"Now, surely," said the youthful knight,

"You are lady Ballisance, Wife to the Grecian Emperor :

Your brother's king of France.

"For in your royal brother's court
Myself my breeding had;
Where oft the story of your woes
Hath made my bosom sad.

"If so, know your accuser's dead,
And dying own'd his crime;

And long your lord hath sought you out
Thro' every foreign clime.

"And when no tidings he could learn Of his much-wrongèd wife,

He vow'd thenceforth within his court

To lead a hermit's life."

"Now heaven is kind!" the lady said ; And dropt a joyful tear:

"Shall I once more behold my lord? That lord I love so dear?"

'But, madam," said sir Valentine,

And knelt upon his knee;

"Know you the cloak that wrapt your babe, If you the same should see?"

And pulling forth the cloth of gold,
In which himself was found;
The lady gave a sudden shriek,
And fainted on the ground.

But by his pious care reviv'd,
His tale she heard anon;
And soon by other tokens found,
He was indeed her son.

"But who's this hairy youth?" she said;

"He much resembles thee:

The bear devour'd my younger son,

Or sure that son were he."

'Madam, this youth with bears was bred,

And rear'd within their den.

But recollect ye any mark

To know your son agen?"

"Upon his little side," quoth she,
Was stampt a bloody rose.
"Here, lady, see the crimson mark
Upon his body grows!"

Then clasping both her new-found sons
She bath'd their cheeks with tears;
And soon towards her brother's court
Her joyful course she steers.

What pen can paint king Pepin's joy,
His sister thus restor'd!

And soon a messenger was sent
To chear her drooping lord:

Who came in haste with all his peers,
To fetch her home to Greece;
Where many happy years they reign'd
In perfect love and peace.

To them sir Ursine did succeed,
And long the scepter bare.
Sir Valentine he stay'd in France,
And was his uncle's heir.

THE FAIRIES' FAREWELL.

BY BISHOP CORBET.

AREWELL rewards and Fairies!

Good housewives now may say;
For now foule sluts in dairies

Doe fare as well as they :

And though they sweepe their hearths no less
Than mayds were wont to doe,

Yet who of late for cleaneliness
Finds sixe-pence in her shoe?

Lament, lament, old Abbies,

The fairies' lost command;

They did but change priests' babies,
But some have chang'd your land:
And all your children stoln from thence
Are now growne Puritanes,

Who live as changelings ever since,
For love of your demaines.

At morning and at evening both
You merry were and glad;

So little care of sleepe and sloth
These prettie ladies had.

When Tom came home from labour,

Or Ciss to milking rose,

Then merrily went their tabour,
And nimbly went their toes.

Witness those rings and roundelayes
Of theirs, which yet remaine;
Were footed in queene Marie's dayes
On many a grassy playne.
But since of late Elizabeth
And later James came in;

They never danc'd on any heath,
As when the time hath bin.

By which wee note the fairies
Were of the old profession:
Their songs were Ave Maries,

Their dances were procession.
But now, alas! they all are dead,
Or gone beyond the seas,
Or farther for religion fled,
Or else they take their ease.

A tell-tale in their company
They never could endure;
And whoso kept not secretly

Their mirth, was punish'd sure :
It was a just and christian deed
To pinch such blacke and blue :
O how the common-welth doth need
Such justices as you!

Now they have left our quarters;

A Register they have,

Who can preserve their charters;
A man both wise and grave.
An hundred of their merry pranks

By one that I could name

Are kept in store; con twenty thanks

To William for the same.

To William Churne of Staffordshire
Give laud and praises due,

Who every meale can mend your cheare

With tales both old and true:

To William all give audience,
And pray yee for his noddle:
For all the fairies' evidence
Were lost, if it were addle.