CANACE, CONDEMNED TO DEATH BY HER FATHER AEOLUS, SENDS TO HER GUILTY BROTHER MACAREUS THE LAST TESTIMONY OF HER UNHAPPY PASSION. Out of her swoone when she did abraid,[1] Knowing no mean but death in her distress, To her brother full piteously she said, 'Cause of my sorrow, root of my heaviness, That whilom were the source of my gladness, When both our joys by will were so disposed, Under one key our hearts to be enclosed.-- * * * * * This is mine end, I may it not astart;[2] O brother mine, there is no more to say; Lowly beseeching with mine whole heart For to remember specially, I pray, If it befall my little son to dey[3] That thou mayst after some mind on us have, Suffer us both be buried in one grave. I hold him strictly 'tween my armes twain, Thou and Nature laid on me this charge; He, guiltless, muste with me suffer pain, And, since thou art at freedom and at large, Let kindness oure love not so discharge, But have a mind, wherever that thou be, Once on a day upon my child and me. On thee and me dependeth the trespace Touching our guilt and our great offence, But, welaway! most angelic of face Our childe, young in his pure innocence, Shall against right suffer death's violence, Tender of limbs, God wot, full guilteless The goodly fair, that lieth here speechless. A mouth he has, but wordes hath he none; Cannot complain, alas! for none outrage: Nor grutcheth[4] not, but lies here all alone Still as a lamb, most meek of his visage. What heart of steel could do to him damage, Or suffer him die, beholding the mannere And look benign of his twain even clear.'-- * * * * * Writing her letter, awhapped[5] all in drede, In her right hand her pen began to quake, And a sharp sword to make her hearte bleed, In her left hand her father hath her take, And most her sorrow was for her childe's sake, Upon whose face in her barme[6] sleeping Full many a tear she wept in complaining. After all this so as she stood and quoke, Her child beholding mid of her paines' smart, Without abode the sharpe sword she took, And rove herselfe even to the heart; Her child fell down, which mighte not astart, Having no help to succour him nor save, But in her blood theself began to bathe. [1] 'Abraid:' awake. [2] 'Astart:' escape. [3] 'Dey:' die. [4] 'Grutcheth:' murmureth. [5] 'Awhapped:' confounded. [6] 'Barme:' lap. THE LONDON LYCKPENNY. Within the hall, neither rich nor yet poor Would do for me ought, although I should die: Which seeing, I gat me out of the door, Where Flemings began on me for to cry, 'Master, what will you copen[1] or buy? Fine felt hats? or spectacles to read? Lay down your silver, and here you may speed.