But if hosen and shune thou never gav’st nean,
    Every night and awle,
  The whinnes shall prick thee to the bare beane,
    And Chryst receyve thy sawle.

  From whynne moore then thou may’st passe,
    Every night and awle,
  To brigge of dread thou com’st at last,
    And Christ receyve thy sawle.

  From brigge of dread that thou may’st passe,
    Every night and awle,
  To purgatory fire thou com’st at last,
    And Chryst receyve thy sawle.

  If e’er thou gav’st either meate or drinke,
    Every night and awle,
  The fire shall never make thee shrynke,
    And Chryst receyve thy sawle.

  But yf meate and drinke thou never gav’st neane,
    Every night and awle,
  The fire shall burn thee to the bare beane,
    And Chryst receyve thy sawle.

    [1] Fleet from the Saxon flere, is cremon lactu, hence we have
        flett or flit, milk.

The next I give you is an extract from the Court Rolls of the Borough of Hales Owen, of the

Custom of Bride Ale.

“A payne ys made that no person or persons that shall brewe any weddyn ale to sell, shall not brewe aboue twelve stryke of mault at the most, and that the said persons so marryed shall not keep nor haue above eyght messe of persons at hys dinner within the burrowe, and before hys brydall daye he shall keep no unlawfull games in hys house nor out of hys house on payne of 20_s_.”

Besides “Bride Ale,” there was the Church Ales, and Easter Ales, Whitsuntide Ales, and a quantity of others which we have no accounts of.  I conclude this short notice with the hope of soon supplying you with a fund of information against Christmas.

W.H.H.

* * * * *

BIOGRAPHICAL MEMOIR OF HELEN.

  Princess Helen was born of an egg,
    And scarcely ten years had gone by,
  When Theseus beginning to beg,
    Decoyed the young chicken to fly. 
  When Tyndarus heard the disaster,
    He crackled and thunder’d like Etna,
  So out gallop’d Pollux and Castor,
    And caught her a furlong from Gretna. 
      Singing rattledum, Greek Romanorum,
        And hey classicality row. 
      Singing birchery, floggera, borum,
        And folderol whack rowdy dow.

  The newspapers puffed her each day,
    Till the princes of Greece came to woo her,
  Then coaxing the rest to give way,
    She took Menalaus unto her,
  So said they, “though we grieve to resign,
    Yet if ever you’re put to a shift,
  Let your majesty drop us a line,
    And we’ll all of us lend you a lift. 
      With our rattledum, &c.”

  Menelaus was happy to win her. 
    But she soon found a cure for his passion,
  By hobbing or nobbing at dinner,
    With Paris, a Trojan of fashion. 
  This chap was a slyish young dog,
    The most jessamy fellow in life,
  For he drank Menalaus’ grog,
    And d—­me made off with his wife. 
      Singing rattledum, &c.