drinking-songs are some comic ditties which may have
been sung at wine-parties. Of these I have thought it worth while to
present a few specimens, though their medieval bluntness of humour
does not render them particularly entertaining to a modern reader.

The first I have chosen is _The Lament of the Roast Swan_. It must be
remembered that this bird was esteemed a delicacy in the Middle Ages,
and also that pepper was highly prized for its rarity. This gives a
certain point to the allusion in the third stanza.

THE LAMENT OF THE ROAST SWAN.

No. 53.

Time was my wings were my delight,
Time was I made a lovely sight;
'Twas when I was a swan snow-white.
Woe's me! I vow,
Black am I now,
Burned up, back, beak, and brow!

The baster turns me on the spit,
The fire I've felt the force of it,
The carver carves me bit by bit.
I'd rather in the water float
Under the bare heavens like a boat,
Than have this pepper down my throat.

Whiter I was than wool or snow,
Fairer than any bird I know;
Now am I blacker than a crow.

Now in the gravy-dish I lie,
I cannot swim, I cannot fly,
Nothing but gnashing teeth I spy.
Woe's me! I vow, &c.

The next is _The Last Will of the Dying Ass_. There is not much to be
said for the wit of this piece.

THE WILL OF THE DYING ASS.

No. 54.

While a boor, as poets tell,
Whacked his patient ass too well,
On the ground half dead it fell.
La sol fa,
On the ground half dead it fell,
La sol fa mi re ut.

Then with gesture sad and low,
Streaming eyes and words of woe,
He at length addressed it so:
"Had I known, my gentle ass,
Thou from me so soon wouldst pass,
I'd have swaddled thee, alas!

"Made for thee a tunic meet,
Shirt and undershirt complete,
Breeches, drawers of linen sweet.

"Rise awhile, for pity's sake,
That ere life your limbs forsake
You your legacies may make!"

Soon the ass stood up, and thus,
With a weak voice dolorous,
His last will proclaimed for us:

"To the magistrates my head,
Eyes to constables," he said,
"Ears to judges, when I'm dead;

"To old men my teeth shall fall,
Lips to wanton wooers all,
And my tongue to wives that brawl.

"Let my feet the bailiffs win,
Nostrils the tobacco-m