The virtue expulsive or animal,
From thilke virtue cleped1 natural,
Ne may the venom voiden ne expell;
The pipes of his lungs 'gan to swell,
And every lacert 2 in his breast adown
Is shent3 with venom and corruption.
He gaineth neither, 4 for to get his life,
Vomit upward ne downward laxative:
All is to-bursten thilke region;

Nature hath now no domination:

And certainly where nature will not werche,5
Farewell physic; go bear the man to church.
This is all and some, that Arcite muste die;
For which he sendeth after Emily,
And Palamon, that was his cousin dear;
Then said he thus, as ye shall after hear:

'Naught may the woful spirit in mine heart
Declare one point of all my sorrows' smart
To you my lady, that I love most,
But I bequeath the service of my ghost

To you aboven every creature,

Since that my life ne may no longer dure.
'Alas the woe! alas the paines strong,

That I for you have suffered, and so long!
Alas the death! alas mine Emily!

Alas departing of our company!

Alas mine hearte's queen! alas my wife!

Mine hearte's lady, ender of my life!

What is this world?-What asken men to have ?
Now with his love, now in his colde grave—-

Alone-withouten any company.

Farewell my sweet-farewell mine Emily!
And softe take me in your armes tway
For love of God, and hearkeneth what I say.
'I have here with my cousin Palamon
Had strife and rancour many a day agone
For love of you, and for my jealousy ;
And Jupiter so wis my soule gie,"
To speaken of a servant properly,
With alle circumstances truely;

That is to say, truth, honour, and knighthead,
Wisdom, humbless, estate, and high kindred,
Freedom, and all that 'longeth to that art,
So Jupiter have of my soule part,

As in this world right now ne know I none

So worthy to be loved as Palamon,
That serveth you, and will do all his life;

And if that ever ye shall be a wife,

Forget not Palamon, the gentle man.'

And with that word his speeche fail began;
For from his feet up to his breast was come

The cold of death that had him overnome ;1
And yet, moreover, in his armes two,
The vital strength is lost and all ago; 2
Only the intellect, withouten more,

That dwelled in his hearte sick and sore,
'Gan faillen when the hearte felte death;
Dusked his eyen two, and fail'd his breath:
But on his lady yet cast he his eye;
His laste word was, 'Mercy Emily!'

DEPARTURE OF CUSTANCE.

Custance is banished from her husband, Alla, king of Northumberland, in consequence of the treachery of the king's mother. Her behaviour in embarking at sea, in a rudderless ship, is thus described :

Weepen both young and old in all that place,

When that the king this cursed letter sent;

And Custance with a deadly pale face
The fourthe day toward the ship she went;
But natheless, 3 she tak'th in good intent
The will of Christ, and kneeling on the strond,
She saide, Lord, aye welcome be thy sond.4

'He that me kepte from the false blame,

While I was in the land amonges you,

He can me keep from harm and eke from shame

In the salt sea, although I see not how:
As strong as ever he was, he is yet now:
In him trust I, and in his mother dear,
That is to me my sail and eke my steer.'5

;

Her little child lay weeping in her arms
And kneeling piteously to him she said-
'Peace, little son, I will do thee no harm:"
With that her kerchief off her head she braid,"
And over his little eyen she it laid,

And in her arm she lulleth it full fast,

And into th' heaven her eyen up she cast.

Mother, quod she, and maiden bright, Mary!
Soth is, that through womannes eggement,7
Mankind was lorn,8 and damned aye to die,
For which thy child was on a cross yrent :9
Thy blissful eyen saw all his torment;

Then is there no comparison between

Thy woe and any woe man may sustain.

Thou saw'st thy child y-slain before thine eyen,

And yet now liveth my little child parfay:10
Now, lady bright! to whom all woful crien,
Thou glory of womanhood, thou faire May!
Thou haven of refute," bright star of day!
Ruel2 on my child, that of thy gentleness
Ruest on every rueful in distress.

O little child, alas! what is thy guilt,
That never wroughtest sin as yet, pardie?
Why will thine hardé father have thee spilt ?1
O mercy, deare Constable! (quod she,)

As let my little child dwell here with thee;
And if thou dar'st not saven him from blame,
So kiss him one's in his father's name.'

Therewith she looketh backward to the land,
And saide, 'Farewell, husband rutheless!' 2
And up she rose, and walketh down the strand
Toward the ship; her followeth all the press :3
And ever she prayeth her child to hold his peace,
And tak'th her leave, and with a holy intent
She blesseth her, and into the ship she went.
Victailled was the ship, it is no drede,4
Abundantly for her a full long space;
And other necessaries that should need
She had enow, herieds be Goddes grace:
The wind and weather, Almighty God purchase,6
And bring her home, I can no better say,
But in the sea she driveth forth her way.

But rich he was in holy thought and work;

And thereto a right learned man; a clerk

That Christ's pure gospel would sincerely preach,

And his parishioners devoutly teach.

Benign he was, and wondrous diligent,

And in adversity full patient,

As proven oft; to all who lack'd a friend.

Loth for his tithes to ban or to contend,

At every need much rather was he found
Unto his poor parishioners around
Of his own substance and his dues to give :
Content on little, for himself, to live.

Wide was his cure; the houses far asunder,
Yet never fail'd he, or for rain or thunder,
Whenever sickness or mischance might call
The most remote to visit, great or small,
And, staff in hand, on foot, the storm to brave.
This noble ensample to his flock he gave,
That first he wrought, and afterward he taught.
The word of life he from the gospel caught;
And well this comment added he thereto,
If that gold rusteth, what should iron do?
And if the priest be foul on whom we trust,
What wonder if the unletter'd layman lust?
And shame it were in him the flock should keep,
To see a sullied shepherd, and clean sheep.

For sure a priest the sample ought to give
By his own cleanness how his sheep should live.
He never set his benefice to hire,
Leaving his flock acomber'd in the mire,
And ran to London cogging at St. Paul's,
To seek himself a chauntery for souls,
Or with a brotherhood to be enroll'd;
But dwelt at home, and guarded well his fold,
So that it should not by the wolf miscarry.
He was a shepherd, and no mercenary.

Tho holy in himself, and virtuous,

He still to sinful men was mild and piteous:
Not of reproach imperious or malign;
But in his teaching soothing and benign.
To draw them on to heaven, by reason fair
And good example, was his daily care.
But were there one perverse and obstinate,
Were he of lofty or of low estate,

Him would he sharply with reproof astound.
A better priest is no where to be found.

He waited not on pomp or reverence,
Nor made himself a spiced conscience.
The lore of Christ and his apostles twelve

He taught but, first, he followed it himselve.

The following poem was the last production that emanated from Chaucer's prolific pen. It was written on his death-bed, and may properly close these

extracts:

Fly from the press,1 and dwell with sothfastness ; 2
Suffice unto thy good3 though it be small;
For hoard hath hate, and climbing tickleness,
Press1 hath envy, and weal is blents o'er all;
Savours no more than thee behoven shall;
Rede well thyself, that other folk can'st rede,
And truth thee shall deliver 't is no drede.8
Pain thee not each croocked to redress

In trust of her that turneth as a ball;
Great rest standeth in little baseness;
Beware also to spurn against a nalle ;9
Strive not as doth a crocke10 with a wall;
Deemeth thyself that deemest other's deed;
And truth thee shall deliver 't is no drede.
That1 thee is sent receive in buxomness ;13
The wrestling of this world asketh a fall;
Here is no home, here is but wilderness;
Forth, pilgrim, forth, O beast out of thy stall;
Look up on high, and thank thy God of all;
Waiveth thy lust and let thy ghost14 thee lead,
And truth thee shall deliver 't is no drede.

1 Crowd.
2 Truth. 3 Be satisfied with thy wealth.
5 Prosperity has ceased.
6 Taste.
7 Counsel.
9 Nail.
10 Earthen pitcher.
13 Humility, obedience.

11 Judge.

14 Spirit.

4 Striving.

8 Without fear.

12 That (which).

Though Chaucer was eminent chiefly as a poet, yet he deserves a passing notice as a writer in prose also. His longest unversified production is The "Testament of Love,' to which we have already alluded. This is an allegorical and meditative work, and was written chiefly for the purpose of defending his character against certain imputations which had been cast upon it. Two of the 'Canterbury Tales,' also, are in prose; in one of which, the Tale of Melibeus, is found a passage on Riches, not less remarkable for the great amount of ancient wisdom which it contains, than for the clearness and simplicity of its diction. We have, however, already afforded to Chaucer so much space that we have not room to introduce this interesting passage, but must at once pass briefly to notice Gower, his illustrious contemporary.

Though the genius of Chaucer far transcended that of all preceding writers in England, yet he was not the solitary light of the age. The national mind, and the national language had now arrived at a certain degree of maturity favorable for the production of able writers in both prose and verse. Besides Wickliffe, Gower and Mandeville also belong to the same period.

JOHN GOWER was born of an illustrious family at Stitenham, Yorkshire, in 1320. He was educated at Merton College, Oxford, and at the time at which he was graduated, his eminence as a scholar was extensively known. Being designated by his parents for the legal profession, he removed to London immediately after he left the university, and entered the Middle Temple as a student at law; and though devoted to his profession, yet he did not permit it to engross his entire attention, but gave much of his leisure time to poetry and other literary pursuits. While thus occupied, and soon after he had completed his preparatory legal studies, he formed an acquaintance with Chaucer, who had just then returned from his travels on the continent, and the similarity of their tastes soon created a very close intimacy between them. Poetry, however, with Gower, was a pastime, while to his profession he devoted himself with such untiring industry, that before the close of the reign of Edward the Third, his position as a lawyer had become so commanding that when Richard the Second succeeded to the crown, that unfortunate monarch first selected him as his legal adviser, and Chancellor in Commons, and soon after raised him to the office of Chief Justice of the Court of Common Pleas.

In this imposing position Gower remained until his royal patron was dethroned by the duke of Lancaster, afterward Henry the Fourth, when he being far advanced in age, and having also recently had the misfortune to lose his eyesight, retired from the busy scenes of life, and took leave at the same time, both of the muses and of the world, in his pathetic poem The Commendation of Peace. In this sweet production he plainly and affectingly indicates a full sense of his consciousness of an approaching death,