nd at some distance of
time was new-written by R. Wilmot. The reader, therefore, may not be
displeased with a specimen of it in its original dress. It is here given
from the fragment of an ancient MS. taken out of a chest of papers
formerly belonging to Mr Powell, father-in-law to the author of
"Paradise Lost," at Forest Hill, about four miles from Oxford, where in
all probability some curiosities of the same kind may remain, the
contents of these chests (for I think there are more than one) having
never yet been properly examined. The following extract is from the
conclusion of the piece.--_Reed_. [Reed's extract has been collated with
the two MSS. before-mentioned; where the Powell MS. may now be, the
editor cannot say. The differences, on the whole, are not material;
but the Lansdowne MS. 786 has supplied a few superior readings and
corrections.]

But in thy brest if eny spark remaine
Of thy dere love. If ever yet I coulde
So moche of thee deserve, or at the least
If with my last desire I may obtaine
This at thy handes, geve me this one request
And let me not spend my last breath in vaine.
My life desire I not, which neither is
In thee to geve nor in my self to save,
Althoughe I wolde. Nor yet I aske not this
As mercye for myne Erle in ought to crave,
Whom I to well do knowe howe thou hast slayen.
No, no, father, thy hard and cruell wronge
With pacience as I may I will sustaine
In woefull life which now shall not be longe.
But this one suite, father, if unto me
Thou graunt, though I cannot the same reacquite
Th'immortall goddes shall render unto thee
Thy due reward and largely guerdon it,
That sins it pleased thee not thus secretly
I might enjoy my love, his corps and myne
May nathelesse together graved be
And in one tombe our bodies both to shrine
With which this small request eke do I praie
That on the same graven in brasse thou place
This woefull epitaphe which I shall saye,
That all lovers may rue this mornefull case;
Loe here within one tombe where harbor twaine
Gismonda Quene and Countie Pallurine!
She loved him, he for her love was slayen,
For whoes revenge eke lyes she here in shrine.
[GISMONDA _dieth_

TANCRED. O me alas, nowe do the cruell paines
Of cursed death my dere daughter bereave.
Alas whie bide I here? the sight constraines