“Wherefore _I synge as I was wont_ _Vexilla regis prodeunt_.” _Poem about various birds singing praises to God_,—_MS. Harl._ 2251. fol. 38. The hymn _Vexilla regis prodeunt_, &c. may be seen in _Hymni Ecclesiæ e Breviario Parisiensi_, 1838, p. 71. I ought to add that the present poem is not a translation of it. v. 3. _onfelde is [s]playd_] i. e. is displayed on field. v. 4. _nayd_] i. e. denied. v. 11. _thees_] i. e. thighs. v. 13. _pyne_] i. e. pain. v. 14. _spylt_] i. e. destroyed, put to death. v. 17. _dong_] i. e. dung, struck. Page 145. v. 25. _fote_] i. e. foot. v. 31. _Syth_] i. e. Since. v. 33. _chere_] i. e. spirit,—or reception. v. 35. _lykes_] i. e. pleases. v. 40. _eysell_] i. e. vinegar. v. 51. _doone_] i. e. done. Page 146. v. 60. _isprode_] i. e. spread. v. 68. _payne_] i. e. labour, strive. v. 71. _mys_] i. e. miss, fail. v. 72. _Withouten nay_] i. e. Without contradiction, assuredly. v. 74. _hardnes_] i. e. cruelty. LATIN POEM. Page 147. v. 7. _gentis Agarenæ_] i. e. of the race of Hagar. THE MANER OF THE WORLD NOW A DAYES. In giving this poem a place among our author’s undoubted productions, I now apprehend that I deferred too much to the judgment of my friend Mr. J. P. Collier, who had recently reprinted it without suspecting its genuineness. It may, after all, be Skelton’s; but at any rate it is only a _rifacimento_ of the following verses,—found in _MS. Sloane_, 747. fol. 88, and very difficult to decipher: “So propre cappes So lytle hattes And so false hartes Saw y never. So wyde gownes In cytees and townes And so many sellers of bromys Say I never. Suche garded huoes [hose] Suche playted shoes And suche a pose Say y never. Dowbletes not[?] syde The syde so wyde And so moche pride Was never. So many ryven shertes So well appareld chyrches And so many lewed clerkes Say I never. So fayre coursers So godely trappers And so fewe foluers Say y never. So many fayere suerdes So lusty knyghtes and lordes And so fewe covered bordes Say I never. So joly garded clokes So many clyppers of grotes And go vntyde be the throtes Say I never. So many wyde pu[r]ces And so fewe gode horses And so many curses Say y never. Suche bosters and braggers And suche newe facyshyont daggers And so many cursers Say I never. So many propere knyffes So well apparelld wyfes And so evyll of there lyfes Say I never. The stretes so swepynge With wemen clothynge And so moche swerynge Say I never. Suche blendynge of legges In townes and hegges And so many plegges Say I never. Of wymen kynde Lased be hynde So lyke the fende Say I never. So many spyes So many lyes And so many thevys Say I never.