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The Knight, the Squier, the Yeoman, the Prioresse,

The Sergeant of the Lawe, the Frankelein, the )
Marchant, the Clerk, etc.

The Shipman, the life of Bath, the Cook, the ,

Doctour, etc.
The Reve, the Manciple, the Sompnour, and the

And with that word we riden forth our way . GEORGE THOMAS
Ah, swect! are ye a worldly creature"

GEORGE THOMAS. Cease,quoth the Merle, thy preaching, Nightin. )

F. W. KEYI.. gale" Blame not my lute.

JULIAN PORTCH The secret groves which oft we made resound. E. M. WIMPERIS The soote season, that bud and bloom forth bring's E. M. WIMPERIS Jolly good ale and old .

FELIX DARLEY. With how sud steps, O Moon ! thou climb'st the skies. E. M. WIMPERIS Nly wealth is health and perfect ease

BIRKET FOSTER The cottage that affonis no pride nor care .

BIRKET FOSTER His flocks are folded, he comes home at night. JOHN GILBERT. Address to the Nightingale

F. W. KEYL. . Come lite with me, and be my love .

E. M. WIMPERIS Time goes by turns .

FELIX DARLEY. Una and the Red-cross K’night

GEORGE THOMAS Like as a ship, that through the ocean wide

E. M. WIMPERIS Fair Cynthia's silver light

BIRKET FOSTER The wrathful winter 'proaching on a pace .

E. M. WIMPERIS Hawthorn had lost his motley livery.

J. H. HILL. Some glory in their birth

JOHN GILBERT. Blow, blow, thou winter wind

JOHN GILBERT Freeze, frecce, thou bitter sky.

E. M. WIMPERIS On a bat's back I do fly

JOHN GILBERT . Autolycus' Song

JOHN GILBERT You spotted snakes, with double tongue


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JOHN GILBERT. And will he not come again

JOHN GILBERT. Frar no more the heat of th' sun.

JOHN GILBERT Orer hill, over dale.

JOHN GILBERT. Sleepest or wakest thou .

JOHN GILBERT Youth is full of sport

JOHN GILBERT Now fetch in firing, at requiring

JOHN GILBERT Caliban's song

John GILBERT. If all the world and love were young

GEORGE THOMAS Then give them all the lie.

JULIAN PORTCH Fair is my love, and cruel as she's fair

John GilbERT. Ihen Phæbus lifts his head .

E. M. WIMPERIS The hart above the rest, the hunter's noblest game , GEORGE THOMAS Nly written rolls of moral counsels .

JOHN GILBERT . On Sunday heaven's gate stands ope

E. M, WIMPERIS Sweet day! so cool, so calm, so bright

JULIAN PORTCH Farewell, rewards and fairies

JOHN GILBERT. I sent thee late a rosy wreath .

JOHN GILBERT. See the chariot at hand here of love.

JULIAN PORTCH You meaner beauties of the night

E. M. WIMPERIS Think not, 'cause men flattring say

JOHN GILBERT. The proclamation made for May

Joseph NASH Sweet country life

E. M. WIMPERIS The heifer, cow, and ox draw near.

E. M. WIMPERIS I love the sea, she is my fellow-creature

BIRKET FOSTER Now great Hyperion left his golden throne

T. CRESWICK, R.A. Thrice, oh, thrice happy, shepherd's life and state E. M. WIMPERIS The torrent of a voice, whose melody

J. Wolf. To war and arms I fly.

JOHN GILBERT. While I lie tangled in her hair .

J. C. HORSLEY, A. R.A. The glories of our birth and state

FREDERICK TAYLER From Oberon, in fairy land

JOHN GILBERT. Through pools and ponds .

R. REDGRAVE, R.A. That kept a brave old house

JOSEPH NASH A crew of lusty men

JOSEPH NASH So now is come our joyful'st feast

E. M. WIMPERIS The wenches with their wassail bowls

Margarita first possest.

Where Thames among the wanton valleys strays C. STONHOUSE
Hence, loathed Melancholy

C. W. COPE, R.A. .
Mirth, admit me of thy crew.

H. J. TOWNSEND Till the dappled dawn doth rise .


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Drawn by Cheerly rouse the slumbering morn

F. TAYLER And every shepherd tells his tale .

R. REDGRAVE, R.A. Hard by a cottage-chimney smokes

T. CRESWICK, R.A. And then, in haste, her bower she leaves

H. J. TOWNSEND . And young and old come forth to play

J. C. HORSLEY, A. R. A. His shadowy flail had thrash'd the corn

H. J. TOWNSEND Tower'd cities please us then .

T. CRESWICK, R.A. Such sights as youthful poets dream

R. REDGRAVE, R.A. Thoughts in a garden .

BIRKET FOSTER Vulcan, contrive me such a cup

Joun GILBERT. I in these flowery meads would be

BIRKET FOSTER Go, lovely Rose

JULIAN PORTCH Oye groves and crystal fountains

E. M. WIMPERIS When first thy eyes unveil

BIRKET FOSTER At last divine Cecilia came

M. A. MADOT Love has still something of the seas.

John GILBERT. Built uniform, not little, nor too great

BIRKET FOSTER To all you ladies now at land

E. DUNCAN Meanwhile he smokes, and laughs at merry tales F. TAYLER In the vast abyss

E. DUNCAN. Down bend the banks, the trees depending grow . J. H. HILL . 'Twas built with turrets on a rising ground. T. CRESWICK, R.A. Lord, as in heaven, on earth Thy will be done". GEORGE THOMAS The moon takes up the wondrous tale

BIRKET FOSTER The victor's shouts and dying groans confound . GEORGE THOMAS The cord slides swiftly through his glowing hands . GEORGE THOMAS Cease, cease, thou cruel ocean.

BIRKET FOSTER And all the village wept

BIRKET FOSTER And on his fist, th' unhooded falcon sits

GEORGE THOMAS. As the good shepherd tends his fleecy care .

H. WARREN, And boys in flow'ry bands the tiger lead

E. V. B. ,

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GEOFFREY CHAUCER, the “Father of English Poetry," was born in London in 1328. The rank of his family is unknown, but it must have been respectable. It is believed that he was educated at Cambridge, and that, after leaving that University, he travelled for some time on the Continent, and then devoted himself to the law, but afterwards relinquished the Bar for the Court. He married a sister of the lady who afterwards became the wife of John of Gaunt, and obtained considerable influence through the favour of that Prince, which led to his receiving some profitable appointments, and being sent on embassies. His alleged connexion with the reformer Wycliffe brought upon him many misfortunes, and ended in his being an exile and a prisoner for a long period. He at length regained his liberty, and lived remote from Court, amid the charming shades of Woodstock, where he wrote many of his best poems. The accession of Henry Bolingbroke, the son of his brother-in-law and patron, drew him from his retirement; his fortunes became once more bright, and he spent the evening of his days in ease and abundance.

Не died in 1400, and was buried in Westminster Abbey. His principal poems are a series known as the “Canterbury Tales,” the Prologue to which we have printed as the best example of his style.)


WHANNE that Aprille with his shoures sote'
The droughte of March hath perced ? to the rote,
And bathed every veine in swiche 4 licour,
Of whiche vertue engendred is the flour ;s
Whan Zephirus eke with his sote brethe
Enspired hath in every holt and hethe
The tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne"
Hath in the Ram his halfe cours yronne,
And smale foules & maken melodie,
That slepen alle night with open eye,

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