INEDITED POEM ON CHAUCER.

I lately bought a black-letter Chaucer (1561), in which I find MS. notes by two or three writers. One is in rather a crabbed handwriting, and dates from 1574. I must own to being unable to decipher this gentleman's notes to my satisfaction; but the writing of another is clear and distinct. There are a few emendations on the "Rime of Sire Thopas," and the following "Eulogium Chaucerj." I do not know whether it has appeared anywhere in print before; and as my reading in the British poets is too limited for me to say anything about its author, I should be glad if you or any one of your correspondents would inform me who the lines are by:—

Eulogium Chaucerj.

Geffrye Chaucer, the worthiest flower

Of English Poetrie in all the Bower.

So as w^th hym we maye compare

W^th Italy for Poet rare.

Dant, nor Boccace, nor Petracqu fyne,

But Chaucer he w^th them may syng.

W^th woords so fitt and sense so deepe,

His matters all he can so riepe,

The Muses nyne, I thynck their teats

To his sweete lypps did sweetly reatch.

As Plato, in his cradle Nest,

Is saied of Bees to haue bene blest.

So as, by Nature, noe man can,

W^thout rare guyst, prove such a man.

The rare euents that haue bene sence,

O how they call for his defence!

Though many one hath done his parte,

Yett he alone had toucht the harte.

Sith he then is so peereles fownd,

For hym lett bee the Laurell crowne,

And all the Birds of pleasaunt laye,

Therein lett them both syng and playe,

As itt weare ioygnyng all there noats,

W^th his sweet music and records.

O that, as nowe he sounds w^th penn,

His lyvely voice myght sownd agayne.

But Natures debt we must pay all,

And soe he hath, and soe we shall.

Though for his other parts of grace

Chaucer will live and shewe his face.

T. A. S.