Ballads in Imitation of the Antient | ||
A Ballad, of the Ladie and the Knight,
Shewing how Prudence was overcome by Love.
The subject of the following Lines in imitation of Geoffrey Chaucer, is in some measure formed on the model of the celebrated Ballad of the Nut Brown Maid, printed in Arnold's Chronicle, a very rare book, without the name of its author being affixed. The work here alluded to was printed about the year 1502, but the stanzas are evidently of a much earlier date.
When Phœbus' rays shot wide around;
When little birds 'gan tune their lay,
And fill the woods with merry sound,
That I did stretch me on the ground;
And as I lay, I smil'd to see
The green leaves budding on each tree.
The violet, pink and lily white,
The cowslip growing by the rill,
With other flowers did glad my sight,
And raise within me much delight.
And as I smil'd, my mind did say,
The show'rs are gone and welcome May.
Anon there came a comely Squire
With whom there stalk'd a gentle fere
Whose comliness he did admire;
To whom he spake of love's soft fire,
Craving that she would ease his pain
Nor let him sigh and love in vain.
That all you vow and swear be true;
But men a maiden's love will thieve
And then her fondnefs she will rue.
And such may prove the case with you;
Therefore your vows are ever ichone
Like chaff that by the wind is blown.
I am no man of fickle mind;
I ne'er would fill thy breast with woe
I am a gentle Knight, and kind;
Nor would I waver with the wind;
Therefore I prithee let me prove
How true an English Knight can love.
And then he heav'd a doleful sigh;
The tears roll'd fast adown his cheek,
Whilst others shone in either eye;
Madam, quod he, have charity,
Were I my sum of love to say,
The tale would last till Domesday.
Quod she, I must believe thee kind;
If thou be false, then Christ thee save
For never one had falser mind,
Not Fortune's self though she be blind.
So grant that thou abide thine oath
As I shall keep my plighted troth.
To which she answer'd many more;
Again he vow'd he'd never break
The oath which he so oft had swore
That he for aye would her adore.
God grant that so he keep his say
She ne'er may rue the month of May.
Addressed to Queen Elizabeth.
In imitation of SPENSER
A gentle star ycleped Chastity
Whose maiden light shows forth such comliness
As doth outvie all other gems we see.
From East where gold-ey'd Phœbus doth arise
And eke from West where sinks the car of light,
This lovely gem doth greet men's wond'ring eyes
No distance can controul its lustre bright,
All nations are astonish'd with the dazzling sight.
We most do feel its kindly influence;
Giving our rulers wisdom and prudence.
By this it is we peace and wealth enjoy,
By this in wars we gain the victory;
By this from traitors we dread no annoy,
By this protected is our liberty,
By this is crush'd the threat'ning viper perfidy.
Unto a lovely maiden of this earth;
What boots it that I praise heav'n's star so fair,
I can but paint the things of mortal birth.
Then, reader, do not check your courser's fire,
But let your winged fancy take its flight;
For me I know the maid that doth inspire
Mine heart with gladness and with true delight,
On earth she hath no peer to charm a mortal's sight.
Her skin is iv'ry or the marble sleek;
Blue is her eyne as heav'n. The rose's blush
Doth sweetly wanton on her glossy cheek.
Her form is like the willow's waving spray,
And with a Venus' grace she moves along;
Ne'er wanton is she, yet for ever gay,
Lo, such my maiden is—and such her song,
'Twould, like a second Orpheus, lure the savage throng.
Whose lustre like this evening star doth shene.
Lamentation On the unhappy fate of the gallant Earl of Surry.
This accomplished young Nobleman whose fame has been celebrated by our first English Poets, fell a sacrifice to the capricious temper of his Monarch Henry the Eighth, who suspecting him of being inimical to the Protestant Faith, forwarded the trifling charges brought against him by his enemies, which, notwithstanding his spirited defence, terminated in bringing him to the block.
But murky clouds have dim'd its light;
Our Surry pipes no more!
His clarion strain
To mirth or pain
Was wont to cheer the love-lorn heart;
The balm is gone, we feel the smart,
For Surry sings no more.
That whilom sung the plaintive truth;
'Twas Surry's pipe breath'd love.
The flame he felt
In 's breast love dwelt;
He saw the soft and dazzling eyne,
He saw and worshipp'd Geraldine ,
'Twas then his pipe breath'd love.
Twine cypress wreaths and crowns of yew;
Our Shepherd's pale and dead!
'Twas envy's dart
Ypierc'd his heart:
Too sweet for earth he bloom'd a day,
Still we've the perfume of his lay,
Surry the Rose is dead.
As Petrarch had his Laura, so our Surry had his Geraldine, a lady whom he frequently compliments in his Sonnets, but whose real name was long unknown to the world. My Lord Orford, however, seems to have explained this mystery in his life of Surry.—Vid: Royal and Noble Authors, Vol. I. Page 104, &c. Where it appears that she was daughter of Gerald Fitzgerald, Earl of Kildare.
Ballad, Of Sir Edgar of the Flood.
Setting forth the worthiness of one Sir Edgar, a brave Knight of Westmoreland, who having slain an Earle's Son, was forced to flee and become an Outlaw dwelling in the green woods.
Also, shewing the trustiness of his young Page, by whose cunning the Knight was saved when at his last shift.
As it was the custom formerly, to signalize the exploits of those who for their misdeeds were compelled to seek shelter in the extensive forests, which at that period were existing in many parts of England, I have framed a Hero, and planned a Tale, as similar to those of ancient times as was consistent with the Ballads of those periods now extant.
FIRST FYT.
Of young and of old
Concerning the stout Robin Hood!
And eke of his Squire
Whom yet we admire,
That ranged amid the green wood.
Of whom ye've heard tell,
A brave wight that never would flee.
There's also I trow,
Bold Clim of the Clough,
And his friend Will of Cloudeslee.
That lived before,
And some who have since gain'd applause;
Whose deeds were upright
As any true Knight,
Though they were proscribed Outlaws.
Of a stout Yeoman
None ere did his bold feats proclaim;
May Christ him defend,
He was the poor's friend;
From Westmoreland's country he came.
And fair the estate
Of Edgar sirnam'd of the Flood;
He'd stem the rough wave,
His heart was right brave,
His arrows oft drank the deer's blood.
His bow was of Ewe,
So sturdy his arm was and strong;
The string tough and tight,
The dart's blade was bright,
His arrows a clothier's yard long.
His breast did adorn;
A plume grac'd his bonnet so green,
His vest, hose and shoon
Were everichone
The brightest that ere yet were seen.
Shone forth in his face,
His limbs were both sturdy and strait;
With glave at his side,
He'd walk, run and ride,
While bold and upright was his gait.
As forth he did stray
With greyhounds so swift, and so good,
His bugle he wound
The clear dulcit sound
With sweet echo rung through the wood.
Heard th' echo so loud
He urg'd on his high-blooded steed;
He swore by his Say
His hunter so gay,
For his bold presumption should bleed.
“Sir Hunter,” he cried,
As proudly he straight did appear;
“Gang hence from my sight,
“Thou'rt no worthy Knight,
“And therefore thou shalt not hunt here.”
“That ever hath told
“To mortal a deed did me shame;
“Speak quick,” cried the youth,
“And speak naught but truth;
“I'll know the defamer's base name.”
“Thoud'st better been dead
“Than call him a liar and base;
“For I am that he
“Who dares title thee
“Unworthy in these woods to chace.
“Of these plains so fair,
“My father lords o'er this rich land;
“I'm Son to an Earl,
“And thou but a Churl,
“So straightways obey my command.”
“Thy threats I deride,
“Though noble, yet base is thy blood!
“Thy words I deny
“And give thee the lie,
“I'm Edgar sirnam'd of the Flood.”
Then kindled to fire;
“Prepare thee, or yield to my will.”
His glave then he drew,
On Edgar he flew
The murderous threat to fulfill.
“Retract thine untruth,”
Cried Edgar, usheathing his steel,
“For title nor gold,
“My wrath shall withhold,
“Thou quickly my prowess shalt feel.”
Their weapons so bright
With warm blood were soon crimson'd o'er,
Till Edgar's keen glave
In life's blood did lave;
The Earl's son he never spake more.
In green livery,
Two Squires of the bleeding Earl's son,
To Edgar they cried,
“Woe worth thee betide,
“For thou hast this bloody deed done.”
“I gave him his due,
“His insolence caus'd his sad fate;”
Sir Edgar's brave steed
Then onward did speed,
Thus ended the Earl's Son so great.
SECOND FYT.
In this second part,
I'll tell ye what judgement befell;
How for this youth's blood
The Knight of the Flood
Was forced in green woods to dwell.
Soon learnt his son's fate,
The Squires to the Castle did hie,
With dolorous wail
They told the sad tale,
The great Earl then loudly did cry.
My direst vengeance,
For this shall Sir Edgar pursue,
By Christ his dear blood,
This Knight of the Flood,
His daring presumption shall rue.
Throughout Westmoreland,
And judged he straightways shall be,
For this deed so dire
He soon shall expire
All under the forest's green tree.
A blast shrill and true,
Each vassal obey'd the known call,
Their armours they lac'd,
Their bucklers they brac'd,
Then quickly did speed to the hall.
In arms rich and bright
Each Squire bore a lance stout and long,
A bow, spear, and shield,
Each vassal did wield,
Right gaudy and gay was the throng.
In steel wrought with gold,
And mounted on courser so fine,
With plumed crest so wide
The Earl's self did ride,
While brightly his Anlace did shine.
This troop bent its way
Till dun clouds of night dimm'd the sky,
Haste, haste, the Earl cried,
I'd rather have died,
This night base Sir Edgar will fly.
His war-horse did bleed
As foaming he pranc'd o'er the plain,
Each Knight and each Squire
Obey'd his desire
As onward they march'd with much pain.
When lo to the gate
Of Appleby's town the Earl came,
His Squire the horn blew,
The warder so true
Cried, whence came ye, what is your name.
The Earl's Page he cried,
So wills the great Lord of this land,
Without more delay
His mandate obey,
He's here with his own chosen band.
They enter'd the town;
Said the Earl to his own trusty Knight,
See the bolts clos'd again
Wind up the bridge-chain,
That no one escape hence this night.
The Earl did repair,
And straightways the truth did unfold;
Cried they by the Rood,
This Knight of the Flood
Shall die for the murder so bold.
The Mayor and Bailiff,
With Knights, Squires, and many beside,
Did quickly repair
To the Mansion so fair
That stood by the Town's wall so wide.
How Edgar the bold
The hate of the proud Earl did dread,
He therefore rode straight
To Appleby's gate
And thus to his foot-page he said:
And night clouds have shent
In darkness the bright beam of day,
Straight mount my war steed,
And with thy best speed
From Appleby's gate wend thy way.
Within the dark cave
That borders the brook in yon glen,
Do thou my steed tie,
Then back quickly hie,
And pass through the West gate again.
See thou take thy stand,
And should any stranger come near,
List, list, to their say,
If th' Earl gang this way,
My Page there is much cause of fear.
Return from the gate
And note ye those tidings to me,
So surely thoult prove
Thy duty and love,
Still dearer to this heart thoult be.
With skill and courage
The will of the Knight did obey,
The news being told,
Sir Edgar the bold
A rope to his window did stay.
The Page went before
And safe gain'd the moat of the town;
Well arm'd, the brave Knight
From the casement's dread height,
By the rope slid safely adown.
His vestment unlac'd,
And straight on his page did them bind:
Thus Edgar he bore
To th' opposite shore,
Himself and his young squire so kind.
Within the deep glen,
The youth and Sir Edgar did speed,
When quick to the wood
This Knight of the Flood
And his page were borne on by the steed.
Long knock'd at the gate,
The Sheriff and Mayor loud did cry,
But labour and pain
Was then all in vain,
Sir Edgar mid green woods did fly.
The sturdy bars broke
Then ranged the chambers so bright
But all were astound,
No being was found,
The Knight he had 'scap'd from their sight.
Next morn was proclaim'd,
And sentenc'd to hang on a tree.
Thus he turn'd fellaw
And rang'd an Outlaw,
I trow 'twas the greater pitty.
THIRD FYT.
Sirnam'd of the Flood,
With his page so young and so fair,
Ne'er made a long stand
Till in the rich land
Of Cumberland's county they were.
They rested awhile,
Till tidings from Appleby came
How Edgar the Knight
Had slain in the fight
The Earl's Son of such mighty fame.
Sir Edgar must die,
The bells toll'd with dolorous sound
The Earl he had said,
That living or dead,
For the Knight he'd give five hundred pound.
The Knight of the Flood
With his tiny page swift did speed,
No yooman I trow
But would have done so
For great was the peril and need.
“Thou art my delight,
“Thine heart is right trusty and true.”
Sir Edgar's sweet eyne
Then brightly did shene
For dank'd was his cheek with the dew.
“Thou surely shalt find
“In me one that's trusty and true:
“Though young, I've a heart
“That never will part
“Though death should my master pursue.
“And grant thee courage,
“To dwell in these forests so drear;”
The Knight scan had spoke,
When through the woods broke
An echo that swell'd on the ear.
“Yon sound yields' delight,
“Tis wound from the clear bugle horn”
“They are my fellaws,
“Some trusty outlaws
“That rouse with the dew dankish dawn.
“Let's join the sweet choir,
“Our horns are as shrill and as good”
Both instantly blew
A blast loud and true
Whose echo wound clear through the wood.
A clattering sound,
Did seem tow'rd the Knight to advance,
“They come,” cried the youth,
“I'll plight them my troth.”
Sir Edgar then onward did prance.
In green hoose and vest,
Boots laced their leggs up before:
With horn and with bow,
With dirk and arrow,
Each archer a green bonnet wore.
“That mid green wood tree
“The shrill horn so ably did wind:
“Sweet Sirs!” quoth the wight,
“I'm Edgar the Knight,
“With my Squire so trusty and kind:
“For which mickle pain
“And thraldom doth my steps surround;
“Though great, he was base,
“Thus standeth my case,
“My life's forfeit if I be found.”
“An such be thy tale,
“In these woods thou safe shalt abide:
“From rich men we take
“And for Jesus sake,
“The poor man is never denied.
“And sturdy fellaws,
“Each man to his brother is true:
“To us thine oath take,
“Thou'lt never forsake,
“Nor to thy fellaws prove untrue.”
He plighted his troth,
And eke his young page did the same.
From that time, I trow,
Their deeds with the bow,
From each fellaw gain'd them much fame.
Of all that befell,
Full four years in forest's rich land,
How for his deeds bold,
Sir Edgar did hold
In green woods a Chieftain's command:
And all of Estate,
Priests, Monks, and rich Knights his pow'r felt:
But what he did take,
'Twas for Jesus sake,
For 'mongst the poor yeomen 'twas dealt.
Since Edgar had fled,
The proud Earl enrag'd then did cry
Can no pow'r withhold
This Outlaw so bold,
By the Rood now I swear he shall die.
The Earl and his men,
Full fourscore in number, did hie;
They march'd to the wood
Where th' Knight of the Flood
With his bonny fellaws did lie.
Alone forth did stray,
He thought of his well-lov'd Countree:
The Earl did espy
His green livery,
In vain the Knight strove him to flee.
And to Carlisle brought,
There lodg'd in the dungeon's dread cell:
The Earl straight did say,
To-morrow's bright day
Shall sound out my Son's murd'rer's knell.
Each man understood
That the Knight their leader was ta'en,
Each swore he would save
His chief from the grave,
Or suffer himself the same pain.
Each man did inspire,
For he bore the true Lion's heart:
At midnight, I trow,
Each man bent his bow;
Thus did they for Carlisle depart.
FOURTH FYT.
Sir Edgar did dwell,
The night blast made dolorous sound;
The youth felt no dread;
Damp stones were his bed,
He stretch'd him upon the cold ground.
First struck Edgar's sight
He knelt him adown on his knee,
And thus did he say,
O Lord, since this day
It pleaseth thee that I should dee :
I yield to my pain,
We all must die sooner or late;
As Jesu did bleed
For Adam's foul deed,
So willing I yield to my fate.
And Mary the maid,
Saying “Moder of grace, have pitty,
For I oft did stray
From out the bless'd way,
My misdeeds have been full many.”
Prayers many a one,
His heart it was fill'd with courage:
Meanwhile his bold men,
Close hid in a Den,
Were led by the Knight's cunning page.
Hied forth to the Lawn,
He looked upon the great Town;
He thought of the Knight
His own Soul's delight
While tears trickled his cheeks adown.
“That be in the den,
“And list now to what I shall say;
“Here ye shall abide
“While swiftly I ride,
“And hence to Carlisle wend my way.
“A man well may see
“The great gate that leads to Langdowne.
“There with horn in hand
“Let one take his stand
“And should many men quit the Town:
“And set the arrow,
“To Carlisle then haste everichone,
“For I will abide
“Hard by the gate's side,
“And straighways the deed shall be done.
“No men should gang down,
“Then trust me there's peril and need;
“Oh then we shall see
“If stout hearts ye be,
“If so ye are worthy much meed.
“Ye must mount the wall,
“And to the great Cross quickly hie;
“If this deed ye do
“Ye be fellaws true
“If not, then your chieftain must die.”
The Squire hied him straight.
Each Steeple toll'd forth a death knell,
Townsmen did repair
To high Cross so fair,
Where soon ye shall know what befell.
The throng did await,
And first came the Mayor and Sheriff,
Of Bowmen, I trow
Full fifty and mo
In pairs march'd behind the Bailiff.
In dress of his trade,
His hond did the fatal rope bear;
Next bold march'd the wight
Sir Edgar the Knight,
In him was no terror nor care.
Of guards march'd along,
Their armour was gay to behold;
Each anlace so bright
Did dazzle the sight;
These guards were all stout men and bold.
The troop rang'd them round,
The young page had entered the Town,
“Busk, busk ye” he cried,
“From Cheviot so wide
“The Scotsmen now march to Langdoune.
“The Mayor and Sheriff,
“They quickly must hence wend their way.”
All men hied them straight
From out the great gate,
Few guardsmen in Carlisle did stay.
Did feel mickle care,
The Earl cried “Sir Edgar shall die!”
But all was affright,
Men fled the Earl's sight,
They thought that the Scotsmen were nigh.
The page he did rin,
And by the gate's side took his stand;
When galloping down
Toward Carlisle Town
Appeared Sir Edgar's bold band,
Tow'rd high Cross did speed,
The brave Troop behind him did ride,
The Townsmen in fear
Cried “lo they be here
With bows and stout glaves at their side.”
The gallows so high,
The hangman, a Villain and Churl,
For golden monie
Had tied to the tree
The hemp cord — So will'd the proud Earl.
The Ladder have ta'en,
Whereon bold Sir Edgar did stand,
The page bent his Ewe
His arrow so true,
Like lightning yfled from his hand.
Swift wizz'd on the air,
The bright steel did thro' the churl go;
The blow struck so fierce
His heart it did pierce,
From back and from breast blood did flow.
By his trusty Wight,
They quickly from Carlisle did flee,
They crossed the land,
Nor made any stand
Until they gain'd Norfolk's countree.
Hard by Loddon's side,
These brave men, and true hearted Squire;
There free from annoy
They lived in joy,
Sir Edgar he there did expire.
A Knight of the Flood
In every Outlaw we find;
May man never rue
A friend that's less true
Than the Page and his fellaws kind!
Adam Bell, Clim of the Clough and William of Cloudeslee, three noted Outlaws, who were residents in the forest of Englewood, in the neighbourhood of Carlisle. Of whom A Ballad in three parts is extant in Percy's collection.
Ballad,
80
On the much lamented death of the gallant Prince
Henry, eldest son of King James the First.
Whose shining qualifications rendered him the admiration of all Europe, and the darling hope of his own Countrymen.
Rests with icy death,
Wan his cheek and pale as may be,
Mute his gentle breath:
Henry sleeps in death.
Slumb'ring in the Tomb.
May each heart bemoan the story!
Early was his doom;
Lo, he's in the Tomb.
Henry knew no fear,
From bright virtue never straying,
To his Country dear,
Henry claims the tear.
Blissful is he there;
May our worth to heaven ascending
Claiming God's bless'd care
One day waft us there!
Ballad.
84
Of the lamentable Death of the gallant Knight FITZHUGH,
and how his Love died broken hearted.
Lend me a pitying ear,
And when I've sung fair Emma's fall,
Pray drop one gentle tear.
She was a fair and comely dame,
Her Sire a Baron free:
A youth she lov'd, Fitzhugh by name.
A gentle Knight was he.
And eke her father's too;
She was as gentle as the Dove;
His heart to her was true.
The Welchmen to o'erthrow,
For though Fitzhugh still prov'd his fame,
Death struck the fatal blow.
To cheer her drooping heart,
And as her lovely eyes she rear'd
The tear 'gan fast to start.
Swift as the nimble deer she flew
To where her hero lay;
She kiss'd his lips, sigh'd out Fitzhugh,
Sunk down and died away.
Ballad Of the Death of HOTSPUR PERCY.
The following Ballad is founded on the Battle of Shrewsbury, where Hotspur Percy (so called from the fiery impetuosity of his temper) was defeated and slain, by the forces of King Henry IV. Earl Percy, and several other Nobles who had been accessary to the return of Bolingbroke from banishment, finding that his intent was not only to regain his estates, but depose the rightful King, Richard II. and assume himself the reins of government, formed a league, and declared war against the usurper, which terminated in favor of Bolingbroke, by the failure of this battle. To which rebellion in Richard's favor may also be attributed his murder, which shortly after took place.
I. FIRST PART.
Wherein is displayed the sorrowful parting of the Lady Catherine and her Lord, and how she continued to bewail his unexpected flight from Alnwick-Castle.
Softly stole athwart the sky;
Scarce the rays of early morning
Flush'd the East with saffron die;
Ere the noble Hotspur stirr'd him,
From beside his Catherine bright;
Whither go'st thou, said the Lady,
Whither hies my soul's delight?
“I must quit thee, Lady kind;
“Thou, and all I love so dearly,
“Straightways must I leave behind:
“Weighty matters will my absence,
“Lo, this is th' appointed day;
“Therefore, gentle Lady, weep not,
“Fate so wills, I must obey.”
“Let me, sweet, thy will controul;
“Much I dread thy valiant temper,
“Much I fear thy warlike soul.
“Do not leave this goodly castle,
“Do not quit these turrets fair,
“Do not shun the babe that loves thee,
“Fill not Catherine's heart wtth care.
“Which so long hath swell'd thy breast,
“Which by day hath made thee thoughtful,
“And by night hath broke thy rest.”
“Hist thee, Wife, I love thee dearly;
“English Earl ne'er lov'd so well.”
“If 'tis so, thou'lt not deny me,
“But thy weighty purpose tell.”
Or the weeping Eglantine,
So the gentle loving Lady
Round her Lord her arms did twine:
From her cheek that press'd his bosom
Dropt full many a silent tear,
Which upon his breast-plate falling,
Damp'd the steel that shone so clear.
“Tell me why this show of pain;
“Wherefore should'st thou pine and languish;
“Lo, this flood of grief is vain:
“Though thy sex be made for sorrow,
“In thy breast such woes should sleep;
“Percy's bride should scorn such feelings,
“Hotspur's wife should never weep.”
“All in vain thou tell'st me so,
“For I ne'er can steel this bosom,
“Nor asswage this briny flow.
“Though my Soul's to fear a stranger,
“Yet keen sorrow have I felt;
“Though this heart contemns dread danger,
“Still for thee this heart can melt.”
Quick this valiant Earl did speed,
Straightways to the Court-yard hied him,
Where the groom did tend his steed.
Mounting there his foaming war-horse,
Through fair Alnwick's gates he hied.
“Stay, my Percy, stay my Hotspur,
“Stay, my love,” fair Cath'rine cried.
“Do not, love, deny me this;
“Give thy babe a father's blessing,
“Give thy child a father's kiss.”
Hotspur felt a parent's yearning,
On the babe he cast a look;
Then from off fair Cath'rine's bosom
Straight the gentle infant took.
Bent its gaze devoid of guile;
On the manly front of Hotspur
Sweetly did the infant smile.
“Bless thee, Babe!” cried noble Percy;
“May'st thou one day boast the fire,
“May the blood of antient Percys'
“To great deeds thy soul inspire!”
Oft its cherry mouth he press'd;
Then to weeping Cath'rine gave him,
And the lady thus address'd:
“Should aught ill befall thy Percy,
“Rear our child to deeds of fame;
“Teach him all our kindred's glory,
“Teach him how to bear our name.”
Thrice his plumage fann'd the air;
Sweet he smil'd, his lips unclosing,
Cried “Farewell, my Cath'rine dear.”
Then full speed the courser bore him
Far from Cath'rine's longing eye:
Thus did part this loving Lady
And her gallant Lord Percy.
II. SECOND PART.
Shewing how the loving Dame moaned the loss of her gallant Lord Percy. After which followeth the purpose of the noble Hotspur, with the haughty message sent by him unto King Henry IV.
I shall cause ye mickle woe;
Lady Catherine ye shall pitty,
For the Dame your tears will flow.
Percy fled the heart that lov'd him,
Swift he did his course pursue;
Catherine wail'd her Hotspur's absence,
She had mickle cause to rue.
Moan'd this Lady kind and fair,
“Smile, my babe, Oh! smile my infant,
“Smile, and ease thy Mother's care.”
From the eve till dusky twilight
Did this weeping Lady say
“Ah, my babe thy Sire hath fled us,
“Whither doth my Percy stray!”
Watchful were her eyes so bright;
“Sweetly sleep, my smiling baby,
“Thou alone dost cheer my sight:
“As I trace thine infant features,
“As I trace them line for line,
“Lo, I view my Lord, my husband,
“In that face doth Percy shine.”
Sadly stole the midnight hour,
And at dawn the Lady Cath'rine
Did ymount the high watch-Tower;
Round her blew the winds so bleakly,
Cath'rine swell'd them with a sigh;
“Peace,” she'd say, “my darling infant,”
Then she'd sing the Lullaby.
She would wipe the starting tear,
While tow'rd East and West sad gazing,
Naught was seen her soul to cheer:
Northward lay the Heath so dreary,
Southward wav'd the Forest green,
Ni of footmen, ni of horsemen,
Were there any to be seen.
Naught but birds the dame could see;
“Ah,” quod Cath'rine, “little songsters
“Ye are happier far than me;
“Each can fly to bonny green wood,
“There you'll find your mate so true;
“Wou'd I were but such a songster,
“And my Percy one of you.”
On high deeds his thoughts were bent,
Oft he plann'd the secret purpose,
Oft he con'd the bold intent;
Till at length he gain'd those Nobles,
Who to aid him were allied,
There he found the hardy Douglas,
With full many Chiefs beside.
Till nigh Shrewsb'ry's walls they came:
Thither hied King Henry's army
To destroy rebellion's flame.
Soon the King did send his trumpet
Pardon granting, if in peace
Ev'ry Noble and his follower
Would these civil tumults cease.
“We be honest men and true,
“Bolingbroke's a Traytor leader,
“But his baseness he shall rue.
“Bid him free our captive Richard,
“Bid him yield the crown h'hath ta'en,
“Bid him straight disband his soldiers
“Or we'll strive with might and main.
“Rightful was his claim, I ween,
“Peaceful then his every action,
“Meek and lowly was his mien;
“But by fraud and wily cunning,
“He his monarch did entrap,
“Braggart like, he then deposed him,
“Rueful is the sad mishap.
“Bolingbroke doth wend his way,
“We insure our King's forgiveness,
“If for aye he doth obey:
“But should he, like bold usurper,
“These our wholesome terms deny,
“Then we'll curb the rebel Traytor,
“Or we'll in the just cause die.
Grimly did King Henry frown,
By my say, these hardy rebels,
Soon shall bend hefore my crown.
Quod the King, the western welkin,
Is yclad with gold-ey'd day:
Yet we'll rest the morrow's dawning,
Ere we 'gin the bloody fray.
Earl Douglas was one of the Confederates leagued with Percy to dethrone Henry IV. and reinstate Richard on the throne.
III. THIRD PART.
Declaring how the battail was fought between the King and the Earl nigh unto the walls of Shrewsbury, with fourteen thousand goodly yeomen, on the Eve of the Feast of Saint Mary Magdalen. When Earl Percy was defeated and slain.
To the Nobles thus did say,
Yonder in the Western Welkin,
Slopes the burning eye of day;
Boling broke, that bold usurper,
Doth our wholesome terms defy,
Wherefore should we stay the morrow?
Fate to-day shall cast the die.
'Gainst the fiery Hotspur's will,
Naught avail'd their goodly counsell,
Douglas would the feat fulfill;
Now the sound of neighing horses,
Now the din of warriors brave,
Now the clank of rattling armour,
And the deadly dooming glave.
With their arrows sharp and long,
Now each man his yew ybending,
To the horn doth bind the thong;
Some the axe bear, some the falchion,
Some the shining glave did wield,
Others rear the launce ypointed,
On their arms they brace the shield.
Thus his kindly speech address'd:
“Lo, ye fight for truth and justice,
“If ye die, ye shall be blest.”
Ev'ry captain to his hundred
Straight the cheiftain's words did say,
“Courage horsemen; courage footmen,
“For your King ye fight this day.
“By your arms enthron'd shall be,
“Rather die, my gallant yeomen,
“Never 'fore these traytors flee.
“If the glave of churlish rebels,
“Should be dank'd in blood of life,
“Ye that fall shall live in heav'n,
“Free'd from Traytors, free'd from strife.
Ev'ry man was tough of heart,
From the camp the gallant Hotspur
And his yeomen did depart.
Lo, to meet them, crowned Henry,
With his vassals, a great rout,
With his sons and nobles many,
Lords that were right bold and stout.
Shrilly rung the trumpets blast,
Many brave and hardy warriors,
There I wis did breath their last.
Princes, Nobles, Captains, Yoemen,
Breast to breast their skill 'gan try;
Each alike his foe would conquer,
Each in his own cause would die.
Through the field his course he scour'd,
On his Anlace rode grim terror,
Death his ev'ry foe devour'd;
Mad the hardy Scottish Douglas,
Badg'd with blood, with eye so fierce,
To each Noble bad defiance;
Great and small his glave did pierce.
But brave Hotspur's lack of force
Did to Henry yield the conquest,
And the Percy's life divorce;
There did bleed full many nobles,
There stout gentlemen did die,
There fell yeomen without number,
Jesu take their Souls on high.
Nigh the walls of Shrewsbury,
From the goodly Castle's turrrets
Townsmen did the feat descry;
There did meet of sturdy soldiers
Fourteen thousand good yeomen;
But one half ne'er saw the morrow,
'Twas the feast of Magdalen.
Sorely wept the gentle Dame;
Naught she'd hear of goodly comfort,
Naught she'd sigh but Percy's name,
Frantick thro' each hall and chamber
Did the Lady Catherine cry
“Where's my Lord, my Love, my Husband!
“Give me back my brave Percy.”
Thus she made her plaint in vain;
All her cries then turn'd to sadness,
'Twas her bosom felt the pain.
Sometimes on her infant gazing,
Big would swell her woe-worn heart,
Then she'd sigh “He's dead, my baby:”
In her eye the tear would start.
Drench our land with human gore,
Never may a goodly Lady,
Thus her valiant Knight deplore;
But may Lords and yeomen bravely
Round the board right jovial sing,
Christ for aye in peace preserve us,
And God bless our Royal King.
To the Memory of the admirable CHRICHTON.
Wherein he is likened to a bonny flower nipt by the cauld and untimely blast.
The following Stanzas, written in the stile of the celebrated Burns, the Scotch Poet, are offered as a trifling panegyric on the admirable Crichton, so named from the acuteness of his talents and his proficiency in every accomplishment. He travelled over France and Italy. At Paris he challenged the Doctors of the University, and worsted them in every argument: he was there stiled the Monster of Learning. In Italy he signalized himself in several Tournaments and wrestling matches, always gaining the prize; for it appears his bodily strength and agility were equal to the transcendant endowments of his mind. He became tutor to a very powerful Nobleman's Son, who growing jealous of his favour with the Court, basely assassinated him by night, after Crichton in defending himself had slain three of his opponents. It is said that he was dissipated, and in derision the Scholars of the Universities of Paris used to remark, that if any one wished to find the Monster of Learning, they must seek him in a Brothel.
That ever liv'd in dewy bow'r
And felt cauld winds in luckless hour
To nip its bloom.
No sunny heat, no dankish shower
Can give it back its beauties power
And rich perfume.
Why did no leaves to screen it bend,
That it maun long its fragrance lend
And colors gay?
Why suffer trayt'rous winds to rend
And blast its leaves, its beauties spend
And die away?
Why thus ye suffer'd winds to blow,
Ang lay this lovely gem so low
That it maun die.
'Twas envy's fire that did yglow,
'Twas envy will'd and ye did so,
For ye I sigh.
Ni malice felt it, ni the pain,
That did with death its beauties stain,
In the cauld tomb.
Again it lives on heaven's high plain,
Thus by your envy doth it gain
Immortal bloom.
A Ballad, Of the poor and forlorn Lover.
The Lover's station being far inferior to that of his Mistress, excited her neglect, which gave rise to these complaining Lines.
But sadness mark each hour,
With me shall pining silence dwell,
For I'm love's blighted flow'r.
No more the joyous lay;
Sad shall my languid cheek recline,
And sighs tell forth the day.
My falt'ring love-sick tale:
Around my front I'll twine a wreath
Of Willow-leaves so pale.
One glossy ringlet sweet,
I'd guard it as love's relic rare;
Love should the present greet!
At love the most refin'd;
Pitty the heart you have betray'd,
The urchin God is blind.
To my fond soul's delight,
'Twould partly meliorate my pain
And cheer the gloom of night.
Nor boast a lineage great;
Gold is the phantom of an hour,
My mind is my Estate.
As shadows in a stream;
But Virtue, like the God of Day,
Still sheds it's glorious beam.
But pitying, let me prove
That lowliness can feel the pain,
And teach you how to love.
Ballad. The Lassie of Dumfermline Town.
Displaying the cunning of a Scottish Maid, who tricked her three auld luvers and was wed to her ain dear Andrewe.
A Lass that was ni white ni brown,
But she was wond'rous pretty,
She had a face most sweet, I trow,
Her form was slim, her eyne like snow,
And she was shrewd and witty.
That was ycrooked i' the gait,
Did plight his troth believe me,
A Knight that four-score years had told,
And eke a yeoman just as old,
Did swear they luv'd her dearly.
Ni lands, ni kine, ni glittering ore,
Did doat upon this Lassy;
Yet though he lack'd both gold and land,
He had a trusty heart and hand,
As any Laird believe me.
The Knight's and Yeomen's goodly ore,
She could not luve them truly;
'Twas Andrew's eyne and roguish smile,
That did this maiden's heart beguile,
He had not yet told twenty.
Those old and rich men everichone
Would fain make me unhappy;
For were I with a one to bed,
I should wish Andrew in his stead,
And that were shameful truly.
Full oft she thought, and thought again,
Quod she—De'il take this money;
For I am poor as sweet Andrew,
And I do luve the lad so true,
I'd fain do something funny.
Quod he, have pitty on my pain!
The maid she smil'd full sweetly;
An it be so, the lassy cried,
I faith, great Sir, I'll be thy bride,
So thou'lt obey me truly.
“Mine uncle hath a right good trade,
“He dwells in Fife's countree;
Gang hence thyself, and with thee bring
Gay jewells and my wedding-ring,
He liveth at Dundee.
“That I may buy me sattins gay,
“Straight thou shalt guve to me
“Thy purse that is embroider'd o'er,
“And marks of gold, a precious store,
“Thou must count out fifty.”
And straight the silken purse did fill
With gude Scottish money;
Then from the town that very day
This white full joyfull bent his way
Towards our fam'd Dundee.
And whoso can the lassie blame,
She now was right merry;
But when to Dundee's town they hied,
Beshrew this tricking lass, they cried,
No uncle here we see.
These aged dotards, with much pain,
Did speed them back, all three;
But when they came, the lass was wed,
She had ta'en Andrew in their stead,
And with the gold han flee.
The townsfolk jeer'd as they did pass;
Thus trick'd they were, I trow,
And Andrew to the lass was wed,
They jocund liv'd, and luv'd in bed,
Each maid would have done so.
BALLAD Of POOR ROSA.
Sing hey Lillo, ho Lillo lee;
Pale was her cheek, and dejected her look,
On the green turf lay her basket and crook,
She sigh'd forth—“Alas! woe is me;
“Ah why did he stray
“From me far away?
“Never, poor Rosa, wilt thou see him more,
“Willy, the swain whom thy soul doth adore!”
Sing hey Lillo, ho lillo, lee;
Her heart once so gay was misery's nest,
And on her temples she wore a sad crest,
'Twas pluck'd from the pale willow tree,
That moss bank'd willow
Which serv'd for a pillow,
Whose wide branches shelter'd poor Rosa's head,
Rosa that sigh'd—“Ah! my William is fled.”
Singing Lillo—Hey lillo, lee;
Her notes breath sadness, and this is her lay,
“My swain has fled from me, alack well-away,
“And sorrow, poor Rosa's for thee;
“Alack woe is me,
“Hard hearted Willy!”
And she sigh'd forth these words, faint grew her breath,
And Rosa, poor Rosa, now sleeps in death!
BALLAD Of POOR EDWY,
In answer to Poor Rosa.
Sing hey nonny; ho nonny, no.
Edwy who late was the pride of the Dale,
Now tunes the pipe to rehearse his sad tale;
Adown his wan cheek the tears flow;
Poor Edwy's betray'd,
He pines for the maid;
No longer he hears the sound of her lute,
The wood choir is hush'd, the Nightingale's mute.
Sing hey nonny, ho nonny, no,
A wreath of its branches now twines his poor head,
For with the false maid, is all happiness fled;
'Twas beauty that struck the dire blow;
'Twas Ellen the fair,
That planted despair,
Whose unfeeling heart like mildew did blight,
Joy's smiling bud, and each wonted delight.
Singing Nonny, hey nonny no;
The woods, dales, and meadows, all ring with his cry,
Each moaning breeze is encreas'd with a sigh,
Whilst o'er his pale lips the lines flow;
“Why, Ellen, shun me?
“'Tis Edwy calls thee.”
He paus'd!—the drear silence seal'd his sad doom;
And Edwy's keen woes, are lull'd iu the Tomb.
Ballad. Of the dolorous Death of the Lady Jane Gray.
In Two Parts.
Wherein is displayed the unstableness of grandeur, and the untimely fate which it sometimes pleaseth the Lord to inflict on virtuous souls. Shewing also the constancy of this Princess in all her sufferings, and her courage at the moment of execution; with the death also of her virtuous and loving husband, the Lord Dudley, and the manner of their being beheaded in the Tower of London.
This illustrious Personage of the blood Royal, by both parents, was no less conspicuous for virtue and mental accomplishments than for the nobleness of her family; and was it not indeed that some of her panegyrists are remarkable for adherence to truth, we should be led to dispute the accounts handed down to us relating to this Princess. When scarcely emerging from childhood, she is said to have spoke her own language with accuracy, as well as the French, Italian, Latin, and Greek; she was also versed in Hebrew, Chaldee, and Arabic. Her temper was sedate, and she appeared to possess inherently a thirst after knowledge. By the machinations of her father, she was nominated heiress to the Crown, by the youthful Edward VI. at whose death she was proclaimed Queen, in opposition to her own wish, but merely in compliance with the desire of her aspiring father. On the accession of the vengeful Mary, her youth nor virtues could not screen her from the impending fate, and she was adjudged to die, together with her husband, as innocent a victim as herself. She met her fate with the same steady composure she had evinced through life, and may be deemed the wonder of her sex. Lady Jane was not sixteen at the period of her execution.
FIRST PART.
Each pleasure hath its pain;
To strive against Almighty God,
I trow it were but vain.
At morn may glad the eye;
The Rose alike may waft its sweets,
And in the evening die.
Or shun the will of God;
We all must yield unto our fate,
And kiss the galling Rod.
Alike must yield to fate;
The Lord he knows ni difference
'Twixt poor man and the great.
And to my tale give ear;
The Lord well loves the kindly heart,
Then do not check the tear.
The Lord will not say nay;
But bless thine heart that it doth weep
The death of Lady Gray.
Most cruel death did frown,
And he did quit this mortal state,
To wear a heav'nly Crown:
Should own the Sov'reign sway,
That every man should bend the knee
Before the Lady Gray.
Unto his child did say,
“To thee, the King hath will'd his crown,
“Thou must his will obey.”
Her husband's fader dear,
Said, “Daughter, thou must wear the Crown,
There is ni cause of fear.”
She scan had told sixteen;
“I wis I am to young,” quod she,
“To be great England's Queen.
“But pass my life in peace;
“For with a Crown great perils come,
“All happiness doth cease.
“With study feast my mind;
“To golden pomp, and governance,
“Mine heart is not inclined.
“That I the crown should wear,
“My duty is, to yield to you,
“All plainings I forbear.
They will'd her so to say,
And in our London Citty great,
Proclaim'd she was that day.
And Citizens did cry
God grant she may for aye enjoy
The goodly sov'reignty.
Were spread, both far and near,
All people sorely plain'd their loss,
And dropp'd the briny tear.
A messenger did hie;
Full speed he rode to Kenning Hall,
In Norfolk's fam'd county.
“Thy royal Broder's dead,
“And goodly yeomen fain would place
“The crown upon thine head.
“My subjects' will, I trow,
“Right faithful are mine Englishmen,
“Their lawful Queen to know.”
Ni wept her broder's end,
But back to London's City straight,
The horseman she did send.
“And to my people say,
“Their love doth well their Queen belike.”
The man then rode away.
The time it was full late;
For bells han rong the midnight hour,
As he knock'd at the Gate,
Ran trickling down a flood,
Begrimed was the messenger,
His spurs were dank'd with blood,
“Thy royal Broder's dead,
“But he hath will'd great England's Crown,
From off thy rightful head.
“Her fader hath done so,
“Likewise the Duke Northumberland,
“And many more I trow.”
“By Christe's blood,” quod she,
“These traytor nobles shall repent,
And rue their villany.
“That Jesu did forsake,
“I will ni spare a living soul,
“They shall brin at the stake.
“That dare deny my right;”
The Messenger then bent his knee,
And left the Princess' sight.
Enjoy'd the royal state,
When mark the rueful difference,
In this sweet Princess' fate.
With Nobles a great rout,
That were both bold and stout.
Did yield the thorny crown,
But all obedience could not calm
The wrathful Marie's frown.
A Prisoner was ta'en;
Ni murmur'd she, ni shed one tear,
Ni felt a minute's pain.
Her noble husband dear,
Whose face did show all innocence,
Whose heart did feel no fear.
Yfled with mickle speed,
He for his act did bleed.
Upon the block to die;
For beauty, truth and innocence,
Such was the destiny.
By strokesman's blow to end;
Such is the meed which providence,
To virtue oft doth send.
Sore vex'd each feeling heart;
Each man with shake of head did cry
This is a bloody part.
Her rise, her fall, and doom;
The next shall tell how willingly,
She enter'd death's cold Tomb.
SECOND PART.
The sun han gilt the sky,
And clouds of night on mountain tops
In dankish mists gan fly.
Then rung the matin song;
It sweetly sounded o'er the plain,
And echoed woods among.
And look'd on heaven so bright;
“Oh Jesu, if I aught have done
“That's shameful in thy sight;
“My wayward heart was led,
If from thy bless'd commandements
“My mind hath ever fled;
“Then wash the stain away,
“So I before Almighty God
“May purely walk this day.
“My soul doth love him well;
“And that same axe that drinks my blood,
“His precious head shall fell.
“Oh bear his Soul to rest,
“May he for aye repose in peace,
“Upon his Saviour's breast.
“The song of joy upraise,
“And may my voice attune the chant,
“To sing my Maker's praise.”
He rais'd his looks on high;
“An it be so I am content,
“Great God this day to die.
“Nor shunn'd thine holy will;
“Each day it hath been my intent
“Thy purpose to fulfil.
“To sin have been inclin'd,
“If mortal flesh hath e'er controul'd
“And harm'd my precious mind.
“I ne'er yet saw her fere
“For virtue, beauty and prudence;
“I love my wife full dear.
“With thee, my God, find peace;
“May we above the chant upraise,
“For there all woes shall cease.”
The guards, with spears full bright,
Did march around the Chapel yard,
It was a seemly sight.
With Wardens near at hand;
Their robes were comely to behold,
As they did take their stand,
That were full stout and strong,
With arrows keen hung by their sides,
Were rang'd the walls along.
His looks they were full meek;
His heart tow'rd mercy was inclin'd,
For tears ran down his cheeke.
With downcast look he stood;
Quod many a Soul “I would not do
“As thou dost, by the rood.
The block it was bedight,
Around the edge there did appear
A fringe of purest white.
The bowmen with their dartes,
There stood a troop with spears full long,
They were stout English heartes.
The wardens did yface;
Their looks were sad and sorrowful,
Their thoughts all joy did chace.
That they might witness be,
How Dudley did his fate ybear:
How Lady Jane should dee.
“Thou hast an honest mien,
“And trust me, one more kind of heart
“I never yet have seen.
“Do not my boon deny,
“So thou wilt serve a dying man,
“And please thy Lord on high.
“And speake these words I pray,
“Thine Lord he wills one parting kiss,
“Ere life be ta'en away.”
The tear rose in his eye;
Quod Dudley “thou'st a noble heart,”
The warden heav'd a sigh.
And gold did put therein;
“To take thine ore,” the warden cried,
“I wis it were a sin.
“My virtue is my store;”
The warden from Lord Guilford turn'd,
And pass'd without the door.
Her Lorde's wordes he spake;
Then tears from her sweet eyne did flow,
Her heart was nigh to break.
“I must not from him part,
“For should I see him ere I die,
'Twou'd break this loving heart.
“Shall bless his gentle name,
“Go bid him suffer with courage,
“Myself shall do the same.”
With smiles he did them greet:
“She's right,” quod he, “ere long, I trow,
“In heav'n our souls shall meet.”
The warden hid his eye;
Quod Dudley, “Weep not, honest heart,
“I'm well prepar'd to die.
“May Jesu bless thine heart;”
From out the door, with solemn step,
Lord Dudley did depart.
To heav'n he pray'd awhile;
He shook the warden by the hand,
Most calmly did he smile.
His neck was cleft in twain;
So sturdily the strokesman struck,
I wis he felt no pain.
It was a woeful sight:
More calm she was than all around,
They were in doleful plight.
Her heart was griev'd full sore;
For guardsmen there beside her pass'd,
Her husband's corse they bore.
“That I mayne look my last;”
They stopp'd while she on Dudley's corse,
A steadfast look yeast.
One briny tear she shed,
Then on her maiden's shoulder leant,
And turn'd away her head.
She there these wordes spake:
“I never compassed the Crown,
“Nor Marie's right would take.
“This heart of mine away:
“I acted as my fader will'd,
“I dar'd not disobey.
“So wills Almighty fate;
“Since innocent, I have done wrong,
“My life shall pay the State.”
And having said one pray'r,
From off her neck the covering,
Her weeping maid did bear.
The strokesman craved grace;
Quod she, “I freely pardon thee,
“Upon this goodly place.”
And down her head did lay,
The strokesman gave the fatal blow
That bore her life away.
Thus ended Lady Gray;
They both were English hearts of truth,
None dare my words say nay.
With weeping eyes went hame:
And those to whom the tale was told,
I wis did do the same.
May we again ne'er see
A deth so rueful as this Lorde's,
And Jane his lov'd Ladie.
This Lady may compare;
Or like the lilly by the brook,
That waves it's head so fair.
Whose beauty glads the eye,
E'en like these flow'rs, at Morn she bloom'd,
And with the Eve did die.
Ni Sov'reign, ni great Earl;
For God in heav'n alike commands,
The Emperor and Churl.
It is asserted in history, that before her execution she beheld from a window the mangled body of her husband, which was by accident borne near her. She requested the guards to pause, and after fixing her eyes upon it for some moments with steady composure, she proceeded on to the scaffold.
BALLAD. The neglected Mither's doleful Lament to her Child, on its Father's inconstancy, with the Answer of her Boy.
Whither doth he ride?
Mither, Mither, on the white Horse,
By the clear brook's side;
Say, ah wherefore did he quit me?
Cauldly blows the wind.
Mither! Mither! he's hard-hearted,
Fickle and unkind.
For a breaking heart?
Mither, felt he aught of kindness,
Would he thus depart?
Yet with smiles by yon bright heav'n
Oftimes hath he sworn?
Mither mark how true his vows are
Now you're left forlorn.
And believ'd each oath.
Mither now behold his fondness;
Where's his plighted troth.
Since he's gone ah what maun I do,
Never would he wed.
Mither, steel thine heart as he doth,
With another bed.
Where woudst thou abide?
Mither, Mither, I would sit me
Down by the Brook's side.
But when sad and sore a hunger'd
Who would guve thee cheer?
Mither I would live on sighing,
And drink down each tear.
I that gave thee breath?
Mither I for aye would shun thee,
As I'd fly grim death.
Say my bonny boy coud'st quit me,
And so flinty prove?
Mither an thou'dst leave thine infant
Where would be thy Luve?
Though thine fader's base,
Mither I for aye will luve thee
And thy sorrows chase.
Gang then youth so iron-hearted,
Gang from luve and me,
With my babe Ise grow forgetful,
Chasing luve and thee.
A BALLAD Intituled EDWY's GHOST.
And murky was the sky;
And gemmy dew like orient pearl,
Y'flowd from Emma's eye.
Whiles I thy loss must weep;
Yet soon, sweet love, I'll follow thee,
And share death's dampy sleep.
And wept at Edwy's grave;
A laurel garland she had twin'd,
For Emma's love was brave.
He dar'd the threat'ning foe;
Whiles she his lonely love had sat,
And silent pin'd with woe.
Display'd her silv'ry sphere;
The maid was chill, the maid turn'd pale,
The maid was struck with fear.
A spectre form was seen
With meagre cheek, and deadly hue,
It was her Edwy's mien.
Swell'd on the passing air:
“My love adieu,” the vision cried,
“Farewell my Emma fair!”
But when her gaze she rear'd,
The wind grew calm; the moon beam'd forth,
The phantom disappear'd.
“His mandate I obey.”
She kiss'd the turf; then heav'd one sigh
That bore her soul away.
A Dialogue Ballad, By the Queen of Scots,
Wherein she dolefully lamenteth the tragical end of her favourite, David Rizzio.
David Rizzio, the confidant of Mary, Queen of Scots, was originally a Musician of Turin. He so far insinuated himself into the Queen's favor, that it became at length impossible for any one to procure access to her without first gaining his interest. Some historians even affirm that their intercourse was criminal, and her neglect of the Lord Darnley, her husband, gives some color of probability to this suggestion. Rizzio, however, did not escape observation, and his enemies represented his conduct and that of the Queen in such glaring colors to her husband, that the favourite was shortly after dispatched by Lord Darnley's order, being forcibly dragged by ruffians from the Queen's apartment into an adjoining antichamber, where he expired after receiving fifty-six wounds.
Why howles the mountain blast sae shrill,
Why waves the hawthorn on the hill,
And eke the willow pale?
Why doth the stream so sadly sound,
As ripling o'er the pebbly ground,
It seems to make its waile?
If thou, sweet youth, the tale woud'st know,
That makes the winds sae shrilly blowe,
And waves the hawthorn green,
Thou'lt like yon Willow hang thine head,
And tears as o'er yon pebbly bed,
Will flow from thy bright eyne.
SHEPHERD.
O! I can greet the merry tale,
Or sadly sigh, and weep and wail,
If sorrow meets mine ear.
Therefore I prithee tell me why
The winds, the trees, the brooks do sigh;
Thy sad'ning strain I'd hear.
Hast thou not oftimes seen a swain
Whose song did echo o'er the plain?
Ah well away he's fled.
No more you'll hear his dulcit song;
The knell of death goes ding, ding, dong,
For now alas he's dead.
I saw the streaming red, red flood,
Rin trickling downe his side;
I saw his cheek so wan so pale,
I saw his bright eyne gin to fail,
I saw the gash sae wide!
Oh, then I'll weep my kindsome fair,
My sighs shall swell the moaning air,
For gentle was the youth;
His eyne was bright, his face was sweet,
A form like his I ne'er shall greet;
His heart was love and truth.
A BALLAD. Wherein the QUEEN of SCOTS mourneth her Captivity and hard usage at the CASTLE of LOCHLEVEN.
The lengthened sufferings of this Princess gave rise to the following lines; for however faulty her conduct in many instances, yet it is generally allowed that she did not merit such rigorous treatment from a Sister Queen.
Oft I bend my aching eye,
Till my troubled soul grown weary,
Vents its anguish in a sigh.
Men, alas, there's no believing,
All are cruel and unkind;
Here there's naught but false deceiving,
Man's more wav'ring than the wind.
Reach my cruel Sister's ear;
Did she see me pine and languish,
Could she view this falling tear,
Then her flinty heart might borrow
Gentle pity's tender sigh;
Then the silv'ry drop of sorrow,
Soon would grace her pensive eye.
Must I pine in silence drear?
Will no female melt with pitty?
Will no hand asswage the tear?
No, 'tis o'er, my fate's decided;
Languid beats my breaking heart;
Forgot by friends, by fate derided,
Life and Mary soon must part.
BALLAD. Shewing the untimely Fate of two Young LOVERS.
Or glistens in the morning dew;
The perfume of the Rose is fled,
It faints, my Emma dies for you.
And fill my breast with rapt'rous fire;
No longer let thy voice be mute,
For thou cans't bid my soul expire.
It chills my languid, love-sick breast;
And must I wear the Cypress crest?
And seek resign'd my final doom;
From thee my soul shall never part,
With thee I'll rest within the Tomb.
'Twas here my heart became thy slave;
Receive it then exclaimed the youth,
And frantick plung'd into the wave.
Thus withers beautie's sweetest flow'r:
They bloom'd, then to the grave did drop,
The children of a fleeting hour.
BALLAD, By a LOVER on his false MISTRESS.
Or like the scented breath of May,
Or like the Lilly by the stream,
Or like a pleasing passing dream,
Or like at morn the lark's shrill song,
Or like the jocund bells' ding dong;
Pleasing as these, to sight and ear was she,
But like these, wither'd for her perfidy.
Or like the constant downy dove,
Or like the blazing noontide Sun,
That ne'er forgets its course to run,
Or like the varying current's tide,
Or like swift time that still doth glide.
Ev'n like all these my mistress once was true,
But now grown false, to all she bids adieu.
Or free as fancy Nature's child,
Or free as lark that pipes on high,
Or free as stars that lace the sky,
Or free as soul when death's chill dart
Th' immortal from this frame shall part.
Thus free from Love; unshackled thus my mind;
Now I have learnt the fraud of Womankind.
Ballad. Of the doleful Death of that mirrour of true Knighthood, the noble and valiant Sir Philip Sydney,
Who expired of a wound he received at the Battle of Zutphen.
Together with his merciful conduct on quitting the field.
This extraordinary young Nobleman was a peculiar favourite with his Sovereign, Queen Elizabeth, who was compelled to restrain his thirst for glory in several instances. He was learned, brave, and generous; and so high was his reputation throughout Europe, that we are informed he was in election for the kingdom of Poland, but the queen refused to further his preferment, not out of emulation, but that she was averse to lose the Jewel of her Court. He expired on the 22d of September, 1586.
Sydney lies on Zutphen's plain;
Never did more rueful story,
Wake your breasts to silent pain.
With the pale and icy dead;
There with glory Sidney slumber'd,
There with honour Sydney bled.
And with heroes rank'd his name;
'Twas not wealth, or proud alliance,
Sydney thirsted after fame.
Philip wounded bent his way,
His own suff'rings little heeding,
Glory having crown'd the day;
Oft he claims the friendly bowl;
Water's cooling draught requiring,
To recruit his sick'ning soul.
By a Squire of Sydney's train;
But this virtuous child of heaven,
Melted at another's pain.
Where the hardy warriors bled,
Where the murd'rous cannons rattle
Seal'd so many with the dead;
By his pitying comrades borne,
Sydney's can so wistful eyeing,
With a faint and dol'rous mourn,
In Sir Philip's sunken eye;
Sydney pity's soul did borrow,
Faintly thus the youth did cry:
Take from hence this flowing can:
Yon poor Soldier's mis'ry grieves me,
Bear it to that dying man.
Sydney straight the liquor gave;
Soon death's damp and chilly shiv'ring
Struck the pitying hero brave.
Thus he fell on Zutphen's plain,
Thus expir'd, with parching anguish,
Feeling for another's pain.
Died entwin'd with mercy's crest;
May our valiant Sydney's story,
Warm each gallant Briton's breast.
Virtue to each youth impart;
May each soul be warm'd with pitty,
May each breast wear Sydney's heart.
The MAID of the BROOK.
All beside the rippling stream;
Green the turf, and clear the waters
Bright the spangling noon tide beam.
To each breeze the maid did sigh
Willow, willow, willow,
Death shall sing my lullaby;
Willow, willow, willow.
Did this maiden's cheek outvie:
But the Rose's bloom was wither'd,
Dew dank'd violet was her eye;
To the brook she made her moan,
Willow, willow, willow,
Death's for me now Edrick's flown,
Willow, willow, willow.
Did in gentle murmurs glide,
Careless hung adown each side.
To the rippling sound she'd say
Willow, willow, willow.
Death's my bride, ah well away,
Willow, Willow, willow.
Long did make her doleful wail,
Edrick heard, he stood, and listen'd,
Edrick pitied the sad tale.
To the maid the swain did cry,
Cease the sad song willow,
Sorrow fled, the maid did sigh,
And sung no more the willow.
This word, Willow, occurs frequently at the termination of the stanzas of sorrowful Ballads. We find Shakspear very affectingly introduce it in Othello, Act IV. Scene 3. when Desdemona repeats the ensuing lines, alluding to a Ballad in two parts now extant, entitled Willow, Willow, Willow.
“She was in love; and he she lov'd forsook her,
“And she prov'd mad. She had a song of Willow,
“An old thing 'twas, but it express'd her fortune;
“And she dyed singing it.”
A Ballad. On the gallant Defeat of the Spanish Armada.
For this most celebrated victory the English are greatly indebted to the interposition of Providence in their favor, as the gallant endeavours of our seamen were aided by the tempestuous elements, which conspired to disperse and shatter the invading force of Spain. The engagement took place in the year 1588, when Sir Francis Drake, the Earl of Cumberland, and several other Noblemen distinguished themselves by their disinterested conduct in freely volunteering for the defence of their Country, Religion, Sovereign, and Constitution.
Didst thou see upon the Flood
England's gallant War-ships laving,
England's Sailors staunch of blood?
O'er the green and foaming wave,
Gallant Seamen joyful crying,
English Seamen stout and brave.
With their flags so rich and bright?
Yes, I saw their vessels gliding,
Ready for the dreadful fight.
Spread upon the watry plain?
Didst thou hear the cannons' rattle?
Didst thou mark the blood-red main?
And the Spaniards 'gin the fight.
Yes, I saw the face of heaven;
Dread, yet glorious was the sight.
Waft the billowy waves on high,
And the Spanish vessels soaring,
Seem to touch the darken'd sky.
And the conqu'rors joyful shout;
Now the shatter'd war-ships flying,
Speak the haughty Spaniards' rout.
Forc'd to fly old England's coast?
Yes, I saw their vanquish'd sailors,
Humbled was the daring host.
And the pris'ners brought to shore?
Yes, I saw the crews safe landed,
England's sons did God adore.
Long reign o'er our Isle in peace;
May we never be subjected,
May these bloody horrors cease!
Ballads in Imitation of the Antient | ||