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For to take from one that which is his, to give it to another to whom it is not due, ys plaine injurie and no liberalitie, thoughe the gifte were bestowed upon him that were in nede.
He had not expected such good fortune. He felt that he could do anything with this romantic figure. He would do two pictures: Monmouth, and an ancient subject that legend of the ancient city of Ys, on the coast of Brittany. He had had it in his mind for years. He came back and sat down, keen, eager.
The dried-up moat was now transformed into a garden filled with rhododendrons and bright azaleas, while the high ancient beech-hedges, the quaint old sundial with its motto: "Each time ye shadowe turneth ys one daye nearer unto dethe," and the old stone balustrades gray with lichen, all spoke mutely of those glorious days when the fierce horsemen of the Lairds of Rannoch were feared across the Border, and when many a prisoner of the Black Douglas had pined and died in those narrow stone chambers in the grim north tower that still stood high above.
He did not even read the notices sent by a press-cutting agency. He had a model with him. She amused him for the time, but it was unsatisfactory working on "The King of Ys" from photographs. He loathed it, and gave it up. One evening Gaston and Andree met at the Gare Montparnasse. Jacques was gone on, but Annette was there. Meyerbeer was there also, at a safe distance.
A young heir of Beaurepaire, climbing for a raven's nest to the top of this tree, lost his footing and fell, and died at its foot: and his mother in her anguish bade them cut down the tree that had killed her boy. But the baron her husband refused, and spake in this wise: "ytte ys eneugh that I lose mine sonne, I will nat alsoe lose mine Tre."
"Voila, madame, where the City of Ys stood long before the Bretons came. It was a foolish ride." "I do not know the story. Tell me." "There are two or three, but mine is the oldest. A flood came sent by the gods, for the woman was impious. The king must ride with her into the sea and leave her there, himself to come back, and so save the city."
And he schal so passe the wature, that ys cleped the Brace of Seynt George, that ys an arm of the see. And from thens he schal cum un to Pulveralle; and sythen un to the Castelle of Cynople. And from thens schal he gon unto Capadose, that ys a grete countree, whare that ben many grete hylles.
"Voila, madame, where the City of Ys stood long before the Bretons came. It was a foolish ride." "I do not know the story. Tell me." "There are two or three, but mine is the oldest. A flood came sent by the gods, for the woman was impious. The king must ride with her into the sea and leave her there, himself to come back, and so save the city."
Such allusions often occur in narratives of the Crusades, and the French and Scotch were especially keen to hurl the epithet at their hereditary foes. Even in the sixteenth century John Bale says, "that an Englyshman now can not travayle in an other land by waye of merchandyce or any other honest occupyenge, but yt ys most contumelyouslye throwne in his tethe that all Englishmen have tayles."
Dugdale thinks that the Christmas revels were not regularly kept in Lincoln's Inn during the reign of Henry VIII.; and draws attention to an order made by the benchers of that house on 27 Nov., 22 H. VIII., the record of which runs thus: "It is agreed that IF the two Temples do kepe Chrystemas, then the Chrystemas to be kept here; and to know this, the Steward of the House ys commanded to get knowledge, and to advertise my masters by the next day at night."
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