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 |  |
VII. GLASGERION.
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An ingenious Friend thinks that the following old Dity (which is printed from the Editor's MS. Collection) may possibly have given birth to the Tragedy of the Orphan, in which Polidore intercepts Monimia's intended favours to Castalio.
Glasgerion was a kinges owne sonne,
And a harper he was goode:
He harped in the kinges chambere,
Where cuppe and caudle stoode.
And a harper he was goode:
He harped in the kinges chambere,
Where cuppe and caudle stoode.
44
And soe did he in the queenes chambere,
Till ladyes waxed glad.
And then bespake the kinges daughter;
These were the wordes she sayd.
Till ladyes waxed glad.
And then bespake the kinges daughter;
These were the wordes she sayd.
Strike on, strike on, Glasgèrion,
Of thy striking doe not blinne:
Theres never a stroke comes oer thy harpe,
But it glads my harte withinne.
Of thy striking doe not blinne:
Theres never a stroke comes oer thy harpe,
But it glads my harte withinne.
Faire might he fall, ladye, quoth hee,
Who taught you nowe to speake!
I have loved you, ladye, seven longe yeare
My minde I never durst breake.
Who taught you nowe to speake!
I have loved you, ladye, seven longe yeare
My minde I never durst breake.
But come to my bower, my Glasgeriòn,
When all men are att rest:
As I am a ladye true of my promise,
Thou shalt bee a welcome guest.
When all men are att rest:
As I am a ladye true of my promise,
Thou shalt bee a welcome guest.
Home then came Glasgèrion,
A glad man, lord! was hee.
And, come thou hither, Jacke my boy;
Come hither unto mee.
A glad man, lord! was hee.
And, come thou hither, Jacke my boy;
Come hither unto mee.
For the kinges daughter of Normandye
Hath granted mee my boone:
And att her chambere must I bee
Beffore the cocke have crowen.
Hath granted mee my boone:
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Beffore the cocke have crowen.
O master, master, then quoth hee,
Lay your head heere on this stone:
For I will waken you, master deare,
Afore it be time to gone.
Lay your head heere on this stone:
For I will waken you, master deare,
Afore it be time to gone.
But up then rose that lither ladd,
And hose and shoone did on:
A coller he cast upon his necke,
He seemed a gentleman.
And hose and shoone did on:
A coller he cast upon his necke,
He seemed a gentleman.
And when he came to the ladyes chambere,
He thrilled upon a pinn.
The lady was true of her promise,
And rose and lett him in.
He thrilled upon a pinn.
The lady was true of her promise,
And rose and lett him in.
He did not take the lady gaye
To boulster nor to bed:
‘Nor thoughe hee had his wicked wille,
‘A single word he sed.
To boulster nor to bed:
‘Nor thoughe hee had his wicked wille,
‘A single word he sed.
He did not kisse that ladyes mouthe,
Nor when he came, nor yode:
And sore that ladye did mistrust
He was of some churls blode.
Nor when he came, nor yode:
And sore that ladye did mistrust
He was of some churls blode.
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But home then came that lither ladd,
And did off his hole and shoone;
And cast the coller from off his necke:
He was but a churlès sonne.
And did off his hole and shoone;
And cast the coller from off his necke:
He was but a churlès sonne.
Awake, awake, my deere master,
The cock hath well-nigh crowen.
Awake, awake, my master deere,
I hold it time to be gone.
The cock hath well-nigh crowen.
Awake, awake, my master deere,
I hold it time to be gone.
For I have saddled your horse, master,
Well bridled I have your steede:
And I have served you a good breakfast:
For thereof ye have need.
Well bridled I have your steede:
And I have served you a good breakfast:
For thereof ye have need.
Up then rose, good Glasgeriòn,
And did on hose and shoone;
And cast a coller about his necke:
For he was a kinge his sonne.
And did on hose and shoone;
And cast a coller about his necke:
For he was a kinge his sonne.
And when he came to the ladyes chambere,
He thrilled upon the pinne:
The ladye was more than true of promise,
And rose and let him inn.
He thrilled upon the pinne:
The ladye was more than true of promise,
And rose and let him inn.
O whether have you left with me
Your bracelet or your glove?
Or are you returned backe againe
To know more of my love?
Your bracelet or your glove?
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To know more of my love?
Glasgèrion swore a full great othe,
By oake, and ashe, and thorne;
Ladye, I was never in your chambère,
Sith the time that I was borne.
By oake, and ashe, and thorne;
Ladye, I was never in your chambère,
Sith the time that I was borne.
O then it was your lither foot-page,
He hath beguiled mee.
Then shee pulled forth a little pen-knìffe,
That hanged by her knee.
He hath beguiled mee.
Then shee pulled forth a little pen-knìffe,
That hanged by her knee.
Sayes, there shall never noe churlès blood
Within my bodye spring:
No churlès blood shall eer defile
The daughter of a kinge.
Within my bodye spring:
No churlès blood shall eer defile
The daughter of a kinge.
Home then went Glasgèrion,
And woe, good lord, was hee.
Sayes, come thou hither, Jacke my boy,
Come hither unto mee.
And woe, good lord, was hee.
Sayes, come thou hither, Jacke my boy,
Come hither unto mee.
If I had killed a man to night,
Jacke, I would tell it thee:
But if I have not killed a man to night
Jacke, thou hast killed three.
Jacke, I would tell it thee:
But if I have not killed a man to night
Jacke, thou hast killed three.
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And he pulled out his bright browne sworde,
And dryed it on his sleeve,
And he smote off that lither ladds head,
Who did his ladye grieve.
And dryed it on his sleeve,
And he smote off that lither ladds head,
Who did his ladye grieve.
He sett the swords poynt till his brest,
The pummil untill a stone:
Throw the falsenesse of that lither ladd,
These three lives all were gone.
The pummil untill a stone:
Throw the falsenesse of that lither ladd,
These three lives all were gone.
| Reliques of Ancient English Poetry | |