The reader will be able to judge the author's poetical gift from the selection, which has been chosen as one of the less ornate passages. Even here the form distracts attention from the matter by its elaborateness. A difficult rime scheme is superimposed on the alliterative line; stanza is interlinked with stanza; each group of five stanzas is distinguished by a similar refrain, and bound to the preceding and following groups by repetition in the first and last lines. So too the close of the poem echoes the beginning. With such intricacy of plan, it is not surprising that the rime is sometimes forced, and the sense strained or obscure. It is rather a matter for wonder that, in so long a work, the author was able to maintain his marvellous technique without completely sacrificing poetry to metrical gymnastics. The highly wrought, almost overwrought, effect is heightened when the poem is read as a whole. If _Piers Plowman_ gives a realistic picture of the drabness of mediaeval life, _Pearl_, more especially in the early stanzas, shows a richness of imagery and a luxuriance in light and colour that seem scarcely English. Yet they have their parallels in the decorative art of the time—the elaborate carving in wood and stone; the rich colouring of tapestries, of illuminated books and painted glass; the designs of the jewellers, goldsmiths, and silversmiths, which even the notaries who made the old inventories cannot pass without a word of admiration. The _Pearl_ reminds us of the tribute due to the artists and craftsmen of the fourteenth century. The edition by C. G. Osgood, Boston 1906, is the handiest. THE PEARL, ll. 361-612. (MS. Cotton Nero A X (about 1400).) Thenne demed I to þat damyselle: 'Ne worþe no wrathþe vnto my Lorde, If rapely <I> raue, spornande in spelle; My herte watȝ al wyth mysse remorde, As wallande water gotȝ out of welle. 5 I do me ay in Hys myserecorde; Rebuke me neuer wyth wordeȝ felle, Þaȝ I forloyne, my dere endorde, Bot _k_yþeȝ me kyndely your coumforde, Pytosly þenkande vpon þysse: 10 Of care and me ȝe made acorde, Þat er watȝ grounde of alle my blysse. 'My blysse, my bale, ȝe han ben boþe, Bot much þe bygger ȝet watȝ my mon; Fro þou watȝ wroken fro vch a woþe, 15 I wyste neuer quere my perle watȝ gon. Now I hit se, now leþeȝ my loþe; And, quen we departed, we wern at on; God forbede we be now wroþe, We meten so selden by stok oþer ston. 20 Þaȝ cortaysly ȝe carp con, I am bot mol and ma_n_ereȝ mysse; Bot Crystes mersy, and Mary, and Ion, Þise arn þe grounde of alle my blysse.