A Toy.

To thee unceasingly flies every thought

Of my sad heart, by groans and woes o'erwrought, In which no lingering shade of hope doth stay.

In truth, my eyes no longer trust that they Again will see thee when from hence I'm brought; Unceasingly is my poor mind distraught,

And languishes in pains, and torments :-fraught With great regrets, it wanders still away

To thee.

Boldly believe-might it avail me ought!

I would not change thee,* though by others sought.
Oh! I assert to thee and freely say,

Or far, or near, to thee will memory stray.
Let not my vow and solemn oath be nought
To thee!

*This does not sound refined, but it is the literal translation of the French, as is also the subsequent boast of the roundeleer (let this word be permitted for mine own especial use; it will not be abused by others, and we have its parallel “sonnetteer,” -See English Bards and Scotch Reviewers,) the roundeleer's fidelity:

Je ne scauroys te changer nnllement. Vanter te puis sans nulle deffiance.”

I am aware that modern delicacy would have said, "I ne'er could love another;" but I think it the part of a faithful translator to render his original word for word whenever it is possible for him to do so without sacrificing the spirit (if any) of the said original, in order that he may convey a correct idea of the manners of the times. Besides, I cannot pretend to "teach manners" to the chivalric age of Francis the First.

C'est a Xamais.

FOR ever will I love thee, ever be
In every place a willing slave to thee.

As lady, and as sovereign, will I wait
On thee; and if my service I abate,
Closed in a sack may I be cast i' the sea.*
One who could be esteemed so worthily,
I'll not believe that elsewhere I can see;
Thus, then, my promise thou dost hear me

state

For ever.

To praise thy high perfections all agree,
Nor can they find one single fault in thee:
Beauty, and youth, and elegance, elate

My heart, and make it all submissive beat. Oh, wouldst thou but return thy love to me For ever!

* “Que l'on me gette en ung sac en la mer."

This line must have originated in some stray and perverted legend of the habits of Constantinople; and as French politeness could not contemplate the possibility of drowning a lady, however faithless, in a sack, like a supernumerary kitten, the gallant roundeleer devoted himself to the barbaric punishment.

Depuis ung Peu.

SOME short while since, I fell in love again—
A love not only of the heart, but brain.

It makes me feel almost as in a trance;

For still does memory cast its willing glance

To those perfections I might not retain.

She's modest, plump,* fair, graceful, haute-not

vain;

And that I know how true this fervid strain,

I love her more than all the maids of France,

Some short while since.

As subject, slave, bound in hope's glittering chain, I'll fight her quarrels, aid in every pain

With strength and wealth, while I can hold a

lance.

She has my pledge this promise to enhanceI made her of my heart the chatelaine

Some short while since.

* “ Tressage elle est, en bon point, gente et belle."

In our last rondeau, the author shewed a kind of perverted sympathy with Constantinople, which is here confirmed by his admission of a Turkish taste for fat beauties. On this principle only could a reference to the en bon point of his lady be considered a compliment.

By the way, although en bon point is the colloquial French for plumpness and good condition, I beg to ask our travelled squirearchy whether the good points of a horse may not be an expression thence derived ? "Now, nurse," said a foxhunting friend, the other day, to the guardian of my black-eyed baby, "now, nurse, I understand nothing about children; but tell me, what are the good points of this boy?"