb,
"Come, to thy father's arms, dear Mary, come !"

INSCRIPTION

From the book at Rigi, in Switzerland.
Nine weary up-hill miles we sped
The setting sun to see;
Sulky and grim he went to bed,

Sulky and grim went we.

Seven sleepless hours we past, and then,
The rising sun to see,
Sulky and grim we rose again,
Sulky and grim rose he.

[graphic]

Antiquarian Hall, ALIAS Will. Will-be-so, of Lynn.

A goose-herd in the fen-lands; next, he Be-doctor'd Norfolk cows; much vext, he Turn'd bookseller, and poetaster,

And was a tolerable master

Of title-pages, but his rhymes

Were shocking, at the best of times.

However, he was very honest,

And now, poor fellow, he is-" non cst."

For the Table Book.

WILLIAM HALL, or as he used to style himself, "Antiquarian Hall," "Will. Willbe-so," and "Low-Fen-Bill-Hall," or, as he was more generally termed by the public, "Old Hall," died at Lynn, in Norfolk, on the 24th of January, 1825. From some curious autobiographical sketches in rhyme, published by himself, in the decline of life, it appears that he was born on June 1, O.S. 1748, at Willow Booth, a small island in the fens of Lincolnshire, near Heckington Ease, in the parish of South Kyme.

"Kyme, God knows,

Where no corn grows, Nothing but a little hay;

And the water comes,

And takes it all away."

His ancestors on the father's side were all "fen slodgers," having lived there for many generations; his mother was

"a half Yorkshire,

The other half was Heckington, Vulgar a place as any one.".

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"overstretching took a slip,

And popp'd beneath a merchant's ship;*
No soul at hand but me and mother;

Nor could I call for one or other.". She, however, at the hazard of her own life, succeeded in saving her son's. At eleven years old, he went to school, in Brothertoft chapel, for about six months, in which time he derived all the education he ever received. His love of reading was so great, that as soon as he could manage a gunningboat, he used to employ his Sundays either in seeking for water-birds' eggs, or to

"shouve the boat

A catching fish, to make a groat,
And sometimes with a snare or hook;
Well, what was't for?-to buy a book,
Propensity so in him lay."

Before he arrived at man's estate, he lost his mother, and soon afterwards his father

• A coal-lighter.

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