The rich Exchequer of his niggard sire,

The treasure of those minions doomed to die,* Who found, as sings the bard we most admire, "It is but squeezing sponges and they dry"

All prov'd but insufficient, for, behold!

At GUISNES,† where France and England met In dazzling panoply of gold,

Three days of pleasure cost whole years of debt.

Two Queens divorced, of six the tyrant wed,
Two made good women, losing eách a head;
One happier, tho' unhappy wife,
Died, giving our sixth EDWARD life.
And HARRY meant, no doubt, his last

Should share the fate of consorts past;

But that the arrogantly cruel elf, Met with a little accident between

His plan and execution,-for I ween

He died himself.

Empson and Dudley.

†The place where Henry, and Francis I. of France met, was, from the unexampled and prodigal splendor of the two Courts, called "The Field of Cloth of Gold."

His vanity we must not overlook,

Fool, like myself, his highness wrote a book;
And when POPE LEO read it, no one knew
Which most was to be pitied of the two.

LEO, who for a critic, was quite tender,

Dubb'd HENRY, for his work, the "faith's de

fender;"

HAL in return, which was not quite so civil,
Defied alike the Popedom and the Devil.*

Know ye that magic minstrel WALTER SCOTT? (Who, that knows aught of genius, knows him not?) Feel ye not yet the exquisite delight,

With which ye read his tale of Flodden fight?

Where SURREY triumph'd in bluff HARRY's reign,†

Then who shall dare attempt the theme again?

Not

* The Reformation was said to be owing to a jest made by Sir Thomas Wyatt, who, when Henry was waiting for the Pope's assent to his divorce, said “Lord! that a man cannot repent him of his sins without leave from the Pope." Thus Wyatt hinted, Cranmer opened, and the Universities made, the way to the Reformation.

Vide" AN ENGLISHMAN'S HISTORY OF ENGLAND."

+ At this period an account was kept of the diabolical mischiefs perpetrated by the armies invading Scotland, with all the regularity of a tradesman's ledger. The following was the sum

total

Not I," by my laurels," my verse near his lay, "Like the flowers of the forest wou'd wither away."

What sounds of merriment assail the ear?
What glitt'ring mass of mingled church and
state?

And see, the master of the feast appear,-
'Tis WOLSEY, thoughtless of his future fate!
Like a red meteor we behold him soar,
Extinguish'd now he falls to rise no more.
Of DUNSTAN, BECKET, WOLSEY, having read,
I think it may with safety thus be said :-

--

Three prelates, by three different Sovereigns bred,
Their masters and the people have misled;
The first in monkish cruelty surpast,

The next in arrogance, in both the last;

total of the ravages from July to November, in 1544, as delivered

in by the warden of the marches :

Towns, towers, steeds, bar

By Lord Hertford's invasion into the counties of Berwick and

Roxburgh only, and between the 8th and 23d of September, 1545, there were destroyed,Monasteries and friar-houses,

7

The pride of priestcraft cou'd no farther go,
To make a third she joined the other two.*

Next CROMWELL, worthy of a better end,
Foe to idolatry, religion's friend;

* JOHN SKELTON, Poet Laureat to King Henry VIII. attacked Cardinal Wolsey without mercy, for his upstart insolence, and in his uncouth, but nervous doggrel, did his utmost to render him ridiculous, thus

No man dare come to th' speche,
Of this gentile Jacke-breche;

Of what estate he be,

Of sp'ritual dignitie

Nor duke of hye degree.
Nor marquis, earle, or lorde,
Which shrewdly doth accord:
That he, borne so base-
All nobles should outface;
His count'nance like a cayser,
My lord is not at layser.
Sir, ye must tarry astounde,
'Till better layser be founde;
Sir, ye must dance attendaunce,
And take pacient sufferaunce;
For my lorde's grace,

Has now, nor time, nor place,
To speak with you as yet.
And so they may sit, or flit,
Sit, or walk, or ride,

And his layser abide;

Perchance, half-a-yere,

And yet be never the nere, &c.

Vide J. P. ANDREW.

Capricious

Capricious HENRY! all your wish obtain❜d,
By your command the cloister'd coffers drain'd ;*
With ingrate bitterness you turn your back,
And leave poor CROMWELL to his foes attack.

How fleeting are the hours of wealth and fame,
How more than fleeting, popular acclaim ;
The nation's idol and the King's delight,
A felon's death resigns to endless night.

Superior CRANMER in a crowd alone,
Dares friendship with the virtuous fall'n own
CROMWELL had clung to WOLSEY 'till his end,
And Heaven repays him with as fast a friend.

* 164 suppress'd monasteries, 90 colleges, 2374 chauntrys and chapels, and 110 hospitals produced a revenue of £161,100 to the crown from which fund some additional colleges and professorships were given to the universities, and 6 new bishopricks were erected. The common people were much displeased with the stoppage of that hospitality the monks were used to exercise: there is an old ballad called “Truth and Ignorance,” the latter, who is represented as a rustic, says—

"Ch'll tell the what, good fellowe,

"Before the vriars went hence,

"A bushel of the best wheate,
"Was zoid for vourteen-pence.

"And vorty egges a penny.

"That were both good and newe;

"And this, che say, myselfe have seene,

"And yet I am nɔ Jewe."

Take