(3) Now-a-dayes the judges be afraid to heare a poore man against the rich, insomuch they will either pronounce against him, or so drive off the poore man’s sute, that he shall not be able to go thorow with it. The greatest man in a realme cannot so hurt a judge as the poore widdow; such a shrewd turne she can do him. And with what armour, I pray you? She can bring the judge’s skinne over his eares, and never lay hands upon him. And how is that? “The teares of the poore fall downe upon their cheekes, and go up to heaven,” and cry for vengeance before God, the judge of widdowes, the father of widdowes and orphanes. Poore people be oppressed even by lawes. Wo worth to them that make evill lawes against the poore! LATIMER, _Sermons_ 2. Point out in what respects the style and sentiment of each of the following extracts represent its age and nationality. Write a critique on the passages taken together: point out their common features. (1) Now there was made, fast by the tower’s wall A garden fair; and in the corners set An herbere[74] green, with wandis long and small Railed about, and so with treis set Was all the place, and hawthorn hedges knet That lyf[75] was none walking there forbye That might within scarce any wight espy. And therewith cast I doun mine eye again Where as I saw walking under the tower Full secretly, now comen her to pleyne[76] The fairest or the freshest younge flower That e’er I saw methought before that hour For which sudden abate[77] anon astart The blood of all my body to my heart. JAMES I OF SCOTLAND, _The Kingis Quhair_ (2) Thus I, Colin Clout, As I go about, And wandering as I walk, I hear the people talk: Men say for silver and gold Mitres are bought and sold. There shall no clergy oppose A mitre nor a crose, But a full purse-- A straw for God’s curse! What are they the worse? For a simoniac Is but a hermoniac, And no more ye may make Of simony men say But a child’s play; Over this the foresaid lay Report how the pope may A holy anchorite call Out of a stony wall. SKELETON, _Colin Clout_ (3) He came all so still Where his mother was, As dew in April That falleth on the grass. He came all so still To his mother’s bower, As dew in April That falleth on the flower. He came all so still Where his mother lay, As dew in April That falleth on the spray. Mother and maiden, Was never none like she! Well may such a lady, God’s mother to be! ANONYMOUS