To JOHNE LADGATE. WELL thanne, goode Johne, sythe… Thatt thou & I a bowtynge mat… Lette ytt ne breakynge of oulde fr… Thys ys the onelie all-a-boone I…

O CHRYSTE, it is a grief for m… HOW manie a nobil erle and valrou… In fyghtynge for Kynge Harrold no… Al sleyne in Hastyngs feeld in bl… O sea! our teeming donore han thy…

STAY, curyous traveller, and pas… Until this fetive pile astounde th… Whole rocks on rocks with yron joy… And okes with okes entremed dispon… This mightie pile, that keeps the…

SCENE I. CELMONDE, att BRYSTOWE. Before yonne roddie sonne has droo… Throwe halfe hys joornie, dyghte y… Mee, happeless mee, hee wylle a wr…

Sharp was the frost, the wind was… And sparkling stars bedeckt the sk… Sly Dick in arts of cunning skill… Whose rapine all his pockets fill’… Had laid him down to take his rest

SPRYTES of the bleste, the pio… Poure owte yer pleasaunce onn mie… Rycharde of Lyons harte to fyghte… Uponne the brede sea doe the banne… The amenused nationnes be aston,

Wouldst thou kenn Nature in her b… Goe, serche the logges and bordels… Gyfe theye have anie, itte ys roug… Inne hem you see the blakied forme… Haveth your mind a lycheynge of a…

SCENE I. BRISTOWE. BIRTHA. Gentle Egwina, do notte preche me… I cannotte joie ynne anie thynge b…

Revolving in their destin’d sphere… The hours begin another year As rapidly to fly; Ah! think, Maria, (e’er in grey Those auburn tresses fade away

This is the last Will and Testament of me, Thomas Chatterton, of the city of Bristol; being sound in body, or it is the fault of my last surgeon: the soundness of my mind, the coroner a...

MAIE Selynesse on erthes boundes… Maie yt adyghte yn human shape bee… Wote yee, ytt was wyth Edin’s bow… Or quite eraced from the scaunce-l… Whan from the secret fontes the wa…

The night was cold, the wind was h… And stars bespangled all the sky; Churchwarden Joe had laid him dow… And slept secure on bed of down; But still the pleasing hope of gai…

The pleasing sweets of spring and… The falling leaf flies in the sult… The fields resign their spangling… The wrinkled grass its silver joys… Mantling the spreading moor in hea…

ANENT a brooklette as I laie re… Listeynge to heare the water glyde… Myndeynge how thorowe the grene me… Awhilst the cavys respons’d yts mo… At dystaunt rysyng Avonne to he s…

OH Truth! immortal daughter of th… Too lyttle known to wryters of the… Teach me, fayre Saincte! hy passy… To blame a friend and give a foema… The fickle moone, bedeckt wythe sy…