Yet this inconstancy is such,

As you too shall adore;

I could not love thee, deare, so much,
Lov'd I not honour more.

10

XII.

Valentine and Vrsine.

The old story-book of Valentine and Orson (which suggested the plan of this tale, but it is not strictly followed in it) was originally a translation from the French, being one of their earliest attempts at romance. See "Le Bibliothèque de Romans, &c."

The circumstance of the bridge of bells is taken from the old metrical legend of Sir Bevis, and has also been copied in the Seven Champions. The original lines are,

"Over the dyke a bridge there lay,

That man and beest might passe away:
Under the brydge were sixty belles;
Right as the Romans telles;

That there might no man passe in,
But all they rang with a gyn."

Sign. E. iv.

In the Editor's folio MS. was an old poem on this subject, in a wretched corrupt state, unworthy the press: from which were taken such particulars as could be adopted.

Through the deep forest swift they pass,
Through woods and thickets wild;
When down within a lonely dell

They found a new-born child;

All in a scarlet kercher lay'd
Of silk so fine and thin;

A golden mantle wrapt him round,
Pinn'd with a silver pin.

The sudden sight surpriz'd them all;
The courtiers gather'd round;

They look, they call, the mother seek;
No mother could be found.

At length the king himself drew near,
And as he gazing stands,

The pretty babe look'd up and smil'd,
And stretch'd his little hands.

"Now, by the rood," King Pepin says,
"This child is passing fair;

I wot he is of gentle blood:
Perhaps some prince's heir.

"Goe bear him home unto my court

With all the care ye may.

Let him be christen'd Valentine,

In honour of this day;

“And look me out some cunning nurse;

Well nurtur'd let him bee;

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20

25

330

35

Nor ought be wanting that becomes

A bairn of high degree."

40

The king did smiling say.

Nor many days, when low! there came
Three palmers clad in graye.

"Help, gracious lord," they weeping say'd;

65

And knelt, as it was meet;

"From Artoys forest we be come,

"'Mong ruthless beares he sure was bred; He lurks within their den;

With beares he lives; with beares he feeds,
And drinks the blood of men.

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"To more than savage strength he joins

A more than human skill;

For arms, ne cunning may suffice
His cruel rage to still."

Up then rose Sir Valentine

And claim'd that arduous deed.

"Go forth and conquer," say'd the king, "And great shall be thy meed."

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But soon the knight, with active spring,
O'erturn'd his hairy foe;