Warton has, however, afforded three copious chapters on Lydgate, which are half as much as his enthusiasm bestowed on Chaucer. A Gothic monk, composing ancient romances, was a subject too congenial to have been neglected by the historian of our poetry, and he has limned and illuminated the feudal priest with the love of the votary, who deemed, in his "lone-hours," Nor rough nor barren are the winding ways Of hoar Antiquity, but strown with flowers. His miniature is exquisitely touched. "He was not only the poet of his monastery, but of the world in general. If a _disguising_ was intended by the company of goldsmiths, a _mask_ before his majesty, a _may-game_ for the sheriffs and aldermen of London, a _mumming_ before the lord-mayor, a procession of _pageants_ for the festival of Corpus Christi, or a _carol_ for the coronation, Lydgate was consulted, and gave the poetry."[4] Mr. HALLAM objects that "the attention fails in the school-boy stories of Thebes and Troy; but it seems probable that Lydgate would have been a better poet in satire upon his own times, or delineation of their manners--themes which would have gratified us much more than the fate of princes." This is relatively true--true as regards some of us, but not at all as respects Lydgate, nor the people of his age, nor the king and the princes who commanded themes congenial with their military character, and their simple tastes, romantically charming the readers of two centuries. If our critic, in the exercise of his energetic faculties, lives out of the necromancy of the old Romaunt, afar from Thebes and Troy, Thomas Warton was cradled among the children of fancy, and in his rovings had tasted their wild honey. The only works of Lydgate which attracted his attention were precisely these tedious "Fate of Princes" and "The Troy Book."