Reliques of Ancient English Poetry consisting of Old Heroic Ballads, Songs, and other Pieces of our earlier Poets, (Chiefly of the Lyric kind.) Together with some few of later Date |
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Reliques of Ancient English Poetry | ||
VI. K. JOHN AND THE ABBOT OF CANTERBURY.
The common popular ballad of King John and the abbot seem to have been abridged and modernized about the time of James I. from one much older, intitled King “John and the Bishop of Canterbury.” The Editor's folio MS. contains a copy of this last, but in too corrupt a state to be reprinted; it however afforded many lines worth reviving, which will be found inserted in the ensuing stanzas.
The archness of the following questions and answers hath been much admired by our old ballad-makers; for besides the two copies above mentioned, there is extant another ballad on the same subject, (but of no great antiquity or merit) intitled, “King Olfrey and the Abbot .” Lastly, about the time of the civil wars, when the cry ran against the bishops, some Puritan worked up the same story into a very doleful ditty, to a solemn tune, concerning “King Henry and a Bishop,” with this stinging moral,
“When learned bishops princes eyes do blind.”
The following is chiefly printed from an ancient blackletter copy, to “The tune of Derry down.”
Of a notable prince, that was called king John;
And he ruled England with maine and with might,
For he did great wrong, and maintein'd little right.
Concerning the Abbot of Canterbùrye;
How for his house-keeping, and high renowne,
They rode poste for him to fair London towne.
The abbot kept in his house every day;
And fifty golde chaynes, without any doubt,
In velvet coates waited the abbot about.
Thou keepest a farre better house than mee,
And for thy house-keeping and high renowne,
I feare thou work'st treason against my crown.
I never spend nothing, but what is my owne;
And I trust, your grace will doe me no deere,
For spending of my owne true-gotten geere.
And now for the same thou needest must dye;
For except thou canst answer me questions three,
Thy head shall be smitten from thy bodìe.
With my crowne of golde so faire on my head,
Among all my liege-men so noble of birthe
Thou must tell me to one penny what I am worthe.
How soone I may ride the whole world about;
And at the third question thou must not shrink,
But tell me here truly what I do think.
Nor I cannot answer your grace as yet;
But if you will give me but three weekes space,
Ile do my endeavour to answer your grace.
And that is the longest time thou hast to live;
For if thou dost not answer my questions three,
Thy lands and thy livings are forfeit to mee.
And he rode to Cambridge, and Oxenford;
But never a doctor there was so wise,
That could with his learning an answer devise.
And he mett his shepheard a going to fold:
How now, my lord abbot, you are welcome home;
What newes do you bring us from good king John?
That I have but three days more to live:
For if I do not answer him questions three,
My head will be smitten from my bodìe:
With his crowne of golde so fair on his head,
Among all his liege men so noble of birth,
To within one penny of what he is worth.
How soone he may ride this whole world about:
And at the third question I must not shrinke,
But tell him there truly what he does thinke.”
That a fool he may learn a wise man witt?
Lend me horse, and serving men, and your apparel,
And I'll ride to London to answere your quarrel.
I am like your lordship, as ever may bee:
And if you will but lend me your gowne,
There is none shall knowe us at fair London towne.
With sumptuous array most gallant and brave;
With crozier, and miter, and rochet, and cope,
Fit to appeare fore our fader the pope.”
Tis well thou'rt come back to keepe thy day;
For an if thou canst answer my questions three,
Thy life and thy living both saved shall bee.
With my crown of golde so fair on my head,
Among all my liege-men so noble of birthe,
Tell me to one penny what I am worth.
Amonge the false Jewes, as I have bin told;
And twenty nine is the worth of thee,
For I thinke, thou art one penny worser than hee.”
I did not think I had been worth so littel!
—Now secondly tell me, without any doubt,
How soone I may ride this whole world about.
Until the next morning he riseth againe;
But in twenty-four hours you'll ride it about.”
I did not think, it could be gone so soone!
—Now from the third question thou must not shrinke,
But tell me here truly what I do thinke.
You thinke I'm the abbot of Canterbùry;
But I'm his poor shepheard, as plain you may see,
That am come to beg pardon for him and for mee.”
Ile make thee lord abbot this day in his place!
“Now naye, my liege, be not in such speede,
For alacke I can neither write, ne reade.”
For this merry jest thou hast showne unto mee;
And tell the old abbot when thou comest home,
Thou hast brought him a pardon from good king John.
Reliques of Ancient English Poetry | ||