use for the glass.

_THOMAS CHATTERTON_

BRISTOW TRAGEDY

THE feathered songster chanticleer
Had wound his bugle-horn,
And told the early villager
The coming of the morn:

King Edward saw the ruddy streaks
Of light eclipse the gray,
And heard the raven's croaking throat,
Proclaim the fated day.

'Thou'rt right,' quoth he, for by the God
That sits enthroned on high!
Charles Bawdin, and his fellows twain,
To-day shall surely die.'

Then with a jug of nappy ale
His knights did on him wait;
'Go tell the traitor, that to-day
He leaves this mortal state.'

Sir Canterlone then bended low,
With heart brimful of woe;
He journeyed to the castle-gate,
And to Sir Charles did go.

But when he came, his children twain,
And eke his loving wife,
With briny tears did wet the floor,
For good Sir Charles's life.

'O good Sir Charles,' said Canterlone,
'Bad tidings I do bring.'
'Speak boldly, man,' said brave Sir Charles
'What says the traitor-king?'

'I grieve to tell: before yon sun
Does from the welkin fly,
He hath upon his honour sworn,
That thou shalt surely die.'

'We all must die,' said brave Sir Charles,
Of that I'm not afraid;
What boots to live a little space?
Thank Jesus, I'm prepared.

'But tell thy king, for mine he's not,
I'd sooner die to-day,
Than live his slave, as many are,
Though I should live for aye.'

Then Canterlone he did go out,
To tell the mayor straight
To get all things in readiness
For good Sir Charles's fate.

Then Mr. Canynge sought the king,
And fell down on his knee;
'I'm come,' quoth he, unto your grace,
To move your clemency.'

'Then,' quoth the king, your tale speak out,
You have been much our friend:
Whatever your request may be,
We will to it attend.'

My noble liege, all my request
Is for a noble knight,
Who, though mayhap he has done wrong,
He thought it still was right.

He has a spouse and children twain;
All ruined are for aye,
If that you are resolved to let
Charles Bawdin die to-day.'

'Speak not of such a traitor vile,'
The king in fury said;
'Before the evening-star doth shine,
Bawdin shall lose his head:

'Justice does loudly for him call,
And he shall have his meed:
Speak, Mr. Canynge, what thing else
At present do you need?'

'My noble liege,' good Canynge said,
Leave justice to our God,
And lay the iron rule aside;
Be thine the olive rod.

'Was God to search our hearts and reins,
The best were sinners great;
Christ's vicar