of leaving English more full of French than he found it, considers it impossible to ascertain, with any degree of certainty, the exact changes which he produced upon the national style, as we have neither a regular series of authors preceding him, nor authentic copies of their works, nor assurance that they were held as standards by their contemporaries. In spite of this difficulty, Mr. Ellis ventures to consider Chaucer as distinguished from his predecessors by his fondness for an Italian inflexion of words, and by his imitating the characteristics of the poetry of that nation.

He has a double claim to rank as the founder of English poetry, from having been the first to make it the vehicle of spirited representations of life and native manners, and from having been the first great architect of our versification, in giving our language the ten syllable, or heroic measure, which though it may sometimes be found among the lines of more ancient versifiers, evidently comes in only by accident. This measure occurs in the earliest poem that is attributed to him, The Court of Love, a title borrowed from the fantastic institutions of that name, where points of casuistry in the tender passion were debated and decided by persons of both sexes. It is a dream, in which the poet fancies himself taken to the Temple of Love, introduced to a mistress, and sworn to observe the statutes of the amatory god. As the earliest work of Chaucer, it interestingly exhibits the successful effort of his youthful hand in erecting a new and stately fabric of English numbers. As a piece of fancy, it is grotesque and meagre; but the lines often flow with great harmony.

His story of Troilus and Cresseide was the delight of Sir Philip Sydney; and perhaps, excepting the Canterbury Tales, was, down to the time of Queen Elizabeth, the most popular poem in the English language. It is a story of vast length and almost desolate simplicity, and abounds in all those glorious anacronisms which were then, and so long after, permitted to romantic poetry: such as making the son of King Priam read the Thebais of Statius, and the gentlemen of Troy converse about the devil, justs and tournaments, bishops, parliaments, and scholastic divinity.

The languor of the story is, however, relieved by many touches of pathetic beauty. The confession of Cresseide in the scene of felicity, when the poet compares her to the "new abashed nightingale, that stinteth first ere she beginneth sing," is a fine passage, deservedly noticed by Warton. The grief of Troilus after the departure of Cresseide is strongly portrayed in Troilus's soliloquy in his bed.

Where is mine owne ladie, lief, and dere?
Where is her white brest-where is it-where?
Where been her armès, and her iyen clere,
That yesterday this time with me were?
Now may I wepe alone with many a teare,
And graspe about I may; but in this place,
Save a pillowe, I find nought to embrace.

*Written, as some lines in the piece import, at the age of nineteen.

The sensations of Troilus, on coming to the house of his faithless Cresseide, when, instead of finding her returned, he beholds the barred doors and shut windows, giving tokens of her absence, as well as his precipitate departure from the distracting scene, are equally well described.

Therwith whan he was ware, and gan behold
How shet was every window of the place,
As frost him thought his hertè gan to cold,
For which, with changed deedly palè face,
Withouten worde, he for by gan to pace,
And, as God would, he gan so fastè ride,
That no man his continuance espied.
Then said he thus: O paleis desolate,
O house of houses, whilom best yhight,
O paleis empty and disconsolate,

O thou lanterne of which queint† is the light,
O paleis whilom day, that now art night;
Wel oughtest thou to fall and I to die,
Senst she is went, that wont was us to gie.

The two best of Chaucer's allegories, The Flower and the Leaf, and the House of Fame, have been fortunately perpetuated in our language; the former by Dryden, the latter by Pope. The Flower and the Leaf is an exquisite piece of fairy fancy. With a moral that is just sufficient to apologize for a dream, and yet which sits so lightly on the story as not to abridge its most visionary parts, there is, in the whole scenery and objects of the poem, an air of wonder and sweetness; an easy and surprising transition that is truly magical. Pope had not so enchanting a subject in the House of Fame; yet, with deference to Warton, that critic has done Pope injustice in assimilating his imitations of Chaucer to the modern ornaments in Westminster Abbey, which impair the solemn effect of the ancient building. The many absurd and fantastic particulars in Chaucer's House of Fame will not suffer us to compare it, as a structure in poetry, with so noble a pile as Westminster Abbey in architecture. Much of Chaucer's fantastic matter has been judiciously omitted by Pope, who at the same time has clothed the best ideas of the old poem in spirited numbers and expression. Chaucer supposes himself to be snatched up to heaven by a large eagle, who addresses him in the name of St. James and the Virgin Mary, and, in order to quiet the poet's fears of being carried up to Jupiter, like another Ganymede, or turned into a star like Orion, tells him, that Jove wishes him to sing of other subjects than love and "blind Cupido," and has therefore ordered, that Dan Chaucer should be brought to behold the House of Fame. In Pope, the philosophy of fame comes with much more propriety from the poet himself, than from the beak of a talkative eagle.

It was not until his green old age that Chaucer put forth, in the Canterbury Tales, the full variety of his genius, and the pathos and romance, as well as the playfulness of fiction. In the serious part of those tales he is, in general, more deeply indebted to preceding materials than in the comic stories, which he raised upon slight hints to the air and spirit of originals. The design of the

*Shut. † Extinguished. Since. To make joyous.

Chau

whole work is after Boccaccio's Decamerone; | but exceedingly improved. The Italian novelist's ladies and gentlemen who have retired from the city of Florence, on account of the plague, and who agree to pass their time in telling stories, have neither interest nor variety in their individual characters; the time assigned to their congress is arbitrary, and it evidently breaks up because the author's stores are exhausted. cer's design, on the other hand, though it is left unfinished, has definite boundaries, and incidents to keep alive our curiosity, independent of the tales themselves. At the same time, while the action of the poem is an event too simple to divert the attention altogether from the pilgrims' stories, the pilgrimage itself is an occasion sufficiently important to draw together almost all the varieties of existing society, from the knight to the artisan, who, agreeably to the old simple manners, assemble in the same room of the hostelerie. The enumeration of those characters in the Prologue forms a scene, full, without confusion; and the object of their journey gives a fortuitous air to the grouping of individuals who collectively represent the age and state of society in which they live. It may be added, that if any age or state of society be more favourable than another to the uses of the poet, that in which Chaucer lived must have been peculiarly picturesque;-an age in which the differences of rank and profession were so strongly distinguished, and in which the broken masses of society gave out their deepest shadows and strongest colouring by the morning light of civilization. An unobtrusive but sufficient contrast is supported between the characters, as between the demure prioress and the genial wife of Bath, the rude and boisterous miller and the polished knight, &c. &c. Although the object of the journey is religious, it casts no gloom over the meeting; and we know that our Catholic ancestors are

|

justly represented in a state of high good-humour, on the road to such solemnities.

The sociality of the pilgrims is, on the whole, agreeably sustained; but in a journey of thirty persons, it would not have been adhering to probability to have made the harmony quite uninterrupted. Accordingly the bad-humour which breaks out between the lean friar and the cherubfaced sompnour, while it accords with the hostility known to have subsisted between those two professions, gives a diverting zest to the satirical stories which the hypocrite and the libertine level at each other.

Chaucer's forte is description; much of his moral reflection is superfluous; none of his characteristic painting. His men and women are not mere ladies and gentlemen, like those who furnish apologies for Boccaccio's stories. They rise before us minutely traced, profusely varied, and strongly discriminated. Their features and casual manners seem to have an amusing congruity with their moral characters. He notices minute circumstances as if by chance; but every touch has its effect to our conception so distinctly, that we seem to live and travel with his personages throughout the journey.

What an intimate scene of English life in the fourteenth century do we enjoy in those tales, beyond what history displays by glimpses, through the stormy atmosphere of her scenes, or the antiquary can discover by the cold light of his researches! Our ancestors are restored to us, not as phantoms from the field of battle, or the scaffold, but in the full enjoyment of their social existence. After four hundred years have closed over the mirthful features which formed the living originals of the poet's descriptions, his pages impress the fancy with the momentary credence that they are still alive; as if Time had rebuilt his ruins, and were reacting the lost scenes of existence.

THE PROLOGUE TO

WHANNE that April with his shourès sotea
The droughte of March hath perced to the rote,
And bathed every veine in swichee licour,
Of whiche vertue engendred is the flour;
Whan Zephirus eke with his sotè brethe
Enspired hath in every holt and hethe
The tendre croppès, and the yongè sonne
Hath in the Ram his halfè cours yronne,d
And smalè foulès maken melodie,
That slepen alle night with open eye,
So priketh hem nature in hirf corages;
Than longen folk to gon on pilgrimages,
And palmares for to seken strangè strondes,
To serve halweysi couthej in sondry londes;
And specially, from every shirès ende
Of Englelond, to Canterbury they wende,
The holy blisful martyr for to seke,

That hem hath holpen, whan that they were seke.'

Befelle, that, in that seson on a day,

In Southwerk at the Tabard as I lay,

Redy to wenden on my pilgrimage
To Canterbury with devoute coràge,
At night was come into that hostelrie
Wel nine and twenty in a compagnie
Of sondry folk, by aventure yfallem
In felawship, and pilgrimes were they alle,
That toward Canterbury wolden" ride.
The chambres and the stables weren wide,
And wel we weren esed attè beste.

And shortly, whan the sonne was gon to reste,
So hadde I spoken with hem everich on,"
That I was of hir felawship anon,

And made forword erly for to rise,

To take oure way ther as I you devise.
But natheles, while I have time and space,

Or that I forther in this talè pace,

a Sweet. Root.- Such.-d Run.- Them.-f Their.

g Inclination.-h To keep.-i Holidays.-j Known.- Go. Sick.-m Fallen.-n Would.—o Every one.

Me thinketh it accordant to reson,
To tellen you alle the condition
Of eche of hem, so as it seemed me,
And whiche they weren, and of what degre;
And eke in what araie that they were inne:
And at a knight than wol I firste beginne.

A KNIGHT ther was, and that a worthy man That fro the timè that he firste began To riden out, he loved Chevalrie, Trouthe and honour, fredom and curtesie. Ful worthy was he in his lordès werre,P And therto hadde he ridden, no man ferre, As wel in Cristendom as in Hethenesse, And ever honoured for his worthinesse.

At Alisandre he was whan it was wonne.
Ful often time he hadde the bord begonne
Aboven alle nations in Pruce,

In Lettowe hadde he reysed' and in Ruce,
No cristen man so ofte of his degre.
In Gernade at the siege eke hadde he be
Of Algesir, and ridden in Belmarie.
At Leyes was he, and at Satalie,

Whan they were wonne; and in the Grete see
At many a noble armee hadde he be.
At mortal batailles hadde he ben fiftene,
And foughten for our faith at Tramissène
In listès thries, and ay slain his fo.
This ilke worthy knight hadde ben also
Sometime with the Lord of Palatie,
Agen another hethen in Turkie:
And evermore he hadde a sovereine pris."
And though that he was worthy he was wise,
And of his port as meke as is a mayde.
He never yet no vilanie ne sayde
In alle his lif, unto no manere wight.
He was a veray parfit gentil knight.

But for to tellen you of his araie,

His hors was good, but he ne was not gaie.
Of fustian he wered a gipon,"
Alle besmotredw with his habergeon,*
For he was late ycome fro his viàge,
And wente for to don his pilgrimage.

With him ther was his sone a yongè Squier,
A lover and a lusty bacheler,
With lockès crully as they were laide in presse.
Of twenty yere of age he was I

gesse.

Of his stature he was of even lengthe,
And wonderly deliver, and grete of strengthe.
And he hadde be somtime in chevachie,
In Flaundres, in Artois, and in Picardie,
And borne him wel, as of so litel space,
In hope to stonden in his ladies grace.

Embrouded was he, as it were a mede
Alle ful of fresshè flourès, white and rede.
Singing he was, or floytinge alle the day,
He was as fresshe as is the moneth of May.
Short was his goune, with slevès long and wide.
Well coude he sitte on hors, and fayre ride.
He coudè songès make, and wel endite,
Juste and eke dance, and wel pourtraie and write.

P War.- Farther. Been placed at the head of the table.- Travelled.- Praise.- Wore a short cassock.-wSmutted.-Coat of mail.- Curled. Nimble. a Horse skirmishing. Embroidered.- Playing the flute.

So hote he loved, that by nightertaled
He slep no more than doth the nightingale.
Curteis he was, lowly, and servisable,
And carf before his fader at the table.

A Yeman hadde he, and servantes no mo
At that time, for him lustef to ride so;
And he was cladde in cote and hode of grene.
A shefe of peacock arwes bright and kene
Under his belt he bare ful thriftily.
Well coude he dresse his takels yemanly:
His arwes drouped not with fetheres low.
And in his hond he bare a mighty bowe.

A not-hed hadde he, with a broune visage.
Of wood-craft coude he wel alle the usage.
Upon his arme he bare a gaie bracèr,*
And by his side a swerd and a bokeler,
And on that other side a gaie daggère,
Harneised wel, and sharpe as point of spere:
A Cristofre on his brest of silver shene.
An horne he bare, the baudrik was of grene,
A forster was he sothely as I gesse.

Ther was also a Nonne, a Prioresse,
That of hire smiling was full simple and coy;
Hire gretest othe n'as but by Seint Eloy ;
And she was cleped' Madame Eglentine.
Ful wel she sangè the service divine,
Entuned in hire nose ful swetely;
And Frenche she spake ful fayre and fetisly,"
After the scole of Stratford atte Bowe,
For Frenche of Paris was to hire unknowe.
At mete was she wel ytaughte withalle;
She lette no morsel from her lippès fall,
Ne wette hire fingres in hire saucè depe.
Wel coude she carie a morsel, and wel kepe,
Thatte no drope ne fell upon hire brest.
In curtesie was sette ful moche hire lest."
Hire over lippe wiped she so clene,
That in hire cuppe was no ferthing sene
Of grese, whan she dronken hadde hire draught.
Ful semely after her mete she raught."
And sikerly she was of grete disport,
And ful plesànt, and amiable of port,
And peined hire to contrefeten' chere
Of court, and ben estatelich of manère,
And to ben holden digne' of reverence.

But for to speken of hire conscience,
She was so charitable and so pitous,
She wolde wepe if that she saw a mous
Caughte in a trappe, if it were ded or bledde,
Of smale houndès hadde she, that she fedde
With rosted flesh, and milk, and wastel brede.
But sore wept she if on of hem were dede,
Or if men smote it with a yerde smert,"
And all was conscience and tendre herte.

Ful semely hire wimple ypinched was;
Hire nose tretis;" hire eyen grey as glas;
Hire mouth ful smale, and therto soft and red;
But sikerly she hadde à fayre forehèd.
It was almost a spannè brode I trowe;
For hardily she was not undergrowe."

d Night-time.-e Carved.-f It pleased him.-gArrow.i A round-head.- Knew. Armour for the arm.

1 Called.-m Neatly. Her pleasure. Smallest spot.

P Rose. Took pains. To imitate.- Worthy.-t Stick.u Smartly, adv.- Straight.— Of low stature.

Ful fetise was hire clock, as I was ware. Of smale coràll aboute hire arm she bare A pair of bedès, gauded all with grene; And theron heng a broche of gold ful shene, On whiche was first ywritten a crouned A, And after, Amor vincit omnia.

Another Nonne also with hire hadde she, That was hire chapelleine, and Preestès thre. A Monk ther was, a fayre for the maistrie, An outrider, that loved venerie ;

A manly man, to ben an abbot able.
Ful many a deinté hors hadde he in stable:
And whan he rode, men might his bridel here
Gingeling in a whistling wind as clere,
And eke as loude, as doth the chapell belle,
Ther as this lord was keeper of the celle.

The reule of Seint Maure and of Seint Beneit,
Because that it was olde and somdele streit,
This ilke monk lette oldè thingès pace,
And held after the newè worlde the trace.
He yave not of the text a pulled hen,
That saith, that hunters ben not holy men;
Ne that a monk, whan he is rekkěles,"
Is like to a fish that is waterles;
This is to say, a monk out of his cloistre.
This ilke text held he not worth an oistre.
And I say his opinion was good.

What shulde he studie, and make himselven wood
Upon a book in cloistre alway to pore,

Or swinkene with his hondès, and laboure,
As Austin bit ?d how shal the world be served?
Let Austin have his swink to him reserved.
Therfore he was a prickasoure a right:
Greihoundes he hadde as swift as foul of flight:
Of pricking and of hunting for the hare
Was all his lust, for no cost wolde he spare.
I saw his sleves purfiled at the hond
With gris, and that the finest of the lond.
And for to fasten his hood under his chinne,
He hadde of gold ywrought a curious pinne;
A love-knotte in the greter end ther was.
His hed was balled, and shone as any glas,
And eke his face, as it hadde ben anoint.
He was a lord ful fat and in good point.
His eyen stepe, and rolling in his hed,
That stemed as a fornëis of led.

His botes souple, his hors in gret estat;
Now certainly he was a fayre prelat.
He was not pale as a forpined gost.
A fat swan loved he best of any rost.
His palfrey was as broune as is a bery.
A Frere ther was, a wanton and a mery,
A Limitour, a ful solempnè man.
In all the ordres foure is none that can'
So muche of daliance and fayre langage.
He hadde ymade ful many a mariàge
Of yonge wimmen, at his owen cost.
Until his ordre he was a noble post.
Ful wel beloved, and familier was he
With frankeleins over all in his contrée,

z Neat.- Hunting.- Gave.-a Mr. Twyrhitt supposes, that this should be righelles, i. e. out of the rules by which the monks were bound. Mad. Toil.-d Biddeth.Hard rider.- Wrought on the edge.-g A fine kind of fur. Deep in the head.-i Knew.

And eke with worthy wimmen of the toun:
For he had power of confession,
As saide himselfe, more than a curàt,
For of his ordre he was licenciat.
Ful swetely herde he confession,
And plesant was his absolution.
He was an esy man to give penance,
Ther as he wiste to hani a good pitance:
For unto a poure* ordre for to give
Is signè that a man is wel yshrive.'
For if he gave, he dorstem make avant,
He wistè that a man was repentant.
For many a man so hard is of his herte,
He may not wepe although him sorè smerte.
Therfore in stede of weping and praières,
Men mote give silver to the pourè freres.

His tippet was ay farsed" ful of knives,
And pinnès, for to given fayre wives.
And certainly he hadde a mery note.
Wel coude he singe and plaien on a rote."
Of yeddinges he bare utterly the pris.
His nekke was white as the flour de lis.
Therto he strong was as a champioun,
And knew wel the tavernes in every toun,
And every hosteler and gay tapstère,
Better than a lazar or a beggère,
For unto swiche a worthy man as he
Accordeth nought, as by his faculté,
To haven with sike lazars acquaintance.
It is not honest, it may not avance,
As for to delen with no swiche pouràille,"
But all with riche, and sellers of vitaille.

And over all, ther as profit shuld arise,
Curteis he was, and lowly of servise.
Ther n' as no man no wher so vertuous.
He was the beste begger in all his hous:
And gave a certain ferme for the grant,
Non of his bretheren came in his haunt.
For though a widewe hadde but a shoo,
(So plesant was his in principio)

Yet wold he have a ferthing or he went.
His pourchas' was wel better than his rent.
And rage he coude as it hadde ben a whelp,
In lovèdayes," ther could he mochel help.
For ther was he nat like a cloisterere,
With thredbare cope, as is a poure scolere,
But he was like a maister or a pope.
Of double worsted was his semicope,"
That round was as a belle out of the presse.
Somwhat he lisped for his wantonnesse,
To make his English swete upon his tonge;
And in his harping, whan that he hadde songe,
His eyen twinkeled in his hed aright,
As don the sterrès in a frosty night.
This worthy limitour was cleped Huberd.

A Marchant was ther with a forked berd,
In mottelee, and highe on hors he sat,
And on his hed a Flaundrish bever hat.
His botes clapsed fayre and fetisly.
His resons spake he ful solempnèly,

Have. Poor.- Shriven.- Durst make a boast.n Stuffed. A stringed instrument.-p Story-telling.Have. Poor people. Farm.- Purchase.-u Days appointed for the amicable settlement of differences.v Half-cloak.

Souning alway the encrese of his winning.
He wold the see were kept for any thing
Betwixen Middelburgh and Orèwell.
Wel coud he in eschanges sheldès selle.
This worthy man ful wel his wit besette;
Ther wistè no wight that he was in dette,
So stedefastly didde he his governance,
With his bargeines, and with his chevisance*
Forsothe he was a worthy man withalle,
But soth to sayn, I n'ot how men him calle.
A Clerk ther was of Oxenforde also,
That unto logike haddè long ygo.
As lenè was his hors as is a rake,

And he was not right fat, I undertake;
But loked holwe," and therto soberly.
Ful thredbare was his overest courtepy,
For he hadde geten him yet no benefice,
Ne was nought worldly to have an office.
For him was lever han at his beddes hed
A twenty bokes, clothed in black and red,
Of Aristotle, and his philosophie,
Than robès riche, or fidel, or sautrie.
But all be that he was a philosophre,
Yet hadde he but litel gold in cofre,
But all that he might of his frendes hente,d
On bokes and on lerning he it spente,
And besily gan for the soules praie
Of hem, that yave him wherwith to scolaie.
Of studie toke he mostè cure and hede.
Not a word spake he more than was nede;
And that was said in forme and reverence,
And short and quike, and ful of high sentènce.
Souning in moral vertue was his speche,
And gladly wolde he lerne, and gladly teche.
A Sergeant of the Lawe waref and wise,
That often hadde yben at the paruis,
Ther was also, ful riche of excellence.
Discrete he was, and of gret reverence:
He semed swiche, his wordès were so wise,
Justice he was ful often in assise,
By patent, and by pleine commissioun ;
For his science, and for his high renoun,
Of fees and robès had he many on.
So grete a pourchasour was nowher non.
All was fee simple to him in effect,
His pourchasing might not ben in suspect.
Nowher so besy a man as he ther n'as,
And yet he semed besier than he was.
In termès hadde he cas' and domes alle,
That fro the time of king Will. weren falle.
Therto he coude endite, and make a thing,
Ther coude no wight pinches et his writing.
And every statute coude he plaine by rote.
He rode but homely in a medlee* cote,'

w Kept, or guarded. The old subsidy of tonnage and poundage was given to the king pour la saufgarde et custodie del mer.' (Tyrwhitt.)- Exchanges.-y Crowns.

An agreement for borrowing money.-a Hollow.Uppermost cloak of coarse cloth. He would rather haved Get-e Study.-f Wary. The paruis, or portico before a church-a place frequented by lawyers. The place of the lawyers' paruis in London is assigned to different places by different antiquaries. (Tyrwhitt.)A Suspicion.-i Cases and decisions.-j No one could find a flaw in his writings.- Coat of mixed stuff.-m A girdle.— " With small stripes.- A freeholder of considerable estate.

Girt with a seint of silk, with barrès" smale;
Of his array tell I no lenger tale.

A Frankelein was in this compagnie ;
White was his berd, as is the dayësie.
Of his complexion he was sanguin.
Wel loved he by the morwe? a sop ie win.?
To liven in delit was ever his wone,
For he was Epicurès owen sone,
That held opinion, that plein delit
Was veraily felicitè parfité.

An housholder, and that a grete was he;
Seint Julian' he was in his contrée.
His brede, his ale, was alway after on;
A better envyned' man was no wher non.
Withouten bake mete never was his hous,
Of fish and flesh, and that so plenteous,
It snewed' in his hous of mete and drinke,
Of alle deintees that men coud of thinke,
After the sondry sesons of the yere,

So changed he his mete and his soupère.
Ful many a fat partrich hadde he in mewe,"
And many a breme, and many a luce in stewe.
Wo was his coke, but if his sauce were
Poinant and sharpe, and redy all his gere.
His table dormant" in his halle alway
Stode redy covered alle the longè day.

At sessions ther was he lord and sire.
Ful often time he was knight of the shire.
An anelace and a gipcierez all of silk,
Hen at his girdel, white as morwè milk.
A shereve hadde he ben, and a countour.
Was no wher swiche a worthy vavasour."
An Haberdasher, and a Carpenter,
A Webbe, a Deyer, and a Tapiser,
Were alle yclothed in o livere,d
Of a solempne and grete fraternité.
Ful freshe and newe hire gere ypikid was.
Hir knives were ychaped not with bras,
But all with silver wrought ful clene and wel,
Hir girdeles and hir pouches every del.s
Wel semed eche of hem a fayre burgeis,"
To sitten in a gild halle, on the deis.
Everich, for the wisdom that he can,
Was shapelich for to ben an alderman.
For catel hadden they ynough and rent,
And eke hir wives would it well assent:
And ellès certainly they were to blame.
It is ful fayre to ben ycleped madame,
And for to gon to vigiles all before,
And have a mantel reallich' vbore.m

A Coke they hadden with hem for the nones,"
To boile the chikenes and the marie bones,
And poudre marchant, tart and galingale.P
Wel coude he knowe a draught of London ale.

Stored

P Morning Wine. The saint of hospitality. with wine. It suewed, that is, there was great abundance.-u Secret.-v Fixed ready.-w Knife.- Purse. -y Morning. Mr. Tyrwhitt conjectures, but merely offers it as a conjecture, that the contour was foreman of the hundred court.-a Vavasour. Of this term Mr. T. is doubtful of the meaning. A weaver.- A maker of tapestry.-d Livery.-ef Their gear was spruce.- Every way. Burgher. The deis; a part of the hall that was floored and set apart for a place of respect. (Tyrwhitt.)--j Fit. Else.- Royally. Supported.- For the purpose. The meaning not ascertained.-p Sweet cyperus.