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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 | 3. | VOLUME THE THIRD. |
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 | Reliques of Ancient English Poetry |  |
3. VOLUME THE THIRD.
An ordinary Song or Ballad, that is the delight of the common people, cannot fail to please all such readers, as are not unqualified for the entertainment by their affectation or their ignorance; and the reason is plain, because the same paintings of nature which recommended it to the most ordinary Reader, will appear beautiful to the most refined.
Addison in Spectator, No: 70.
ANCIENT SONGS AND BALLADS, &c.
SERIES THE THIRD.
BOOK I. BALLADS ON KING ARTHUR, &c.
I. THE BOY AND THE MANTLE.
[_]
—Is printed verbatim from the old MS described in the Preface. The Editor believes it more ancient, than it will appear to be at first sight; the transcriber of that manuscript having reduced the orthography and style in many instances to the standard of his own times.
The incidents of the Mantle and the Knife have not, that I can recollect, been borrowed from any other writer. The former of these evidently suggested to Spenser his conceit of Florimel's Girdle. B. iv. C. 5. St. 3.
That girdle gave the virtue of chaste love
And wivehoood true to all that did it beare;
But whosoever contrarie doth prove,
Might not the same about her middle weare,
But it would loose or else asunder teare.
And wivehoood true to all that did it beare;
But whosoever contrarie doth prove,
Might not the same about her middle weare,
But it would loose or else asunder teare.
So it happened to the false Florimel, st. 16, when
—Being brought, about her middle small
They thought to gird, as best it her became,
But by no means they could it thereto frame,
For ever as they fastned it, it loos'd
And fell away, as feeling secret blame, &c.
That all men wondred at the uncouth sight
And each one thought as to their fancies came.
But she herself did think it done for spight,
And touched was with secret wrath and shame
Therewith, as thing deviz'd her to defame:
Then many other ladies likewise tride
About their tender loynes to knit the same,
But it would not on none of them abide,
But when they thought it fast, eftsoones it was untide.
Thereat all knights gan laugh and ladies lowre,
Till that at last the gentle Amoret
Likewise assayed to prove that girdle's powre.
And having it about her middle set
Did find it fit withouten breach or let,
Whereat the rest gan greatly to envie.
But Florimel exceedingly did fret
And snatching from her hand, &c.
They thought to gird, as best it her became,
But by no means they could it thereto frame,
For ever as they fastned it, it loos'd
And fell away, as feeling secret blame, &c.
That all men wondred at the uncouth sight
And each one thought as to their fancies came.
But she herself did think it done for spight,
And touched was with secret wrath and shame
Therewith, as thing deviz'd her to defame:
Then many other ladies likewise tride
About their tender loynes to knit the same,
But it would not on none of them abide,
But when they thought it fast, eftsoones it was untide.
Thereat all knights gan laugh and ladies lowre,
Till that at last the gentle Amoret
2
And having it about her middle set
Did find it fit withouten breach or let,
Whereat the rest gan greatly to envie.
But Florimel exceedingly did fret
And snatching from her hand, &c.
As for the trial of the Horne, it is not peculiar to our Poet: It occurs in the old romance, intitled Morte Arthur, which was translated out of French in the time of K. Edw. IV. and first printed anno 1484. From that romance Ariosto is thought to have borrowed his tale of the Enchanted Cup, C. 42. &c.
See Mr. Warton's Observations on the Faerie Queen, &c.The story of the Horn in Morte Arthur varies a good deal from this of our Poet, as the reader will judge from the following extract.—“By the way they met with a knight that was sent from Morgan le Faye to king Arthur, and this knight had a fair horne all garnished with gold, and the horne had such a virtue that there might no ladye or gentlewoman drinke of that horne, but if she were true to her husband: and if shee were false she should spill all the drinke, and if shee were true unto her lorde, shee might drink peaceably: and because of queene Guenever and in despite of Sir Launcelot du Lake, this horne was sent unto king Arthur.”—This born is intercepted and brought unto another king named Marke, who is not a whit more fortunate than the British hero, for he makes “his queene drinke thereof and an hundred ladies moe, and there were but foure ladies of all those that drank cleane” of which number the said queen, proves not to be one [Book II. chap. 22. Ed. 1632.]
In other respects the two stories are so different, that we have just reason to suppose this Ballad was written before that romance was translated into English.
As for queen Guènever, she is here represented no otherwise, than as we find her in old histories and romances. Holinshed observes, that “she was evil reported of, as noted of incontinence and breach of faith to hir husband.”
Vol. I. p. 93.Such Readers, as have no relish for pure antiquity, will find a more modern copy of this Ballad at the end of the volume.
3
In the third day of may,
To Carleile did come
A kind curteous child,
That cold much of wisdome.
To Carleile did come
A kind curteous child,
That cold much of wisdome.
A kirtle and a mantle
This child had uppon,
With ‘brooches’ and ringes
Full richelye bedone.
This child had uppon,
With ‘brooches’ and ringes
Full richelye bedone.
He had a sute of silke
About his middle drawne;
Without he cold of curtesye
He thought itt much shame.
About his middle drawne;
Without he cold of curtesye
He thought itt much shame.
God speede thee, king Arthur,
Sitting at thy meate:
And the goodly queene Guénever,
I cannott her forgett.
Sitting at thy meate:
And the goodly queene Guénever,
I cannott her forgett.
I tell you, lords, in this hall;
I hett you all to ‘heede’;
Except you be the more surer
Is for you to dread.
I hett you all to ‘heede’;
Except you be the more surer
Is for you to dread.
He plucked out of his poterver,
And longer wold not dwell,
He pulled forth a pretty mantle,
Betweene two nut-shells.
And longer wold not dwell,
He pulled forth a pretty mantle,
Betweene two nut-shells.
4
Have thou here, king Arthur;
Have thou heere of mee:
Give itt to thy comely queene
Shapen as itt is alreadye.
Have thou heere of mee:
Give itt to thy comely queene
Shapen as itt is alreadye.
It shall never become that wiffe,
That hath once done amisse.
Then every knight in the king's court
Began to care for ‘his.’
That hath once done amisse.
Then every knight in the king's court
Began to care for ‘his.’
Forth came dame Guénever;
To the mantle shee her ‘hied’;
The ladye shee was newfangle,
But yett she was affrayd.
To the mantle shee her ‘hied’;
The ladye shee was newfangle,
But yett she was affrayd.
When shee had taken the mantle;
She stoode as she had beene madd:
It was from the top to the toe
As sheeres had itt shread.
She stoode as she had beene madd:
It was from the top to the toe
As sheeres had itt shread.
One while was it ‘gule’;
Another while was itt greene;
Another while was itt wadded:
Ill itt did her beseeme.
Another while was itt greene;
Another while was itt wadded:
Ill itt did her beseeme.
Another while was itt blacke,
And bore the worst hue:
By my troth, quoth king Arthur,
I thinke thou be not true.
And bore the worst hue:
By my troth, quoth king Arthur,
I thinke thou be not true.
5
Shee threw downe the mantle,
That bright was of blee;
Fast with a rudd redd,
To her chamber can shee flee.
That bright was of blee;
Fast with a rudd redd,
To her chamber can shee flee.
She curst the weaver, and the walker,
That clothe that had wrought;
And bade a vengeance on his crowne,
That hither hath itt brought.
That clothe that had wrought;
And bade a vengeance on his crowne,
That hither hath itt brought.
I had rather be in a wood,
Under a green tree;
Than in king Arthur's court
Shamed for to bee.
Under a green tree;
Than in king Arthur's court
Shamed for to bee.
Kay called forth his ladye,
And bade her come neere;
Saies, Madam, and thou be guiltye,
I pray thee hold thee there.
And bade her come neere;
Saies, Madam, and thou be guiltye,
I pray thee hold thee there.
Forth came his ladye
Shortlye and anon;
Boldlye to the mantle
Then is shee gone.
Shortlye and anon;
Boldlye to the mantle
Then is shee gone.
When she had tane the mantle,
And cast it her about;
Then was she bare
‘Before all the rout.”
And cast it her about;
Then was she bare
‘Before all the rout.”
6
Then every knight,
That was in the king's court,
Talked, laughed, and showted
Full oft at that sport.
That was in the king's court,
Talked, laughed, and showted
Full oft at that sport.
Shee threw downe the mantle,
That bright was of blee;
Fast, with a red rudd,
To her chamber can she flee.
That bright was of blee;
Fast, with a red rudd,
To her chamber can she flee.
Forth came an old knight
Pattering ore a creede,
And he proferred to this litle boy
Twenty markes to his meede;
Pattering ore a creede,
And he proferred to this litle boy
Twenty markes to his meede;
And all the time of the Christmasse
Willinglye to ffeede;
For why this mantle might
Do his wiffe some need.
Willinglye to ffeede;
For why this mantle might
Do his wiffe some need.
When she had tane the mantle,
Of cloth that was made,
She had no more left on her,
But a tassel and a threed:
Then every knight in the kings court
Bade evill might shee speed.
Of cloth that was made,
She had no more left on her,
But a tassel and a threed:
Then every knight in the kings court
Bade evill might shee speed.
Shee threw downe the mantle,
That bright was of blee;
And fast, with a redd rudd,
To her chamber can shee flee.
That bright was of blee;
7
To her chamber can shee flee.
Craddocke called forth his ladye,
And bade her come in;
Saith, winne this mantle, ladye,
With a little dinne.
And bade her come in;
Saith, winne this mantle, ladye,
With a little dinne.
Winne this mantle, ladye,
And it shal be thine,
If thou never did amisse
Since thou wast mine.
And it shal be thine,
If thou never did amisse
Since thou wast mine.
Forth came Craddocke's ladye
Shortlye and anon;
But boldlye to the mantle
Then is shee gone.
Shortlye and anon;
But boldlye to the mantle
Then is shee gone.
When shee had tane the mantle,
And cast itt her about,
Upp att her great toe
It began to crinkle and crowt:
Shee said, bowe downe, mantle,
And shame me not for nought.
And cast itt her about,
Upp att her great toe
It began to crinkle and crowt:
Shee said, bowe downe, mantle,
And shame me not for nought.
Once I did amisse,
I tell you certainlye,
When I kist Craddocke's mouth
Under a greene tree;
When I kist Craddockes mouth
Before he marryed mee.
I tell you certainlye,
When I kist Craddocke's mouth
Under a greene tree;
8
Before he marryed mee.
When shee had her shreeven,
And her sinnes shee had tolde;
The mantle stoode about her
Right as shee wold:
And her sinnes shee had tolde;
The mantle stoode about her
Right as shee wold:
Seemelye of coulour
Glittering like gold:
Then every knight in Arthurs court
Did her behold.
Glittering like gold:
Then every knight in Arthurs court
Did her behold.
Then spake dame Guénever
To Arthur our king;
She hath tane yonder mantle
Not with right, but with wronge.
To Arthur our king;
She hath tane yonder mantle
Not with right, but with wronge.
See you not yonder woman,
That maketh her self ‘cleane’?
I have seene tane out of her bedd
Of men five teene;
That maketh her self ‘cleane’?
I have seene tane out of her bedd
Of men five teene;
Priests, clarkes, and wedded men
From her bedeene:
Yett shee taketh the mantle,
And maketh her self cleane.
From her bedeene:
Yett shee taketh the mantle,
And maketh her self cleane.
9
Then spake the litle boy,
That kept the mantle in hold;
Sayes, king, chasten thy wiffe,
Of her words shee is too bold:
That kept the mantle in hold;
Sayes, king, chasten thy wiffe,
Of her words shee is too bold:
Shee is a bitch and a witch,
And a whore bold:
King, in thine owne hall,
Thou art a cuckold.
And a whore bold:
King, in thine owne hall,
Thou art a cuckold.
The litle boy stoode
Looking out a dore;
‘And there as he was lookinge
‘He was ware of a wyld bore.’
Looking out a dore;
‘And there as he was lookinge
‘He was ware of a wyld bore.’
He was ware of a wyld bore,
Wold have werryed a man:
He pulled forth a wood kniffe,
Fast thither that he ran:
He brought in the bores head,
And quitted him like a man.
Wold have werryed a man:
He pulled forth a wood kniffe,
Fast thither that he ran:
He brought in the bores head,
And quitted him like a man.
He brought in the bores head,
And was wonderous bold:
He said there were never a cuckolds kniffe
Carve itt that cold.
And was wonderous bold:
He said there were never a cuckolds kniffe
Carve itt that cold.
Some rubbed their knives
Uppon a whetstone:
Some threw them under the table,
And said they had none.
Uppon a whetstone:
10
And said they had none.
King Arthur, and the child
Stood looking upon them;
All their knives edges
Turned backe againe.
Stood looking upon them;
All their knives edges
Turned backe againe.
Craddocke had a litle knive
Of iron and of steele;
He britled the bores head
Wonderous weele;
That every knight in the kings court
Had a morsell.
Of iron and of steele;
He britled the bores head
Wonderous weele;
That every knight in the kings court
Had a morsell.
The litle boy had a horne,
Of red gold that ronge:
He said, there was noe cuckolde
Shall drinke of my horne;
But he shold itt sheede
Either behind or beforne.
Of red gold that ronge:
He said, there was noe cuckolde
Shall drinke of my horne;
But he shold itt sheede
Either behind or beforne.
Some shedd on their shoulder,
And some on their knee;
He that cold not hitt his mouthe,
Put it in his eye:
And he that was a cuckold
Every man might him see.
And some on their knee;
He that cold not hitt his mouthe,
Put it in his eye:
And he that was a cuckold
Every man might him see.
11
Craddocke wan the horne,
And the bores head:
His ladie wan the mantle
Unto her meede.
Everye such lovely ladye
God send her well to speede.
And the bores head:
His ladie wan the mantle
Unto her meede.
Everye such lovely ladye
God send her well to speede.
II. THE MARRIAGE OF SIR GAWAINE
[_]
—Is chiefly taken from the fragment of an old ballad in the Editor's MS. which he has reason to believe more ancient than the time of Chaucer, and what furnished that bard with his Wise of Bath's Tale. The original was so extremely mutilated, half of every leaf being torn away, that without large supplements, &c. it would have been improper for this collection: these it has therefore received, such as they are. They are not here particularly pointed out, because the Fragment itself will some time or other be given to the public.
Part the First.
King Arthur lives in merry Carleile,
And seemely is to see;
And there with him queene Guenever,
That bride soe bright of blee.
And seemely is to see;
And there with him queene Guenever,
That bride soe bright of blee.
And there with him queene Guenever,
That bride so bright in bowre:
And all his barons about him stoode,
That were both stiffe and stowre.
That bride so bright in bowre:
And all his barons about him stoode,
That were both stiffe and stowre.
12
The king a royale Christmasse kept,
With mirth and princelye cheare;
To him repaired many a knighte,
That came both farre and neare.
With mirth and princelye cheare;
To him repaired many a knighte,
That came both farre and neare.
And when they were to dinner sette,
And cups went freely round;
Before them came a faire damsèlle,
And knelt upon the ground.
And cups went freely round;
Before them came a faire damsèlle,
And knelt upon the ground.
A boone, a boone, O kinge Arthùre,
I beg a boone of thee;
Avenge me of a carlish knighte,
Who hath shent my love and mee.
I beg a boone of thee;
Avenge me of a carlish knighte,
Who hath shent my love and mee.
In Tearne-Wadling his castle stands,
All on a hill soe hye,
And proudlye rise the battlements,
And gaye the streameres flye.
All on a hill soe hye,
And proudlye rise the battlements,
And gaye the streameres flye.
Noe gentle knighte, nor ladye faire,
May pass that castle-walle:
But from that foule discurteous knighte,
Mishappe will them befalle.
May pass that castle-walle:
But from that foule discurteous knighte,
Mishappe will them befalle.
Hee's twyce the size of common men,
Wi' thewes, and sinewes stronge,
And on his backe he bears a clubbe,
That is both thicke and longe.
Wi' thewes, and sinewes stronge,
And on his backe he bears a clubbe,
That is both thicke and longe.
13
This grimme baròne 'twas our harde happe,
But yester morne to see;
When to his bowre he bore my love,
And sore misused mee.
But yester morne to see;
When to his bowre he bore my love,
And sore misused mee.
And when I told him, king Arthùre
As lyttle shold him spare;
Goe tell, sayd hee, that cuckold kinge,
To meete mee if he dare.
As lyttle shold him spare;
Goe tell, sayd hee, that cuckold kinge,
To meete mee if he dare.
Upp then sterted king Arthùre,
And sware by hille and dale,
He ne'er wolde quitt that grimme baròne,
Till he had made him quail.
And sware by hille and dale,
He ne'er wolde quitt that grimme baròne,
Till he had made him quail.
Goe fetch my sword Excalibar:
Goe saddle mee my steede;
Nowe, by my faye, that grimme baròne
Shall rue this ruthfulle deede.
Goe saddle mee my steede;
Nowe, by my faye, that grimme baròne
Shall rue this ruthfulle deede.
And when he came to Tearne Wadlinge
Benethe the castle walle:
“Come forth; come forth; thou proude baròne,
Or yielde thyself my thralle.”
Benethe the castle walle:
“Come forth; come forth; thou proude baròne,
Or yielde thyself my thralle.”
On magicke grounde that castle stoode,
And fenc'd with many a spelle:
Noe valiant knighte could tread thereon,
But straite his courage felle.
And fenc'd with many a spelle:
Noe valiant knighte could tread thereon,
But straite his courage felle.
14
Forth then rush'd that carlish knight,
King Arthur felte the charme:
His sturdy sinewes lost their strengthe,
Downe sunke his feeble arme.
King Arthur felte the charme:
His sturdy sinewes lost their strengthe,
Downe sunke his feeble arme.
Nowe yield thee, yield thee, kinge Arthùre,
Now yield thee, unto mee:
Or fighte with mee, or lose thy lande,
Noe better termes maye bee.
Now yield thee, unto mee:
Or fighte with mee, or lose thy lande,
Noe better termes maye bee.
Unlesse thou sweare upon the rood,
And promise on thy faye,
Here to returne to Tearne Wadling,
Upon the new-yeare's daye:
And promise on thy faye,
Here to returne to Tearne Wadling,
Upon the new-yeare's daye:
And bringe me worde what thing it is
All women moste desyre:
This is thy ransome, Arthur, he sayes,
Ile have noe other hyre.
All women moste desyre:
This is thy ransome, Arthur, he sayes,
Ile have noe other hyre.
King Arthur then helde up his hande,
And sware upon his faye,
Then tooke his leave of the grimme barone
And faste hee rode awaye.
And sware upon his faye,
Then tooke his leave of the grimme barone
And faste hee rode awaye.
And he rode east, and he rode west,
And did of all inquyre,
What thing it is all women crave,
And what they most desyre.
And did of all inquyre,
What thing it is all women crave,
And what they most desyre.
15
Some told him riches, pompe, or state;
Some rayment fine and brighte;
Some told him mirthe; some flatterye;
And some a jollye knighte.
Some rayment fine and brighte;
Some told him mirthe; some flatterye;
And some a jollye knighte.
In letteres all king Arthur wrote,
And seal'd them with his ringe:
But still his minde was helde in doubte,
Each tolde a different thinge.
And seal'd them with his ringe:
But still his minde was helde in doubte,
Each tolde a different thinge.
As ruthfulle he rode over a more,
He saw a ladye sette
Betweene an oke, and a greene holléye,
All clad in red scarlette.
He saw a ladye sette
Betweene an oke, and a greene holléye,
All clad in red scarlette.
Her nose was crookt and turnd outwàrde,
Her chin stoode all awrye;
And where as sholde have been her mouthe,
Lo! there was set her eye:
Her chin stoode all awrye;
And where as sholde have been her mouthe,
Lo! there was set her eye:
Her haires, like serpents, clung aboute
Her cheekes of deadlye hewe:
A worse-form'd ladye than she was,
No man mote ever viewe.
Her cheekes of deadlye hewe:
A worse-form'd ladye than she was,
No man mote ever viewe.
To hail the king in seemelye sorte
This ladye was fulle saine;
But king Arthùre all sore amaz'd,
No aunswere made againe.
This ladye was fulle saine;
But king Arthùre all sore amaz'd,
No aunswere made againe.
16
What wight art thou, the ladye sayd,
That wilt not speake to mee;
Sir, I may chance to ease thy paine,
Though I bee foule to see.
That wilt not speake to mee;
Sir, I may chance to ease thy paine,
Though I bee foule to see.
If thou wilt ease my paine, he sayd,
And helpe me in my neede;
Ask what thou wilt, thou grimme ladyè,
And it shall bee thy meede.
And helpe me in my neede;
Ask what thou wilt, thou grimme ladyè,
And it shall bee thy meede.
O sweare mee this upon the roode,
And promise on thy faye;
And here the secrette I will telle,
That shall thy ransome paye.
And promise on thy faye;
And here the secrette I will telle,
That shall thy ransome paye.
King Arthur promis'd on his faye,
And sware upon the roode;
The secrette then the ladye told,
As lightlye well shee cou'de.
And sware upon the roode;
The secrette then the ladye told,
As lightlye well shee cou'de.
Now this shall be my paye, sir king,
And this my guerdon bee,
That some yong, fair and courtlye knight,
Thou bringe to marrye mee.
And this my guerdon bee,
That some yong, fair and courtlye knight,
Thou bringe to marrye mee.
Fast then pricked king Arthùre
Ore hille, and dale, and downe:
And soone he founde the barone's bowre;
And soone the grimme baroùne.
Ore hille, and dale, and downe:
And soone he founde the barone's bowre;
And soone the grimme baroùne.
17
He bare his clubbe upon his backe,
Hee stoode bothe stiffe and stronge;
And, when he had the letters reade,
Awaye the lettres flunge.
Hee stoode bothe stiffe and stronge;
And, when he had the letters reade,
Awaye the lettres flunge.
Nowe yielde thee, Arthur, and thy lands,
All forfeit unto mee;
For this is not thy paye, sir king,
Nor may thy ransome bee.
All forfeit unto mee;
For this is not thy paye, sir king,
Nor may thy ransome bee.
Yet hold thy hand, thou proude baròne,
I praye thee hold thy hand;
And give mee leave to speake once moe
In reskewe of my land.
I praye thee hold thy hand;
And give mee leave to speake once moe
In reskewe of my land.
This morne, as I came over a more,
I saw a ladye sette
Betwene an oke, and a greene hollèye,
All clad in red scarlètte.
I saw a ladye sette
Betwene an oke, and a greene hollèye,
All clad in red scarlètte.
Shee sayes, all women will have their wille,
This is their chief desyre;
Now yield, as thou art a barone true,
That I have payd mine hyre.
This is their chief desyre;
Now yield, as thou art a barone true,
That I have payd mine hyre.
An earlye vengeaunce light on her!
The carlish baron swore:
Shee was my sister tolde thee this,
And shee's a mishapen whore.
The carlish baron swore:
Shee was my sister tolde thee this,
And shee's a mishapen whore.
18
But here I will make mine avowe,
To do her as ill a turne:
For an ever I may that foule theefe gette,
In a fyre I will her burne.
To do her as ill a turne:
For an ever I may that foule theefe gette,
In a fyre I will her burne.
Part the Seconde.
Homewarde pricked king Arthùre,
And a wearye man was hee;
And soone he mette queene Guenever,
That bride so bright of blee.
And a wearye man was hee;
And soone he mette queene Guenever,
That bride so bright of blee.
What newes! what newes! thou noble king,
Howe, Arthur, hast thou sped?
Where hast thou hung the carlish knighte?
And where bestow'd his head?
Howe, Arthur, hast thou sped?
Where hast thou hung the carlish knighte?
And where bestow'd his head?
The carlish knight is safe for mee,
And free fro mortal harme:
On magicke grounde his castle stands,
And fenc'd with many a charme.
And free fro mortal harme:
On magicke grounde his castle stands,
And fenc'd with many a charme.
To bowe to him I was fulle faine,
And yielde mee to his hand:
And but for a lothly ladye, there
I sholde have lost my land.
And yielde mee to his hand:
And but for a lothly ladye, there
I sholde have lost my land.
19
And nowe this fills my hearte with woe,
And sorrowe of my life;
I swore a yonge and courtlye knight,
Sholde marry her to his wife.
And sorrowe of my life;
I swore a yonge and courtlye knight,
Sholde marry her to his wife.
Then bespake him sir Gawàine,
That was ever a gentle knighte:
That lothly ladye I will wed;
Therefore be merrye and lighte.
That was ever a gentle knighte:
That lothly ladye I will wed;
Therefore be merrye and lighte.
Nowe naye, nowe naye, good sir Gawàine;
My sister's sonne yee bee;
This lothlye ladye's all too grimme,
And all too foule for yee.
My sister's sonne yee bee;
This lothlye ladye's all too grimme,
And all too foule for yee.
Her nose is crookt and turn'd outwàrde;
Her chin stands all awrye;
A worse form'd ladye than shee is
Was never seen with eye.
Her chin stands all awrye;
A worse form'd ladye than shee is
Was never seen with eye.
What though her chin stand all awrye,
And shee be foule to see:
I'll marry her, unkle, for thy sake,
And I'll thy ransome bee.
And shee be foule to see:
I'll marry her, unkle, for thy sake,
And I'll thy ransome bee.
Nowe thankes, nowe thankes, good sir Gawàine;
And a blessing thee betyde!
To-morrow wee'll have knights and squires,
And wee'll goe fetch thy bride.
And a blessing thee betyde!
To-morrow wee'll have knights and squires,
And wee'll goe fetch thy bride.
20
And wee'll have hawkes and wee'll have houndes,
To cover our intent;
And wee'll away to the greene forèst,
As wee a hunting went.
To cover our intent;
And wee'll away to the greene forèst,
As wee a hunting went.
Sir Lancelot, sir Stephen bolde,
They rode with them that daye;
And foremoste of the companye
There rode the stewarde Kaye:
They rode with them that daye;
And foremoste of the companye
There rode the stewarde Kaye:
Soe did sir Banier and sir Bore,
And eke sir Garratte keene;
Sir Tristram too, that gentle knight,
To the forest freshe and greene.
And eke sir Garratte keene;
Sir Tristram too, that gentle knight,
To the forest freshe and greene.
And when they came to the greene forrèst,
Beneathe a faire holley tree
There sate that ladye in red scarlètte
That unseemelye was to see.
Beneathe a faire holley tree
There sate that ladye in red scarlètte
That unseemelye was to see.
Sir Kay beheld that lady's face,
And looked upon her sweere;
Whoever kisses that ladye, he sayes
Of his kisse he stands in feare.
And looked upon her sweere;
Whoever kisses that ladye, he sayes
Of his kisse he stands in feare.
Sir Kay beheld that ladye againe,
And looked upon her snout;
Whoever kisses that ladye, he sayes,
Of his kisse he stands in doubt.
And looked upon her snout;
Whoever kisses that ladye, he sayes,
Of his kisse he stands in doubt.
21
Peace, brother Kay, sayde sir Gawàine,
And amend thee of thy life:
For there is a knight amongst us all,
Must marry her to his wife.
And amend thee of thy life:
For there is a knight amongst us all,
Must marry her to his wife.
What marry this foule queane, quoth Kay,
I'the devil's name anone;
Get mee a wife wherever I maye,
In sooth shee shall bee none.
I'the devil's name anone;
Get mee a wife wherever I maye,
In sooth shee shall bee none.
Then some tooke up their hawkes in haste,
And some took up their houndes;
And sayd they wolde not marry her,
For cities, nor for townes.
And some took up their houndes;
And sayd they wolde not marry her,
For cities, nor for townes.
Then bespake him king Arthùre,
And sware there by this daye;
For a little foule sighte and mislikìnge,
Yee shall not say her naye.
And sware there by this daye;
For a little foule sighte and mislikìnge,
Yee shall not say her naye.
Peace, lordings, peace: sir Gawaine sayd,
Nor make debate and strife;
This lothlye ladye I will take,
And marry her to my wife.
Nor make debate and strife;
This lothlye ladye I will take,
And marry her to my wife.
Nowe thankes, now thankes, good sir Gawaine,
And a blessinge be thy meede!
For as I am thine owne ladyè,
Thou never shalt rue this deede.
And a blessinge be thy meede!
For as I am thine owne ladyè,
Thou never shalt rue this deede.
22
Then up they took that lothly dame,
And home anone they bringe:
And there sir Gawaine he her wed,
And married her with a ringe.
And home anone they bringe:
And there sir Gawaine he her wed,
And married her with a ringe.
And when they were in wed-bed laid,
And all were done awaye;
Come turne to mee, mine owne wed-lord
Come turne to mee I praye.
And all were done awaye;
Come turne to mee, mine owne wed-lord
Come turne to mee I praye.
Sir Gawaine scant could lift his head,
For sorrowe and for care;
When, lo! instead of that lothelye dame,
Hee sawe a young ladye faire.
For sorrowe and for care;
When, lo! instead of that lothelye dame,
Hee sawe a young ladye faire.
Sweet blushes stayn'd her rud-red cheeke,
Her eyen were blacke as sloe:
The ripening cherrye swellde her lippe,
And all her necke was snowe.
Her eyen were blacke as sloe:
The ripening cherrye swellde her lippe,
And all her necke was snowe.
Sir Gawaine kiss'd that lady faire,
Lying upon the sheete:
And swore, as he was a true knighte,
The spice was never soe sweete.
Lying upon the sheete:
And swore, as he was a true knighte,
The spice was never soe sweete.
Sir Gawaine kiss'd that lady brighte,
Lying there by his side:
“The fairest flower is not soe faire;
Thou never can'st bee my bride.”
Lying there by his side:
“The fairest flower is not soe faire;
Thou never can'st bee my bride.”
23
I am thy bride, mine owne deare lorde,
The same whiche thou didst knowe,
That was soe lothlye, and was wont
Upon the wild more to goe.
The same whiche thou didst knowe,
That was soe lothlye, and was wont
Upon the wild more to goe.
Nowe, gentle Gawaine, chuse, quoth shee,
And make thy choice with care;
Whether by night, or else by daye,
Shall I be foule or faire?
And make thy choice with care;
Whether by night, or else by daye,
Shall I be foule or faire?
“To have thee foule still in the night,
When I with thee should playe!
I had rather farre, my lady deare,
To have thee foule by daye.”
When I with thee should playe!
I had rather farre, my lady deare,
To have thee foule by daye.”
What when gaye ladyes goe with their lordes
To drinke the ale and wine;
Alas! then I must hide myself,
I must not goe with mine?
To drinke the ale and wine;
Alas! then I must hide myself,
I must not goe with mine?
“My faire ladyè, sir Gawaine sayd,
I yield me to thy skille;
Because thou art mine owne ladyè
Thou shalt have all thy wille.”
I yield me to thy skille;
Because thou art mine owne ladyè
Thou shalt have all thy wille.”
Nowe blessed be thou, sweete Gawàine,
And the daye that I thee see;
For as thou seest mee at this time,
Soe shall I ever bee.
And the daye that I thee see;
For as thou seest mee at this time,
Soe shall I ever bee.
24
My father was an aged knighte,
And yet it chanced soe,
He tooke to wife a false ladyè,
Whiche broughte me to this woe.
And yet it chanced soe,
He tooke to wife a false ladyè,
Whiche broughte me to this woe.
Shee witch'd mee, being a faire yonge maide,
In the greene forèst to dwelle;
And there to abide in lothlye shape,
Most like a fiend of helle.
In the greene forèst to dwelle;
And there to abide in lothlye shape,
Most like a fiend of helle.
Midst mores and mosses; woods, and wilds;
To lead a lonesome life:
Till some yong faire and courtlye knighte
Wolde marrye me to his wife:
To lead a lonesome life:
Till some yong faire and courtlye knighte
Wolde marrye me to his wife:
Nor fully to gaine mine owne trewe shape,
Such was her devilish skille;
Until he wolde yielde to be rul'd by mee,
And let mee have all my wille.
Such was her devilish skille;
Until he wolde yielde to be rul'd by mee,
And let mee have all my wille.
She witchd my brother to a carlish boore,
And made him stiffe and stronge;
And built him a bowre on magicke grounde,
To live by rapine and wronge.
And made him stiffe and stronge;
And built him a bowre on magicke grounde,
To live by rapine and wronge.
But now the spelle is broken throughe,
And wronge is turnde to righte;
Henceforth I shall bee a faire ladyè,
And hee be a gentle knighte.
And wronge is turnde to righte;
Henceforth I shall bee a faire ladyè,
And hee be a gentle knighte.
25
III. KING RYENCE'S CHALLENGE.
[_]
This song is more modern than many of those which follow it, but is placed here for the sake of the subject. It was sung before queene Elizabeth at the grand entertainment at Kenelworth-castle in 1575, and was probably composed for that occasion. In a letter describing those festivities, it is thus mentioned; “A minstral came forth with a sollem song, warranted for story out of K. Arthur's acts, whereof I gat a copy, and is this;
So it fell out on a Pentecost &c.”After the song the narrative proceeds: “At this the Minstrell made a pause and a curtezy for primus passus. More of the song is thear, but I gatt it not.”
The story in Morte Arthur, whence it is taken, runs as follows, Came a messenger hastely from king Ryence of North-Wales,—saying, that king Ryence had discomfited and overcomen eleaven kings, and everiche of them did him homage, and that was this; they gave him their beards cleane flayne off, wherefore the messenger came for king Arthur's beard, for king Ryence had purfeled a mantell with kings beards, and there lacked for one place of the mantell, wherefore he sent for his beard, or else he would enter into his lands, and brenn and slay, and never leave till he have thy head and thy beard. Well, said king Arthur, thou bast said thy message, which is the most villainous and lewdest message that ever man heard sent to a king. Also thou mayest see my beard is full young yet for to make a purfell of, but tell thou the king that—or it be long he shall do to me homage on both his knees, or else he shall leese his head.”
[B. 1. c. 24. See also the same Romance, B. 1. c. 92.]The thought seems to be originally taken from Jeff. Monmouth's hist. B. 10. c. 3. which is alluded to by Drayton in his Poly-Olb. Song 4. and by Spencer in Faer. Qu. 6. 1. 13. 15. See the Observations on Spenser, vol. 2. p. 223.
26
The following text is composed of the best readings selected from three different copies. The first in Enderbie's Cambria Triumphans, p. 197. The second in the Letter abovementioned. And the third inserted in MS. in a copy of Morte Arthur, 1632, in the Bodl. Library.
“Stow tells us, that king Arthur kept his round table at “diverse places, but especially at Carlion, Winchester, and Camalet in Somersetshire. This Camelet sometimes a famous towne or castle, is situate on a very high tor or hill, &c.”
[See an exact description in Stowe's Annals, Ed. 1631. p. 55.]
As it fell out on a Pentecost day,
King Arthur at Camelot kept his court royall,
With his faire queene dame Guenever the gay;
And many bold barons sitting in hall;
With ladies attired in purple and pall;
And heraults in hewkes, hooting on high,
Cryed, Largesse, Largesse, Chevaliers tres-hardie.
King Arthur at Camelot kept his court royall,
With his faire queene dame Guenever the gay;
And many bold barons sitting in hall;
With ladies attired in purple and pall;
And heraults in hewkes, hooting on high,
Cryed, Largesse, Largesse, Chevaliers tres-hardie.
A doughty dwarfe to the uppermost deas
Right pertlye gan pricke, kneeling on knee,
With steven fulle stoute amids all the preas,
Sayd, Nowe sir king Arthur, God save thee, and see!
Sir Ryence of North-gales greeteth well thee,
And bids thee thy beard anon to him send,
Or else from thy jaws he will it off rend.
Right pertlye gan pricke, kneeling on knee,
With steven fulle stoute amids all the preas,
Sayd, Nowe sir king Arthur, God save thee, and see!
Sir Ryence of North-gales greeteth well thee,
And bids thee thy beard anon to him send,
Or else from thy jaws he will it off rend.
For his robe of state is a rich scarlet mantle,
With eleven kings beards bordered about,
And there is room lefte yet in a kantle,
For thine to stande, to make the twelfth out:
This must be done, be thou never so stout;
This must be done, I tell thee no fable,
Maugre the teethe of all thy round table.
With eleven kings beards bordered about,
27
For thine to stande, to make the twelfth out:
This must be done, be thou never so stout;
This must be done, I tell thee no fable,
Maugre the teethe of all thy round table.
When this mortal message from his mouthe past,
Great was the noyse bothe in hall and in bower:
The king fum'd; the queene screecht; ladies were aghast;
Princes puffd; barons blustred; lords began lower;
Knights stormed; squires startled, like steeds in a stower;
Pages and yeomen yell'd out in the hall,
Then in came sir Kay, the ‘king's’ seneschal.
Great was the noyse bothe in hall and in bower:
The king fum'd; the queene screecht; ladies were aghast;
Princes puffd; barons blustred; lords began lower;
Knights stormed; squires startled, like steeds in a stower;
Pages and yeomen yell'd out in the hall,
Then in came sir Kay, the ‘king's’ seneschal.
Silence, my soveraignes, quoth this courteous knight,
And in that stound the stowre began still:
‘Then’ the dwarfe's dinner full deerely was dight,
Of wine and wassel he had his wille;
And, when he had eaten and drunken his fill,
An hundred pieces of fine coyned gold
Were given this dwarf for his message bold.
And in that stound the stowre began still:
‘Then’ the dwarfe's dinner full deerely was dight,
Of wine and wassel he had his wille;
And, when he had eaten and drunken his fill,
An hundred pieces of fine coyned gold
Were given this dwarf for his message bold.
But say to sir Ryence, thou dwarf, quoth the king,
That for his bold message I do him defye;
And shortlye with basins and pans will him ring
Out of North-gales; where he and I
With swords, and not razors, quickly shall trye,
Whether he, or king Arthur will prove the best barbor:
And therewith he shook his good sword Excalàbor.
That for his bold message I do him defye;
And shortlye with basins and pans will him ring
Out of North-gales; where he and I
With swords, and not razors, quickly shall trye,
Whether he, or king Arthur will prove the best barbor:
And therewith he shook his good sword Excalàbor.
Largesse, Largesse, The heralds resounded these words as oft as they received of the bounty of the knights. See “Memoires de la Chevalerie.” tom. p. 1. 99.—The expression is still used in the form of installing knights of the garter.
28
IV. KING ARTHUR's DEATH.
A Fragment.
[_]
The subject of this ballad is evidently taken from the old romance Morte Arthur, but with some variations, especially in the concluding stanzas; in which the author seems rather to follow the traditions of the old Welsh Bards, who “believed that King Arthur was not dead, but conveied awaie by the Fairies into some pleasant place, where he should remaine for a time, and then returne againe and reign in as great authority as ever.” Holingshed. B. 5. c. 14. or as it is expressed in an old Chronicle printed at Antwerp 1493 by Ger. de Leew, “The Bretons supposen, that he [K. Arthur]—shall come yet and conquere all Bretaigne, for certes this is the prophicye of Merlyn: He sayd, that his deth shall be doubteous; and sayd soth, for men thereof yet have doubte, and shullen for ever more,—for men wyt not whether that he lyveth or is dede.”
See more ancient testimonies in Selden's Notes on Polyolbion, Song III.
This fragment being very incorrect and imperfect in the original MS. hath received some conjectural emendations, and even a supplement of 3 or 4 stanzas composed from the romance of Morte Arthur.
On Trinitye Mondaye in the morne,
This sore battayle was doom'd to bee;
Where manye a knighte cry'd, Well-awaye!
Alacké, it was the more pittìe.
This sore battayle was doom'd to bee;
Where manye a knighte cry'd, Well-awaye!
Alacké, it was the more pittìe.
29
Ere the first crowinge of the cocke,
When as the kinge in his bed laye,
He thoughte sir Gawaine to him came,
And there to him these wordes did saye.
When as the kinge in his bed laye,
He thoughte sir Gawaine to him came,
And there to him these wordes did saye.
Nowe as you are mine unkle deare,
And as you prize your life, this daye
O meet not with your foe in fighte;
Putt off the battayle, if yee maye.
And as you prize your life, this daye
O meet not with your foe in fighte;
Putt off the battayle, if yee maye.
For sir Launcelot is nowe in Fraunce,
And with him many an hardye knighte:
Who will within this moneth be backe,
And will assiste yee in the fighte.
And with him many an hardye knighte:
Who will within this moneth be backe,
And will assiste yee in the fighte.
The kinge then call'd his nobles all,
Before the breakinge of the daye;
And tolde them howe sir Gawaine came,
And there to him these wordes did saye.
Before the breakinge of the daye;
And tolde them howe sir Gawaine came,
And there to him these wordes did saye.
His nobles all this counsayle gave,
That earlye in the morning, hee
Shold send awaye an herauld at armes,
To aske a parley faire and free.
That earlye in the morning, hee
Shold send awaye an herauld at armes,
To aske a parley faire and free.
Then twelve good knightes king Arthure chose,
The best of all that with him were:
To parley with the foe in field,
And make with him agreement faire.
The best of all that with him were:
To parley with the foe in field,
And make with him agreement faire.
30
The king he charged all his hoste,
In readinesse there for to bee:
But noe man sholde noe weapon sturre,
Unlesse a sword drawne they shold see.
In readinesse there for to bee:
But noe man sholde noe weapon sturre,
Unlesse a sword drawne they shold see.
And Mordred on the other parte,
Twelve of his knights did likewise bringe;
The beste of all his companye,
To hold the parley with the kinge.
Twelve of his knights did likewise bringe;
The beste of all his companye,
To hold the parley with the kinge.
Sir Mordred alsoe charged his hoste,
In readinesse there for to bee;
But noe man sholde noe weapon sturre,
But if a sworde drawne they shold see.
In readinesse there for to bee;
But noe man sholde noe weapon sturre,
But if a sworde drawne they shold see.
For he durste not his unkle truste,
Nor he his nephewe, sothe to tell:
Alacke! it was a woefulle case,
As ere in Christentye befelle.
Nor he his nephewe, sothe to tell:
Alacke! it was a woefulle case,
As ere in Christentye befelle.
But when they were together mette,
And both to faire accordance broughte;
And a month's league betweene them sette,
Before the battayle sholde be foughte.
And both to faire accordance broughte;
And a month's league betweene them sette,
Before the battayle sholde be foughte.
An addere crept forth of a bushe,
Stunge one o'th' king's knightes on the knee:
Alacke! it was a woefulle chance,
As ever was in Christentìe.
Stunge one o'th' king's knightes on the knee:
Alacke! it was a woefulle chance,
As ever was in Christentìe.
31
When the knighte found him wounded sore,
And sawe the wild-worme hanginge there;
His sworde he from his scabberde drewe:
A piteous case as ye shall heare.
And sawe the wild-worme hanginge there;
His sworde he from his scabberde drewe:
A piteous case as ye shall heare.
For when the two hostes sawe the sworde,
They joyned battayle instantlye;
Till of soe manye noble knightes,
On one side there were left but three.
They joyned battayle instantlye;
Till of soe manye noble knightes,
On one side there were left but three.
For all were slain that durst abide,
And but some fewe that fled awaye:
Ay mee! it was a bloodye fielde,
As ere was foughte on summer's daye.
And but some fewe that fled awaye:
Ay mee! it was a bloodye fielde,
As ere was foughte on summer's daye.
Upon king Arthur's own partyè,
Onlye himselfe escaped there,
And Lukyn duke of Gloster free,
And the king's butler Bedevere.
Onlye himselfe escaped there,
And Lukyn duke of Gloster free,
And the king's butler Bedevere.
And when the king beheld his knightes,
All dead and scattered on the molde;
The teares fast trickled downe his face;
That manlye face in fight so bolde.
All dead and scattered on the molde;
The teares fast trickled downe his face;
That manlye face in fight so bolde.
Nowe reste yee all, brave knights, he said,
Soe true and faithful to your trust:
And must yee then, ye valiant hearts,
Be lefte to moulder into dust!
Soe true and faithful to your trust:
And must yee then, ye valiant hearts,
Be lefte to moulder into dust!
32
Most loyal have yee been to mee,
Most true and faithful unto deathe:
And, oh! to rayse yee up againe,
How freelye could I yield my breathe?
Most true and faithful unto deathe:
And, oh! to rayse yee up againe,
How freelye could I yield my breathe?
But see the traitor's yet alive,
Lo where hee stalkes among the deade!
Nowe bitterlye he shall abye:
And vengeance fall upon his head.
Lo where hee stalkes among the deade!
Nowe bitterlye he shall abye:
And vengeance fall upon his head.
O staye, my liege, then sayd the duke;
O staye for love and charitìe;
Remember what the vision spake,
Nor meete your foe, if it may bee.
O staye for love and charitìe;
Remember what the vision spake,
Nor meete your foe, if it may bee.
O, staye mee not, thou worthye wight,
This debt my loyal knights I owe:
Betide me life, betide me death,
I will avenge them of their foe.
This debt my loyal knights I owe:
Betide me life, betide me death,
I will avenge them of their foe.
Then straite he grasp'd his trustye speare,
And on his horse then mounted hee:
As his butler holpe him to his horse,
His bowels gushed to his knee.
And on his horse then mounted hee:
As his butler holpe him to his horse,
His bowels gushed to his knee.
Alas! then sayd the noble king,
That I should live this sight to see!
To see this good knight here be slaine,
All for his love in helping mee!
That I should live this sight to see!
To see this good knight here be slaine,
All for his love in helping mee!
33
He put his speare into his reste,
And to sir Mordred loud gan crye;
Nowe sette thyself upon thy guarde,
For, traitor, nowe thy death is nye.
And to sir Mordred loud gan crye;
Nowe sette thyself upon thy guarde,
For, traitor, nowe thy death is nye.
Sir Mordred lifted up his sworde,
And fierce to meet the king ran hee:
The king his speare he through him thrust;
A fathom thorow his bodìe.
And fierce to meet the king ran hee:
The king his speare he through him thrust;
A fathom thorow his bodìe.
When Mordered felt the stroke of death,
And found that he was wounded soe;
He thruste himselfe upon the speare,
And strucke the king a deadlye blowe.
And found that he was wounded soe;
He thruste himselfe upon the speare,
And strucke the king a deadlye blowe.
Then grimmlye dyed sir Mordered,
Presentlye upon that tree:
And bloody streames ranne from the kinge,
Ere to the duke returned hee.
Presentlye upon that tree:
And bloody streames ranne from the kinge,
Ere to the duke returned hee.
Sir Lukyn then he thus bespake,
Sir knighte, thou hast been faithfulle tryde,
Nowe take my sword Excalibar,
That hangs so freelye by my syde.
Sir knighte, thou hast been faithfulle tryde,
Nowe take my sword Excalibar,
That hangs so freelye by my syde.
O take my sword Excalibar,
And there into the river throwe:
For here, henceforth, benethe this tree,
All use of weapons I foregoe.
And there into the river throwe:
For here, henceforth, benethe this tree,
All use of weapons I foregoe.
34
And fare thee well, thou trustye sword,
A better neer had valiant knighte,
With thee full ofte, and manye a daye,
Have I withstood my foe in fighte.
A better neer had valiant knighte,
With thee full ofte, and manye a daye,
Have I withstood my foe in fighte.
With this good fauchion in my hande,
Oft have I reapd the bloody feelde:
But nowe the fatalle houre is come,
That never more I may thee weelde.
Oft have I reapd the bloody feelde:
But nowe the fatalle houre is come,
That never more I may thee weelde.
The duke then to the river went,
And there his owne sword in threwe hee:
But he kept back Excalibar,
He kept it back in privitee.
And there his owne sword in threwe hee:
But he kept back Excalibar,
He kept it back in privitee.
For all of coleyne was the blade;
And all the hilte of precious stone:
And ever alacke! then sayd the knighte,
Must such a sword awaye be throwne?
And all the hilte of precious stone:
And ever alacke! then sayd the knighte,
Must such a sword awaye be throwne?
Then backe he came unto the kinge,
Who sayd, Sir Lukyn, what did yee see?
Nothing, my liege, save that the winde
Blewe oer the waters faire and free.
Who sayd, Sir Lukyn, what did yee see?
Nothing, my liege, save that the winde
Blewe oer the waters faire and free.
O goe againe, then said the kinge,
O good fir Lukyn, goe againe:
Into the rivere throwe my sword,
Nor keepe me lingering here in paine.
O good fir Lukyn, goe againe:
Into the rivere throwe my sword,
Nor keepe me lingering here in paine.
35
The duke then to the river went,
And the kings scabberd in threwe hee;
But hee kept backe Excalibar,
And hid it undernethe a tree.
And the kings scabberd in threwe hee;
But hee kept backe Excalibar,
And hid it undernethe a tree.
Then backe he came to tell the kinge,
Who sayde, Sir Lukyn sawe ye oughte?
Nothinge, my liege, save that the winde
Nowe with the angrye waters fought.
Who sayde, Sir Lukyn sawe ye oughte?
Nothinge, my liege, save that the winde
Nowe with the angrye waters fought.
O Lukyn, Lukyn, said the kinge,
Twice haste thou dealt deceytfullye:
Alacke, whom may wee ever truste,
When suche a knighte soe false can bee?
Twice haste thou dealt deceytfullye:
Alacke, whom may wee ever truste,
When suche a knighte soe false can bee?
Saye, wouldst thou have thy master dead;
All for a sword, that wins thine eye:
Nowe goe againe, and throwe it in,
Or here the tone of us shall dye.
All for a sword, that wins thine eye:
Nowe goe againe, and throwe it in,
Or here the tone of us shall dye.
The duke, all shent with this rebuke,
No aunswere made unto the kinge:
But to the rivere tooke the sworde,
And threwe it far as he coulde flinge.
No aunswere made unto the kinge:
But to the rivere tooke the sworde,
And threwe it far as he coulde flinge.
A hande and an arme did meete the sworde,
And flourishd three times in the air;
Then funke benethe the renninge streme,
And of the duke was seene noe mair.
And flourishd three times in the air;
Then funke benethe the renninge streme,
And of the duke was seene noe mair.
36
All sore astonied stood the duke;
He stood as still, as still mote bee:
Then hastend backe to telle the kinge;
But he was gone from benethe the tree.
He stood as still, as still mote bee:
Then hastend backe to telle the kinge;
But he was gone from benethe the tree.
Unto what place he colde not telle,
For never after he did him spye:
But hee sawe a barge goe from the lande,
And hee heard ladyes howle and crye.
For never after he did him spye:
But hee sawe a barge goe from the lande,
And hee heard ladyes howle and crye.
And whether the kinge were there, or not,
Hee never knewe, nor ever colde:
For from that sad and direfulle daye,
Hee never more was seene on molde.
Hee never knewe, nor ever colde:
For from that sad and direfulle daye,
Hee never more was seene on molde.
Not unlike that passage in Virgil.
Summoque ulularunt vertice nymphæ.Ladies was the word our old English writers used for Nymphs: As in the following lines of an old song in the Editor's MS collection.
“When scorching Phœbus he did mount,
“Then Lady Venus went to hunt:
“To whom Diana did resort,
“With all the Ladyes of hills, and valleys,
“Of springs, and floodes, &c.
“Then Lady Venus went to hunt:
“To whom Diana did resort,
“With all the Ladyes of hills, and valleys,
“Of springs, and floodes, &c.
37
V. THE LEGEND OF KING ARTHUR.
[_]
We have here a short summary of K. Arthur's History as given by Jeff. of Monmouth and the old chronicles, with the addition of a few circumstances from the romance Morte Arthur.—The ancient chronicle of Ger. de Leew, (quoted above in p. 28.) seems to have been chiefly followed: upon the authority of which we have restored some of the names which were corrupted in the MS. and have transposed one stanza, which appeared to be misplaced. [viz. that beginning at v. 49. which in the MS. followed v. 36.]
Printed from the Editor's ancient manuscript.
Of Brutus' blood, in Brittaine borne,
King Arthur I am to name;
Through Christendome, and Heathynesse,
Well knowne is my worthy fame.
King Arthur I am to name;
Through Christendome, and Heathynesse,
Well knowne is my worthy fame.
In Jesus Christ I doe beleeve;
I am a christyan bore:
The Father, Sone, and Holy Gost
One God, I doe adore.
I am a christyan bore:
The Father, Sone, and Holy Gost
One God, I doe adore.
38
In the four hundred ninetieth yeere,
Ore Brittaine I did rayne,
After my savior Christ his byrth:
What time I did maintaine
Ore Brittaine I did rayne,
After my savior Christ his byrth:
What time I did maintaine
The fellowshipp of the table round,
Soe famous in those dayes;
Whereatt a hundred noble knights,
And thirty sate alwayes:
Soe famous in those dayes;
Whereatt a hundred noble knights,
And thirty sate alwayes:
Who for their deeds and martiall feates,
As bookes done yett record,
Amongst all other nations
Wer feared through the world.
As bookes done yett record,
Amongst all other nations
Wer feared through the world.
And in the castle off Tyntagill
King Uther mee begate
Of Agyana a bewtyous ladye,
And come of his estate.
King Uther mee begate
Of Agyana a bewtyous ladye,
And come of his estate.
And when I was fifteen yeeres old,
Then was I crowned kinge:
All Brittaine that was att an upròre,
I did to quiett bringe.
Then was I crowned kinge:
All Brittaine that was att an upròre,
I did to quiett bringe.
And drove the Saxons from the realme,
Who had opprest this land;
All Scotland then throughe manly feates
I conquered with my hand.
Who had opprest this land;
39
I conquered with my hand.
Ireland, Denmarke, ‘and’ Norwaye,
These countryes wan I all;
Iseland, Gotheland, and Swetheland;
I made their kings my thrall.
These countryes wan I all;
Iseland, Gotheland, and Swetheland;
I made their kings my thrall.
I conquered all Gallya,
That now is called France;
And slew the hardye Froll in feild
My honor to advance.
That now is called France;
And slew the hardye Froll in feild
My honor to advance.
And the ugly gyant Dynabus
Soe terrible to vewe,
That in Saint Barnards mount did lye,
By force of armes I slew:
Soe terrible to vewe,
That in Saint Barnards mount did lye,
By force of armes I slew:
And Lucyus the emperour of Rome
I brought to deadly wracke;
And a thousand more of noble knightes
For feare did turne their backe:
I brought to deadly wracke;
And a thousand more of noble knightes
For feare did turne their backe:
Five kinges of paynims I did kill
Amidst that bloody strife;
Besides the Roman emperour
Who alsoe lost his life.
Amidst that bloody strife;
Besides the Roman emperour
Who alsoe lost his life.
40
Whose carcasse I did send to Rome
Cladd poorlye on a beere;
And afterward I past Mount-joye
The next approaching yeere.
Cladd poorlye on a beere;
And afterward I past Mount-joye
The next approaching yeere.
Then I came to Rome, where I was mett
Right as a conquerour,
And by all the cardinalls solempnelye
I was crowned an emperour.
Right as a conquerour,
And by all the cardinalls solempnelye
I was crowned an emperour.
One winter there I made abode:
Then word to mee was brought
Howe Mordred had oppresst the crowne:
What treason he had wrought,
Then word to mee was brought
Howe Mordred had oppresst the crowne:
What treason he had wrought,
At home in Brittaine with my queene;
Therefore I came with speede
To Brittaine backe, with all my power,
To quitt that traiterous deede:
Therefore I came with speede
To Brittaine backe, with all my power,
To quitt that traiterous deede:
And soone at Sandwiche I arrivde,
Where Mordred me withstoode:
But yett at last I landed there,
With effusion of much blood.
Where Mordred me withstoode:
But yett at last I landed there,
With effusion of much blood.
For there my nephew sir Gawaine dyed,
Being wounded in that sore,
The whiche sir Lancelot in fight
Had given him before.
Being wounded in that sore,
The whiche sir Lancelot in fight
Had given him before.
41
Thence chased I Mordered away,
Who fledd to London ryght,
From London to Winchester, and
To Cornewalle tooke his flyght.
Who fledd to London ryght,
From London to Winchester, and
To Cornewalle tooke his flyght.
And still I him pursued with speede
Till at the last we mett:
Wherby an appointed day of fight
Was there agreede and sett.
Till at the last we mett:
Wherby an appointed day of fight
Was there agreede and sett.
Where we did fight, of mortal life
Eche other to deprive,
Till of a hundred thousand men
Scarce one was left a live.
Eche other to deprive,
Till of a hundred thousand men
Scarce one was left a live.
There all the noble chivalrye
Of Brittaine tooke their end.
O see how fickle is their state
That doe on fates depend!
Of Brittaine tooke their end.
O see how fickle is their state
That doe on fates depend!
There all the traiterous men were slaine
Not one escapte away;
And there dyed all my vallyant knightes.
Alas! that woefull day!
Not one escapte away;
And there dyed all my vallyant knightes.
Alas! that woefull day!
Two and twenty yeere I ware the crowne
In honor and great fame;
And thus by death was suddenlye
Deprived of the same.
In honor and great fame;
And thus by death was suddenlye
Deprived of the same.
42
VI. A DYTTIE TO HEY DOWNE.
[_]
Copied from an old MS. in the Cotton Library, [Vesp. A. 25.] intitled, “Divers things of Hen. viij's time.”
Who sekes to tame the blustering winde,
Or causse the floods bend to his wyll,
Or els against dame natures kinde
To ‘change’ things frame by cunning skyll:
That man I thinke bestoweth paine,
Thoughe that his laboure be in vaine.
Or causse the floods bend to his wyll,
Or els against dame natures kinde
To ‘change’ things frame by cunning skyll:
That man I thinke bestoweth paine,
Thoughe that his laboure be in vaine.
Who strives to breake the sturdye steele,
Or goeth about to staye the sunne;
Who thinks to causse an oke to reele,
Which never can by force be done:
That man likewise bestoweth paine,
Thoughe that his laboure be in vaine.
Or goeth about to staye the sunne;
Who thinks to causse an oke to reele,
Which never can by force be done:
That man likewise bestoweth paine,
Thoughe that his laboure be in vaine.
Who thinks to stryve against the streame,
And for to sayle without a maste;
Unlesse he thinks perhapps to faine,
His travell ys forelorne and waste;
And so in cure of all his paine,
His travell'ys his cheffest gaine.
And for to sayle without a maste;
Unlesse he thinks perhapps to faine,
His travell ys forelorne and waste;
And so in cure of all his paine,
His travell'ys his cheffest gaine.
43
So he lykewise, that goes about
To please eche eye and every eare,
Had nede to have withouten doubt
A golden gyft with hym to beare;
For evyll report shall be his gaine,
Though he bestowe both toyle and paine.
To please eche eye and every eare,
Had nede to have withouten doubt
A golden gyft with hym to beare;
For evyll report shall be his gaine,
Though he bestowe both toyle and paine.
God grant eche man one to amend;
God send us all a happy place;
And let us pray unto the end,
That we may have our princes grace:
Amen, amen! so shall we gaine
A dewe reward for all our paine.
God send us all a happy place;
And let us pray unto the end,
That we may have our princes grace:
Amen, amen! so shall we gaine
A dewe reward for all our paine.
VII. GLASGERION.
[_]
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:
45
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.
46
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?
47
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.
48
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.
VIII. OLD SIR ROBIN OF PORTINGALE.
Let never again soe old a man
Marrye soe yonge a wife,
As did old ‘sir’ Robin of Portingale;
Who may rue all the dayes of his life.
Marrye soe yonge a wife,
As did old ‘sir’ Robin of Portingale;
Who may rue all the dayes of his life.
For the mayors daughter of Lin, god wott,
He chose her to his wife,
And thought with her to have lived in love,
But they fell to hate and strife.
He chose her to his wife,
And thought with her to have lived in love,
But they fell to hate and strife.
49
They scarce were in their wed-bed laid,
And scarce was hee asleepe,
But upp she rose, and forth shee goes,
To the steward, and gan to weepe.
And scarce was hee asleepe,
But upp she rose, and forth shee goes,
To the steward, and gan to weepe.
Sleepe you, wake you, faire sir Gyles?
Or be you not withinn?
Sleepe you, wake you, faire sir Gyles,
Arise and let me inn.
Or be you not withinn?
Sleepe you, wake you, faire sir Gyles,
Arise and let me inn.
O, I am waking, sweete, he said,
Sweete ladye, what is your wille?
I have bethought me of a wyle
How my wed-lord weell spille.
Sweete ladye, what is your wille?
I have bethought me of a wyle
How my wed-lord weell spille.
Twenty-four good knights, shee sayes,
That dwell about this towne,
Even twenty-four of my near cozèns,
Shall helpe to ding him downe.
That dwell about this towne,
Even twenty-four of my near cozèns,
Shall helpe to ding him downe.
All this beheard his litle footepage,
As he watered his masters steed;
And for his masters sad perìlle
His verry heart did bleed.
As he watered his masters steed;
And for his masters sad perìlle
His verry heart did bleed.
He mourned, sighed, and wept full sore:
I sweare by the holy roode
The teares he for his master wept
Were blent water and bloode.
I sweare by the holy roode
The teares he for his master wept
Were blent water and bloode.
50
All that beheard his deare mastèr
As he stood at his garden pale:
Sayes, Ever alacke, my litle foot-page,
What causes thee to wail?
As he stood at his garden pale:
Sayes, Ever alacke, my litle foot-page,
What causes thee to wail?
Hath any one done to thee wronge
Any of thy fellowes here?
Or is any ‘one’ of thy good friends dead,
That thou shedst manye a teare?
Any of thy fellowes here?
Or is any ‘one’ of thy good friends dead,
That thou shedst manye a teare?
Or if it be my head bookes-man,
Aggrieved he shal bee:
For no man here within my howse,
Shall doe wrong unto thee.
Aggrieved he shal bee:
For no man here within my howse,
Shall doe wrong unto thee.
O, it is not your head bookes-man,
Nor none of his degree:
But ‘on’ to-morrow ere it be noone
All doomed to die are yee.
Nor none of his degree:
But ‘on’ to-morrow ere it be noone
All doomed to die are yee.
And of that bethank your head stewàrd,
And thank your gay ladèe.
If this be true, my litle foot-page,
The heyre of my land thoust bee.
And thank your gay ladèe.
If this be true, my litle foot-page,
The heyre of my land thoust bee.
If it be not true, my dear mastèr,
No good death let me die.
If it bee not true, thou litle foot-page,
A dead corse shalt thou lie.
No good death let me die.
If it bee not true, thou litle foot-page,
A dead corse shalt thou lie.
51
O call now downe my faire ladye,
O call her downe to mee:
And tell my ladye gay how sicke,
And like to die I bee.
O call her downe to mee:
And tell my ladye gay how sicke,
And like to die I bee.
Downe then came his ladye faire,
All clad in purple and pall:
The rings that were on her fingèrs,
Cast light throughout the hall.
All clad in purple and pall:
The rings that were on her fingèrs,
Cast light throughout the hall.
What is your will, my owne wed-lord?
What is your will with mee?
O see, my ladye deere, how sicke,
And like to die I bee.
What is your will with mee?
O see, my ladye deere, how sicke,
And like to die I bee.
And thou be sicke, my own wed-lord,
Soe sore it grieveth mee:
But my five maydens and myselfe
Will make the bedde for thee:
Soe sore it grieveth mee:
But my five maydens and myselfe
Will make the bedde for thee:
And at the waking of your first sleepe,
We will a hot drinke make:
And at the waking of your first sleepe,
Your sorrowes we will slake.
We will a hot drinke make:
And at the waking of your first sleepe,
Your sorrowes we will slake.
He put a silk cote on his backe,
And mail of manye a fold:
And hee putt a steele cap on his head,
Was gilt with good red gold.
And mail of manye a fold:
And hee putt a steele cap on his head,
Was gilt with good red gold.
52
He layd a bright browne sword by his side,
And another att his feete:
And twentye good knights he placed at hand,
To watch him in his sleepe.
And another att his feete:
And twentye good knights he placed at hand,
To watch him in his sleepe.
And about the middle time of the night,
Came twentye-four traitours inn:
Sir Giles he was the foremost man,
The leader of that ginn.
Came twentye-four traitours inn:
Sir Giles he was the foremost man,
The leader of that ginn.
The old knight with his bright browne sword,
Sir Gyles head soon did winn:
And scant of all those twenty-foure,
Went out one quick agenn.
Sir Gyles head soon did winn:
And scant of all those twenty-foure,
Went out one quick agenn.
None save only a litle foot page,
Crept forth at a window of stone:
And he had two armes when he came in,
And he went back with one.
Crept forth at a window of stone:
And he had two armes when he came in,
And he went back with one.
Upp then came that ladie gaye
With torches burning bright:
She thought to have brought sir Gyles a drinke,
Butt she found her owne wedd knight.
With torches burning bright:
She thought to have brought sir Gyles a drinke,
Butt she found her owne wedd knight.
The first thinge that she stumbled on
It was sir Gyles his foote:
Sayes, Ever alacke, and woe is mee!
Here lyes my sweete hart-roote.
It was sir Gyles his foote:
Sayes, Ever alacke, and woe is mee!
Here lyes my sweete hart-roote.
53
The next thinge that she stumbled on
It was sir Gyles his heade:
Sayes, Ever, alacke, and woe is me!
Heere lyes my true love deade.
It was sir Gyles his heade:
Sayes, Ever, alacke, and woe is me!
Heere lyes my true love deade.
Hee cutt the pappes beside her brest,
And did her body spille;
He cutt the eares beside her heade,
And bade her love her fille.
And did her body spille;
He cutt the eares beside her heade,
And bade her love her fille.
He called then up his litle foot-page,
And made him there his heyre;
And sayd henceforth my worldlye goodes
And countrye I forsweare.
And made him there his heyre;
And sayd henceforth my worldlye goodes
And countrye I forsweare.
He shope the crosse on his right shouldèr,
Of the white ‘clothe’ and the redde ,
And went him into the holy land,
Whereas Christ was quicke and deade.
Of the white ‘clothe’ and the redde ,
And went him into the holy land,
Whereas Christ was quicke and deade.
Every person, who went on a Croisade to the Holy Land, usually wore a cross on his upper garment, on the right shoulder, as a badge of his profession. Different nations were distinguished by crosses of different colours: The English wore white; the French red; &c. This circumstance seems to be confounded in the ballad. [Vide Spelmanns Glossar. Chambers Dict. &c.]
54
IX. CHILD WATERS.
[_]
Child is frequently used by our old writers, as a Title. It is repeatedly given to Prince Arthur in the Fairie Queen: and the son of a king is in the same poem called Child Tristram. [B. 5. c. 11. st. 8. 13.—B. 6. c. 2. st. 36.—Ibid. c. 8. st. 15.] In an old ballad quoted in Shakespeare's K. Lear, the hero of Ariosto is called Child Roland. Mr. Theobald supposes this use of the word received along with their romances from the Spaniards, with whom Infante signifies a Prince. A more eminent critic tells us, that “in the old times of chivalry, the noble youth, who were candidates for knighthood, during the time of their probation were called Infans, Varlets, Damoysels, Bacheliers. The most noble of the youth were particularly called Infans.” [Vid. Warb. Shakesp.] A late commentator on Spenser observes, that the Saxon word cnihz knight, signifies also a Child.
[See Upton's gloss to the F. Q.]
The Editor's MS. collection, whence the following piece is taken, affords several other ballads, wherein the word Child occurs as a title: but in none of these it signifies “Prince.” See the song intitled Gil Morrice, in this volume.
It ought to be observed that the Word Child or Chield is still used in North Britain to denominate a Man, commonly with some contemptuous character affixed to him: but sometimes to denote Man in general.
Childe Waters in his stable stoode
And stroakt his milke-white steede:
To him a fayre yonge ladye came
As ever ware womans weede.
And stroakt his milke-white steede:
To him a fayre yonge ladye came
As ever ware womans weede.
55
Sayes, Christ you save, good Childe Waters;
Sayes, Christ you save, and see:
My girdle of gold that was too longe,
Is now too short for mee.
Sayes, Christ you save, and see:
My girdle of gold that was too longe,
Is now too short for mee.
And all is with one childe of yours,
I feele sturre at my side:
My gowne of greene it is too straighte;
Before, it was too wide.
I feele sturre at my side:
My gowne of greene it is too straighte;
Before, it was too wide.
If the childe be mine, faire Ellen, he sayd,
Be mine as you tell mee;
Then take you Cheshire and Lancashire both,
Take them your owne to bee.
Be mine as you tell mee;
Then take you Cheshire and Lancashire both,
Take them your owne to bee.
If the childe be mine, faire Ellen, he sayd,
Be mine, as you doe sweare;
Then take you Cheshire and Lancashire both,
And make that childe your heyre.
Be mine, as you doe sweare;
Then take you Cheshire and Lancashire both,
And make that childe your heyre.
Shee sayes, I had rather have one kisse,
Childe Waters, of thy mouth;
Than I wolde have Cheshire and Lancashire both,
That lye by north and southe.
Childe Waters, of thy mouth;
Than I wolde have Cheshire and Lancashire both,
That lye by north and southe.
And I had rather have one twinkling,
Childe Waters, of thine ee:
Then I wolde have Cheshire and Lancashire both,
To take them mine owne to bee.
Childe Waters, of thine ee:
Then I wolde have Cheshire and Lancashire both,
To take them mine owne to bee.
56
To morrowe, Ellen, I must forth ryde
Farr into the north countree;
The fayrest ladye that I can finde,
Ellen, must goe with mee.
Farr into the north countree;
The fayrest ladye that I can finde,
Ellen, must goe with mee.
‘Thoughe I am not that ladye fayre,
‘Yet let me go with thee’:
And ever I pray you, Childe Watèrs,
Your foot-page let me bee.
‘Yet let me go with thee’:
And ever I pray you, Childe Watèrs,
Your foot-page let me bee.
If you will my foot-page bee, Ellèn,
As you doe tell to mee;
Then you must cut your gowne of greene,
An inch above your knee:
As you doe tell to mee;
Then you must cut your gowne of greene,
An inch above your knee:
Soe must you doe your yellowe lockes,
An inch above your ee:
You must tell no man what is my name;
My footpage then you shall bee.
An inch above your ee:
You must tell no man what is my name;
My footpage then you shall bee.
Shee, all the long daye Childe Waters rode,
Ran barefoote by his syde;
Yet was he never soe courteous a knighte,
To say, Ellen, will you ryde?
Ran barefoote by his syde;
Yet was he never soe courteous a knighte,
To say, Ellen, will you ryde?
Shee, all the long daye Childe Waters rode,
Ran barefoote thorow the broome;
Yet was hee never soe courteous a knighte,
To say, put on your shoone.
Ran barefoote thorow the broome;
Yet was hee never soe courteous a knighte,
To say, put on your shoone.
57
Ride softlye, shee sayd, O Childe Waters,
Why doe you ryde so fast?
The childe, which is no mans but thine,
My bodye itt will brast.
Why doe you ryde so fast?
The childe, which is no mans but thine,
My bodye itt will brast.
Hee sayth, seest thou yond water, Ellen,
That flows from banke to brimme.—
I trust in God, O Childe Waters,
You never will see me swimme.
That flows from banke to brimme.—
I trust in God, O Childe Waters,
You never will see me swimme.
But when shee came to the water syde,
Shee sayled to the chinne:
Nowe the Lord of heaven be my speede,
For I must learne to swimme.
Shee sayled to the chinne:
Nowe the Lord of heaven be my speede,
For I must learne to swimme.
The salt waters bare up her clothes;
Our Ladye bare up her chinne:
Childe Waters was a woe man, good Lord,
To fee faire Ellen swimme.
Our Ladye bare up her chinne:
Childe Waters was a woe man, good Lord,
To fee faire Ellen swimme.
And when shee over the water was
Shee then came to his knee.
Hee sayd, Come hither, thou fayre Ellèn,
Loe yonder what I see.
Shee then came to his knee.
Hee sayd, Come hither, thou fayre Ellèn,
Loe yonder what I see.
Seest thou not yonder hall, Ellèn?
Of red gold shines the yate:
Of twenty foure faire ladyes there
The fairest is my mate.
Of red gold shines the yate:
Of twenty foure faire ladyes there
The fairest is my mate.
58
Seest thou not yonder hall, Ellèn?
Of red golde shines the towre:
There are twenty four fayre ladyes there,
The fayrest is my paramoure.
Of red golde shines the towre:
There are twenty four fayre ladyes there,
The fayrest is my paramoure.
I see the hall now, Childe Waters,
Of red golde shines the yate:
God give you good now of yourselfe,
And of your worthye mate.
Of red golde shines the yate:
God give you good now of yourselfe,
And of your worthye mate.
I see the hall now, Childe Waters,
Of red golde shines the towre:
God give you good now of yourselfe,
And of your paramoure.
Of red golde shines the towre:
God give you good now of yourselfe,
And of your paramoure.
There twenty four fayre ladyes were
A playing at the ball:
And Ellen the fayrest ladye there,
Must bring his steed to the stall.
A playing at the ball:
And Ellen the fayrest ladye there,
Must bring his steed to the stall.
There twenty four fayre ladyes were,
A playinge at the chesse;
And Ellen the fayrest ladye there,
Must bring his horse to grasse.
A playinge at the chesse;
And Ellen the fayrest ladye there,
Must bring his horse to grasse.
And then bespake Childe Waters sister,
These were the wordes sayd shee:
You have the prettyest page, brothèr,
That ever I did see.
These were the wordes sayd shee:
You have the prettyest page, brothèr,
That ever I did see.
59
But that his bellye it is foe bigge,
His girdle stands soe hye:
And ever I pray you, Childe Watèrs,
Let him in my chamber lye.
His girdle stands soe hye:
And ever I pray you, Childe Watèrs,
Let him in my chamber lye.
It is not fit for a little foot page,
That has run throughe mosse and myre,
To lye in the chamber of any ladye,
That weares soe riche attyre.
That has run throughe mosse and myre,
To lye in the chamber of any ladye,
That weares soe riche attyre.
It is more meete for a little foot page,
That has run throughe mosse and myre,
To take his supper upon his knee,
And lye by the kitchen fyre.
That has run throughe mosse and myre,
To take his supper upon his knee,
And lye by the kitchen fyre.
Now when they had supped every one,
To bedd they tooke theyr waye:
He sayd, come hither, my little foot-page,
And hearken what I saye.
To bedd they tooke theyr waye:
He sayd, come hither, my little foot-page,
And hearken what I saye.
Goe thee downe into yonder towne,
And lowe into the streete;
The fayrest ladye that thou canst finde,
Hyre in mine armes to sleepe,
And take her up in thine armes twaine,
For filing of her feete.
And lowe into the streete;
The fayrest ladye that thou canst finde,
Hyre in mine armes to sleepe,
And take her up in thine armes twaine,
For filing of her feete.
Ellen is gone into the towne,
And lowe into the streete:
The fayrest ladye that shee colde finde,
She hyred in his armes to sleepe;
And tooke her up in her armes twayne,
For filing of her feete.
And lowe into the streete:
60
She hyred in his armes to sleepe;
And tooke her up in her armes twayne,
For filing of her feete.
I praye you nowe, good Childe Watèrs,
Let mee lye at your feete:
For there is noe place about this house,
Where I may saye a sleepe.
Let mee lye at your feete:
For there is noe place about this house,
Where I may saye a sleepe.
‘He gave her leave, and faire Ellèn
‘Down at his beds feet laye:
This done the nighte drove on apace,
And when it was neare the daye,
‘Down at his beds feet laye:
This done the nighte drove on apace,
And when it was neare the daye,
Hee sayd, Rise up, my little foot-page,
Give my steede corne and haye;
And give him nowe the good black oats,
To carry mee better awaye.
Give my steede corne and haye;
And give him nowe the good black oats,
To carry mee better awaye.
Up then rose the fayre Ellèn
And gave his steede corne and haye:
And soe shee did the good black oates,
To carry him the better awaye.
And gave his steede corne and haye:
And soe shee did the good black oates,
To carry him the better awaye.
She leaned her back to the manger side,
And grievouslye did groane:
Shee leaned her back to the manger side,
And there shee made her moane.
And grievouslye did groane:
Shee leaned her back to the manger side,
And there shee made her moane.
61
And that beheard his mother deare,
Shee heard ‘her woefull woe.’
Shee sayd, Rise up, thou Childe Watèrs,
And into thy stable goe.
Shee heard ‘her woefull woe.’
Shee sayd, Rise up, thou Childe Watèrs,
And into thy stable goe.
For in thy stable is a ghost,
That grievouslye doth grone:
Or else some woman laboures with childe,
Shee is so woe-begone.
That grievouslye doth grone:
Or else some woman laboures with childe,
Shee is so woe-begone.
Up then rose Childe Waters soone,
And did on his shirte of silke;
And then he put on his other clothes,
On his bodye as white as milke.
And did on his shirte of silke;
And then he put on his other clothes,
On his bodye as white as milke.
And when he came to the stable dore,
Full still there hee did stand,
That hee mighte heare his fayre Ellèn,
Howe shee made her monànd.
Full still there hee did stand,
That hee mighte heare his fayre Ellèn,
Howe shee made her monànd.
Shee sayd, Lullabye, mine own dear childe,
Lullabye, deare childe, deare:
I wolde thy father were a kinge,
Thy mothere layd on a biere.
Lullabye, deare childe, deare:
I wolde thy father were a kinge,
Thy mothere layd on a biere.
Peace nowe, hee sayd, good faire Elleèn,
Bee of good cheere, I praye;
And the bridall and the churchinge bothe
Shall bee upon one daye.
Bee of good cheere, I praye;
And the bridall and the churchinge bothe
Shall bee upon one daye.
62
X. PHILLIDA AND CORYDON.
[_]
This Sonnet is given from a small quarto MS in the editor's possession, written in the time of Q. Elizabeth. Another Copy of it, containing some variations, is reprinted in the Muses Library p. 295. from an ancient miscellany, intitled England's Helicon 1600. 4to. The author was Nicholas Breton, a writer of some fame in the reign of Elizabeth; who also published an interlude intitled “An old man's lesson and a young man's love.” 1605. 4to. and many other little pieces in prose and verse, the titles of which may be seen in Winstanley, Ames' Typog. and Osborne's Harl. catalog. &c.—He is mentioned with great respect by Meres, in his 2d pt of Wit's Common-wealth. 1598. f. 283. and is alluded to in Beaumont and Fletcher's Scornful Lady, Act 2. and again in Wit without money, A. 3. —See Whalley's Ben Jonson, vol. 3. p. 103.
Phillida and Corydon is one of the Songs in “The Honourable Entertainment gieven to the Queenes Majestie in Progresse at Elvetham in Hampshire, by the R. H. the Earle of Hertford. 1591.” 4to. [Printed by Wolfe. No name of author.] See in that pamphlet,
“The thirde daies Entertainment.“On Wednesday morning about 9 o' clock, as her Majestie opened a casement of her gallerie window, ther were 3 excellent musitians, who being disguised in auncient country attire, did greet her with a pleasant song of Corydon and Phillida, made in 3 parts of purpose. The song, as well for the worth of the dittie, as the aptnesse of the note thereto applied, it pleased her Highnesse after it had been once sung to commend it againe, and highly to grace it with her cheerefull acceptance and commendation.
“The Plowman's Song.
In the merrie month of May, &c.”
The Splendour and Magnificence of Elizabeth's reign is no where more strongly painted than in these little Diaries of some of her summer excursions to the houses of her nobility; nor could a more acceptable present be given to the world, than a republication of a select number of such details as this of the entertainment at Elvetham, that at Killingworth, &c. &c. which so strongly mark the spirit of the times and present us with scenes so very remote from modern manners.
In the merrie moneth of Maye,
In a morne by break of daye,
With a troope of damselles playing
Forthe ‘I yode’ forsooth a maying:
In a morne by break of daye,
With a troope of damselles playing
Forthe ‘I yode’ forsooth a maying:
When anon by a wood fide,
Where that Maye was in his pride,
I espied all alone
Phillida and Corydon.
Where that Maye was in his pride,
I espied all alone
Phillida and Corydon.
Muche adoe there was, god wot;
He wold love, and she wold not:
She sayde, never man was trewe;
He sayes, never false to you.
He wold love, and she wold not:
63
He sayes, never false to you.
He sayde, hee had lovde her longe:
She sayes, love should have no wronge.
Corydon wold kisse her then:
She sayes, maydes must kisse no men,
She sayes, love should have no wronge.
Corydon wold kisse her then:
She sayes, maydes must kisse no men,
Tyll they doe for good and all:
When she made the shepperde call
All the heavens to wytnes truthe,
Never loved a truer youthe.
When she made the shepperde call
All the heavens to wytnes truthe,
Never loved a truer youthe.
Then with manie a prettie othe,
Yea and nay, and, faith and trothe;
Suche as seelie shepperdes use
When they would not love abuse;
Yea and nay, and, faith and trothe;
Suche as seelie shepperdes use
When they would not love abuse;
Love, that had bene long deluded,
Was with kisses sweete concluded;
And the mayde with garlands gaye
‘Crownde’ the lady of the Maye.
Was with kisses sweete concluded;
And the mayde with garlands gaye
‘Crownde’ the lady of the Maye.
XI. LITTLE MUSGRAVE AND LADY BARNARD.
[_]
This ballad is ancient, and has been popular: we find it quoted in many old plays. See Beaum. and Fletcher's Knight
64
“Limber and sound! besides I sing Musgrave,
“And for Chevy-chace no lark comes near me.
“And for Chevy-chace no lark comes near me.
In the Pepys Collection is an imitation of this old song, in a different measure, by a more modern pen, with many alterations, but evidently for the worse.
This is given from an old printed copy in the British Museum, corrected in part by the Editor's folio manuscript.
As it fell out on a highe holye daye,
As many bee in the yeare,
When yong men and maides together do goe
Their masses and mattins to heare,
As many bee in the yeare,
When yong men and maides together do goe
Their masses and mattins to heare,
Little Musgràve came to the church door,
The priest was at the mass;
But he had more mind of the fine womèn,
Then he had of our Ladyes grace.
The priest was at the mass;
But he had more mind of the fine womèn,
Then he had of our Ladyes grace.
And some of them were clad in greene,
And others were clad in pall;
And then came in my Lord Barnardes wife,
The fairest among them all.
And others were clad in pall;
And then came in my Lord Barnardes wife,
The fairest among them all.
Shee cast an eye on little Musgràve,
As bright as the summer sunne:
O then bethought him little Musgràve,
This ladyes heart I have wonne.
As bright as the summer sunne:
O then bethought him little Musgràve,
This ladyes heart I have wonne.
65
Quoth she, I have loved thee, little Musgràve,
Fulle long and manye a daye.
So have I loved you, ladye faire,
Yet word I never durst saye.
Fulle long and manye a daye.
So have I loved you, ladye faire,
Yet word I never durst saye.
I have a bower at Bucklesford-Bury,
Full daintilye bedight,
If thoult wend thither, my little Musgràve,
Thoust lig in mine armes all night.
Full daintilye bedight,
If thoult wend thither, my little Musgràve,
Thoust lig in mine armes all night.
Quoth hee, I thanke yee, ladye faire,
This kindness yee shew to mee;
And whether it be to my weale or woe,
This night will I lig with thee.
This kindness yee shew to mee;
And whether it be to my weale or woe,
This night will I lig with thee.
All this beheard a tiney foot-page,
By his ladyes coach as he ranne:
Quoth he, thoughe I am my ladyes page,
Yet Ime my lord Barnardes manne.
By his ladyes coach as he ranne:
Quoth he, thoughe I am my ladyes page,
Yet Ime my lord Barnardes manne.
My lord Barnàrd shall knowe of this
Although I lose a limbe.
And ever whereas the bridges were broke,
He layd hin downe to swimme.
Although I lose a limbe.
And ever whereas the bridges were broke,
He layd hin downe to swimme.
Asleep or awake, thou lord Barnàard,
As thou art a man of life,
Lo! this same night at Bucklesford-Bury
Little Musgraves abed with thy wife.
As thou art a man of life,
Lo! this same night at Bucklesford-Bury
Little Musgraves abed with thy wife.
66
If it be trewe, thou tiney foot-page,
This tale thou hast told to mee,
Then all my lands in Bucklesford-Bury
I freelye will give to thee.
This tale thou hast told to mee,
Then all my lands in Bucklesford-Bury
I freelye will give to thee.
But and it be a lye, thou tiney foot-page,
This tale thou hast told to mee,
On the highest tree in Bucklesford-Bury
All hanged shalt thou bee.
This tale thou hast told to mee,
On the highest tree in Bucklesford-Bury
All hanged shalt thou bee.
Rise up, rise up, my merry men all,
And saddle to me my steede;
This night must I to Bucklesford-Bury;
God wott, I had never more neede.
And saddle to me my steede;
This night must I to Bucklesford-Bury;
God wott, I had never more neede.
Then some they whistled, and some they sang,
And some did loudlye saye,
Whenever lord Barnardes horne it blewe
Awaye, Musgràve, away.
And some did loudlye saye,
Whenever lord Barnardes horne it blewe
Awaye, Musgràve, away.
Methinkes I hear the throftle cocke,
Methinkes I heare the jaye,
Methinkes I heare lord Barnardes horne;
I would I were awaye.
Methinkes I heare the jaye,
Methinkes I heare lord Barnardes horne;
I would I were awaye.
Lye still, lye still, thou little Musgrà,
And huggle me from the cold;
For it is but some shephardes boye
A whistling his sheepe to the fold.
And huggle me from the cold;
For it is but some shephardes boye
A whistling his sheepe to the fold.
67
Is not thy hawke upon the pearche,
Thy horse eating corne and haye?
And thou a gaye ladye within thine armes:
And wouldst thou be awaye?
Thy horse eating corne and haye?
And thou a gaye ladye within thine armes:
And wouldst thou be awaye?
With that lord Barnard came to the dore,
And lighted upon a stone;
And he pulled out three silver keyes,
And opened the dores eche one.
And lighted upon a stone;
And he pulled out three silver keyes,
And opened the dores eche one.
He lifted up the coverlett,
He lifted up the sheete;
How now, how now, thou little Musgràve,
Dost find my gaye ladye sweete?
He lifted up the sheete;
How now, how now, thou little Musgràve,
Dost find my gaye ladye sweete?
I find her sweete, quoth little Musgràve,
The more is my griefe and paine;
Ide gladlye give three hundred poundes
That I were on yonder plaine.
The more is my griefe and paine;
Ide gladlye give three hundred poundes
That I were on yonder plaine.
Arise, arise, thou little Musgràve,
And put thy cloathes nowe on,
It shall never be said in my countree,
That I killed a naked man.
And put thy cloathes nowe on,
It shall never be said in my countree,
That I killed a naked man.
I have two swordes in one scabbàrde,
Full deare they cost my purse;
And thou shalt have the best of them,
And I will have the worse.
Full deare they cost my purse;
And thou shalt have the best of them,
And I will have the worse.
68
The first stroke that little Musgrave strucke,
He hurt lord Barnard sore;
The next stroke that lord Barnard strucke,
Little Musgrave never strucke more.
He hurt lord Barnard sore;
The next stroke that lord Barnard strucke,
Little Musgrave never strucke more.
With that bespake the ladye faire,
In bed whereas she laye,
Althoughe thou art dead, my little Musgràve,
Yet for thee I will praye:
In bed whereas she laye,
Althoughe thou art dead, my little Musgràve,
Yet for thee I will praye:
And wishe well to thy soule will I,
So long as I have life;
So will I not do for thee, Barnàrd,
Thoughe I am thy wedded wife.
So long as I have life;
So will I not do for thee, Barnàrd,
Thoughe I am thy wedded wife.
He cut her pappes from off her brest;
Great pitye it was to see
Some drops of this fair ladyes bloode
Run trickling downe her knee.
Great pitye it was to see
Some drops of this fair ladyes bloode
Run trickling downe her knee.
Wo worth, wo worth ye, my merrye men all,
You never were borne for my goode:
Why did you not offer to stay my hande,
When you see me wax so woode?
You never were borne for my goode:
Why did you not offer to stay my hande,
When you see me wax so woode?
For I have slaine the fairest sir knighte,
That ever rode on a steede;
So have I done the fairest ladyè,
That evér ware womans weede.
That ever rode on a steede;
So have I done the fairest ladyè,
That evér ware womans weede.
69
A grave, a grave, lord Barnard cryde,
To putt these lovers in;
But lay my ladye o' the upper hande,
For shee comes o' the better kin.
To putt these lovers in;
But lay my ladye o' the upper hande,
For shee comes o' the better kin.
XII. THE EW-BUGHTS MARION.
A Scottish Song.
[_]
This sonnet is said to be of great antiquity: that and it's simplicity of sentiment have recommended it to a place here.
Will ze gae to the ew-bughts, Marion,
And wear in the sheip wi' mee?
The sun shines sweit, my Marion,
But nae half sae sweit as thee.
O Marion's a bonnie lass;
And the blyth blinks in her ee:
And fain wad I marrie Marion,
Gin Marion wad marrie mee.
And wear in the sheip wi' mee?
The sun shines sweit, my Marion,
But nae half sae sweit as thee.
O Marion's a bonnie lass;
And the blyth blinks in her ee:
And fain wad I marrie Marion,
Gin Marion wad marrie mee.
70
Theires gowd in zour garters, Marion;
And siller on zour white hauss-bane:
Fou faine wad I kisse my Marion
At eene quhan I cum hame.
Theires braw lads in Earnslaw, Marion,
Quha gape and glowr wi' their ee
At kirk, quhan they see my Marion;
Bot nane of tham lues like mee.
And siller on zour white hauss-bane:
Fou faine wad I kisse my Marion
At eene quhan I cum hame.
Theires braw lads in Earnslaw, Marion,
Quha gape and glowr wi' their ee
At kirk, quhan they see my Marion;
Bot nane of tham lues like mee.
Ive nine milk-ews, my Marion,
A cow and a brawney quay:
Ile gie tham au to my Marion,
Just on her bridal day.
And zees get a grein sey apron,
And waistcote o' London broun;
And wow bot ze will be vaporing
Quhaneer ze gang to the toun.
A cow and a brawney quay:
Ile gie tham au to my Marion,
Just on her bridal day.
And zees get a grein sey apron,
And waistcote o' London broun;
And wow bot ze will be vaporing
Quhaneer ze gang to the toun.
Ime yong and stout, my Marion,
Nane dance lik mee on the greine;
And gin ze forsak me, Marion,
Ile een gae draw up wi' Jeane.
Sae put on zour pearlins, Marion,
And kirtle oth cramasie;
And sune as my chin has nae haire on,
I sall cum west, and see zee.
Nane dance lik mee on the greine;
And gin ze forsak me, Marion,
Ile een gae draw up wi' Jeane.
Sae put on zour pearlins, Marion,
And kirtle oth cramasie;
And sune as my chin has nae haire on,
I sall cum west, and see zee.
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XIII. THE KNIGHT, AND SHEPHERD'S DAUGHTER.
[_]
This ballad (given from an old black-letter Copy) was popular in the time of Q. Elizabeth, being usually printed with her picture before it, as Hearne informs us in his preface to “Gul. Neubrig. Hist. Oxon. 1719. 8vo. vol. 1. p. lxx.” It is quoted in Fletcher's comedy of the Pilgrim, Act. 4. sc. 1.
There was a shepherds daughter
Came tripping on the waye;
And there by chance a knighte shee mett,
Which caused her to staye.
Came tripping on the waye;
And there by chance a knighte shee mett,
Which caused her to staye.
Good morrowe to you, beauteous maide,
These words pronounced hee:
O I shall dye this daye, he sayd,
If Ive not my wille of thee.
These words pronounced hee:
O I shall dye this daye, he sayd,
If Ive not my wille of thee.
The Lord forbid, the maide replyde,
That you shold waxe so wode!
‘But for all that shee could do or saye,
‘He wold not be withstood.
That you shold waxe so wode!
‘But for all that shee could do or saye,
‘He wold not be withstood.
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Sith you have had your will of mee,
And put me to open shame,
Now, if you are a courteous knighte,
Tell me what is your name?
And put me to open shame,
Now, if you are a courteous knighte,
Tell me what is your name?
Some do call mee Jacke, sweet heart,
And some do call mee Jille;
But when I come to the kings faire courte
They call me Wilfulle Wille.
And some do call mee Jille;
But when I come to the kings faire courte
They call me Wilfulle Wille.
He sett his foot into the stirrup,
And awaye then he did ride;
She tuckt her girdle about her middle
And ranne close by his side.
And awaye then he did ride;
She tuckt her girdle about her middle
And ranne close by his side.
But when she came to the brode watèr,
She sett her brest and swamme;
And when she was got out againe,
She tooke to her heels and ranne.
She sett her brest and swamme;
And when she was got out againe,
She tooke to her heels and ranne.
He never was the courteous knighte,
To saye, faire maide, will ye ride?
Nor she was never so loving a maide
To saye, sir knighte abide.
To saye, faire maide, will ye ride?
Nor she was never so loving a maide
To saye, sir knighte abide.
When she came to the kings faire courte,
She knocked at the ring;
So readye was the king himself
To let this faire maide in.
She knocked at the ring;
So readye was the king himself
To let this faire maide in.
73
Now Christ you save, my gracious liege,
Now Christ you save and see,
You have a knighte within your courte
This daye hath robbed mee.
Now Christ you save and see,
You have a knighte within your courte
This daye hath robbed mee.
What hath he robbed thee of, sweet heart?
Of purple or of pall?
Or hath he took thy gaye gold ring
From off thy finger small?
Of purple or of pall?
Or hath he took thy gaye gold ring
From off thy finger small?
He hath not robbed mee, my leige,
Of purple nor of pall:
But he hath gotten my maiden head,
Which grieves mee worst of all.
Of purple nor of pall:
But he hath gotten my maiden head,
Which grieves mee worst of all.
Now if he be a batchelor,
His bodye Ile give to thee;
But if he be a married man,
High hanged hee shall bee.
His bodye Ile give to thee;
But if he be a married man,
High hanged hee shall bee.
He called downe his merrye men all,
By one, by two, by three;
Sir William used to bee the first,
But nowe the last came hee.
By one, by two, by three;
Sir William used to bee the first,
But nowe the last came hee.
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He brought her downe full fortye pounde,
Tyed up withinne a glove:
Faire maid, Ile give the same to thee;
Go, seeke thee another love.
Tyed up withinne a glove:
Faire maid, Ile give the same to thee;
Go, seeke thee another love.
O Ile have none of your gold, she sayde,
Nor Ile have none of your fee;
But your faire bodye I must have
The king hath granted mee.
Nor Ile have none of your fee;
But your faire bodye I must have
The king hath granted mee.
Sir William ranne and fetchd her then
Five hundred pound in golde,
Saying, faire maide, take this to thee,
Thy fault will never be tolde.
Five hundred pound in golde,
Saying, faire maide, take this to thee,
Thy fault will never be tolde.
Tis not the gold that shall mee tempt,
These words then answered shee,
But your own bodye I must have,
The king hath granted mee.
These words then answered shee,
But your own bodye I must have,
The king hath granted mee.
Would I had dranke the water cleare,
When I did drinke the wine,
Rather than any shepherds brat
Shold bee a ladye of mine!
When I did drinke the wine,
Rather than any shepherds brat
Shold bee a ladye of mine!
Would I had drank the puddle foule,
When I did drink the ale,
Rather than ever a shepherds brat
Shold tell me such a tale!
When I did drink the ale,
Rather than ever a shepherds brat
Shold tell me such a tale!
75
A shepherds brat even as I was,
You mote have let me bee,
I never had come to the kings faire courte,
To crave any love of thee.
You mote have let me bee,
I never had come to the kings faire courte,
To crave any love of thee.
He sett her on a milk-white steede,
And himself upon a graye;
He hung a bugle about his necke,
And soe they rode awaye.
And himself upon a graye;
He hung a bugle about his necke,
And soe they rode awaye.
But when they came unto the place,
Where marriage-rites were done,
She proved herself a dukes daughtèr,
And he but a squires sonne.
Where marriage-rites were done,
She proved herself a dukes daughtèr,
And he but a squires sonne.
Now marrye me, or not, sir knight,
Your pleasure shall be free:
If you make me ladye of one good towne,
Ile make you lord of three.
Your pleasure shall be free:
If you make me ladye of one good towne,
Ile make you lord of three.
Ah! cursed bee the gold, he sayd,
If thou hadst not been trewe,
I shold have forsaken my sweet love,
And have changd her for a newe.
If thou hadst not been trewe,
I shold have forsaken my sweet love,
And have changd her for a newe.
And now their hearts being linked fast,
They joyned hand in hande:
Thus he had both purse, and person too,
And all at his commande.
They joyned hand in hande:
Thus he had both purse, and person too,
And all at his commande.
This was agreeable to the feudal customs: The Lord had a right to give a wife to his vassals. See Shakespeare's, “All's well, that ends well.”
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XIV. THE SHEPHERD'S ADDRESS TO HIS MUSE.
Good Muse, rocke me aslepe
With some sweete harmony:
This wearie eyes is not to kepe
Thy wary company.
With some sweete harmony:
This wearie eyes is not to kepe
Thy wary company.
Sweete Love, begon a while,
Thou seest my heavines:
Beautie is borne but to beguyle
My harte of happines.
Thou seest my heavines:
Beautie is borne but to beguyle
My harte of happines.
See howe my little flocke,
That lovde to feede on highe,
Doe headlonge tumble downe the rocke,
And in the valley dye.
That lovde to feede on highe,
Doe headlonge tumble downe the rocke,
And in the valley dye.
The bushes and the trees,
That were so freshe and greene,
Doe all their deintie colors leese,
And not a leafe is seene.
That were so freshe and greene,
Doe all their deintie colors leese,
And not a leafe is seene.
77
The blacke birde and the thrushe,
That made the woodes to ringe,
With all the rest, are now at hushe,
And not a note do singe.
That made the woodes to ringe,
With all the rest, are now at hushe,
And not a note do singe.
Swete Philomene, the birde
That hath the heavenly throte,
Doth nowe, alas! not once afforde
Recordinge of a note.
That hath the heavenly throte,
Doth nowe, alas! not once afforde
Recordinge of a note.
The flowers have had a frost,
The herbs have loste their savoure;
‘For haples Corydon’ hath lost
‘His lovelye Phyllis’ favoure.
The herbs have loste their savoure;
‘For haples Corydon’ hath lost
‘His lovelye Phyllis’ favoure.
And therefore, my sweete Muse,
That knowest what helpe is best,
Doe nowe thy heavenlie conninge use
To sett my harte at rest:
That knowest what helpe is best,
Doe nowe thy heavenlie conninge use
To sett my harte at rest:
And in a dreame bewraie
What fate shall be my frende;
Whether my life shall stil decaye,
Or soone my sorrowes ende.
What fate shall be my frende;
Whether my life shall stil decaye,
Or soone my sorrowes ende.
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XV. LORD THOMAS AND FAIR ELLINOR.
[_]
From an ancient copy in black letter, in the Pepys collection, intitled, “A tragical ballad on the unfortunate love of lord Thomas and fair Ellinor, together with the downfall of the browne girl.”—In the same collection may be seen an attempt to modernize this old song, and reduce it to a different measure. A proof of it's popularity.
Lord Thomas he was a bold forrestèr,
And a chaser of the kings deere;
Faire Ellinor was a fine womàn,
And lord Thomas he loved her deare.
And a chaser of the kings deere;
Faire Ellinor was a fine womàn,
And lord Thomas he loved her deare.
Come riddle my riddle, dear mother, he sayd,
And riddle us both as one;
Whether I shall marrye with faire Ellinòr,
And let the browne girl alone?
And riddle us both as one;
Whether I shall marrye with faire Ellinòr,
And let the browne girl alone?
The browne girl she has got houses and lands,
Faire Ellinor she has got none,
And therefore I charge thee on my blessìng,
To bring me the browne girl home.
Faire Ellinor she has got none,
And therefore I charge thee on my blessìng,
To bring me the browne girl home.
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And as it befelle on a high holidaye,
As many there are beside,
Lord Thomas he went to faire Ellinòr,
That should have been his bride.
As many there are beside,
Lord Thomas he went to faire Ellinòr,
That should have been his bride.
And when he came to faire Ellinors bower,
He knocked there at the ring,
And who was so readye as faire Ellinòr,
To lett lord Thomas withinn.
He knocked there at the ring,
And who was so readye as faire Ellinòr,
To lett lord Thomas withinn.
What newes, what newes, lord Thomas, she sayd?
What newes dost thou bring to mee?
I am come to bid thee to my weddìng,
And that is bad newes for thee.
What newes dost thou bring to mee?
I am come to bid thee to my weddìng,
And that is bad newes for thee.
O God forbid, lord Thomas, she sayd,
That such a thing should be done;
I thought to have been thy bride my selfe,
And thou to have been the bridegrome.
That such a thing should be done;
I thought to have been thy bride my selfe,
And thou to have been the bridegrome.
Come riddle my riddle, dear mother, she sayd,
And riddle it all in one;
Whether I shall goe to lord Thomas his wedding,
Or whether shall tarry at home?
And riddle it all in one;
Whether I shall goe to lord Thomas his wedding,
Or whether shall tarry at home?
There are manye that are your friendes, daughtèr,
And manye that are your foe,
Therefore I charge you on my blessing,
To lord Thomas his wedding don't goe.
And manye that are your foe,
Therefore I charge you on my blessing,
To lord Thomas his wedding don't goe.
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There are manye that are my friendes, mothèr;
But if thousands there were my foe,
Betide me life, betide me death,
To lord Thomas his wedding Ile goe.
But if thousands there were my foe,
Betide me life, betide me death,
To lord Thomas his wedding Ile goe.
She cloathed herself in gallant attire,
And her merrye men all in greene,
And as they rid through everye towne,
They took her to be some queene.
And her merrye men all in greene,
And as they rid through everye towne,
They took her to be some queene.
But when she came to lord Thomas his gate,
She knocked there at the ring;
And who was so readye as lord Thomàs,
To lett faire Ellinor in.
She knocked there at the ring;
And who was so readye as lord Thomàs,
To lett faire Ellinor in.
Is this your bride, faire Ellinor sayd?
Methinks she looks wonderous browne;
Thou mightest have had as faire a womàn,
As ever trod on the grounde.
Methinks she looks wonderous browne;
Thou mightest have had as faire a womàn,
As ever trod on the grounde.
Despise her not, fair Ellin, he sayd,
Despise her not unto mee;
For better I love thy little fingèr,
Than all her whole bodèe.
Despise her not unto mee;
For better I love thy little fingèr,
Than all her whole bodèe.
This browne bride had a little penknife,
That was both long and sharpe,
And betwixt the short ribs and the long,
She prickd faire Ellinor's harte.
That was both long and sharpe,
And betwixt the short ribs and the long,
She prickd faire Ellinor's harte.
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O Christ thee save, lord Thomas hee sayd,
Methinks thou lookst wonderous wan;
Thou usedst to look with as fresh a colòur,
As ever the sun shone on.
Methinks thou lookst wonderous wan;
Thou usedst to look with as fresh a colòur,
As ever the sun shone on.
Oh, art thou blind, lord Thomas? she sayd,
Or canst thou not very well see?
Oh! dost thou not see my owne hearts bloode
Run trickling down my knee.
Or canst thou not very well see?
Oh! dost thou not see my owne hearts bloode
Run trickling down my knee.
Lord Thomas he had a sword by his side;
As he walked about the halle,
He cut off his brides head from her shouldèrs,
And threw it against the walle.
As he walked about the halle,
He cut off his brides head from her shouldèrs,
And threw it against the walle.
He set the hilte against the grounde,
And the point against his harte.
There never three lovers together did meete,
That sooner againe did parte.
And the point against his harte.
There never three lovers together did meete,
That sooner againe did parte.
[_]
The reader will find a Scottish song on a similar subject to this, towards the end of this volume, intitled “Lord Thomas and Lady Annet.”
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XVI. CUPID AND CAMPASPE.
[_]
This elegant little sonnet is found in the third act of an old play intitled, “Alexander and Campaspe,” written by John Lilye, a celebrated writer in the time of queen Elizabeth. This play was first printed in 1591: but the song is given from a later edition.
At cardes for kisses; Cupid payd:
He stakes his quiver, bow and arrows,
His mothers doves, and teame of sparrows;
Loses them too; then down he throws
The coral of his lippe, the rose
Growing on's cheek, (but none knows how)
With these, the crystal of his browe,
And then the dimple of his chinne;
All these did my Campaspe winne.
At last he set her both his eyes,
She won, and Cupid blind did rise.
O Love! has she done this to thee?
What shall, alas! become of mee?
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XVII. THE LADY TURNED SERVING-MAN
[_]
—is given from a written copy, containing some improvements, (perhaps modern ones) upon the old popular ballad, intitled, “The famous flower of Serving-men: or the “Lady turned Serving-man.”
You beauteous ladyes, great and small,
I write unto you one and all,
Whereby that you may understand
What I have suffered in the land.
I write unto you one and all,
Whereby that you may understand
What I have suffered in the land.
I was by birth a lady faire,
An ancient barons only heire,
And when my good old father dyed,
Then I became a young knightes bride.
An ancient barons only heire,
And when my good old father dyed,
Then I became a young knightes bride.
And there my love built me a bower,
Bedeck'd with many a fragrant flower;
A braver bower you ne'er did see
Then my true-love did build for mee.
Bedeck'd with many a fragrant flower;
A braver bower you ne'er did see
Then my true-love did build for mee.
And there I livde a ladye gay,
Till fortune wrought our loves decay;
For there came foes so fierce a band,
That soon they over-run the land.
Till fortune wrought our loves decay;
For there came foes so fierce a band,
That soon they over-run the land.
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They came upon us in the night,
And brent my bower, and slew my knight;
And trembling hid in mans array,
I scant with life escap'd away.
And brent my bower, and slew my knight;
And trembling hid in mans array,
I scant with life escap'd away.
In the midst of this extremitìe,
My servants all did from me flee:
Thus was I left myself alone,
With heart more cold than any stone.
My servants all did from me flee:
Thus was I left myself alone,
With heart more cold than any stone.
Yet though my heart was full of care,
Heaven would not suffer me to dispaire,
Wherefore in haste I chang'd my name
From faire Elise, to sweet Williame:
Heaven would not suffer me to dispaire,
Wherefore in haste I chang'd my name
From faire Elise, to sweet Williame:
And therewithall I cut my haire,
Resolv'd my man's attire to weare;
And in my beaver, hose and band,
I travell'd far through many a land.
Resolv'd my man's attire to weare;
And in my beaver, hose and band,
I travell'd far through many a land.
At length all wearied with my toil,
I sate me downe to rest awhile;
My heart it was so fill'd with woe,
That downe my cheeke the teares did flow.
I sate me downe to rest awhile;
My heart it was so fill'd with woe,
That downe my cheeke the teares did flow.
It chanc'd the king of that same place
With all his lords a hunting was,
And seeing me weepe, upon the same
Askt who I was, and whence I came.
With all his lords a hunting was,
And seeing me weepe, upon the same
Askt who I was, and whence I came.
85
Then to his grace I did replye,
I am a poore and friendlesse boye,
Though nobly borne, nowe forc'd to bee
A serving-man of lowe degree.
I am a poore and friendlesse boye,
Though nobly borne, nowe forc'd to bee
A serving-man of lowe degree.
Stand up, faire youth, the king reply'd,
For thee a service I'll provyde;
But tell me first what thou canst do,
Thou shalt be fitted thereunto.
For thee a service I'll provyde;
But tell me first what thou canst do,
Thou shalt be fitted thereunto.
Wilt thou be usher of my hall,
To wait upon my nobles all?
Or wilt be taster of my wine,
To 'tend on me when I shall dine?
To wait upon my nobles all?
Or wilt be taster of my wine,
To 'tend on me when I shall dine?
Or wilt thou be my chamberlaine,
About my person to remaine?
Or wilt thou be one of my guard,
And I will give thee great reward?
About my person to remaine?
Or wilt thou be one of my guard,
And I will give thee great reward?
Chuse, gentle, youth, said he, thy place.
Then I reply'd, if it please your grace,
To shew such favour unto mee,
Your chamberlaine I faine would bee.
Then I reply'd, if it please your grace,
To shew such favour unto mee,
Your chamberlaine I faine would bee.
The king then smiling gave consent,
And straitwaye to his court I went;
Where I behavde so faithfullìe,
That hee great favour showd to mee.
And straitwaye to his court I went;
Where I behavde so faithfullìe,
That hee great favour showd to mee.
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Now marke what fortune did provide;
The king he would a hunting ride
With all his lords and noble traine,
Sweet William must at home remaine.
The king he would a hunting ride
With all his lords and noble traine,
Sweet William must at home remaine.
Thus being left alone behind,
My former state came in my mind,
I wept to see my mans array,
No longer now a ladye gay.
My former state came in my mind,
I wept to see my mans array,
No longer now a ladye gay.
And meeting with a ladyes vest,
Within the same myself I drest
With silken robes, and jewels rare,
I deckt me as a ladye faire.
Within the same myself I drest
With silken robes, and jewels rare,
I deckt me as a ladye faire.
And taking up a lute straitwaye,
Upon the same I strove to play,
And sweetly to the fame did sing,
As made both hall and chamber ring.
Upon the same I strove to play,
And sweetly to the fame did sing,
As made both hall and chamber ring.
“My father was as brave a lord,
“As ever Europe did afford;
“My mother was a lady bright;
“My husband was a valiant knight:
“As ever Europe did afford;
“My mother was a lady bright;
“My husband was a valiant knight:
“And I myself a ladye gay,
“Bedeckt with gorgeous rich array;
“The happiest lady in the land,
“Had not more pleasure at command.
“Bedeckt with gorgeous rich array;
“The happiest lady in the land,
“Had not more pleasure at command.
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“I had my musicke every day
“Harmonious lessons for to play;
“I had my virgins fair and free,
“Continually to wait on mee.
“Harmonious lessons for to play;
“I had my virgins fair and free,
“Continually to wait on mee.
“But now, alas! my husband's dead,
“And all my friends are from me fled,
“My former days are past and gone,
“And I am now a serving-man.”
“And all my friends are from me fled,
“My former days are past and gone,
“And I am now a serving-man.”
And fetching many a tender sigh,
As thinking no one then was nigh,
In pensive mood I laid me lowe,
My heart was full, the tears did flowe.
As thinking no one then was nigh,
In pensive mood I laid me lowe,
My heart was full, the tears did flowe.
The king, who had a huntinge gone,
Grewe weary of his sport anone,
And leaving all his gallant traine,
Turn'd on the sudden home againe:
Grewe weary of his sport anone,
And leaving all his gallant traine,
Turn'd on the sudden home againe:
And when he reach'd his statelye tower,
Hearing one sing within his bower,
He stopt to listen, and to see
Who sung there so melodiouslìe.
Hearing one sing within his bower,
He stopt to listen, and to see
Who sung there so melodiouslìe.
Thus heard he everye word I sed,
And sawe the pearlye teares I shed,
And found to his amazement there,
Sweete William was a ladye faire.
And sawe the pearlye teares I shed,
And found to his amazement there,
Sweete William was a ladye faire.
88
Then stepping in, Faire ladye, rise,
And dry, said he, those lovelye eyes,
For I have heard thy mournful tale,
The which shall turne to thy availe.
And dry, said he, those lovelye eyes,
For I have heard thy mournful tale,
The which shall turne to thy availe.
A crimson dye my face orespred,
I blusht for shame, and hung my head,
To find my sex and story knowne,
When as I thought I was alone.
I blusht for shame, and hung my head,
To find my sex and story knowne,
When as I thought I was alone.
But to be briefe, his royall grace
Grewe soe enamour'd of my face,
The richest gifts he proffered mee,
His mistress if that I would bee.
Grewe soe enamour'd of my face,
The richest gifts he proffered mee,
His mistress if that I would bee.
Ah! no, my liege, I firmlye sayd,
I'll rather in my grave be layd,
And though your grace hath won my heart,
I ne'er will act soe base a part.
I'll rather in my grave be layd,
And though your grace hath won my heart,
I ne'er will act soe base a part.
Faire ladye, pardon me, sayde hee,
Thy virtue shall rewarded bee,
And since it is soe fairly tryde
Thou shalt become my royal bride.
Thy virtue shall rewarded bee,
And since it is soe fairly tryde
Thou shalt become my royal bride.
Then strait to end his amorous strife,
He tooke sweet William to his wife:
The like before was never seene,
A serving-man became a queene.
He tooke sweet William to his wife:
The like before was never seene,
A serving-man became a queene.
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XVIII. GIL MORRICE.
A Scottish Ballad.
[_]
The following piece has lately run thro' two editions in Scotland: the second was printed at Glasgow in 1755. 8 vo. Prefixed to them both is an advertisement, setting forth that the preservation of this poem was owing “to a lady, who favoured the printers with a copy, as it was carefully collected from the mouths of old women and nurses;” And any reader that can render it more correct or complete,” is desired to oblige the public with such improvements. In consequence of this advertisement sixteen additional verses have been produced and handed about in manuscript, which are here inserted in their proper places: (these are from ver. 109. to ver. 121. and from ver. 124. to ver. 129. and are perhaps after all only an ingenious interpolation.)
As this poem lays claim to a pretty high antiquity, we have assigned it a place among our early pieces: though, after all, there is reason to believe it has received very considerable modern improvements: for in the Editor's ancient MS collection is a very old imperfect copy of the same ballad: wherein though the leading features of the story are the same, yet the colouring here is so much improved and heightened, and so many additional strokes are thrown in, that it is evident the whole has undergone a revisal.
N. B. The Editor's MS instead of “lord Barnard”, has “John Stewart”; and instead of “Gil Morrice”, Child Maurice, which last is probably the original title.
See above p. 54.
Gil Morrice was an erlès son,
His name it waxed wide;
It was nae for his great richès,
Nor zet his mickle pride;
Bot it was for a lady gay,
That livd on Carron side.
His name it waxed wide;
90
Nor zet his mickle pride;
Bot it was for a lady gay,
That livd on Carron side.
Quhair sall I get a bonny boy,
That will win hose and shoen;
That will gae to lord Barnards ha',
And bid his lady cum?
And ze maun rin my errand Willie;
And ze may rin wi' pride;
Quhen other boys gae on their foot,
On horse-back ze sall ride.
That will win hose and shoen;
That will gae to lord Barnards ha',
And bid his lady cum?
And ze maun rin my errand Willie;
And ze may rin wi' pride;
Quhen other boys gae on their foot,
On horse-back ze sall ride.
O no! Oh no! my master dear!
I dare nae for my life;
I'll no gae to the bauld baròns,
For to triest furth his wife.
My bird Willie, my boy Willie;
My dear Willie, he sayd:
How can ze strive against the stream?
For I shall be obeyd.
I dare nae for my life;
I'll no gae to the bauld baròns,
For to triest furth his wife.
My bird Willie, my boy Willie;
My dear Willie, he sayd:
How can ze strive against the stream?
For I shall be obeyd.
Bot, O my master dear! he cryd,
In grene wod ze're zour lain;
Gi owre sic thochts, I walde ze rede,
For fear ze should be tain.
Haste, haste, I say, gae to the ha',
Bid hir cum here wi' speid:
If ze refuse my heigh command,
Ill gar zour body bleid.
In grene wod ze're zour lain;
Gi owre sic thochts, I walde ze rede,
For fear ze should be tain.
Haste, haste, I say, gae to the ha',
Bid hir cum here wi' speid:
91
Ill gar zour body bleid.
Gae bid hir take this gay mantèl,
'Tis a' gowd bot the hem;
Bid hir cum to the gude grene wode,
And bring nane bot hir lain:
And there it is, a silken sarke,
Hir ain hand sewd the sleive;
And bid hir cum to Gill Morice,
Speir nae bauld barons leave.
'Tis a' gowd bot the hem;
Bid hir cum to the gude grene wode,
And bring nane bot hir lain:
And there it is, a silken sarke,
Hir ain hand sewd the sleive;
And bid hir cum to Gill Morice,
Speir nae bauld barons leave.
Yes, I will gae zour black errand,
Though it be to zour cost;
Sen ze by me will nae be warn'd,
In it ze sall find frost.
The baron he is a man of might,
He neir could bide to taunt,
As ze will see before its nicht,
How sma' ze hae to vaunt.
Though it be to zour cost;
Sen ze by me will nae be warn'd,
In it ze sall find frost.
The baron he is a man of might,
He neir could bide to taunt,
As ze will see before its nicht,
How sma' ze hae to vaunt.
And sen I maun zour errand rin
Sae sair against my will,
I'se mak a vow and keip it trow,
It sall be done for ill.
And quhen he came to broken brigue,
He bent his bow and swam;
And quhen came to grass growìng,
Set down his feet and ran.
Sae sair against my will,
I'se mak a vow and keip it trow,
It sall be done for ill.
And quhen he came to broken brigue,
He bent his bow and swam;
And quhen came to grass growìng,
Set down his feet and ran.
92
And quhen he came to Barnards ha',
Would neither chap nor ca':
Bot set his bent bow to his breist,
And lichtly lap the wa'.
He wauld nae tell the man his errand,
Though he stude at the gait;
Bot straiht into the ha' he cam,
Quhair they were set at meit.
Would neither chap nor ca':
Bot set his bent bow to his breist,
And lichtly lap the wa'.
He wauld nae tell the man his errand,
Though he stude at the gait;
Bot straiht into the ha' he cam,
Quhair they were set at meit.
Hail! hail! my gentle sire and dame!
My message winna waite;
Dame, ze maun to the gude grene wod
Before that it be late.
Ze're bidden tak this gay mantèl,
Tis a' gowd bot the hem:
Zou maun gae to the gude grene wode,
Ev'n by your sel alane.
My message winna waite;
Dame, ze maun to the gude grene wod
Before that it be late.
Ze're bidden tak this gay mantèl,
Tis a' gowd bot the hem:
Zou maun gae to the gude grene wode,
Ev'n by your sel alane.
And there it is, a silken sarke,
Your ain hand sewd the sleive;
Ze maun gae speik to Gill Morìce;
Speir nae bauld barons leave.
The lady stamped wi' hir foot,
And winked wi' hir ee;
Bot a' that she coud say or do,
Forbidden he wad nae bee.
Your ain hand sewd the sleive;
Ze maun gae speik to Gill Morìce;
Speir nae bauld barons leave.
The lady stamped wi' hir foot,
And winked wi' hir ee;
Bot a' that she coud say or do,
Forbidden he wad nae bee.
Its surely to my bow'r-womàn;
It neir could be to me.
I brocht it to lord Barnards lady;
I trow that ze be she.
Then up and spack the wylie nurse,
(The bairn upon hir knee)
If it be cum frae Gill Morìce,
It's deir welcum to mee.
It neir could be to me.
93
I trow that ze be she.
Then up and spack the wylie nurse,
(The bairn upon hir knee)
If it be cum frae Gill Morìce,
It's deir welcum to mee.
Ze leid, ze leid, ze filthy nurse,
Sae loud's I heire ze lee;
I brocht it to lord Barnards lady;
I trow ze be nae shee.
Then up and spack the bauld baròn,
An angry man was hee;
He's tain the table wi' his foot,
Sae has he wi' his knee;
Till siller cup and ezar dish
In flinders he gard flee.
Sae loud's I heire ze lee;
I brocht it to lord Barnards lady;
I trow ze be nae shee.
Then up and spack the bauld baròn,
An angry man was hee;
He's tain the table wi' his foot,
Sae has he wi' his knee;
Till siller cup and ezar dish
In flinders he gard flee.
Gae bring a robe of zour clidìng,
That hings upon the pin;
And I'll gae to the gude grene wode,
And speik wi' zour lemmàn.
O bide at hame, now lord Barnàrd,
I warde ze bide at hame;
Neir wyte a man for violence,
That neir wate ze wi' nane.
That hings upon the pin;
And I'll gae to the gude grene wode,
And speik wi' zour lemmàn.
O bide at hame, now lord Barnàrd,
I warde ze bide at hame;
Neir wyte a man for violence,
That neir wate ze wi' nane.
94
Gil Morice sate in gude grene wode,
He whistled and he sang:
O what mean a' the folk comìng,
My mother tarries lang.
His hair was like the threeds of gold,
Drawne frae Minervas loome:
His lipps like roses drapping dew,
His breath was a' perfume.
He whistled and he sang:
O what mean a' the folk comìng,
My mother tarries lang.
His hair was like the threeds of gold,
Drawne frae Minervas loome:
His lipps like roses drapping dew,
His breath was a' perfume.
His brow was like the mountain snae
Gilt by the morning beam:
His cheeks like living roses glow:
His een like azure stream.
The boy was clad in robes of grene,
Sweete as the infant spring:
And like the mavis on the bush,
He gart the vallies ring.
Gilt by the morning beam:
His cheeks like living roses glow:
His een like azure stream.
The boy was clad in robes of grene,
Sweete as the infant spring:
And like the mavis on the bush,
He gart the vallies ring.
The baron came to the grene wode,
Wi' mickle dule and care,
And there he first spied Gill Morìce
Kameing his zellow hair:
That sweetly wavd around his face,
That face beyond compare:
He sang sae sweet it might dispel,
A' rage but fell dispair.
Wi' mickle dule and care,
And there he first spied Gill Morìce
Kameing his zellow hair:
That sweetly wavd around his face,
That face beyond compare:
He sang sae sweet it might dispel,
A' rage but fell dispair.
95
Nae wonder, nae wonder, Gill Morìce,
My lady loed thee weel,
The fairest part of my body
Is blacker than thy heel.
Zet neir the less now, Gill Morìce,
For a' thy great bewty,
Ze's rew the day ze eir was born;
That head sall gae wi' me.
My lady loed thee weel,
The fairest part of my body
Is blacker than thy heel.
Zet neir the less now, Gill Morìce,
For a' thy great bewty,
Ze's rew the day ze eir was born;
That head sall gae wi' me.
Now he has drawn his trusty brand,
And slaited on the strae;
And thro' Gill Morice' fair body
He's gar cauld iron gae.
And he has tain Gill Morice' head
And set it on a speir:
The meanest man in a' his train
Has gotten that head to bear.
And slaited on the strae;
And thro' Gill Morice' fair body
He's gar cauld iron gae.
And he has tain Gill Morice' head
And set it on a speir:
The meanest man in a' his train
Has gotten that head to bear.
And he has tain Gill Morice up,
Laid him across his steid,
And brocht him to his painted bowr
And laid him on a bed.
The lady sat on castil wa',
Beheld baith dale and doun;
And there she saw Gill Morice' head
Cum trailing to the toun.
Laid him across his steid,
And brocht him to his painted bowr
And laid him on a bed.
The lady sat on castil wa',
Beheld baith dale and doun;
And there she saw Gill Morice' head
Cum trailing to the toun.
Far better I loe that bluidy head,
Bot and that zellow hair,
Than lord Barnard, and a' his lands,
As they lig here and thair.
And she has tain her Gill Morice,
And kissd baith mouth and chin:
I was once as fow of Gill Morice,
As the hip is o' the stean.
Bot and that zellow hair,
96
As they lig here and thair.
And she has tain her Gill Morice,
And kissd baith mouth and chin:
I was once as fow of Gill Morice,
As the hip is o' the stean.
I got ze in my father's house,
Wi' mickle sin and shame;
I brocht thee up in gude grene wode,
Under the heavy rain:
Oft have I by thy cradle sitten,
And fondly seen thee sleip;
Bot now I gae about thy grave,
The saut tears for to weip.
Wi' mickle sin and shame;
I brocht thee up in gude grene wode,
Under the heavy rain:
Oft have I by thy cradle sitten,
And fondly seen thee sleip;
Bot now I gae about thy grave,
The saut tears for to weip.
And syne she kissd his bluidy cheik,
And syne his bluidy chin:
O better I loe my Gill Morice
Than a' my kith and kin!
Away, away, ze ill womàn,
And an il deith mait ze dee:
Gin I had kend he'd bin zour son,
He'd neir bin slain for mee.
And syne his bluidy chin:
O better I loe my Gill Morice
Than a' my kith and kin!
Away, away, ze ill womàn,
And an il deith mait ze dee:
Gin I had kend he'd bin zour son,
He'd neir bin slain for mee.
Obraid me not, my lord Barnard!
Obraid me not for shame!
Wi that saim speir O pierce my heart!
And put me out o' pain.
Since nothing bot Gill Morice head
Thy jelous rage could quell,
Let that saim hand now tak hir life,
That neir to thee did ill.
Obraid me not for shame!
Wi that saim speir O pierce my heart!
And put me out o' pain.
97
Thy jelous rage could quell,
Let that saim hand now tak hir life,
That neir to thee did ill.
To me nae after days nor nichts
Will eir be saft or kind;
I'll fill the air with heavy sighs,
And greet till I am blind.
Enouch of blood by me's bin spilt,
Seek not zour death frae mee;
I rather lourd it had been my sel
Than eather him or thee.
Will eir be saft or kind;
I'll fill the air with heavy sighs,
And greet till I am blind.
Enouch of blood by me's bin spilt,
Seek not zour death frae mee;
I rather lourd it had been my sel
Than eather him or thee.
With waefo wae I hear zour plaint;
Sair, sair I rew the deid,
That eir this cursed hand of mine
Had gard his body bleid.
Dry up zour tears, my winsom dame,
Ze neir can heal the wound;
Ze see his head upon the speir,
His heart's blude on the ground.
Sair, sair I rew the deid,
That eir this cursed hand of mine
Had gard his body bleid.
Dry up zour tears, my winsom dame,
Ze neir can heal the wound;
Ze see his head upon the speir,
His heart's blude on the ground.
I curse the hand that did the deid,
The heart that thocht the ill;
The feet that bore me wi' sik speid,
The comely zouth to kill.
I'll ay lament for Gill Morice,
As gin he were my ain;
I'll neir forget the dreiry day
On which the zouth was slain.
The heart that thocht the ill;
The feet that bore me wi' sik speid,
The comely zouth to kill.
I'll ay lament for Gill Morice,
As gin he were my ain;
98
On which the zouth was slain.
The foregoing ballad is said to have furnished the plot to the tragedy of Douglas.
It may be proper to mention that other copies read ver. 110. thus
“Shot frae the golden sun.”And ver. 116. as follows
“His een like azure sheene.”THE END OF THE FIRST BOOK.
99
BOOK II.
I. THE LEGEND OF SIR GUY
[_]
—contains a short summary of the exploits of this famous champion, as recorded in the old story books; and is commonly intitled, “A pleasant song of the valiant deeds of chivalry atchieved by that noble knight sir Guy of Warwick, who, for the love of fair Phelis, became a
100
The history of sir Guy, tho' now very properly resigned to children, was once admired by all readers of wit and taste: for taste and wit had once their childhood. Tho' of English growth, it was early a favourite with other nations: it appeared in French in 1525: and is alluded to the old Spanish romance Tirante el blanco, which it is believed was written not long after the year 1430. See advertisement to the French translation, 2 vols. 12 mo.
The original whence all these stories are extracted is a very ancient romance in old English verse, which is quoted by Chaucer as a celebrated piece even in his time, (viz.)
“Men speken of romances of price,
“Of Horne childe and Ippotis,
“Of Bevis, and sir Guy, &c.
“Of Horne childe and Ippotis,
“Of Bevis, and sir Guy, &c.
R. of Thop.
and was usually sung to the harp at Christmas dinners and brideales, as we learn from Puttenham's art of poetry, 4 to. 1589.
This ancient romance is not wholly lost. An imperfect copy in black letter, “Imprynted at London—for Wylliam Copland.” in 34 sheets 4 to. without date, is still preserved among Mr. Garrick's collection of old plays. As a specimen of the poetry of this antique rhymer, take his description of the dragon mentioned in ver. 105 of the following ballad,
—“A messenger came to the king.
“Syr king, he sayd, lysten me now,
“For bad tydinges I bring you,
“In Northumberlande there is no man,
“But that they be slayne everychone:
“For there dare no man route,
“By twenty myle rounde aboute,
“For doubt of a fowle dragon,
“That sleath men and beastes downe.
“He is blacke as any cole,
“Rugged as a rough fole;
“His bodye from the navill upwarde
“No man may it pierce it is so harde;
“His neck is great as any summere;
“He renneth as swifte as any distrere;
“Pawes he hath as a lyon:
“All that he toucheth he sleath dead downe.
“Great winges he hath to flight,
“That is no man that bare him might.
“There may no man fight him agayne,
“But that he sleath him certayne:
“For a fowler beast then is he,
“Ywis of none never heard ye.”
“Syr king, he sayd, lysten me now,
“For bad tydinges I bring you,
“In Northumberlande there is no man,
“But that they be slayne everychone:
“For there dare no man route,
“By twenty myle rounde aboute,
“For doubt of a fowle dragon,
“That sleath men and beastes downe.
“He is blacke as any cole,
“Rugged as a rough fole;
“His bodye from the navill upwarde
“No man may it pierce it is so harde;
101
“He renneth as swifte as any distrere;
“Pawes he hath as a lyon:
“All that he toucheth he sleath dead downe.
“Great winges he hath to flight,
“That is no man that bare him might.
“There may no man fight him agayne,
“But that he sleath him certayne:
“For a fowler beast then is he,
“Ywis of none never heard ye.”
The accurate Dugdale is of opinion that the story of Guy is not wholly apocryphal, tho' he acknowledges the monks have sounded out his praises too hyperbolically. In particular, he gives the duel fought with the Danish champion as a real historical truth, and fixes the date of it in the year 929, Ætat. Guy, 70.
See his Warwickshire.
The following is written upon the same plan, as ballad V. Book I. but which is the original and which the copy, cannot be decided. This song is ancient, as may be inferred from the idiom preserved in the margin, ver. 94. 102: and was once popular, as appears from Fletcher's Knight of the burning pestle, act. 2. sc. ult.
Printed from an ancient MS copy in the Editor's old folio volume, collated with two printed ones, one of which is in black letter in the Pepys collection.
Was ever knight for ladyes sake
Soe tost in love, as I sir Guy
For Phelis fayre, that lady bright
As ever man beheld with eye?
Soe tost in love, as I sir Guy
For Phelis fayre, that lady bright
As ever man beheld with eye?
Shee gave me leave myself to try,
The valiant knight with sheeld and speare,
Ere that her love shee wold grant me;
Which made mee venture far and neare.
The valiant knight with sheeld and speare,
Ere that her love shee wold grant me;
Which made mee venture far and neare.
102
Then proved I a baron bold,
In deeds of armes the doughtyest knight
That in those dayes in England was,
With sworde and speare in feild to fight.
In deeds of armes the doughtyest knight
That in those dayes in England was,
With sworde and speare in feild to fight.
An English man I was by birthe:
In faith of Christ a christyan true:
The wicked lawes of infidells
I sought by prowesse to subdue.
In faith of Christ a christyan true:
The wicked lawes of infidells
I sought by prowesse to subdue.
‘Nine’ hundred twenty yeere and odde
After our Saviour Christ his birthe,
When king Athèlstone wore the crowne,
I lived heere upon the earthe.
After our Saviour Christ his birthe,
When king Athèlstone wore the crowne,
I lived heere upon the earthe.
Sometime I was of Warwicke erle,
And, as I sayd, of very truthe
A ladyes love did me constraine
To seeke strange ventures in my youthe.
And, as I sayd, of very truthe
A ladyes love did me constraine
To seeke strange ventures in my youthe.
To win me fame by feates of armes
In strange and sundry heathen lands;
Where I atchieved for her sake
Right dangerous conquests with my hands.
In strange and sundry heathen lands;
Where I atchieved for her sake
Right dangerous conquests with my hands.
For first I sayled to Normandye,
And there I stoutlye wan in fight
The emperours daughter of Almayne,
From manye a vallyant worthye knight.
And there I stoutlye wan in fight
The emperours daughter of Almayne,
From manye a vallyant worthye knight.
103
Then passed I the seas to Greece
To helpe the emperour in his right;
Against the mightye souldans hoaste
Of puissant Persians for to fight.
To helpe the emperour in his right;
Against the mightye souldans hoaste
Of puissant Persians for to fight.
Where I did slay of Sarazens,
And heathen pagans, manye a man;
And slew the souldans cozen deare,
Who had to name doughtye Coldràn.
And heathen pagans, manye a man;
And slew the souldans cozen deare,
Who had to name doughtye Coldràn.
Eskeldered a famous knight
To death likewise I did pursue:
And Elmayne king of Tyre alsoe,
Most terrible in fight to viewe.
To death likewise I did pursue:
And Elmayne king of Tyre alsoe,
Most terrible in fight to viewe.
I went into the souldans hoast,
Being thither on embassage sent,
And brought his head awaye with mee,
I having slaine him in his tent.
Being thither on embassage sent,
And brought his head awaye with mee,
I having slaine him in his tent.
There was a dragon in that land
Most fiercelye mett me by the way
As hee a lyon did pursue,
Which I myself did alsoe slay.
Most fiercelye mett me by the way
As hee a lyon did pursue,
Which I myself did alsoe slay.
Then soon I past the seas from Greece,
And came to Pavye land aright:
Where I the duke of Pavye killd,
His hainous treason to requite.
And came to Pavye land aright:
Where I the duke of Pavye killd,
His hainous treason to requite.
104
To England then I came with speede,
To wedd faire Phelis ladye bright:
For love of whome I travelled farr
To try my manhood and my might.
To wedd faire Phelis ladye bright:
For love of whome I travelled farr
To try my manhood and my might.
But when I had espoused her,
I stayd with her but fortye dayes,
Ere that I left this ladye faire,
And went from her beyond the seas.
I stayd with her but fortye dayes,
Ere that I left this ladye faire,
And went from her beyond the seas.
All cladd in gray, in pilgrime sort,
My voyage from her I did take
Unto the blessed Holy-land,
For Jesus Christ my Saviours sake.
My voyage from her I did take
Unto the blessed Holy-land,
For Jesus Christ my Saviours sake.
Where I erle Jonas did redeeme,
And all his sonnes which were fifteene,
Who with the cruell Sarazens
In prison for long time had beene.
And all his sonnes which were fifteene,
Who with the cruell Sarazens
In prison for long time had beene.
I slew the gyant Amarant
In battel fiercelye hand to hand:
And doughty Barknard killed I,
A treacherous knight of Pavye land.
In battel fiercelye hand to hand:
And doughty Barknard killed I,
A treacherous knight of Pavye land.
Then I to England came againe,
And here with Colbronde fell I fought:
An ugly gyant, which the Danes
Had for their champion hither brought.
And here with Colbronde fell I fought:
An ugly gyant, which the Danes
Had for their champion hither brought.
105
I overcame him in the feild,
And slewe him soone right valliantlye;
Wherebye this land I did redeeme
From Danish tribute utterlye.
And slewe him soone right valliantlye;
Wherebye this land I did redeeme
From Danish tribute utterlye.
And afterwards I offered upp
The use of weapons solemnlye
At Winchester, whereas I fought,
In sight of manye farr and nye.
The use of weapons solemnlye
At Winchester, whereas I fought,
In sight of manye farr and nye.
‘But first,’ neare Winsor, I did slaye
A bore of passing might and strength;
Whose like in England never was
For hugenesse both in bredth, and length.
A bore of passing might and strength;
Whose like in England never was
For hugenesse both in bredth, and length.
Some of his bones in Warwicke yet,
Within the castle there doe lye:
One of his sheild-bones to this day
Hangs in the citye of Coventrye.
Within the castle there doe lye:
One of his sheild-bones to this day
Hangs in the citye of Coventrye.
On Dunsmore heath I alsoe slewe
A monstrous wyld and cruell beast,
Calld the Dun-cow of Dunsmore heath;
Which manye people had opprest.
A monstrous wyld and cruell beast,
Calld the Dun-cow of Dunsmore heath;
Which manye people had opprest.
Some of her bones in Warwicke yett
Still for a monument doe lye;
Which unto every lookers viewe
As wonderous strange, they may espye.
Still for a monument doe lye;
Which unto every lookers viewe
As wonderous strange, they may espye.
106
A dragon in Northumberland,
I alsoe did in fight destroye,
Which did bothe man and beast oppresse,
And all the countrye sore annoye.
I alsoe did in fight destroye,
Which did bothe man and beast oppresse,
And all the countrye sore annoye.
At length to Warwicke I did come,
Like pilgrime poore and was not knowne;
And there I livd a hermites life
A mile and more out of the towne.
Like pilgrime poore and was not knowne;
And there I livd a hermites life
A mile and more out of the towne.
Where with my hands I hewed a house
Out of a craggy rocke of stone;
And lived like a palmer poore
Within that cave myself alone:
Out of a craggy rocke of stone;
And lived like a palmer poore
Within that cave myself alone:
And dailye came to begg my bread
Of Phelis at my castle gate;
Not knowne unto my loving wife,
Who dailye mourned for her mate.
Of Phelis at my castle gate;
Not knowne unto my loving wife,
Who dailye mourned for her mate.
Till at the last I fell sore sicke,
Yea sicke soe sore that I must die;
I sent to her a ringe of golde,
By which she knewe me presentlye.
Yea sicke soe sore that I must die;
I sent to her a ringe of golde,
By which she knewe me presentlye.
Then shee repairing to the cave
Before that I gave up the ghost;
Herself closd up my dying eyes:
My Phelis faire, whom I lovd most.
Before that I gave up the ghost;
Herself closd up my dying eyes:
My Phelis faire, whom I lovd most.
107
Thus dreadful death did me arrest,
To bring my corpes unto the grave;
And like a palmer dyed I,
Wherby I sought my soule to save.
To bring my corpes unto the grave;
And like a palmer dyed I,
Wherby I sought my soule to save.
My body that endured this toyle,
Though now it be consumed to mold;
My statue faire engraven in stone,
In Warwicke still you may behold.
Though now it be consumed to mold;
My statue faire engraven in stone,
In Warwicke still you may behold.
II. GUY AND AMARANT.
[_]
The Editor found this Poem in his ancient folio manuscript among the old ballads; he was desirous therefore that it should still accompany them; and as it is not altogether devoid of merit, its insertion here will be pardoned.
Although this piece seems not imperfect, there is reason to believe that it is only a part of a much larger poem, which contained the whole history of sir Guy: for upon comparing it with the common story book 12mo, we find the latter to be nothing more than this poem reduced to prose: which is only effected by now and then altering the rhyme, and throwing out some few of the poetical ornaments. The disguise is so slight that it is an easy matter to pick complete stanzas in any page of that book.
The author of this poem has shown some invention. Though he took the subject from the old romance quoted before, he has adorned it afresh, and made the story intirely his own.
108
Guy journeyed ore the sanctifyed ground,
Whereas the Jewes fayre citye sometime stood,
Wherin our Saviours sacred head was crownd,
And where for sinfull man he shed his blood:
To see the sepulcher was his intent,
The tombe that Joseph unto Jesus lent.
Whereas the Jewes fayre citye sometime stood,
Wherin our Saviours sacred head was crownd,
And where for sinfull man he shed his blood:
To see the sepulcher was his intent,
The tombe that Joseph unto Jesus lent.
With tedious miles he tyred his wearye feet,
And passed desart places full of danger,
At last with a most woefull wight did meet,
A man that unto sorrow was noe stranger:
For he had fifteen sonnes, made captives all
To slavish bondage, in extremest thrall.
And passed desart places full of danger,
At last with a most woefull wight did meet,
A man that unto sorrow was noe stranger:
For he had fifteen sonnes, made captives all
To slavish bondage, in extremest thrall.
A gyant called Amarant detaind them,
Whom noe man durst encounter for his strength:
Who in a castle, which he held, had chaind them:
Guy questions, where? and understands at length
The place not farr.—Lend me thy sword, quoth hee,
Ile lend my manhood all thy sonnes to free.
Whom noe man durst encounter for his strength:
Who in a castle, which he held, had chaind them:
Guy questions, where? and understands at length
The place not farr.—Lend me thy sword, quoth hee,
Ile lend my manhood all thy sonnes to free.
With that he goes, and lays upon the dore,
Like one, he sayes, that must, and will come in:
The gyant he was nere soe rowzd before;
For noe such knocking at his gate had bin:
Soe takes his keyes, and clubb, and goeth out
Staring with ireful countenance about.
Like one, he sayes, that must, and will come in:
The gyant he was nere soe rowzd before;
For noe such knocking at his gate had bin:
Soe takes his keyes, and clubb, and goeth out
Staring with ireful countenance about.
109
Sirra, sayes hee, what busines hast thou heere?
Art come to feast the crowes about my walls?
Didst never heare, noe ransome cold him cleere,
That in the compas of my furye falls:
For making me to take a porters paines,
With this same clubb I will dash out thy braines.
Art come to feast the crowes about my walls?
Didst never heare, noe ransome cold him cleere,
That in the compas of my furye falls:
For making me to take a porters paines,
With this same clubb I will dash out thy braines.
Gyant, sayes Guy, y'are quarrelsome I see,
Choller and you are something neere of kin:
Most dangerous at a clubb belike you bee,
I have bin better armd, though nowe goe thin;
But shew thy utmost hate, enlarge thy spight,
Keene is my weapon, and must doe me right.
Choller and you are something neere of kin:
Most dangerous at a clubb belike you bee,
I have bin better armd, though nowe goe thin;
But shew thy utmost hate, enlarge thy spight,
Keene is my weapon, and must doe me right.
Soe takes his sword, salutes him with the same
About the head, the shoulders, and the sides:
Whilst his erected clubb doth death proclaime,
Standinge with huge Colossus' spacious strides,
Putting such vigour to his knotted beame,
That like a furnace he did smoke extreame.
About the head, the shoulders, and the sides:
Whilst his erected clubb doth death proclaime,
Standinge with huge Colossus' spacious strides,
Putting such vigour to his knotted beame,
That like a furnace he did smoke extreame.
But on the ground he spent his strokes in vaine,
For Guy was nimble to avoyde them still,
And ere he cold recover his clubb againe,
Did beate his plated coat against his will:
Att such advantage Guy wold never fayle,
To beat him soundlye in his coate of mayle.
For Guy was nimble to avoyde them still,
And ere he cold recover his clubb againe,
Did beate his plated coat against his will:
Att such advantage Guy wold never fayle,
To beat him soundlye in his coate of mayle.
110
Att last through ‘lacke of’ strength hee feeble grewe,
And sayd to Guy, as thou'rt of humane race,
Shew itt in this, give natures wants their dewe,
Let me but goe, and drinke in yonder place:
Thou canst not yeeld to ‘me’ a smaller thing,
Than to grant life, thats given by the spring.
And sayd to Guy, as thou'rt of humane race,
Shew itt in this, give natures wants their dewe,
Let me but goe, and drinke in yonder place:
Thou canst not yeeld to ‘me’ a smaller thing,
Than to grant life, thats given by the spring.
I give thee leave, sayes Guye, goe drinke thy last,
Go pledge the dragon, and the savage bore :
Succeed the tragedyes that they have past,
But never thinke to drinke cold water more:
Drinke deepe to Death and unto him carouse:
Bid him receive thee in his earthen house.
Go pledge the dragon, and the savage bore :
Succeed the tragedyes that they have past,
But never thinke to drinke cold water more:
Drinke deepe to Death and unto him carouse:
Bid him receive thee in his earthen house.
Soe to the spring he goes, and slakes his thirst;
Takeing the water in extremely like
Some wracked shipp that on some rocke is burst,
Whose forced hulke against the stones does stryke;
Scoping it in soe fast with both his hands,
That Guy admiring to behold him stands.
Takeing the water in extremely like
Some wracked shipp that on some rocke is burst,
Whose forced hulke against the stones does stryke;
Scoping it in soe fast with both his hands,
That Guy admiring to behold him stands.
Come on, quoth Guy, lets to our worke againe,
Thou stayest about thy liquor overlong;
The fish, which in the river doe remaine,
Will want thereby; thy drinking doth them wrong:
But I will ‘have’ their satisfaction made,
With gyants blood they must, and shall be payd.
Thou stayest about thy liquor overlong;
The fish, which in the river doe remaine,
Will want thereby; thy drinking doth them wrong:
But I will ‘have’ their satisfaction made,
With gyants blood they must, and shall be payd.
111
Villaine, quoth Amarant, Ile crush thee streight;
Thy life shall pay thy daring toungs offence:
This clubb, which is about some hundred weight,
Has deathes commission to dispatch thee hence:
Dresse thee for ravens dyett I must needes;
And breake thy bones, as they were made of reedes.
Thy life shall pay thy daring toungs offence:
This clubb, which is about some hundred weight,
Has deathes commission to dispatch thee hence:
Dresse thee for ravens dyett I must needes;
And breake thy bones, as they were made of reedes.
Incensed much att this bold pagans bostes,
Which worthye Guy cold ill endure to heare,
He hewes upon those bigg supporting postes,
Which like two pillars did his body beare:
Amarant for those wounds in choller growes,
And desperatelye att Guy his clubb he throwes:
Which worthye Guy cold ill endure to heare,
He hewes upon those bigg supporting postes,
Which like two pillars did his body beare:
Amarant for those wounds in choller growes,
And desperatelye att Guy his clubb he throwes:
Which did directly on his body light,
Soe heavy, and so weighty there-withall,
That downe to ground on sudden came the knight;
And, ere he cold recover from his fall,
The gyant gott his clubb againe in fist,
And aimd a blowe that wonderfullye mist.
Soe heavy, and so weighty there-withall,
That downe to ground on sudden came the knight;
And, ere he cold recover from his fall,
The gyant gott his clubb againe in fist,
And aimd a blowe that wonderfullye mist.
Traytor, quoth Guy, thy falshood Ile repay,
This coward act to intercept my bloode.
Sayes Amarant, Ile murther any way,
With enemyes all vantages are good:
O cold I poyson in thy nostrills blowe,
Besure of it I wold destroy thee soe.
This coward act to intercept my bloode.
Sayes Amarant, Ile murther any way,
With enemyes all vantages are good:
O cold I poyson in thy nostrills blowe,
Besure of it I wold destroy thee soe.
112
Its well, said Guy, thy honest thoughts appeare,
Within that beastlye bulke where devills dwell,
Which are thy tenants while thou livest heare,
But will be landlords when thou comest in hell:
Vile miscreant, prepare thee for their den,
Inhumane monster, hurtfull unto men.
Within that beastlye bulke where devills dwell,
Which are thy tenants while thou livest heare,
But will be landlords when thou comest in hell:
Vile miscreant, prepare thee for their den,
Inhumane monster, hurtfull unto men.
But breathe thy selfe a time, while I goe drinke,
For flameing Phœbus with his fyerye eye
Torments me soe with burning heat, I thinke
My thirst wold serve to drinke an ocean drye:
Forbear a litle, as I delt with thee.
Quoth Amarant, thou hast noe foole of mee.
For flameing Phœbus with his fyerye eye
Torments me soe with burning heat, I thinke
My thirst wold serve to drinke an ocean drye:
Forbear a litle, as I delt with thee.
Quoth Amarant, thou hast noe foole of mee.
Noe, sillye wretch, my father taught more witt,
How I shold use such enemyes as thou,
By all my gods I doe rejoice at itt,
To understand that thirst constraines thee now;
For all the treasure, that the world containes,
One drop of water shall not coole thy vaines.
How I shold use such enemyes as thou,
By all my gods I doe rejoice at itt,
To understand that thirst constraines thee now;
For all the treasure, that the world containes,
One drop of water shall not coole thy vaines.
Releeve my foe! why, 'twere a madmans part:
Refresh an adversarye to my wrong:
If thou imagine this, a child thou art:
Noe, fellow, I have known the world too long
To be soe simple: now I know thy want,
A minutes space to thee I will not grant.
Refresh an adversarye to my wrong:
If thou imagine this, a child thou art:
Noe, fellow, I have known the world too long
To be soe simple: now I know thy want,
A minutes space to thee I will not grant.
And with these words heaving aloft his clubb
Into the ayre, he swings the same about:
Then shakes his lockes, and doth his temples rubb,
And, like the Cyclops, in his pride doth shout,
Sirra, sayes hee, I have you at a lift,
Now you are come unto your latest shift.
Into the ayre, he swings the same about:
113
And, like the Cyclops, in his pride doth shout,
Sirra, sayes hee, I have you at a lift,
Now you are come unto your latest shift.
Perish forever: with this stroke I send thee
A medicine, will doe thy thirst much good;
Take noe more care of drinke before I end thee,
And then weele have carouses of thy blood:
Here's at thee with a butchers downright blow,
To please my furye with thine overthrow.
A medicine, will doe thy thirst much good;
Take noe more care of drinke before I end thee,
And then weele have carouses of thy blood:
Here's at thee with a butchers downright blow,
To please my furye with thine overthrow.
Infernall, false, obdurate feend, said Guy,
That seemst a lumpe of crueltye from hell;
Ungratefull monster, since thou dost deny
The thing to mee wherin I used thee well:
With more revenge, than ere my sword did make,
On thy accursed head revenge Ile take.
That seemst a lumpe of crueltye from hell;
Ungratefull monster, since thou dost deny
The thing to mee wherin I used thee well:
With more revenge, than ere my sword did make,
On thy accursed head revenge Ile take.
Thy gyants longitude shall shorter shrinke,
Except thy sun-scorcht skin be weapon proof:
Farewell my thirst; I doe disdaine to drinke,
Streames keepe your waters to your owne behoof;
Or let wild beasts be welcome thereunto;
With those pearle drops I will not have to do.
Except thy sun-scorcht skin be weapon proof:
Farewell my thirst; I doe disdaine to drinke,
Streames keepe your waters to your owne behoof;
Or let wild beasts be welcome thereunto;
With those pearle drops I will not have to do.
Here, tyrant, take a taste of my good-will,
For thus I doe begin my bloodye bout:
You cannot chuse but like the greeting ill;
It is not that same clubb will beare you out
And take this payment on thy shaggye crowne.—
A blowe that brought him with a vengeance downe.
For thus I doe begin my bloodye bout:
You cannot chuse but like the greeting ill;
It is not that same clubb will beare you out
114
A blowe that brought him with a vengeance downe.
Then Guy sett foot upon the monsters brest,
And from his shoulders did his head divide,
Which with a yawninge mouth did gape unblest,
Noe dragons jawes were ever seene soe wide
To open and to shut, till life was spent.
Then Guy tooke keyes and to the castle went.
And from his shoulders did his head divide,
Which with a yawninge mouth did gape unblest,
Noe dragons jawes were ever seene soe wide
To open and to shut, till life was spent.
Then Guy tooke keyes and to the castle went.
Where manye woefull captives he did find,
Which had beene tyred with extremitye,
Whom he in freindly manner did unbind,
And reasoned with them of their miserye:
Eche told a tale with teares, and sighes, and cryes,
All weeping to him with complaining eyes.
Which had beene tyred with extremitye,
Whom he in freindly manner did unbind,
And reasoned with them of their miserye:
Eche told a tale with teares, and sighes, and cryes,
All weeping to him with complaining eyes.
There tender ladyes in darke dungeon lay,
That were surprised in the desart wood,
And had noe other dyett everye day,
Than flesh of humane creatures for their food:
Some with their lovers bodyes had beene fed,
And in their wombes their husbands buryed.
That were surprised in the desart wood,
And had noe other dyett everye day,
Than flesh of humane creatures for their food:
Some with their lovers bodyes had beene fed,
And in their wombes their husbands buryed.
Now he bethinkes him of his being there,
To enlarge the wronged brethren from their woes;
And, as he searcheth, doth great clamours heare,
By which sad sounds direction on he goes,
Untill he findes a darksome obscure gate,
Armd strongly ouer all with iron plate.
To enlarge the wronged brethren from their woes;
And, as he searcheth, doth great clamours heare,
By which sad sounds direction on he goes,
Untill he findes a darksome obscure gate,
Armd strongly ouer all with iron plate.
115
That he unlockes, and enters, where appeares
The strangest object that he ever saw;
Men that with famishment of many yeares,
Were like deathes picture, which the painters draw;
Divers of them were hanged by eche thumb:
Others head-downward: by the middle some.
The strangest object that he ever saw;
Men that with famishment of many yeares,
Were like deathes picture, which the painters draw;
Divers of them were hanged by eche thumb:
Others head-downward: by the middle some.
With diligence he takes them from the walls,
With lybertye their thraldome to acquaint:
Then the perplexed knight the father calls,
And sayes, Receive thy sonnes though poore and faint:
I promisd you their lives, accept of that;
But did not promise you they shold be fat.
With lybertye their thraldome to acquaint:
Then the perplexed knight the father calls,
And sayes, Receive thy sonnes though poore and faint:
I promisd you their lives, accept of that;
But did not promise you they shold be fat.
The castle I doe give thee, heeres the keyes,
Where tyranye for many yeeres did dwell:
Procure the gentle tender ladyes ease,
For pittyes sake, use wronged women well:
Men easilye revenge the wrongs men do:
But poore weake women have no strength thereto.
Where tyranye for many yeeres did dwell:
Procure the gentle tender ladyes ease,
For pittyes sake, use wronged women well:
Men easilye revenge the wrongs men do:
But poore weake women have no strength thereto.
The good old man, even overjoyed with this,
Fell on the ground, and wold have kist Guys feete:
Father, quoth he, refraine soe base a kiss,
For age to honor youth I hold unmeete:
Ambitious pryde hath hurt mee all it can,
I goe to mortifie a sinfull man.
Fell on the ground, and wold have kist Guys feete:
Father, quoth he, refraine soe base a kiss,
For age to honor youth I hold unmeete:
Ambitious pryde hath hurt mee all it can,
I goe to mortifie a sinfull man.
[_]
The foregoing poem on Guy and Amarant has
been discovered to be a fragment of, “the famous historie of
Guy earl of Warwicke, by Samuel Rowlands. London,
printed by J. Bell. 1649. 4to.” in xii cantos, beginning thus116
Whether the edition in 1649, was the first, is not known, but the author Sam. Rowlands was one of the minor poets, who lived in the reigns of Q. Elizabeth, and James I. and perhaps later. His other poems are chiefly of the religious kind, which makes it probable that the hist. of Guy was one of his earliest performance.—There are extant of his (1.) “The betraying of Christ, Judas in dispaire, the seven words of our Saviour on the crosse, with other poems on the passion, &c. 1598. 4to. [Ames Typ. p. 428.]—(2.) A Theatre of delightful Recreation. Lond. printed for A. Johnson. 1605.” 4to. (Penes editor.) This is a book of poems on subjects chiefly taken from the old Testament. (3.) “Memory of Christ's miracles, in verse. Lond. 1618. 4to.” (4.) “Heaven's glory, earth's vanity, and hell's horror. Lond. 1638. 8vo. [These 2 in Bod. Cat.]
III. THE AULD GOOD-MAN.
A Scottish Song.
[_]
We have not been able to meet with a more ancient copy of this humorous old song, than that printed in the Tea-Table miscellany, &c. which seems to have admitted some corruptions.
Late in an evening forth I went
A little before the sun gade down,
And there I chanc't, by accident,
To light on a battle new begun:
A man and his wife wer fawn in a strife,
I canna weel tell ye how it began;
But aye she wail'd her wretched life,
Cryeng, Evir alake, mine auld goodman!
He.
A little before the sun gade down,
And there I chanc't, by accident,
To light on a battle new begun:
117
I canna weel tell ye how it began;
But aye she wail'd her wretched life,
Cryeng, Evir alake, mine auld goodman!
Thy auld goodman, that thou tells of,
The country kens where he was born,
Was but a silly poor vagabond,
And ilka ane leugh him to scorn:
For he did spend and make an end
Of gear ‘his fathers nevir’ wan;
He gart the poor stand frae the door;
Sae tell nae mair of thy auld goodman.
She.
My heart, alake! is liken to break,
Whan I think on my winsome John,
His blinkan ee, and gait sae free,
Was naithing like thee, thou dosend drone;
Wi' his rosie face, and flaxen hair,
And skin as white as ony swan,
He was large and tall, and comely withall;
Thou'lt nevir be like mine auld goodman.
He.
Why dost thou plein? I thee maintein;
For meal and mawt thou disna want;
But thy wild bees I canna please,
Now whan our gear gins to grow scant:
118
Thou wants for neither pot nor pan;
Of sicklike ware he left thee bare;
Sae tell nae mair of thy auld goodman.
She.
Yes I may tell, and fret my sell,
To think on those blyth days I had,
Whan I and he, together ley
In armes into a well-made bed:
But now I sigh and may be sad,
Thy courage is cauld, thy colour wan,
Thou falds thy feet and fa's asleep;
Thou'lt nevir be like mine auld goodman.
To think on those blyth days I had,
Whan I and he, together ley
In armes into a well-made bed:
But now I sigh and may be sad,
Thy courage is cauld, thy colour wan,
Thou falds thy feet and fa's asleep;
Thou'lt nevir be like mine auld goodman.
Then coming was the night sae dark,
And gane was a' the light of day?
The carle was fear'd to miss his mark,
And therefore wad nae longer stay:
Then up he gat, and ran his way,
I trowe, the wife the day she wan;
And aye the owreword of the fray
Was, Evir alake! mine auld goodman.
And gane was a' the light of day?
The carle was fear'd to miss his mark,
And therefore wad nae longer stay:
Then up he gat, and ran his way,
I trowe, the wife the day she wan;
And aye the owreword of the fray
Was, Evir alake! mine auld goodman.
119
IV. FAIR MARGARET AND SWEET WILLIAM.
[_]
This seems to be the old song quoted in Fletcher's “Knight of the burning pestle.” Acts 2d and 3d; altho' the six lines there preserved are somewhat different from those in the ballad, as it stands at present. The Reader will not wonder at this, when he is informed that this is only given from a modern printed copy picked up on a stall. It's full title is “Fair Margaret's Misfortunes; or Sweet William's frightful dreams on his wedding night, with the sudden death and burial of those noble lovers.”—
The lines preserved in the play are this distich,
“You are no love for me, Margaret,
“I am no love for you.”
“I am no love for you.”
And the following stanza,
“When it was grown to dark midnight,
“And all were fast asleep,
“In came Margarets grimly ghost
“And stood at William feet.”
“And all were fast asleep,
“In came Margarets grimly ghost
“And stood at William feet.”
These lines have acquired an importance by giving birth to one of the most beautiful ballads in our own or any language. See the song intituled Margaret's Ghost, at the end of this volume.
In this second edition some improvements are inserted, which were communicated by a lady of the first distinction, as she had heard this song repeated in her infancy.
120
As it fell out on a long summer's day
Two lovers they sat on a hill;
They sat together that long summer's day,
And could not talk their fill.
Two lovers they sat on a hill;
They sat together that long summer's day,
And could not talk their fill.
I see no harm by you, Margarèt,
And you see none by mee;
Before to-morrow at eight o' the clock
A rich wedding you shall see.
And you see none by mee;
Before to-morrow at eight o' the clock
A rich wedding you shall see.
Fair Margaret sate in her bower-windòw,
Combing her yellow hair;
There she spyed sweet William and his bride,
As they were a riding near.
Combing her yellow hair;
There she spyed sweet William and his bride,
As they were a riding near.
Then down she layd her ivory combe,
And braided her hair in twain:
She went alive out of her bower,
But ne'er came alive in't again.
And braided her hair in twain:
She went alive out of her bower,
But ne'er came alive in't again.
When day was gone, and night was come,
And all men fast asleep,
There came the spirit of fair Marg'ret,
And stood at Williams feet.
And all men fast asleep,
There came the spirit of fair Marg'ret,
And stood at Williams feet.
Are you awake, sweet William? she said;
Or, sweet William, are you asleep?
God give you joy of your gay bride-bed,
And me of my winding-sheet.
Or, sweet William, are you asleep?
God give you joy of your gay bride-bed,
And me of my winding-sheet.
121
When day was come, and night was gone,
And all men wak'd from sleep,
Sweet William to his lady sayd,
My dear, I have cause to weep.
And all men wak'd from sleep,
Sweet William to his lady sayd,
My dear, I have cause to weep.
I dreamt a dream, my dear ladyè,
Such dreames are never good:
I dreamt my bower was full of red swine,
And my bride-bed full of blood.
Such dreames are never good:
I dreamt my bower was full of red swine,
And my bride-bed full of blood.
Such dreams, such dreams, my honoured Sir,
They never do prove good;
To dream thy bower was full of ‘red’ swine,
And thy bride-bed full of blood.
They never do prove good;
To dream thy bower was full of ‘red’ swine,
And thy bride-bed full of blood.
He called up his merry men all,
By one, by two, and by three;
Saying, I'll away to fair Marg'rets bower,
By the leave of my ladyè.
By one, by two, and by three;
Saying, I'll away to fair Marg'rets bower,
By the leave of my ladyè.
And when he came to fair Marg'ret's bower,
He knocked at the ring;
And who so ready as her seven brethrèn
To let sweet William in.
He knocked at the ring;
And who so ready as her seven brethrèn
To let sweet William in.
Then he turned up the covering-sheet,
Pray let me see the dead:
Methinks she does look pale and wan,
She has lost her cherry red.
Pray let me see the dead:
Methinks she does look pale and wan,
She has lost her cherry red.
122
I'll do more for thee, Margarèt,
Than any of thy kin;
For I will kiss thy pale wan lips,
Though a smile I cannot win.
Than any of thy kin;
For I will kiss thy pale wan lips,
Though a smile I cannot win.
With that bespake the seven brethrèn,
Making most piteous mone:
You may go kiss your jolly brown bride,
And let our sister alone.
Making most piteous mone:
You may go kiss your jolly brown bride,
And let our sister alone.
If I do kiss my jolly brown bride,
I do but what is right;
I neer made a vow to yonder poor corpse
By day, nor yet by night.
I do but what is right;
I neer made a vow to yonder poor corpse
By day, nor yet by night.
Deal on, deal on, my merry men all,
Deal on your cake and your wine;
For whatever is dealt at her funeral to-day,
Shall be dealt to-morrow at mine.
Deal on your cake and your wine;
For whatever is dealt at her funeral to-day,
Shall be dealt to-morrow at mine.
Fair Margaret dyed to-day, to-day,
Sweet William dyed the morrow:
Fair Margaret dyed for pure true love,
Sweet William dyed for sorrow.
Sweet William dyed the morrow:
Fair Margaret dyed for pure true love,
Sweet William dyed for sorrow.
Margaret was buryed in the lower chancèl,
And William in the higher:
Out of her brest there sprang a rose,
And out of his a briar.
And William in the higher:
Out of her brest there sprang a rose,
And out of his a briar.
123
They grew till they grew unto the church-top,
And then they could grow no higher;
And there they tyed in a true lovers knot,
Which made all the people admire.
And then they could grow no higher;
And there they tyed in a true lovers knot,
Which made all the people admire.
Then came the clerk of the parìsh,
As you the truth shall hear,
And by misfortune cut them down,
Or they had now been there.
As you the truth shall hear,
And by misfortune cut them down,
Or they had now been there.
V. BARBARA ALLEN'S CRUELTY.
[_]
Given, with some corrections, from an old printed copy in the editor's possession, intitled, “Barbara Allen's cruelty, or the young man's tragedy.”
In Scarlet towne, where I was borne,
There was a faire maid dwellin,
Made every youth crye, wel-awaye!
Her name was Barbara Allen.
There was a faire maid dwellin,
Made every youth crye, wel-awaye!
Her name was Barbara Allen.
All in the merrye month of may,
When greene buds they were swellin,
Yong Jemmye Grove on his death-bed lay,
For love of Barbara Allen.
When greene buds they were swellin,
Yong Jemmye Grove on his death-bed lay,
For love of Barbara Allen.
124
He sent his man unto her then,
To the town, where shee was dwellin;
You must come to my master deare,
Giff your name be Barbara Allen.
To the town, where shee was dwellin;
You must come to my master deare,
Giff your name be Barbara Allen.
For death is printed on his face,
And ore his hart is stealin:
Then haste away to comfort him,
O lovelye Barbara Allen.
And ore his hart is stealin:
Then haste away to comfort him,
O lovelye Barbara Allen.
Though death be printed on his face,
And ore his harte is stealin,
Yet little better shall he bee,
For bonny Barbara Allen.
And ore his harte is stealin,
Yet little better shall he bee,
For bonny Barbara Allen.
So slowly, slowly, she came up,
And slowly she came nye him;
And all she sayd, when there she came,
Yong man, I think y'are dying.
And slowly she came nye him;
And all she sayd, when there she came,
Yong man, I think y'are dying.
He turnd his face unto her strait,
With deadlye sorrow sighing;
O lovely maid, come pity mee,
Ime on my death-bed lying.
With deadlye sorrow sighing;
O lovely maid, come pity mee,
Ime on my death-bed lying.
If on your death-bed you doe lye,
What needs the tale you are tellin:
I cannot keep you from your death;
Farewell; sayd Barbara Allen.
What needs the tale you are tellin:
I cannot keep you from your death;
Farewell; sayd Barbara Allen.
125
He turnd his face unto the wall,
As deadlye pangs he fell in:
Adieu! adieu! adieu to you all,
Adieu to Barbara Allen.
As deadlye pangs he fell in:
Adieu! adieu! adieu to you all,
Adieu to Barbara Allen.
As she was walking ore the fields,
She heard the bell a knellin;
And every stroke did seem to saye,
Unworthy Barbara Allen.
She heard the bell a knellin;
And every stroke did seem to saye,
Unworthy Barbara Allen.
She turnd her bodye round about,
And spied the corps a coming:
Laye downe, laye down the corps, she sayd,
That I may look upon him.
And spied the corps a coming:
Laye downe, laye down the corps, she sayd,
That I may look upon him.
With scornful eye she looked downe,
Her cheeke with laughter swellin;
Whilst all her friends cryd out amaine,
Unworthye Barbara Allen.
Her cheeke with laughter swellin;
Whilst all her friends cryd out amaine,
Unworthye Barbara Allen.
When he was dead, and laid in grave,
Her harte was struck with sorrowe,
O mother, mother, make my bed,
For I shall dye to morrowe.
Her harte was struck with sorrowe,
O mother, mother, make my bed,
For I shall dye to morrowe.
Hard harted creature him to slight,
Who loved me so dearlye:
O that I had beene more kind to him,
When he was alive and neare me!
Who loved me so dearlye:
O that I had beene more kind to him,
When he was alive and neare me!
126
She, on her death-bed as she laye,
Beg'd to be buried by him:
And sore repented of the daye,
That she did ere denye him.
Beg'd to be buried by him:
And sore repented of the daye,
That she did ere denye him.
Farewell, she sayd, ye virgins all,
And shun the fault I fell in:
Henceforth take warning by the fall
Of cruel Barbara Allen.
And shun the fault I fell in:
Henceforth take warning by the fall
Of cruel Barbara Allen.
VI. SWEET WILLIAM'S GHOST.
A Scottish Ballad.
There came a ghost to Margaret's door,
With many a grievous grone,
And ay he tirled at the pin;
But answer made she none.
With many a grievous grone,
And ay he tirled at the pin;
But answer made she none.
Is this my father Philip?
Or is't my brother John?
Or is't my true love Willie,
From Scotland new come home?
Or is't my brother John?
Or is't my true love Willie,
From Scotland new come home?
127
Tis not thy father Philip;
Nor yet thy brother John:
But tis thy true love Willie
From Scotland new come home.
Nor yet thy brother John:
But tis thy true love Willie
From Scotland new come home.
O sweet Margret! O dear Margret!
I pray thee speak to mee:
Give me my faith and troth, Margret,
As I gave it to thee.
I pray thee speak to mee:
Give me my faith and troth, Margret,
As I gave it to thee.
Thy faith and troth thou'se nevir get,
‘Of me shalt nevir win,’
Till that thou come within my bower,
And kiss my cheek and chin.
‘Of me shalt nevir win,’
Till that thou come within my bower,
And kiss my cheek and chin.
If I should come within thy bower,
I am no earthly man:
And should I kiss thy rosy lipp,
Thy days will not be lang.
I am no earthly man:
And should I kiss thy rosy lipp,
Thy days will not be lang.
O sweet Margret, O dear Margret,
I pray thee speak to mee:
Give me my faith and troth, Margret,
As I gave it to thee.
I pray thee speak to mee:
Give me my faith and troth, Margret,
As I gave it to thee.
Thy faith and troth thou'se nevir get,
‘Of me shalt nevir win,’
Till thou take me to yon kirk yard,
And wed me with a ring.
‘Of me shalt nevir win,’
Till thou take me to yon kirk yard,
And wed me with a ring.
128
My bones are buried in a kirk yard
Afar beyond the sea,
And it is but my sprite, Margret,
That's speaking now to thee.
Afar beyond the sea,
And it is but my sprite, Margret,
That's speaking now to thee.
She stretched out her lilly-white hand,
As for to do her best:
Hae there your faith and troth, Willie,
God send your soul good rest.
As for to do her best:
Hae there your faith and troth, Willie,
God send your soul good rest.
Now she has kilted her robes of green,
A piece below her knee:
And a' the live-lang winter night
The dead corps followed shee.
A piece below her knee:
And a' the live-lang winter night
The dead corps followed shee.
Is there any room at your head, Willie?
Or any room at your feet?
Or any room at your side, Willie,
Wherein that I may creep?
Or any room at your feet?
Or any room at your side, Willie,
Wherein that I may creep?
There's nae room at my head, Margret,
There's nae room at my feet,
There's no room at my side, Margret,
My coffin is made so meet.
There's nae room at my feet,
There's no room at my side, Margret,
My coffin is made so meet.
Then up and crew the red red cock,
And up then crew the gray:
Tis time, tis time, my dear Margret,
That you were gane away.
And up then crew the gray:
Tis time, tis time, my dear Margret,
That you were gane away.
129
No more the ghost to Margret said,
But, with a grievous grone,
Evanish'd in a cloud of mist,
And left her all alone.
But, with a grievous grone,
Evanish'd in a cloud of mist,
And left her all alone.
O stay, my only true love, stay,
The constant Margret cried:
Wan grew her cheeks, she clos'd her een,
Stretch'd her saft limbs, and died.
The constant Margret cried:
Wan grew her cheeks, she clos'd her een,
Stretch'd her saft limbs, and died.
VII. SIR JOHN GREHME AND BARBARA ALLAN.
A Scottish Ballad.
It was in and about the Martinmas time,
When the greene leaves wer a fallan;
That Sir John Grehme o' the west countrye,
Fell in luve wi' Barbara Allan.
When the greene leaves wer a fallan;
That Sir John Grehme o' the west countrye,
Fell in luve wi' Barbara Allan.
He sent his man down throw the towne,
To the plaice wher she was dwellan:
O haste and cum to my maister deare,
Gin ye bin Barbara Allan.
To the plaice wher she was dwellan:
O haste and cum to my maister deare,
Gin ye bin Barbara Allan.
130
O hooly, hooly raise she up,
To the plaice wher he was lyan;
And whan she drew the curtain by,
Young man, I think ye're dyan .
To the plaice wher he was lyan;
And whan she drew the curtain by,
Young man, I think ye're dyan .
O its I'm sick, and very very sick,
And its a' for Barbara Allan:
O the better for me ye'se never be,
Though your harts blude wer spillan.
And its a' for Barbara Allan:
O the better for me ye'se never be,
Though your harts blude wer spillan.
Remember ye nat in the tavern, sir,
Whan ye the cups wer fillan;
How ye maide the healths gae round and round,
And slighted Barbara Allan?
Whan ye the cups wer fillan;
How ye maide the healths gae round and round,
And slighted Barbara Allan?
He turn'd his face unto the wa'
And death was with him dealan;
Adiew! adiew! my dear friends a',
Be kind to Barbara Allan.
And death was with him dealan;
Adiew! adiew! my dear friends a',
Be kind to Barbara Allan.
Then hooly, hooly raise she up,
And hooly, hooly left him;
And sighan said, she could not stay,
Since death of life had reft him.
And hooly, hooly left him;
And sighan said, she could not stay,
Since death of life had reft him.
She had not gane a mile but twa,
Whan she heard the deid-bell knellan;
And everye jow the deid-bell geid,
Cried, wae to Barbara Allan!
Whan she heard the deid-bell knellan;
And everye jow the deid-bell geid,
Cried, wae to Barbara Allan!
131
O mither, mither, mak my bed,
O mak it saft and narrow:
Since my luve died sor me to day,
Ile die for him to morrowe.
O mak it saft and narrow:
Since my luve died sor me to day,
Ile die for him to morrowe.
An ingenious friend thinks the rhymes Dyand and Lyand ought to be transposed; as the taunt Young man, I think ye're lyand, would be very characteristical.
VIII. THE BAILIFF'S DAUGHTER OF ISLINGTON.
[_]
From an ancient black-letter copy in the Pepys Collection, with some improvements communicated by a lady as she had heard the same recited in her youth. The full title is “True love requited: Or, the Bailiffs daughter of Islington.” Islington in Norfolk is probably the place here meant.
There was a youthe, and a well-beloved youthe,
And he was a squires son:
He loved the bayliffes daughter deare,
That lived in Islington.
And he was a squires son:
He loved the bayliffes daughter deare,
That lived in Islington.
Yet she was coye and would not believe
That he did love her soe,
Noe nor at any time would she
Any countenance to him showe.
That he did love her soe,
Noe nor at any time would she
Any countenance to him showe.
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But when his friendes did understand
His fond and foolish minde,
They sent him up to faire London
An apprentice for to binde.
His fond and foolish minde,
They sent him up to faire London
An apprentice for to binde.
And when he had been seven long yeares,
And never his love could see:
Many a teare have I shed for her sake.
When she little thought of mee.
And never his love could see:
Many a teare have I shed for her sake.
When she little thought of mee.
Then all the maids of Islington
Went forth to sport and playe,
All but the bayliffes daughter deare;
She secretly stole awaye.
Went forth to sport and playe,
All but the bayliffes daughter deare;
She secretly stole awaye.
She pulled off her gowne of greene,
And put on ragged attire,
And to faire London she would go
Her true love to enquire.
And put on ragged attire,
And to faire London she would go
Her true love to enquire.
And as she went along the high-road,
The weather being hot and drye,
She sat her downe upon a green bank,
And her true love came riding bye.
The weather being hot and drye,
She sat her downe upon a green bank,
And her true love came riding bye.
She started up, with a colour soe redd,
Catching hold of his bridle-reine;
One penny, one penny, kind sir, she sayd,
Will ease me of much paine.
Catching hold of his bridle-reine;
One penny, one penny, kind sir, she sayd,
Will ease me of much paine.
133
Before I give you one penny, sweet-heart,
Praye tell me where you were borne.
At Islington, kind sir, sayd shee,
Where I have had many a scorne.
Praye tell me where you were borne.
At Islington, kind sir, sayd shee,
Where I have had many a scorne.
I prythee, sweet-heart, then tell to mee,
O tell me, whether you knowe
The bayliffes daughter of Islington.
She is dead, sir, long agoe.
O tell me, whether you knowe
The bayliffes daughter of Islington.
She is dead, sir, long agoe.
If she be dead, then take my horse,
My saddle and my bowe;
For I will into some farr countrye,
Where noe man shall me knowe.
My saddle and my bowe;
For I will into some farr countrye,
Where noe man shall me knowe.
O staye, O staye, thou goodlye youthe,
She standeth by thy side;
She is here alive, she is not dead,
And readye to be thy bride.
She standeth by thy side;
She is here alive, she is not dead,
And readye to be thy bride.
O farewell griefe, and welcome joye,
Ten thousand times therefore;
For nowe I have founde mine owne true love,
Whom I thought I should never see more.
Ten thousand times therefore;
For nowe I have founde mine owne true love,
Whom I thought I should never see more.
134
IX. THE WILLOW-TREE.
A Pastoral Dialogue.
[_]
From the small black-letter collection, intitled, “The Golden Garland of princely delights;” collated with two other copies and corrected by conjecture.
How now, shepherde, what meanes that?
Why that willowe in thy hat?
Why thy scarffes of red and yellowe
Turn'd to branches of greene willowe?
Cuddy.
They are chang'd, and so am I;
Sorrowes live, but pleasures die:
Phillis hath forsaken mee,
Which makes me weare the willowe-tree.
Willy.
Phillis! shee that lov'd thee long?
Is shee the lass hath done thee wrong?
Shee that lov'd thee long and best,
Is her love turn'd to a jest?
135
Shee that long true love profest,
She hath robb'd my heart of rest:
For she a new love loves, not mee;
Which makes me wear the willowe-tree.
Willy.
Come then, shepherde, let us joine,
Since thy happ is like to mine:
For the maid I thought most true
Mee hath also bid adieu.
Cuddy.
Thy hard happ doth mine appease,
Companye doth sorrowe ease:
Yet, Phillis, still I pine for thee,
And still must weare the willowe-tree.
Willy.
Shepherde, be advis'd by mee,
Cast off grief and willowe-tree:
For thy grief brings her content,
She is pleas'd if thou lament.
Cuddy.
Herdsman, I'll be rul'd by thee,
There lyes grief and willowe-tree:
Henceforth I will do as they,
And love a new love every day.
136
X. THE LADY'S FALL
[_]
—is given from the editor's ancient folio MS, collated with two printed copies in black letter; one in the British Museum, the other in the Pepys collection. Its old title is, “A lamentable ballad of the Lady's fall. To the tune of, In Pescod Time, &c.”—The ballad here referred to is preserved in the Muses Library 8vo. p. 281. It is an allegory or vision, intitled “The Shepherds Slumber,” and opens with some pretty rural images, viz.
“In pescod time when bound to horn
“Gives eare till buck be kil'd,
“And little lads with pipes of corne
“Sate keeping beasts a-field,
“I went to gather strawberries
“By woods and groves full fair,” &c.
“Gives eare till buck be kil'd,
“And little lads with pipes of corne
“Sate keeping beasts a-field,
“I went to gather strawberries
“By woods and groves full fair,” &c.
Marke well my heavy dolefull tale,
You loyall lovers all,
And heedfully beare in your brest,
A gallant ladyes fall.
Long was she woo'd, ere she was wonne,
To lead a wedded life,
But folly wrought her overthrowe
Before shee was a wife.
You loyall lovers all,
And heedfully beare in your brest,
A gallant ladyes fall.
Long was she woo'd, ere she was wonne,
To lead a wedded life,
But folly wrought her overthrowe
Before shee was a wife.
137
Too soone, alas! shee gave consent
And yeelded to his will,
Though he protested to be true,
And faithfull to her still.
Shee felt her body altered quite,
Her bright hue waxed pale,
Her lovelye cheeks chang'd color white,
Her strength began to fayle.
And yeelded to his will,
Though he protested to be true,
And faithfull to her still.
Shee felt her body altered quite,
Her bright hue waxed pale,
Her lovelye cheeks chang'd color white,
Her strength began to fayle.
Soe that with many a sorrowful sigh,
This beauteous ladye milde,
With greeved hart, perceiv'd herselfe
To have conceiv'd with childe.
Shee kept it from her parents sight
As close as close might bee,
And soe put on her silken gowne
None might her swelling see.
This beauteous ladye milde,
With greeved hart, perceiv'd herselfe
To have conceiv'd with childe.
Shee kept it from her parents sight
As close as close might bee,
And soe put on her silken gowne
None might her swelling see.
Unto her lover secretly
Her greefe shee did bewray,
And walking with him hand in hand,
These words to him did say;
Behold, quoth shee, a maids distresse
By love brought to thy bowe,
Behold I goe with childe by thee,
But none thereof doth knowe.
Her greefe shee did bewray,
And walking with him hand in hand,
These words to him did say;
Behold, quoth shee, a maids distresse
By love brought to thy bowe,
Behold I goe with childe by thee,
But none thereof doth knowe.
138
The little babe springs in my wombe
To heare its fathers voyce,
Lett it not be a bastard call'd,
Sith I made thee my choyce:
Come, come, my love, perform thy vowe
And wed me out of hand;
O leave me not in this extreme,
In griefe alwayes to stand.
To heare its fathers voyce,
Lett it not be a bastard call'd,
Sith I made thee my choyce:
Come, come, my love, perform thy vowe
And wed me out of hand;
O leave me not in this extreme,
In griefe alwayes to stand.
Thinke on thy former promises,
Thy oathes and vowes eche one;
Remember with what bitter teares
To mee thou madest thy moane.
Convay me to some secrett place,
And marry me with speede;
Or with thy rapyer end my life,
Ere further shame proceede.
Thy oathes and vowes eche one;
Remember with what bitter teares
To mee thou madest thy moane.
Convay me to some secrett place,
And marry me with speede;
Or with thy rapyer end my life,
Ere further shame proceede.
Alacke! my dearest love, quoth hee,
My greatest joye on earthe,
Which waye can I convay thee hence,
Without a sudden death?
Thy friends are all of hye degree,
And I of meane estate;
Full hard it is to gett thee forthe
Out of thy fathers gate.
My greatest joye on earthe,
Which waye can I convay thee hence,
Without a sudden death?
Thy friends are all of hye degree,
And I of meane estate;
Full hard it is to gett thee forthe
Out of thy fathers gate.
139
Dread not thy life to save my fame,
For if thou taken bee,
My selfe will step betweene the swords,
And take the harme on mee:
Soe shall I scape dishonor quite;
And if I should be slaine
What could they say, but that true love
Had wrought a ladyes bane.
For if thou taken bee,
My selfe will step betweene the swords,
And take the harme on mee:
Soe shall I scape dishonor quite;
And if I should be slaine
What could they say, but that true love
Had wrought a ladyes bane.
And feare not any further harme;
My selfe will soe devise,
That I will ryde away with thee
Unknowne of mortal eyes:
Disguised like some pretty page,
Ile meete thee in the darke,
And all alone Ile come to thee,
Hard by my fathers parke.
My selfe will soe devise,
That I will ryde away with thee
Unknowne of mortal eyes:
Disguised like some pretty page,
Ile meete thee in the darke,
And all alone Ile come to thee,
Hard by my fathers parke.
And there, quoth hee, Ile meete my deare
If God soe lend me life,
On this day month without all faile
I will make thee my wife.
Then with a sweet and loving kisse,
They parted presentlye,
And att their partinge brinish teares
Stoode in eche others eye.
If God soe lend me life,
On this day month without all faile
I will make thee my wife.
Then with a sweet and loving kisse,
They parted presentlye,
And att their partinge brinish teares
Stoode in eche others eye.
140
Att length the wished day was come,
On which this beauteous mayd,
With longing eyes, and strange attire,
For her true lover stayd:
When any person shee espyed
Come ryding ore the plaine,
She hop'd it was her owne true love;
But all her hopes were vaine.
On which this beauteous mayd,
With longing eyes, and strange attire,
For her true lover stayd:
When any person shee espyed
Come ryding ore the plaine,
She hop'd it was her owne true love;
But all her hopes were vaine.
Then did shee weepe and sore bewayle
Her most unhappy fate;
Then did shee speake these woefull words,
As succourless shee sate:
O false, forsworne, and faithlesse man,
Disloyall in thy love,
Hast thou forgott thy promise past,
And wilt thou perjur'd prove?
Her most unhappy fate;
Then did shee speake these woefull words,
As succourless shee sate:
O false, forsworne, and faithlesse man,
Disloyall in thy love,
Hast thou forgott thy promise past,
And wilt thou perjur'd prove?
And hast thou now forsaken mee
In this my great distresse,
To end my dayes in open shame,
Which thou mightst well redresse?
Woe worth the time I eer believ'd
That flattering tongue of thine;
Would God that I had never seene
The teares of thy false eyne.
In this my great distresse,
To end my dayes in open shame,
Which thou mightst well redresse?
Woe worth the time I eer believ'd
That flattering tongue of thine;
Would God that I had never seene
The teares of thy false eyne.
141
And thus with many a sorrowful sigh,
Homewards she went againe;
Noe rest came in her waterye eyes,
Shee felt such privye paine.
In travail strong shee fell that night,
With many a bitter throwe;
What woefull pangs shee then did feel,
Doth eche good woman knowe.
Homewards she went againe;
Noe rest came in her waterye eyes,
Shee felt such privye paine.
In travail strong shee fell that night,
With many a bitter throwe;
What woefull pangs shee then did feel,
Doth eche good woman knowe.
Shee called up her waiting mayd,
That lay at her bedds feete,
Who musing at her mistress woe,
Began full fast to weepe.
Weepe not, said shee, but shutt the dores,
And windowes round about,
Let none bewray my wretched state,
But keepe all persons out.
That lay at her bedds feete,
Who musing at her mistress woe,
Began full fast to weepe.
Weepe not, said shee, but shutt the dores,
And windowes round about,
Let none bewray my wretched state,
But keepe all persons out.
O mistress, call your mother deare,
Of women you have neede,
And of some skilfull midwifes helpe,
That better you may speed.
Call not my mother for thy life,
Nor fetch no women here,
The midwifes helpe comes all too late,
My death I doe not feare.
Of women you have neede,
And of some skilfull midwifes helpe,
That better you may speed.
Call not my mother for thy life,
Nor fetch no women here,
The midwifes helpe comes all too late,
My death I doe not feare.
142
With that the babe sprang from her wombe
No creature being nye,
And with one sighe, which brake her heart,
This gallant dame did dye.
The lovely little infant yonge,
The mother being dead,
Resigned its new received breath
To him that had it made.
No creature being nye,
And with one sighe, which brake her heart,
This gallant dame did dye.
The lovely little infant yonge,
The mother being dead,
Resigned its new received breath
To him that had it made.
Next morning came her own true love,
Affrighted at the newes,
And he for sorrow slew himselfe,
Whom eche one did accuse.
The mother with her new borne babe,
Were both laid in one grave,
Their parents overcome with woe,
No joy thenceforth cold have.
Affrighted at the newes,
And he for sorrow slew himselfe,
Whom eche one did accuse.
The mother with her new borne babe,
Were both laid in one grave,
Their parents overcome with woe,
No joy thenceforth cold have.
Take heed, you daintye damselles all,
Of flattering words beware,
And of the honour of your name
Have an especial care.
Too true, alas! this story is,
As many one can tell.
By others harmes learne to be wise,
And you shall do full well.
Of flattering words beware,
And of the honour of your name
Have an especial care.
Too true, alas! this story is,
As many one can tell.
By others harmes learne to be wise,
And you shall do full well.
143
XI. WALY WALY, LOVE BE BONNY.
A Scottish Song.
[_]
This is a very ancient song, but we could only give it from modern copies. Some editions instead of the four last lines in the second stanza have these, which have too much merit to be wholly suppressed,
“Whan cockle shells turn siller bells,
“And muscles grow on every tree,
“When frost and snaw sall warm us aw',
“Than sall my love prove true to me.”
“And muscles grow on every tree,
“When frost and snaw sall warm us aw',
“Than sall my love prove true to me.”
See the Orpheus Caledonius, &c.
Arthur-seat mentioned in ver. 17. is a hill near Edinborough; at the bottom of which is St. Anthony's well.
O Waly waly up the bank,
And waly waly down the brae,
And waly waly yon burn side,
Where I and my love wer wont to gae.
I leant my back unto an aik,
I thought it was a trusty tree;
But first it bow'd, and syne it brak,
Sae my true love did lightly me.
And waly waly down the brae,
And waly waly yon burn side,
Where I and my love wer wont to gae.
I leant my back unto an aik,
I thought it was a trusty tree;
But first it bow'd, and syne it brak,
Sae my true love did lightly me.
O waly, waly, gin love be bonny,
A little time while it is new,
But when its auld, it waxeth cauld,
And fades awa' like morning dew.
O wherfore shuld I busk my head?
Or wherfore shuld I kame my hair?
For my true love has me forsook,
And says he'll never loe me mair.
A little time while it is new,
But when its auld, it waxeth cauld,
And fades awa' like morning dew.
144
Or wherfore shuld I kame my hair?
For my true love has me forsook,
And says he'll never loe me mair.
Now Arthur-seat sall be my bed,
The sheets sall neir be fyl'd by me:
Saint Anton's well sall be my drink,
Since my true love has forsaken me.
Marti'mas wind, whan wilt thou blaw,
And shake the green leaves aff the tree?
O gentle death, whan wilt thou cum?
For of my life I am wearìe.
The sheets sall neir be fyl'd by me:
Saint Anton's well sall be my drink,
Since my true love has forsaken me.
Marti'mas wind, whan wilt thou blaw,
And shake the green leaves aff the tree?
O gentle death, whan wilt thou cum?
For of my life I am wearìe.
Tis not the frost, that freezes fell,
Nor blawing snaws inclemencìe;
Tis not sic cauld, that makes me cry,
But my loves heart grown cauld to me.
Whan we came in by Glasgowe town,
We were a comely sight to see,
My love was cled i'th' black velvet,
And I my sell in cramasìe.
Nor blawing snaws inclemencìe;
Tis not sic cauld, that makes me cry,
But my loves heart grown cauld to me.
Whan we came in by Glasgowe town,
We were a comely sight to see,
My love was cled i'th' black velvet,
And I my sell in cramasìe.
But had I wist, before I kisst,
That love had been sae ill to win;
I had lockt my heart in a case of gowd,
And pinnd it with a siller pin.
Oh oh! if my young babe were born,
And set upon the nurses knee,
And I my sell were dead and gane!
For a maid again Ile never be.
That love had been sae ill to win;
I had lockt my heart in a case of gowd,
And pinnd it with a siller pin.
145
And set upon the nurses knee,
And I my sell were dead and gane!
For a maid again Ile never be.
XII. THE WANTON WIFE OF BATH.
[_]
From an ancient copy in black-print, in the Pepys collection. Mr. Addison has pronounced this an excellent ballad: See the Spectator, No. 248.
In Bath a wanton wife did dwelle,
As Chaucer he doth write;
Who did in pleasure spend her dayes,
And many a fond delight.
As Chaucer he doth write;
Who did in pleasure spend her dayes,
And many a fond delight.
Upon a time sore sicke she was,
And at the length did dye;
And then her soul at heaven gate
Did knocke most mightilye.
And at the length did dye;
And then her soul at heaven gate
Did knocke most mightilye.
First Adam came unto the gate:
Who knocketh there? quoth hee.
I am the wife of Bath, she sayd,
And faine would come to thee.
Who knocketh there? quoth hee.
I am the wife of Bath, she sayd,
And faine would come to thee.
146
Thou art a sinner, Adam sayd,
And here no place shalt have.
And so art thou, I trowe, quoth shee;
Now, gip, you doting knave.
And here no place shalt have.
And so art thou, I trowe, quoth shee;
Now, gip, you doting knave.
I will come in, in spight, she sayd,
Of all such churles as thee;
Thou wert the causer of our woe,
Our paine and misery;
Of all such churles as thee;
Thou wert the causer of our woe,
Our paine and misery;
And first broke Gods commandiments,
In pleasure of thy wife.—
When Adam heard her tell this tale,
He ranne away for life.
In pleasure of thy wife.—
When Adam heard her tell this tale,
He ranne away for life.
Then downe came Jacob at the gate,
And bids her packe to hell;
Thou false deceiving knave, quoth she,
Thou mayst be there as well.
And bids her packe to hell;
Thou false deceiving knave, quoth she,
Thou mayst be there as well.
For thou deceiv'dst thy father deare,
And thine own brother too.
Away ‘slunk’ Jacob presently,
And made no more adoo.
And thine own brother too.
Away ‘slunk’ Jacob presently,
And made no more adoo.
147
She knockes again with might and maine,
And Lot he chides her straite.
How now, quoth she, thou drunken ass,
Who bade thee here to prate?
And Lot he chides her straite.
How now, quoth she, thou drunken ass,
Who bade thee here to prate?
With thy two daughters thou didst lye,
On them two bastardes got.
And thus most tauntingly she chast
Against poor silly Lot.
On them two bastardes got.
And thus most tauntingly she chast
Against poor silly Lot.
Who calleth there, quoth Judith then,
With such shrill sounding notes?
This fine minkes surely came not here,
Quoth she, for cutting throats.
With such shrill sounding notes?
This fine minkes surely came not here,
Quoth she, for cutting throats.
Good Lord, how Judith blush'd for shame,
When she heard her say soe!
King David hearing of the same,
He to the gate would goe.
When she heard her say soe!
King David hearing of the same,
He to the gate would goe.
Quoth David, Who knockes there so loud,
And maketh all this strife?
You were more kinde, good Sir, she sayd,
Unto Uriah's wife.
And maketh all this strife?
You were more kinde, good Sir, she sayd,
Unto Uriah's wife.
And when thy servant thou didst cause
In battle to be slaine;
Thou causedst far more strife than I,
Who would come here so faine.
In battle to be slaine;
Thou causedst far more strife than I,
Who would come here so faine.
148
The woman's mad, quoth Solomon,
That thus doth taunt a king.
Not half so mad as you, she sayd
I trowe, in manye a thing.
That thus doth taunt a king.
Not half so mad as you, she sayd
I trowe, in manye a thing.
Thou hadst seven hundred wives at once,
For whom thou didst provide;
And yet, god wot, three hundred whores
Thou must maintaine beside:
For whom thou didst provide;
And yet, god wot, three hundred whores
Thou must maintaine beside:
And they made thee forsake thy God,
And worship stockes and stones;
Besides the charge they put thee to
In breeding of young bones.
And worship stockes and stones;
Besides the charge they put thee to
In breeding of young bones.
Hadst thou not bin beside thy wits,
Thou wouldst not thus have ventur'd;
And therefore I do marvel much,
How thou this place hast enter'd.
Thou wouldst not thus have ventur'd;
And therefore I do marvel much,
How thou this place hast enter'd.
I never heard, quoth Jonas then,
So vile a scold as this.
Thou whore-son run-away, quoth she,
Thou diddest more amiss.
So vile a scold as this.
Thou whore-son run-away, quoth she,
Thou diddest more amiss.
‘They say’ quoth Thomas, womens tongues
Of aspen-leaves are made.
Thou unbelieving wretch, quoth she,
All is not true that's sayd.
Of aspen-leaves are made.
Thou unbelieving wretch, quoth she,
All is not true that's sayd.
149
When Mary Magdalen heard her then,
She came unto the gate.
Quoth she, good woman, you must think
Upon your former state.
She came unto the gate.
Quoth she, good woman, you must think
Upon your former state.
No sinner enters in this place
Quoth Mary Magdalene. Then
'Twere ill for you, fair mistress mine,
She answered her agen:
Quoth Mary Magdalene. Then
'Twere ill for you, fair mistress mine,
She answered her agen:
You for your honestye, quoth she,
Had once been ston'd to death;
Had not our Saviour Christ come by,
And written on the earth.
Had once been ston'd to death;
Had not our Saviour Christ come by,
And written on the earth.
It was not by your occupation,
You are become divine:
I hope my soul in Christ his passion,
Shall be as safe as thine.
You are become divine:
I hope my soul in Christ his passion,
Shall be as safe as thine.
Uprose the good apostle Paul,
And to this wife he cryed,
Except thou shake thy sins away,
Thou here shalt be denyed.
And to this wife he cryed,
Except thou shake thy sins away,
Thou here shalt be denyed.
Remember, Paul, what thou hast done,
All through a lewd desire:
How thou didst persecute God's church,
With wrath as hot as fire,
All through a lewd desire:
How thou didst persecute God's church,
With wrath as hot as fire,
150
Then up starts Peter at the last,
And to the gate he hies:
Fond fool, quoth he, knock not so fast,
Thou weariest Christ with cries.
And to the gate he hies:
Fond fool, quoth he, knock not so fast,
Thou weariest Christ with cries.
Peter, said she, content thyselfe,
For mercye may be won;
I never did deny my Christ,
As thou thyselfe hast done.
For mercye may be won;
I never did deny my Christ,
As thou thyselfe hast done.
When as our Saviour Christ heard this,
With heavenly angels bright,
He comes unto this sinful soul;
Who trembled at his sight.
With heavenly angels bright,
He comes unto this sinful soul;
Who trembled at his sight.
Of him for mercye she did crave.
Quoth he, thou hast refus'd
My proffer'd grace, and mercy both,
And much my name abus'd.
Quoth he, thou hast refus'd
My proffer'd grace, and mercy both,
And much my name abus'd.
Sore have I sinned, Lord, she sayd,
And spent my time in vaine;
But bring me like a wandring sheepe
Into thy fold againe.
And spent my time in vaine;
But bring me like a wandring sheepe
Into thy fold againe.
O Lord my God, I will amend
My former wicked vice:
The thief for one poor silly word
Past into paradise.
My former wicked vice:
The thief for one poor silly word
Past into paradise.
151
My lawes and my commandiments,
Saith Christ, were knowne to thee;
But of the same in any wise,
Not yet one word did yee.
Saith Christ, were knowne to thee;
But of the same in any wise,
Not yet one word did yee.
I grant the fame, O Lord, quoth she;
Most lewdly did I live;
But yet the loving father did
His prodigal son forgive.
Most lewdly did I live;
But yet the loving father did
His prodigal son forgive.
So I forgive thy soul, he sayd,
Through thy repenting crye;
Come enter then into my rest,
I will not thee denye.
Through thy repenting crye;
Come enter then into my rest,
I will not thee denye.
Gip, gep, or guep, is a common interjection of contempt in our old poets. See Gray's Hudibras, pt. 1. canto 3. v. 202. note.
XIII. DULCINA.
[_]
Given from two ancient copies, one in black-print, in the Pepys collection; the other in the editor's folio MS. The fourth stanza is not found in MS, and seems redundant.
This song is quoted as very popular in Walton's Compleat Angler, chap. 2. It is more ancient than the song of Robin Good-Fellow printed below, which yet is supposed to have been written by Ben Jonson.
As at noone Dulcina rested
In her sweete and shady bower;
Came a shepherd, and requested
In her lappe to sleep an hour.
But from her looke
A wounde he tooke
So deepe, that for a further boone
The nymphe he prayes:
Whereto she sayes,
Foregoe me now, come to me soone.
In her sweete and shady bower;
Came a shepherd, and requested
In her lappe to sleep an hour.
152
A wounde he tooke
So deepe, that for a further boone
The nymphe he prayes:
Whereto she sayes,
Foregoe me now, come to me soone.
But in vayne shee did conjure him
To departe her presence soe;
Having a thousand tongues to allure him,
And but one to bid him goe;
Where lippes invite,
And eyes delight,
And cheekes, as fresh as rose in june,
Persuade delay;
What boots to say,
Foregoe me now, come to me soone?
To departe her presence soe;
Having a thousand tongues to allure him,
And but one to bid him goe;
Where lippes invite,
And eyes delight,
And cheekes, as fresh as rose in june,
Persuade delay;
What boots to say,
Foregoe me now, come to me soone?
He demands what time for pleasure
Can there be more fit than now:
She sayes, night gives love that leisure,
Which the day doth not allow.
He sayes, the sight
‘Improves delight:
‘Which shee denies; nights mirkie noone
In Venus' playes
Makes bold, she sayes;
Foregoe me now, come to mee soone.
Can there be more fit than now:
She sayes, night gives love that leisure,
Which the day doth not allow.
He sayes, the sight
‘Improves delight:
‘Which shee denies; nights mirkie noone
In Venus' playes
Makes bold, she sayes;
Foregoe me now, come to mee soone.
153
But what promise or profession
From his hands could purchase scope?
Who would sell the sweet possession
Of such beautye for a hope?
Or for the sight
Of lingering night
Foregoe the present joyes of noone?
Though ne'er soe faire
Her speeches were,
Foregoe me now, come to me soone.
From his hands could purchase scope?
Who would sell the sweet possession
Of such beautye for a hope?
Or for the sight
Of lingering night
Foregoe the present joyes of noone?
Though ne'er soe faire
Her speeches were,
Foregoe me now, come to me soone.
How, at last, agreed these lovers?
Shee was fayre, and he was young:
The tongue may tell what th'eye discovers;
Joyes unseene are never sung.
Did shee consent,
Or he relent;
Accepts hee night, or grants shee noone;
Left he her mayd,
Or not; she sayd
Foregoe me now, come to me soone.
Shee was fayre, and he was young:
The tongue may tell what th'eye discovers;
Joyes unseene are never sung.
Did shee consent,
Or he relent;
Accepts hee night, or grants shee noone;
Left he her mayd,
Or not; she sayd
Foregoe me now, come to me soone.
154
XIV. THE LADY ISABELLA'S TRAGEDY.
[_]
This ballad is given from an old black-letter copy in the Pepys collection, collated with another in the British Museum, H. 263. folio. It is there intitled, “The Lady Isabella's Tragedy, or the Step-Mother's Cruelty: being a relation of a lamentable and cruel murther, committed on the body of the lady Isabella, the only daughter of a noble duke, &c. To the tune of the Lady's Fall.” To some copies are annexed eight more modern stanzas, intitled, “The Dutchess's and Cook's Lamentation.”
There was a lord of worthy fame,
And a hunting he would ride,
Attended by a noble traine
Of gentrye by his side.
And a hunting he would ride,
Attended by a noble traine
Of gentrye by his side.
And while he did in chase remaine,
To see both sport and playe;
His ladye went, as she did feigne,
Unto the church to praye.
To see both sport and playe;
His ladye went, as she did feigne,
Unto the church to praye.
155
This lord he had a daughter deare,
Whose beauty shone so bright,
She was belov'd, both far and neare,
Of many a lord and knight.
Whose beauty shone so bright,
She was belov'd, both far and neare,
Of many a lord and knight.
Fair Isabella was she call'd,
A creature faire was shee;
She was her fathers only joye;
As you shall after see.
A creature faire was shee;
She was her fathers only joye;
As you shall after see.
Therefore her cruel step-mothèr
Did envye her so much;
That daye by daye she sought her life,
Her malice it was such.
Did envye her so much;
That daye by daye she sought her life,
Her malice it was such.
She bargain'd with the master-cook,
To take her life awaye:
And taking of her daughters book,
She thus to her did saye.
To take her life awaye:
And taking of her daughters book,
She thus to her did saye.
Go home, sweet daughter, I thee praye,
Go hasten presentlìe;
And tell unto the master-cook
These wordes that I tell thee.
Go hasten presentlìe;
And tell unto the master-cook
These wordes that I tell thee.
And bid him dresse to dinner streight
That faire and milk-white doe,
That in the parke doth shine so bright,
There's none so faire to showe.
That faire and milk-white doe,
That in the parke doth shine so bright,
There's none so faire to showe.
156
This ladye fearing of no harme,
Obey'd her mothers will;
And presentlye she hasted home,
Her pleasure to fulfill.
Obey'd her mothers will;
And presentlye she hasted home,
Her pleasure to fulfill.
She streight into the kitchen went,
Her message for to tell;
And there she spied the master-cook,
Who did with malice swell.
Her message for to tell;
And there she spied the master-cook,
Who did with malice swell.
Nowe, master-cook, it must be soe,
Do that which I thee tell:
You needes must dresse the milk-white doe,
Which you do knowe full well.
Do that which I thee tell:
You needes must dresse the milk-white doe,
Which you do knowe full well.
Then streight his cruell bloodye hands,
He on the ladye layd;
Who quivering and shaking stands,
While thus to her he sayd:
He on the ladye layd;
Who quivering and shaking stands,
While thus to her he sayd:
Thou art the doe, that I must dresse;
See here, behold my knife;
For it is pointed presently
To ridd thee of thy life.
See here, behold my knife;
For it is pointed presently
To ridd thee of thy life.
O then, cried out the scullion-boye,
As loud as loud might bee:
O save her life, good master-cook,
And make your pyes of mee!
As loud as loud might bee:
O save her life, good master-cook,
And make your pyes of mee!
157
For pityes sake do not destroye
My ladye with your knife;
You know shee is her father's joye,
For Christes sake save her life.
My ladye with your knife;
You know shee is her father's joye,
For Christes sake save her life.
I will not save her life, he sayd,
Nor make my pyes of thee;
Yet if thou dost this deed bewraye,
Thy butcher I will bee.
Nor make my pyes of thee;
Yet if thou dost this deed bewraye,
Thy butcher I will bee.
Now when this lord he did come home
For to fit downe and eat;
He called for his daughter deare,
To come and carve his meat.
For to fit downe and eat;
He called for his daughter deare,
To come and carve his meat.
Now sit you downe, his ladye sayd,
O sit you downe to meat:
Into some nunnery she is gone;
Your daughter deare forget.
O sit you downe to meat:
Into some nunnery she is gone;
Your daughter deare forget.
Then solemnlye he made a vowe,
Before the companìe:
That he would neither eat nor drinke,
Until he did her see.
Before the companìe:
That he would neither eat nor drinke,
Until he did her see.
O then bespake the scullion-boye,
With a loud voice so hye:
If now you will your daughter see,
My lord, cut up that pye:
With a loud voice so hye:
If now you will your daughter see,
My lord, cut up that pye:
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Wherein her fleshe is minced small,
And parched with the fire;
All caused by her step-mothèr,
Who did her death desire.
And parched with the fire;
All caused by her step-mothèr,
Who did her death desire.
And cursed bee the master-cook,
O cursed may he bee!
I proffered him my own hearts blood,
From death to set her free.
O cursed may he bee!
I proffered him my own hearts blood,
From death to set her free.
Then all in blacke this lord did mourne;
And for his daughters sake,
He judged her cruell step-mothèr
To be burnt at a stake.
And for his daughters sake,
He judged her cruell step-mothèr
To be burnt at a stake.
Likewise he judg'd the master-cook
In boiling lead to stand;
And made the simple scullion-boye
The heire of all his land.
In boiling lead to stand;
And made the simple scullion-boye
The heire of all his land.
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XV. A HUE AND CRY AFTER CUPID.
[_]
This Poem, which is in imitation of the first Idyllium of Moschus, is extracted from Ben Jonson's Masque at the marriage of lord viscount Hadington, on Shrove-Tuesday 1608. One stanza full of dry mythology we have omitted, as we found it dropt in a copy of this song printed in a small volume called “Le Prince d'amour. Lond. 1660.” 8vo.
The hue and cry after Cupid is a kind of Translation of a pretty poem of Tasso's, called Amore fuggitivo, generally printed with his Aminta, and originally imitated from Moschus.
Beauties, have yee seen a toy,
Called Love, a little boy,
Almost naked, wanton, blinde;
Cruel now; and then as kinde?
If he be amongst yee, say;
He is Venus' run-away.
Called Love, a little boy,
Almost naked, wanton, blinde;
Cruel now; and then as kinde?
If he be amongst yee, say;
He is Venus' run-away.
Shee, that will but now discover
Where the winged wag doth hover,
Shall to-night receive a kisse,
How and where herselfe would wish:
But who brings him to his mother
Shall have that kisse, and another.
Where the winged wag doth hover,
Shall to-night receive a kisse,
How and where herselfe would wish:
But who brings him to his mother
Shall have that kisse, and another.
Markes he hath about him plentie;
You may know him among twentie:
All his body is a fire,
And his breath a flame entire:
Which, being shot like lightning in,
Wounds the heart, but not the skin.
You may know him among twentie:
160
And his breath a flame entire:
Which, being shot like lightning in,
Wounds the heart, but not the skin.
Wings he hath, which though yee clip,
He will leape from lip to lip,
Over liver, lights, and heart;
Yet not stay in any part.
And, if chance his arrow misses,
He will shoot himselfe in kisses.
He will leape from lip to lip,
Over liver, lights, and heart;
Yet not stay in any part.
And, if chance his arrow misses,
He will shoot himselfe in kisses.
He doth beare a golden bow,
And a quiver hanging low,
Full of arrowes, which outbrave
Dian's shafts; where, if he have
Any head more sharpe than other,
With that first he strikes his mother.
And a quiver hanging low,
Full of arrowes, which outbrave
Dian's shafts; where, if he have
Any head more sharpe than other,
With that first he strikes his mother.
Still the fairest are his fuell,
When his daies are to be cruell;
Lovers hearts are all his food,
And his baths their warmest bloud:
Nought but wounds his hand doth season,
And he hates none like to Reason.
When his daies are to be cruell;
Lovers hearts are all his food,
And his baths their warmest bloud:
Nought but wounds his hand doth season,
And he hates none like to Reason.
Trust him not: his words, though sweet,
Seldome with his heart doe meet:
All his practice is deceit;
Everie gift is but a bait:
Not a kisse but poyson beares;
And most treason in his teares.
Seldome with his heart doe meet:
All his practice is deceit;
Everie gift is but a bait:
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And most treason in his teares.
Idle minutes are his raigne;
Then the straggler makes his gaine,
By presenting maids with toyes
And would have yee thinke hem joyes:
'Tis the ambition of the elfe,
To have all childish, as himselfe.
Then the straggler makes his gaine,
By presenting maids with toyes
And would have yee thinke hem joyes:
'Tis the ambition of the elfe,
To have all childish, as himselfe.
If by these yee please to know him,
Beauties, be not nice, but show him.
Though yee had a will to hide him,
Now, we hope, yee'le not abide him,
Since yee heare this falser's play,
And that he is Venus' run-away.
Beauties, be not nice, but show him.
Though yee had a will to hide him,
Now, we hope, yee'le not abide him,
Since yee heare this falser's play,
And that he is Venus' run-away.
XVI. THE KING OF FRANCE'S DAUGHTER.
[_]
The story of this Ballad seems to be taken from an incident in the domestic history of Charles the Bald, king of France. His daughter Judith was betrothed to Ethelwulph king of England: but before the marriage was consummated, Ethelwulph died, and she returned to France: whence she was carried off by Baldwyn, Forrester of Flanders; who after many crosses and difficulties, at length obtained the king's consent to their marriage, and was made Earl of Flanders. This happened about A. D. 863.
—See Rapin, Henault, and the French Historians.
162
The following copy is given from the editor's ancient folio MS. collated with another in black letter in the Pepys Collection, intitled, “An excellent Ballad of a prince of England's courtship to the king of France's daughter, &c. To the tune of Crimson Velvet.”
Many breaches having been made in this old song by the hand of time, principally (as might be expected) in the quick returns of the rhime; we have attempted to repair them.
In the dayes of old,
When faire France did flourish,
Storyes plaine have told,
Lovers felt annoye.
The queene a daughter bare,
Whom beautye's queene did nourish:
She was lovelye faire,
She was her fathers joye.
A prince of England came,
Whose deeds did merit fame,
But he was exil'd, and outcast:
Love his soul did fire,
Shee granted his desire,
Their hearts in one were linked fast.
Which when her father proved,
Sorelye he was moved,
And tormented in his minde.
He sought for to prevent them;
And, to discontent them,
Fortune cross'd these lovers kinde.
When faire France did flourish,
Storyes plaine have told,
Lovers felt annoye.
The queene a daughter bare,
Whom beautye's queene did nourish:
She was lovelye faire,
She was her fathers joye.
A prince of England came,
Whose deeds did merit fame,
But he was exil'd, and outcast:
Love his soul did fire,
Shee granted his desire,
Their hearts in one were linked fast.
Which when her father proved,
Sorelye he was moved,
And tormented in his minde.
He sought for to prevent them;
And, to discontent them,
Fortune cross'd these lovers kinde.
When these princes twaine
Were thus barr'd of pleasure,
Through the kinges disdaine,
Which their joyes withstoode:
The lady soone prepar'd
Her jewells and her treasure;
Having no regard
For state and royall bloode;
In homelye poore array
She went from court away,
To meet her joye and hearts delight;
Who in a forrest great
Had taken up his seat,
To wayt her coming in the night.
But, lo! what sudden danger
To this princely stranger
Chanced, as he sate alone!
By outlawes he was robbed,
And with ponyards stabbed,
Uttering many a dying grone.
Were thus barr'd of pleasure,
Through the kinges disdaine,
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The lady soone prepar'd
Her jewells and her treasure;
Having no regard
For state and royall bloode;
In homelye poore array
She went from court away,
To meet her joye and hearts delight;
Who in a forrest great
Had taken up his seat,
To wayt her coming in the night.
But, lo! what sudden danger
To this princely stranger
Chanced, as he sate alone!
By outlawes he was robbed,
And with ponyards stabbed,
Uttering many a dying grone.
The princesse, arm'd by love,
And by chaste desire,
All the night did rove
Without dread at all:
Still unknowne she past
In her strange attire;
Coming at the last
Within echoes call,—
You faire woods, quoth shee,
Honoured may you bee,
Harbouring my hearts delight;
Which encompass here
My joye and only deare,
My trustye friend, and comelye knight.
Sweete, I come unto thee,
Sweete, I come to woo thee;
That thou mayst not angrye bee
For my long delaying;
For thy curteous staying
Soone amendes Ile make to thee.
And by chaste desire,
All the night did rove
Without dread at all:
Still unknowne she past
In her strange attire;
Coming at the last
Within echoes call,—
You faire woods, quoth shee,
Honoured may you bee,
Harbouring my hearts delight;
Which encompass here
My joye and only deare,
My trustye friend, and comelye knight.
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Sweete, I come to woo thee;
That thou mayst not angrye bee
For my long delaying;
For thy curteous staying
Soone amendes Ile make to thee.
Passing thus alone
Through the silent forest,
Many a grievous grone
Sounded in her eares:
She heard one complayne
And lament the sorest,
Seeming all in payne,
Shedding deadly teares.
Farewell, my deare, quoth hee,
Whom I must never see;
For why my life is att an end,
Through villaines crueltye:
For thy sweet sake I dye,
To show I am a faithfull friend.
Here I lye a bleeding,
While my thoughts are feeding
On the rarest beautye found.
O hard happ, that may be!
Little knowes my ladye
My heartes blood lyes on the ground.
Through the silent forest,
Many a grievous grone
Sounded in her eares:
She heard one complayne
And lament the sorest,
Seeming all in payne,
Shedding deadly teares.
Farewell, my deare, quoth hee,
Whom I must never see;
For why my life is att an end,
Through villaines crueltye:
For thy sweet sake I dye,
To show I am a faithfull friend.
Here I lye a bleeding,
While my thoughts are feeding
On the rarest beautye found.
O hard happ, that may be!
Little knowes my ladye
My heartes blood lyes on the ground.
With that a grone he sends
Which did burst in sunder
All the tender ‘bands’
Of his gentle heart.
She, who knewe his voice,
At his wordes did wonder;
All her former joyes
Did to griefe convert.
Strait she ran to see,
Who this man shold bee,
That soe like her love did seeme:
Her lovely lord she found
Lye slaine upon the ground,
Smear'd with gore a ghastlye streame.
Which his lady spying,
Shrieking, fainting, crying,
Her sorrows could not uttered bee:
Fate, she cryed, too cruell!
For thee—my dearest jewell,
Would God! that I had dyed for thee.
Which did burst in sunder
All the tender ‘bands’
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She, who knewe his voice,
At his wordes did wonder;
All her former joyes
Did to griefe convert.
Strait she ran to see,
Who this man shold bee,
That soe like her love did seeme:
Her lovely lord she found
Lye slaine upon the ground,
Smear'd with gore a ghastlye streame.
Which his lady spying,
Shrieking, fainting, crying,
Her sorrows could not uttered bee:
Fate, she cryed, too cruell!
For thee—my dearest jewell,
Would God! that I had dyed for thee.
His pale lippes, alas!
Twentye times she kissed,
And his face did wash
With her trickling teares:
Every gaping wound
Tenderlye she pressed,
And did wipe it round
With her golden haires.
Speake, faire love, quoth shee,
Speake, faire prince, to mee,
One sweete word of comfort give:
Lift up thy deare eyes,
Listen to my cryes,
Thinke in what sad griefe I live.
All in vaine she sued,
All in vaine she wooed,
The prince's life was fled and gone.
There stood she still mourning,
Till the suns retourning,
And bright day was coming on.
Twentye times she kissed,
And his face did wash
With her trickling teares:
Every gaping wound
Tenderlye she pressed,
And did wipe it round
With her golden haires.
Speake, faire love, quoth shee,
Speake, faire prince, to mee,
One sweete word of comfort give:
Lift up thy deare eyes,
Listen to my cryes,
Thinke in what sad griefe I live.
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All in vaine she wooed,
The prince's life was fled and gone.
There stood she still mourning,
Till the suns retourning,
And bright day was coming on.
In this great distresse
Weeping, wayling ever,
Oft shee cryed, alas!
What will become of mee?
To my fathers court
I returne will never:
But in lowlye sort
Will a servant bee.
While thus she made her mone,
Weeping all alone,
In this deepe and deadlye feare:
A for'ster all in greene,
Most comelye to be seene,
Ranging the woods did find her there:
Moved with her sorrowe,
Maid, quoth he, good morrowe,
What hard happ has brought thee here?
Harder happ did never
Two kinde hearts dissever:
Here lyes slaine my brother deare.
Weeping, wayling ever,
Oft shee cryed, alas!
What will become of mee?
To my fathers court
I returne will never:
But in lowlye sort
Will a servant bee.
While thus she made her mone,
Weeping all alone,
In this deepe and deadlye feare:
A for'ster all in greene,
Most comelye to be seene,
Ranging the woods did find her there:
Moved with her sorrowe,
Maid, quoth he, good morrowe,
What hard happ has brought thee here?
Harder happ did never
Two kinde hearts dissever:
Here lyes slaine my brother deare.
Where may I remaine,
Gentle for'ster, shew me,
Till I can obtaine
A service in my neede?
Paines I will not spare:
This kinde favour doe me,
It will ease my care;
Heaven shall be thy meede.
The for'ster all amazed,
On her beautye gazed,
Till his heart was set on fire,
If, faire maid, quoth hee,
You will goe with mee,
You shall have your hearts desire.
He brought her to his mother,
And above all other
He sett forth this maidens praise.
Long was his heart inflamed,
At length her love he gained,
And fortune crown'd his future dayes.
Gentle for'ster, shew me,
167
A service in my neede?
Paines I will not spare:
This kinde favour doe me,
It will ease my care;
Heaven shall be thy meede.
The for'ster all amazed,
On her beautye gazed,
Till his heart was set on fire,
If, faire maid, quoth hee,
You will goe with mee,
You shall have your hearts desire.
He brought her to his mother,
And above all other
He sett forth this maidens praise.
Long was his heart inflamed,
At length her love he gained,
And fortune crown'd his future dayes.
Thus unknowne he wedde
With a kings faire daughter;
Children seven they had,
Ere she told her birth.
Which when once he knew,
Humblye he besought her,
He to the world might shew
Her rank and princelye worth.
He cloath'd his children then,
(Not like other men)
In partye-colours strange to see;
The right side cloth of gold,
The left side to behold,
Of woollen cloth still framed hee .
Men thereatt did wonder;
Golden fame did thunder
This strange deede in every place:
The king of France came thither,
It being pleasant weather,
In these woods the hart to chase.
With a kings faire daughter;
Children seven they had,
Ere she told her birth.
Which when once he knew,
Humblye he besought her,
He to the world might shew
Her rank and princelye worth.
He cloath'd his children then,
(Not like other men)
In partye-colours strange to see;
168
The left side to behold,
Of woollen cloth still framed hee .
Men thereatt did wonder;
Golden fame did thunder
This strange deede in every place:
The king of France came thither,
It being pleasant weather,
In these woods the hart to chase.
The children then they bring,
So their mother will'd it,
Where the royall king
Must of force come bye:
Their mothers riche array,
Was of crimson velvet:
Their fathers all of gray,
Seemelye to the eye.
Then this famous king,
Noting every thing,
Askt how he durst be so bold
To let his wife soe weare,
And decke his children there,
In costly robes of pearl and gold.
The forrester replying,
And the cause descrying ,
To the king these words did say,
Well may they, by their mother,
Weare rich clothes with other,
Being by birth a princesse gay.
So their mother will'd it,
Where the royall king
Must of force come bye:
Their mothers riche array,
Was of crimson velvet:
Their fathers all of gray,
Seemelye to the eye.
Then this famous king,
Noting every thing,
169
To let his wife soe weare,
And decke his children there,
In costly robes of pearl and gold.
The forrester replying,
And the cause descrying ,
To the king these words did say,
Well may they, by their mother,
Weare rich clothes with other,
Being by birth a princesse gay.
The king aroused thus,
More heedfullye beheld them,
Till a crimson blush
His remembrance crost.
The more I fix my mind
On thy wife and children,
The more methinks I find
The daughter which I lost.
Falling on her knee,
I am that child, quoth shee;
Pardon mee, my soveraine liege.
The king perceiving this,
His daughter deare did kiss,
While joyfull teares did stopp his speeche.
With his traine he tourned.
And with them sojourned.
Strait he dubb'd her husband knight;
Then made him erle of Flanders,
And chiefe of his commanders:
Thus were their sorrowes put to flight.
More heedfullye beheld them,
Till a crimson blush
His remembrance crost.
The more I fix my mind
On thy wife and children,
The more methinks I find
The daughter which I lost.
Falling on her knee,
I am that child, quoth shee;
Pardon mee, my soveraine liege.
The king perceiving this,
His daughter deare did kiss,
While joyfull teares did stopp his speeche.
With his traine he tourned.
And with them sojourned.
Strait he dubb'd her husband knight;
Then made him erle of Flanders,
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Thus were their sorrowes put to flight.
This will remind the reader of the livery and device of Charles Brandon, a private gentleman, who married the Queen Dowager of France, sister of Henry VIII. At a tournament which he held at his wedding, the trappings of his horse were half Cloth of gold, and half Frieze, with the following Motto,
“Cloth of Gold, do not dispise,
“Tho' thou art matcht with Cloth of Frize;
“Cloth of Frize, be not too bold,
“Tho' thou art matcht with Cloth of Gold.”
“Tho' thou art matcht with Cloth of Frize;
“Cloth of Frize, be not too bold,
“Tho' thou art matcht with Cloth of Gold.”
See Sir W. Temple's Misc. vol. 3. p. 336.
XVII. THE SWEET NEGLECT.
[_]
This little madrigal (extracted from Ben Jonson's Silent Woman, Act 1. Sc. 1. First acted in 1609.) is in imitation of a Latin poem printed at the end of the Variorum Edit. of Petronius, beginning ‘Semper munditias, semper Basilissa, decoras, &c.”’ See Whalley's Ben Jonson, vol. 2. p. 420.
Still to be neat, still to be drest,
As you were going to a feast:
Still to be pou'dred, still perfum'd:
Lady, it is to be presum'd,
Though art's hid causes are not found,
All is not sweet, all is not sound.
As you were going to a feast:
Still to be pou'dred, still perfum'd:
Lady, it is to be presum'd,
Though art's hid causes are not found,
All is not sweet, all is not sound.
Give me a looke, give me a face,
That makes simplicitie a grace;
Robes loosely flowing, haire as free:
Such sweet neglect more taketh me,
Than all th'adulteries of art,
That strike mine eyes, but not my heart.
That makes simplicitie a grace;
Robes loosely flowing, haire as free:
Such sweet neglect more taketh me,
Than all th'adulteries of art,
That strike mine eyes, but not my heart.
171
XVIII. THE CHILDREN IN THE WOOD.
[_]
The subject of this very popular ballad (which has been set in so favourable a light by the Spectator, No. 85.) seems to be taken from an old play, intitled, “Two lamentable Tragedies, The one of the murder of Maister Beech, a chandler in Thames-streete, &c. The other of a young child murthered in a wood by two ruffins, with the consent of his unkle. By Rob. Yarrington, 1601. 4to.” Our ballad-maker has strictly followed the play in the description of the father and mother's dying charge: in the uncle's promise to take care of their issue: his hiring two ruffians to destroy his ward, under pretence of sending him to school: their chusing a wood to perpetrate the murder in: one of the ruffians relenting, and a battle ensuing, &c. In other respects he has departed from the play. In the latter the scene is laid in Padua: there is but one child: which is murdered by a sudden stab of the unrelenting ruffian: he is slain himself by his less bloody companion, but ere he dies gives the other a mortal wound: the latter living just long enough to impeach the uncle: who in consequence of this impeachment is arraigned and executed by the hand of justice, &c. Whoever compares the play with the ballad, will have no doubt but the former is the original: the language is far more obsolete, and such a vein of simplicity runs thro' the whole performance, that had the ballad been written first, there is no doubt but every circumstance of it would have been received into the drama: whereas this was probably built on some Italian novel.
Printed from two ancient copies, one of them in black letter in the Pepys Collection. It's title at large is, “The Children in the Wood: or, The Norfolk Gentleman's Last Will and Testament: To the tune of Rogero, &c.”
172
Now ponder well, you parents deare,
These wordes, which I shall write;
A doleful story you shall heare,
In time brought forth to light:
A gentleman of good account
In Norfolke dwelt of late,
Who did in honour far surmount
Most men of his estate.
These wordes, which I shall write;
A doleful story you shall heare,
In time brought forth to light:
A gentleman of good account
In Norfolke dwelt of late,
Who did in honour far surmount
Most men of his estate.
Sore sicke he was, and like to dye,
No helpe his life could save;
His wife by him as sicke did lye,
And both possest one grave.
No love between these two was lost,
Each was to other kinde,
In love they liv'd, in love they dyed,
And left two babes behinde:
No helpe his life could save;
His wife by him as sicke did lye,
And both possest one grave.
No love between these two was lost,
Each was to other kinde,
In love they liv'd, in love they dyed,
And left two babes behinde:
The one a fine and pretty boy,
Not passing three yeares olde;
The other a girl more young than he,
And fram'd in beautyes molde.
The father left his little son,
As plainly doth appeare,
When he to perfect age should come,
Three hundred poundes a yeare.
Not passing three yeares olde;
The other a girl more young than he,
And fram'd in beautyes molde.
The father left his little son,
As plainly doth appeare,
When he to perfect age should come,
Three hundred poundes a yeare.
And to his little daughter Jane
Five hundred poundes in gold,
To be paid downe on marriage-day,
Which might not be controll'd:
But if the children chance to dye,
Ere they to age should come,
Their uncle should possesse their wealth;
For so the wille did run.
Five hundred poundes in gold,
To be paid downe on marriage-day,
Which might not be controll'd:
173
Ere they to age should come,
Their uncle should possesse their wealth;
For so the wille did run.
Now, brother, said the dying man,
Look to my children deare;
Be good unto my boy and girl,
No friendes else have they here:
To God and you I recommend
My children deare this daye;
But little while be sure we have
Within this world to staye.
Look to my children deare;
Be good unto my boy and girl,
No friendes else have they here:
To God and you I recommend
My children deare this daye;
But little while be sure we have
Within this world to staye.
You must be father and mother both,
And uncle all in one;
God knowes what will become of them,
When I am dead and gone.
With that bespake their mother deare,
O brother kinde, quoth shee,
You are the man must bring our babes
To wealth or miserie.
And uncle all in one;
God knowes what will become of them,
When I am dead and gone.
With that bespake their mother deare,
O brother kinde, quoth shee,
You are the man must bring our babes
To wealth or miserie.
And if you keep them carefully,
Then God will you reward;
But if you otherwise should deal,
God will your deedes regard.
With lippes as cold as any stone,
They kist their children small:
God bless you both, my children deare;
With that the teares did fall.
Then God will you reward;
But if you otherwise should deal,
God will your deedes regard.
With lippes as cold as any stone,
They kist their children small:
God bless you both, my children deare;
With that the teares did fall.
174
These speeches then their brother spake
To this sicke couple there,
The keeping of your little ones
Sweet sister, do not feare;
God never prosper me nor mine,
Nor aught else that I have,
If I do wrong your children deare,
When you are layd in grave.
To this sicke couple there,
The keeping of your little ones
Sweet sister, do not feare;
God never prosper me nor mine,
Nor aught else that I have,
If I do wrong your children deare,
When you are layd in grave.
The parents being dead and gone,
The children home he takes,
And bringes them straite unto his house,
Where much of them he makes.
He had not kept these pretty babes
A twelvemonth and a daye,
But, for their wealth, he did devise
To make them both awaye.
The children home he takes,
And bringes them straite unto his house,
Where much of them he makes.
He had not kept these pretty babes
A twelvemonth and a daye,
But, for their wealth, he did devise
To make them both awaye.
He bargain'd with two ruffians strong,
Which were of furious mood,
That they should take these children young,
And slaye them in a wood:
He told his wife an artful tale,
He would the children send
To be brought up in faire Londòn,
With one that was his friend.
Which were of furious mood,
That they should take these children young,
And slaye them in a wood:
He told his wife an artful tale,
He would the children send
To be brought up in faire Londòn,
With one that was his friend.
Away then went these pretty babes,
Rejoycing at that tide,
Rejoycing with a merry minde,
They should on cock-horse ride.
They prate and prattle pleasantly,
As they rode on the waye,
To those that should their butchers be,
And work their lives decaye.
Rejoycing at that tide,
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They should on cock-horse ride.
They prate and prattle pleasantly,
As they rode on the waye,
To those that should their butchers be,
And work their lives decaye.
So that the pretty speeche they had,
Made Murder's heart relent;
And they that undertooke the deed,
Full sore did now repent.
Yet one of them more hard of heart,
Did vowe to do his charge,
Because the wretch, that hired him,
Had paid him very large.
Made Murder's heart relent;
And they that undertooke the deed,
Full sore did now repent.
Yet one of them more hard of heart,
Did vowe to do his charge,
Because the wretch, that hired him,
Had paid him very large.
The other won't agree thereto,
So here they fall to strife;
With one another they did fight,
About the childrens life:
And he that was of mildest mood,
Did slaye the other there,
Within an unfrequented wood,
While babes did quake for feare.
So here they fall to strife;
With one another they did fight,
About the childrens life:
And he that was of mildest mood,
Did slaye the other there,
Within an unfrequented wood,
While babes did quake for feare.
He took the children by the hand,
Teares standing in their eye,
And bad them straitwaye follow him,
And look they did not crye:
And two long miles he ledd them on,
While they for food complaine:
Staye here, quoth he, I'll bring you bread,
When I come back againe.
Teares standing in their eye,
And bad them straitwaye follow him,
And look they did not crye:
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While they for food complaine:
Staye here, quoth he, I'll bring you bread,
When I come back againe.
These pretty babes, with hand in hand,
Went wandering up and downe;
But never more could see the man
Approaching from the town:
Their prettye lippes with black-berries,
Were all besmear'd and dyed,
And when they sawe the darksome night,
They sat them downe and cryed.
Went wandering up and downe;
But never more could see the man
Approaching from the town:
Their prettye lippes with black-berries,
Were all besmear'd and dyed,
And when they sawe the darksome night,
They sat them downe and cryed.
Thus wandered these poor innocents,
Till deathe did end their grief,
In one anothers armes they dyed,
As wanting due relief:
No burial ‘this’ pretty ‘pair’
Of any man receives,
Till Robin-red-breast piously
Did cover them with leaves.
Till deathe did end their grief,
In one anothers armes they dyed,
As wanting due relief:
No burial ‘this’ pretty ‘pair’
Of any man receives,
Till Robin-red-breast piously
Did cover them with leaves.
And now the heavy wrathe of God
Upon their uncle fell;
Yea, fearfull fiends did haunt his house,
His conscience felt an hell:
His barnes were fir'd, his goodes consum'd,
His landes were barren made,
His cattle dyed within the field,
And nothing with him stayd.
Upon their uncle fell;
Yea, fearfull fiends did haunt his house,
His conscience felt an hell:
His barnes were fir'd, his goodes consum'd,
His landes were barren made,
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And nothing with him stayd.
And in a voyage to Portugal
Two of his sonnes did dye;
And to conclude, himselfe was brought
To want and miserye:
He pawn'd and mortgaged all his land
Ere seven yeares came about.
And now at length this wicked act
Did by this meanes come out:
Two of his sonnes did dye;
And to conclude, himselfe was brought
To want and miserye:
He pawn'd and mortgaged all his land
Ere seven yeares came about.
And now at length this wicked act
Did by this meanes come out:
The fellowe, that did take in hand
These children for to kill,
Was for a robbery judged to dye,
Such was Gods blessed will;
Who did confess the very truth,
As here hath been display'd:
Their uncle having dyed in gaol,
Where he for debt was layd.
These children for to kill,
Was for a robbery judged to dye,
Such was Gods blessed will;
Who did confess the very truth,
As here hath been display'd:
Their uncle having dyed in gaol,
Where he for debt was layd.
You that executors be made,
And overseers eke
Of children that be fatherless,
And infants mild and meek;
Take you example by this thing,
And yield to each his right,
Lest God with such like miserye
Your wicked minds requite.
And overseers eke
Of children that be fatherless,
And infants mild and meek;
Take you example by this thing,
And yield to each his right,
Lest God with such like miserye
Your wicked minds requite.
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XIX. A LOVER OF LATE.
A lover of late was I,
For Cupid would have it soe,
The boye that hath never an eye,
As everye man doth knowe:
I sighed and sobbed, and cryed, alas!
For her that laught, and call'd me ass.
For Cupid would have it soe,
The boye that hath never an eye,
As everye man doth knowe:
I sighed and sobbed, and cryed, alas!
For her that laught, and call'd me ass.
Then knew not I what to doe,
When I saw it was all in vaine
A ladye so coy to woe,
Who gave me the asse so plaine:
Yet would I her asse freelye bee,
Soe shee would helpe and beare with mee.
When I saw it was all in vaine
A ladye so coy to woe,
Who gave me the asse so plaine:
Yet would I her asse freelye bee,
Soe shee would helpe and beare with mee.
An' I were as faire as shee,
Or shee were as fond as I,
What paire could have made, as wee,
So prettye a sympathye:
I was as fond as shee was faire,
But for all this we could not paire.
Or shee were as fond as I,
What paire could have made, as wee,
So prettye a sympathye:
I was as fond as shee was faire,
But for all this we could not paire.
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Paire with her that will for mee,
With her I will never paire;
That cunningly can be coy,
For being a little faire.
The asse I'll leave to her disdaine;
And now I am myselfe againe.
With her I will never paire;
That cunningly can be coy,
For being a little faire.
The asse I'll leave to her disdaine;
And now I am myselfe againe.
XX. THE KING AND MILLER OF MANSFIELD.
[_]
It has been a favourite subject with our English ballad-makers to represent our kings conversing, either by accident or design, with the meanest of their subjects. Of the former kind, besides this song of the King and the Miller; we have K. Henry and the Soldier; K. James I. and the Tinker; K. William III. and the Forrester, &c. Of the latter sort, are K. Alfred and the Shepherd; K. Edward IV. and the Tanner; K. Henry VIII. and the Cobler, &c.—A few of the best of these we have admitted into this collection. Both the author of the following ballad, and others who have written on the same plan, seem to have copied a very ancient poem, intitled John the Reeve, which is built on an adventure of the same kind, that happened between K. Edward Longshanks, and one of his Reeves or Bailiffs. This is a piece of great antiquity, being written before the time of Edward IV. and for its genuine humour, diverting incidents, and faithful picture of rustic manners, is infinitely superior to all that have been since written in imitation of it. The editor has a copy in his ancient folio MS. but its length rendered it improper for this volume, it consisting of more than 900 lines. It contains also some corruptions, and the editor chuses to defer its publication in hopes that some time or other he shall be able to remove them.
180
The following is printed from the editor's ancient folio MS. collated with an old black-letter copy in the Pepys collection, intitled “A pleasant ballad of K. Henry II. and the Miller of Mansfield, &c.”
Part the First.
Henry, our royall king, would ride a hunting
To the greene forest so pleasant and faire;
To see the harts skipping, and dainty does tripping:
Unto merry Sherwood his nobles repaire:
Hawke and hound were unbound, all things prepar'd;
For the game, in the same, with good regard.
To the greene forest so pleasant and faire;
To see the harts skipping, and dainty does tripping:
Unto merry Sherwood his nobles repaire:
Hawke and hound were unbound, all things prepar'd;
For the game, in the same, with good regard.
All a long summers day rode the king pleasantlye,
With all his princes and nobles eche one;
Chasing the hart and hind, and the bucke gallantlye,
Till the dark evening forc'd all to turne home.
Then at last, riding fast, he had lost quite
All his lords in the wood, late in the night.
With all his princes and nobles eche one;
Chasing the hart and hind, and the bucke gallantlye,
Till the dark evening forc'd all to turne home.
Then at last, riding fast, he had lost quite
All his lords in the wood, late in the night.
Wandering thus wearilye, all alone, up and downe,
With a rude miller he mett at the last:
Asking the ready way unto faire Nottingham;
Sir, quoth the miller, I meane not to jest,
Yet I thinke, what I thinke, sooth for to say,
You doe not lightlye ride out of your way.
With a rude miller he mett at the last:
Asking the ready way unto faire Nottingham;
Sir, quoth the miller, I meane not to jest,
Yet I thinke, what I thinke, sooth for to say,
You doe not lightlye ride out of your way.
Why, what dost thou think of me, quoth our king merrily,
Passing thy judgment upon me so briefe?
Good faith, sayd the miller, I meane not to flatter thee;
I guess thee to bee but some gentleman thiefe:
Stand thee backe, in the darke; light not adowne,
Lest that I presentlye cracke thy knaves crowne.
Passing thy judgment upon me so briefe?
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I guess thee to bee but some gentleman thiefe:
Stand thee backe, in the darke; light not adowne,
Lest that I presentlye cracke thy knaves crowne.
Thou dost abuse me much, quoth the king, saying thus;
I am a gentleman; lodging doe lacke.
Thou hast not, quoth th'miller, one groat in thy purse;
All thy inheritance hanges on thy backe.
I have gold to discharge all that I call
If it be forty pence, I will pay all.
I am a gentleman; lodging doe lacke.
Thou hast not, quoth th'miller, one groat in thy purse;
All thy inheritance hanges on thy backe.
I have gold to discharge all that I call
If it be forty pence, I will pay all.
If thou beest a true man, then quoth the miller,
I sweare by my toll-dish, I'll lodge thee all night.
Here's my hand, quoth the king, that was I ever.
Nay, soft, quoth the miller, thou may'st be a sprite.
Better I'll know thee, ere hands we will shake;
With none but honest men hands will I take.
I sweare by my toll-dish, I'll lodge thee all night.
Here's my hand, quoth the king, that was I ever.
Nay, soft, quoth the miller, thou may'st be a sprite.
Better I'll know thee, ere hands we will shake;
With none but honest men hands will I take.
Thus they went all along unto the millers house;
Where they were seething of puddings and souse:
The miller first enter'd in, after him went the king;
Never came hee in soe smoakye a house.
Now, quoth hee, let me see here what you are.
Quoth our king, looke your fill, and doe not spare.
Where they were seething of puddings and souse:
The miller first enter'd in, after him went the king;
Never came hee in soe smoakye a house.
Now, quoth hee, let me see here what you are.
Quoth our king, looke your fill, and doe not spare.
I like well thy countenance, thou hast an honest face;
With my son Richard this night thou shalt lye.
Quoth his wise, by my troth, it is a handsome youth,
Yet it's best, husband, to deal warilye.
Art thou no run-away, prythee, youth, tell?
Shew me thy passport, and all shal be well.
With my son Richard this night thou shalt lye.
Quoth his wise, by my troth, it is a handsome youth,
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Art thou no run-away, prythee, youth, tell?
Shew me thy passport, and all shal be well.
Then our king presentlye, making lowe courtesye,
With his hatt in his hand, thus he did say;
I have no passport, nor never was servitor,
But a poor courtyer, rode out of my way:
And for your kindness here offered to mee,
I will requite you in everye degree:
With his hatt in his hand, thus he did say;
I have no passport, nor never was servitor,
But a poor courtyer, rode out of my way:
And for your kindness here offered to mee,
I will requite you in everye degree:
Then to the miller his wife whisper'd secretlye,
Saying, it seemeth, this youth's of good kin,
Both by his apparel, and eke by his manners;
To turne him out, certainlye, were a great sin.
Yea, quoth hee, you may see, he hath some grace,
When he doth speake to his betters in place.
Saying, it seemeth, this youth's of good kin,
Both by his apparel, and eke by his manners;
To turne him out, certainlye, were a great sin.
Yea, quoth hee, you may see, he hath some grace,
When he doth speake to his betters in place.
Well, quo' the millers wife, young man, ye're welcome here;
And, though I say it, well lodged shall be:
Fresh straw will I have, laid on thy bed so brave,
And good brown hempen sheetes likewise, quoth shee.
Aye, quoth the good man; and when that is done,
Thou shalt lye with no worse, than our own sonne.
And, though I say it, well lodged shall be:
Fresh straw will I have, laid on thy bed so brave,
And good brown hempen sheetes likewise, quoth shee.
Aye, quoth the good man; and when that is done,
Thou shalt lye with no worse, than our own sonne.
Nay, first, quoth Richard, good-fellowe, tell me true,
Hast thou noe creepers within thy gay hose?
Or art thou not troubled with the scabbado?
I pray, quoth the king, what creatures are those?
Art thou not lowsy, nor scabby? quoth he:
If thou beest, surely thou lyest not with mee.
Hast thou noe creepers within thy gay hose?
Or art thou not troubled with the scabbado?
I pray, quoth the king, what creatures are those?
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If thou beest, surely thou lyest not with mee.
This caus'd the king, suddenlye, to laugh most heartilye,
Till the teares trickled fast downe from his eyes.
Then to their supper were they set orderlye,
With hot bag-puddings, and good apple-pyes;
Nappy ale, good and stale, in a browne bowle,
Which did about the board merrilye trowle.
Till the teares trickled fast downe from his eyes.
Then to their supper were they set orderlye,
With hot bag-puddings, and good apple-pyes;
Nappy ale, good and stale, in a browne bowle,
Which did about the board merrilye trowle.
Here, quoth the miller, good fellowe, I drinke to thee,
And to all ‘cuckolds, wherever they bee.’
I pledge thee, quoth our king, and thanke thee heartilye
For my good welcome in everye degree:
And here, in like manner, I drinke to thy sonne.
Do then, quoth Richard, and quicke let it come.
And to all ‘cuckolds, wherever they bee.’
I pledge thee, quoth our king, and thanke thee heartilye
For my good welcome in everye degree:
And here, in like manner, I drinke to thy sonne.
Do then, quoth Richard, and quicke let it come.
Wife, quoth the miller, fetch me forth lightfoote,
That we of his sweetnesse a little may taste:
A fair ven'son pastye brought she out presentlye;
Eate, quoth the miller, but, sir, make no waste.
Here's dainty lightfoote, in faith, sayd the king,
I never before eate so daintye a thing.
That we of his sweetnesse a little may taste:
A fair ven'son pastye brought she out presentlye;
Eate, quoth the miller, but, sir, make no waste.
Here's dainty lightfoote, in faith, sayd the king,
I never before eate so daintye a thing.
I wis, quoth Richard, no daintye at all it is,
For we doe eate of it everye day.
In what place, sayd our king, may be bought like to this?
We never pay pennye for itt, by my fay:
From merry Sherwood we fetch it home here;
Now and then we make bold with our kings deer.
For we doe eate of it everye day.
In what place, sayd our king, may be bought like to this?
We never pay pennye for itt, by my fay:
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Now and then we make bold with our kings deer.
Then I thinke, sayd our king, that it is venison.
Eche foole, quoth Richard, full well may know that:
Never are wee without two or three in the roof,
Very well fleshed, and excellent fat:
But, prythee, say nothing wherever thou goe;
We wold not, for two pence, the king should it knowe.
Eche foole, quoth Richard, full well may know that:
Never are wee without two or three in the roof,
Very well fleshed, and excellent fat:
But, prythee, say nothing wherever thou goe;
We wold not, for two pence, the king should it knowe.
Doubt not, then sayd the king, my promist secresye;
The king shall never know more on't for mee.
A cupp of lambs-wool they dranke unto him then,
And to their bedds they past presentlie.
The nobles, next morning, went all up and down,
For to seeke out the king in everye towne.
The king shall never know more on't for mee.
A cupp of lambs-wool they dranke unto him then,
And to their bedds they past presentlie.
The nobles, next morning, went all up and down,
For to seeke out the king in everye towne.
At last, at the millers ‘cott’, soone they espy'd him out,
As he was mounting upon his faire steede;
To whom they came presently, falling down on their knee;
Which made the millers heart wofully bleede:
Shaking and quaking, before him he stood,
Thinking he should have been hang'd, by the rood.
As he was mounting upon his faire steede;
To whom they came presently, falling down on their knee;
Which made the millers heart wofully bleede:
Shaking and quaking, before him he stood,
Thinking he should have been hang'd, by the rood.
The king perceiving him fearfully trembling,
Drew forth his sword, but nothing he sed:
The miller downe did fall, crying before them all,
Doubting the king would have cut off his head:
But he his kind courtesye for to requite,
Gave him great living, and dubb'd him a knight.
Drew forth his sword, but nothing he sed:
The miller downe did fall, crying before them all,
Doubting the king would have cut off his head:
But he his kind courtesye for to requite,
Gave him great living, and dubb'd him a knight.
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Part the Second.
When as our royall king came home from Nottingham,
And with his nobles at Westminster lay;
Recounting the sports and pastimes they had taken,
In this late progress along on the way;
Of them all, great and small, he did protest,
The miller of Mansfield's sport liked him best.
And with his nobles at Westminster lay;
Recounting the sports and pastimes they had taken,
In this late progress along on the way;
Of them all, great and small, he did protest,
The miller of Mansfield's sport liked him best.
And now, my lords, quoth the king, I am determined
Against St. Georges next sumptuous feast,
That this old miller, our new confirmed knight,
With his son Richard, shall here be my guest:
For, in this merryment, 'tis my desire
To talke with the jolly knight, and the young squire.
Against St. Georges next sumptuous feast,
That this old miller, our new confirmed knight,
With his son Richard, shall here be my guest:
For, in this merryment, 'tis my desire
To talke with the jolly knight, and the young squire.
When as the noble lords saw the kinges pleasantness,
They were right joyfull and glad in their hearts;
A pursuivant there was sent straight on the business,
The which had often-times been in those parts.
When he came to the place, where they did dwell,
His message orderlye then 'gan he tell.
They were right joyfull and glad in their hearts;
A pursuivant there was sent straight on the business,
The which had often-times been in those parts.
When he came to the place, where they did dwell,
His message orderlye then 'gan he tell.
God save your worshippe, then said the messenger,
And grant your ladye her owne hearts desire;
And to your sonne Richard good fortune and happiness;
That sweet, gentle, and gallant young squire.
Our king greets you well, and thus he doth say,
You must come to the court on St. Georges day;
And grant your ladye her owne hearts desire;
And to your sonne Richard good fortune and happiness;
That sweet, gentle, and gallant young squire.
Our king greets you well, and thus he doth say,
You must come to the court on St. Georges day;
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Therfore, in any case, faile not to be in place.
I wis, quoth the miller, this is an odd jest:
What should we doe there? faith, I am halfe afraid.
I doubt, quoth Richard, to be hang'd at the least.
Nay, quoth the messenger, you doe mistake;
Our king he provides a great feast for your sake.
I wis, quoth the miller, this is an odd jest:
What should we doe there? faith, I am halfe afraid.
I doubt, quoth Richard, to be hang'd at the least.
Nay, quoth the messenger, you doe mistake;
Our king he provides a great feast for your sake.
Then sayd the miller, By my troth, messenger,
Thou hast contented my worshippe full well.
Hold here are three farthings, to quite thy gentleness,
For these happy tydings, which thou dost tell.
Let me see, hear thou mee; tell to our king,
We'll wayt on his mastershipp in everye thing.
Thou hast contented my worshippe full well.
Hold here are three farthings, to quite thy gentleness,
For these happy tydings, which thou dost tell.
Let me see, hear thou mee; tell to our king,
We'll wayt on his mastershipp in everye thing.
The pursuivant smiled at their simplicitye,
And, making many leggs, tooke their reward;
And taking then his leave with great humilitye
To the kings court againe he repair'd;
Shewing unto his grace, merry and free,
The knightes most liberall gift and bountie.
And, making many leggs, tooke their reward;
And taking then his leave with great humilitye
To the kings court againe he repair'd;
Shewing unto his grace, merry and free,
The knightes most liberall gift and bountie.
When he was gone away, thus gan the miller say,
Here come expences and charges indeed;
Now must we needs be brave, tho' we spend all we have;
For of new garments we have great need:
Of horses and serving-men we must have store,
With bridles and saddles, and twentye things more.
Here come expences and charges indeed;
Now must we needs be brave, tho' we spend all we have;
For of new garments we have great need:
Of horses and serving-men we must have store,
With bridles and saddles, and twentye things more.
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Tushe, sir John, quoth his wife, why should you frett, or frowne?
You shall n'er be att no charges for mee;
For I will turne and trim up my old russet gowne,
With everye thing else as fine as may bee;
And on our mill-horses swift we will ride,
With pillowes and pannells as we shall provide.
You shall n'er be att no charges for mee;
For I will turne and trim up my old russet gowne,
With everye thing else as fine as may bee;
And on our mill-horses swift we will ride,
With pillowes and pannells as we shall provide.
In this most statelye sort, rode they unto the court,
Their jolly sonne Richard rode foremost of all;
Who set up, by good hap, a cocks feather in his cap,
And so they jetted downe to the kings hall;
The merry old miller with hands on his side;
His wife, like maid Marian, did mince at that tide.
Their jolly sonne Richard rode foremost of all;
Who set up, by good hap, a cocks feather in his cap,
And so they jetted downe to the kings hall;
The merry old miller with hands on his side;
His wife, like maid Marian, did mince at that tide.
The king and his nobles, that heard of their coming,
Meeting this gallant knight with his brave traine;
Welcome, sir knight, quoth he, with your gay lady:
Good sir John Cockle, once welcome againe:
And so is the squire of courage soe free.
Quoth Dicke, Abots on you; do you know mee?
Meeting this gallant knight with his brave traine;
Welcome, sir knight, quoth he, with your gay lady:
Good sir John Cockle, once welcome againe:
And so is the squire of courage soe free.
Quoth Dicke, Abots on you; do you know mee?
Quoth our king gentlye, how should I forget thee?
That wast my owne bed-fellow, well it I wot.
Yea, sir, quoth Richard, and by the same token,
Thou with thy farting didst make the bed hot.
Thou whore-son unhappy knave, then quoth the knight,
Speake cleanly to our king, or else go shite.
That wast my owne bed-fellow, well it I wot.
Yea, sir, quoth Richard, and by the same token,
Thou with thy farting didst make the bed hot.
Thou whore-son unhappy knave, then quoth the knight,
Speake cleanly to our king, or else go shite.
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The king and his courtiers laugh at this heartily,
While the king taketh them both by the hand;
With ladyes and their maids, like to the queen of spades
The millers wife did soe orderly stand,
A milk-maids courtesye at every word;
And downe the folkes were set to the board:
While the king taketh them both by the hand;
With ladyes and their maids, like to the queen of spades
The millers wife did soe orderly stand,
A milk-maids courtesye at every word;
And downe the folkes were set to the board:
Where the king royally, in princelye majestye,
Sate at his dinner with joy and delight;
When they had eaten well, then hee to jesting fell,
And in a bowle of wine dranke to the knight:
Here's to you both, in wine, ale and beer;
Thanking you heartilye for my good cheer.
Sate at his dinner with joy and delight;
When they had eaten well, then hee to jesting fell,
And in a bowle of wine dranke to the knight:
Here's to you both, in wine, ale and beer;
Thanking you heartilye for my good cheer.
Quoth sir John Cockle, I'll pledge you a pottle,
Were it the best ale in Nottinghamshire:
But then said our king, now I think of a thing;
Some of your lightfoote I would we had here.
Ho! ho! quoth Richard, full well I may say it,
'Tis knavery to eate it, and then to betray it.
Were it the best ale in Nottinghamshire:
But then said our king, now I think of a thing;
Some of your lightfoote I would we had here.
Ho! ho! quoth Richard, full well I may say it,
'Tis knavery to eate it, and then to betray it.
Why art thou angry? quoth our king merrilye;
In faith, I take it now very unkind:
I thought thou wouldst pledge me in ale and wine heartily.
Quoth Dicke, You are like to stay till I have din'd:
You feed us with twatling dishes soe small;
Zounds, a blacke-pudding is better than all.
In faith, I take it now very unkind:
I thought thou wouldst pledge me in ale and wine heartily.
Quoth Dicke, You are like to stay till I have din'd:
You feed us with twatling dishes soe small;
Zounds, a blacke-pudding is better than all.
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Aye, marry, quoth our king, that were a daintye thing,
Could a man get but one here for to eate.
With that Dicke straite arose, and pluckt one from his hose,
Which with heat of his breech gan to sweate.
The king made a proffer to snatch it away:—
'Tis meat for your master: good sir, you must stay.
Could a man get but one here for to eate.
With that Dicke straite arose, and pluckt one from his hose,
Which with heat of his breech gan to sweate.
The king made a proffer to snatch it away:—
'Tis meat for your master: good sir, you must stay.
Thus in great merriment was the time wholly spent;
And then the ladyes prepared to dance:
Old Sir John Cockle, and Richard, incontinent
Unto their paces the king did advance:
Here with the ladyes such sport they did make,
The nobles with laughing did make their sides ake.
And then the ladyes prepared to dance:
Old Sir John Cockle, and Richard, incontinent
Unto their paces the king did advance:
Here with the ladyes such sport they did make,
The nobles with laughing did make their sides ake.
Many thankes for their paines did the king give them,
Asking young Richard then, if he would wed;
Among these ladyes free, tell me which liketh thee?
Quoth he, Jugg Grumball, Sir, with the red head:
She's my love, she's my life, her will I wed;
She hath sworn I shall have her maidenhead.
Asking young Richard then, if he would wed;
Among these ladyes free, tell me which liketh thee?
Quoth he, Jugg Grumball, Sir, with the red head:
She's my love, she's my life, her will I wed;
She hath sworn I shall have her maidenhead.
Then sir John Cockle the king call'd unto him,
And of merry Sherwood made him o'er-seer;
And gave him out of hand three hundred pound yearlye;
Now take heede you steale no more of my deer:
And once a quarter let's here have your view;
And now, sir John Cockle, I bid you adieu.
And of merry Sherwood made him o'er-seer;
And gave him out of hand three hundred pound yearlye;
Now take heede you steale no more of my deer:
And once a quarter let's here have your view;
And now, sir John Cockle, I bid you adieu.
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XXI. THE SHEPHERD'S RESOLUTION.
[_]
This beautiful old song was written by a poet, whose name would have been utterly forgotten, if it had not been preserved by Swift, as a term of contempt. “Dryden and Wither” are coupled by him like the Bavius and Mævius of Virgil. Dryden however has had justice done him by posterity: and as for Wither, though of subordinate merit, that he was not altogether devoid of genius, will be judged from the following stanzas. The truth is, Wither was a very voluminous party-writer: and as his political and satyrical strokes rendered him extremely popular in his life time; so afterwards, when their date was out, they totally consigned his writings to oblivion.
George Wither was born June 11. 1588, and in his younger years distinguished himself by some pastoral pieces, that were not inelegant; but growing afterwards involved in the political and religious disputes in the times of James I, and Charles I, he employed his poetical vein in severe pasquils on the court and clergy, and was occasionally a sufferer for the freedom of his pen. In the civil war that ensued, he exerted himself in the service of the Parliament, and became a considerable sharer in the spoils. He was even one of those provincial tyrants, whom Oliver distributed over the kingdom, under the name of Major Generals; and had the fleecing of the county of Surrey: but surviving the Restoration, he outlived both his power and his affluence; and giving vent to his chagrin in libels on
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During the whole course of his life, Wither was a continual publisher; having generally for opponent, Taylor the Water-poet. The long list of his productions may be seen in Wood's Athænæ. Oxon. vol. 2. His most popular satire, is intitled, “Abuses whipt and stript.” 1613. His most poetical pieces were eclogues, intitled, “The Shepherd's Hunting.” 1615, 8vo. and others printed at the end of Browne's “Shepherd's Pipe.” 1614. 8vo. The following sonnet is extracted from a long pastoral piece of his, intitled, “The Mistresse of Philarete.” 8vo. which is said in the preface to be one of the Author's first poems: and may therefore be dated as early as any of the foregoing.
Shall I, wasting in dispaire,
Dye because a woman's faire?
Or make pale my cheeks with care,
'Cause another's rosie are?
Be shee fairer then the day,
Or the flowry meads in may;
If she think not well of me,
What care I how faire shee be?
Dye because a woman's faire?
Or make pale my cheeks with care,
'Cause another's rosie are?
Be shee fairer then the day,
Or the flowry meads in may;
If she think not well of me,
What care I how faire shee be?
Shall my heart be griev'd or pin'd,
Cause I see a woman kind?
Or a well-disposed nature
Joyned with a lovely feature?
Be shee meeker, kinder, than
The turtle-dove or pelican:
If shee be not so to me,
What care I how kind shee be?
Cause I see a woman kind?
Or a well-disposed nature
Joyned with a lovely feature?
Be shee meeker, kinder, than
The turtle-dove or pelican:
If shee be not so to me,
What care I how kind shee be?
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Shall a womans virtues move
Me, to perish for her love?
Or, her well deservings knowne,
Make me quite forget mine owne?
Be shee with that goodnesse blest,
Which may merit name of Best;
If she be not such to me,
What care I how good she be?
Me, to perish for her love?
Or, her well deservings knowne,
Make me quite forget mine owne?
Be shee with that goodnesse blest,
Which may merit name of Best;
If she be not such to me,
What care I how good she be?
Cause her fortune seemes too high,
Shall I play the foole and dye?
Those that beare a noble minde,
Where they want of riches find,
Thinke what with them they would doe,
That without them dare to woe;
And, unlesse that minde I see,
What care I, though great she be?
Shall I play the foole and dye?
Those that beare a noble minde,
Where they want of riches find,
Thinke what with them they would doe,
That without them dare to woe;
And, unlesse that minde I see,
What care I, though great she be?
Great or good, or kind or faire,
I will ne'er the more dispaire:
If she love me, this beleeve;
I will die ere she shall grieve.
If she slight me, when I wooe;
I can scorne and let her goe:
For, if shee be not for me,
What care I for whom she be?
I will ne'er the more dispaire:
If she love me, this beleeve;
I will die ere she shall grieve.
If she slight me, when I wooe;
I can scorne and let her goe:
For, if shee be not for me,
What care I for whom she be?
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XXII. THE WANDERING PRINCE OF TROY.
[_]
This excellent old ballad, which perhaps ought to have been placed earlier in the volume, is given from the editor's folio MS. collated with two different printed copies, both in black letter in the Pepys collection.
The reader will smile to observe with what natural and affecting simplicity, our ancient ballad-maker has engrafted a Gothic conclusion on the classic story of Virgil, from whom, however, it is probable he had it not. Nor can it be denied, but he has dealt out his poetical justice with a more impartial hand, than that celebrated poet.
When Troy towne had, for ten yeares ‘past,’
Withstood the Greeks in manful wise,
Then did their foes increase so fast,
That to resist nought could suffice:
Waste lye those walls, that were soe good,
And corn now grows where Troy towne stood.
Withstood the Greeks in manful wise,
Then did their foes increase so fast,
That to resist nought could suffice:
Waste lye those walls, that were soe good,
And corn now grows where Troy towne stood.
Æneas, wandering prince of Troy,
When he for land long time had sought,
At length arriving with great joy,
To mighty Carthage walls was brought;
Where Dido queen, with sumptuous feast,
Did entertaine this wandering guest.
When he for land long time had sought,
At length arriving with great joy,
To mighty Carthage walls was brought;
Where Dido queen, with sumptuous feast,
Did entertaine this wandering guest.
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And, as in hall at meate they sate,
The queen, desirous newes to hear,
‘Says, of thy Troys unhappy fate’
Declare to me thou Trojan dear:
The heavy hap and chance so bad,
Which thou, poore wandering prince, hast had.
The queen, desirous newes to hear,
‘Says, of thy Troys unhappy fate’
Declare to me thou Trojan dear:
The heavy hap and chance so bad,
Which thou, poore wandering prince, hast had.
And then anon this comely knight,
With words demure, as he could well,
Of their unhappy ten yeares ‘fight’,
So true a tale began to tell,
With words so sweet, and sighs so deepe,
That oft he made them all to weepe.
With words demure, as he could well,
Of their unhappy ten yeares ‘fight’,
So true a tale began to tell,
With words so sweet, and sighs so deepe,
That oft he made them all to weepe.
And then a thousand sighes he set,
And everye sighe brought teares amaine;
That where he sate the place was wet,
As though he had seene those warrs againe;
Soe that the queene, with ruth therefore
Sayd, worthye prince, enough, no more.
And everye sighe brought teares amaine;
That where he sate the place was wet,
As though he had seene those warrs againe;
Soe that the queene, with ruth therefore
Sayd, worthye prince, enough, no more.
And now the darksome night drew on,
And twinkling starres the skye bespred;
When he his dolefull tale had done,
And everye one was laid in bed:
Where they full sweetlye took their rest,
Save only Dido's boyling breast.
And twinkling starres the skye bespred;
When he his dolefull tale had done,
And everye one was laid in bed:
Where they full sweetlye took their rest,
Save only Dido's boyling breast.
This seely woman never slept,
But in her chamber, all alone,
As one unhappy, alwaies wept,
And to the walls shee made her mone;
That shee should still desire in vaine
The thing, she never must obtaine.
But in her chamber, all alone,
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And to the walls shee made her mone;
That shee should still desire in vaine
The thing, she never must obtaine.
And thus in griefe shee spent the night,
Till twinkling starres the skye were fled,
And Phœbus, with his glistering light,
Through misty cloudes appeared red;
Then tidings came to her anon,
That all the Trojan shipps were gone.
Till twinkling starres the skye were fled,
And Phœbus, with his glistering light,
Through misty cloudes appeared red;
Then tidings came to her anon,
That all the Trojan shipps were gone.
And then the queene against her life
Did arme her heart as hard as stone,
Yet, ere she bared the bloody knife,
In woefull wise shee made her mone;
And, rolling on her carefull bed,
With sighes and sobs, these words shee sed:
Did arme her heart as hard as stone,
Yet, ere she bared the bloody knife,
In woefull wise shee made her mone;
And, rolling on her carefull bed,
With sighes and sobs, these words shee sed:
O wretched Dido queene! quoth shee,
I see thy end approacheth neare;
For he is fled away from thee,
Whom thou didst love and hold so deare:
What is he gone, and passed bye?
O heart, prepare thyself to dye.
I see thy end approacheth neare;
For he is fled away from thee,
Whom thou didst love and hold so deare:
What is he gone, and passed bye?
O heart, prepare thyself to dye.
In vaine thou pleadst I should forbeare,
And stay my hand from bloody stroke;
Thee, treacherous heart, I must not spare,
Which fettered me in Cupids yoke.
Come death, quoth shee, resolve my smart:—
And with those words she pierc'd her heart.
And stay my hand from bloody stroke;
Thee, treacherous heart, I must not spare,
Which fettered me in Cupids yoke.
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And with those words she pierc'd her heart.
When death had pierc'd the tender heart
Of Dido, Carthaginian queene;
Whose bloody knife did end the smart,
Which shee sustain'd in mournfull teene;
Æneas being shipt and gone,
Whose flattery caused all her mone;
Of Dido, Carthaginian queene;
Whose bloody knife did end the smart,
Which shee sustain'd in mournfull teene;
Æneas being shipt and gone,
Whose flattery caused all her mone;
Her funerall most costly made,
And all things finisht mournfullye;
Her bodye fine in mold was laid,
Where itt consumed speedilye:
Her sisters teares her tombe bestrew'd;
Her subjects griefe their kindnesse shew'd.
And all things finisht mournfullye;
Her bodye fine in mold was laid,
Where itt consumed speedilye:
Her sisters teares her tombe bestrew'd;
Her subjects griefe their kindnesse shew'd.
Then was Æneas in an isle
In Grecia, where he stay'd long space,
Whereatt her sister in short while,
Writt to him to his vile disgrace;
In speeches bitter to his minde
Shee told him plaine, hee was unkinde.
In Grecia, where he stay'd long space,
Whereatt her sister in short while,
Writt to him to his vile disgrace;
In speeches bitter to his minde
Shee told him plaine, hee was unkinde.
False-hearted wretch, quoth shee, thou art;
And traiterouslye thou hast betraid
Unto thy lure a gentle heart,
Which unto thee much welcome made;
My sister deare, and Carthage' joy,
Whose folly bred her dere annoy.
And traiterouslye thou hast betraid
Unto thy lure a gentle heart,
Which unto thee much welcome made;
My sister deare, and Carthage' joy,
Whose folly bred her dere annoy.
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Yet on her death-bed when shee laye,
Shee prayed for thy prosperitye,
Beseeching god, that every day
Might breed thee great felicitye:
Thus by thy meanes I lost a friend;
Heaven send thee such untimely end.
Shee prayed for thy prosperitye,
Beseeching god, that every day
Might breed thee great felicitye:
Thus by thy meanes I lost a friend;
Heaven send thee such untimely end.
When he these lines, full fraught with gall,
Perused had, and weighed them right,
His lofty courage 'gan to fall;
And straight appeared in his sight
Queene Dido's ghost, both grim and pale;
Which made this valliant souldier quail.
Perused had, and weighed them right,
His lofty courage 'gan to fall;
And straight appeared in his sight
Queene Dido's ghost, both grim and pale;
Which made this valliant souldier quail.
Æneas, quoth this ghastly ghost,
My whole delight while I did live,
Thee of all men I loved most;
To thee my fancye I did give;
And for the welcome I thee gave,
Unthankfully thou didst me grave.
My whole delight while I did live,
Thee of all men I loved most;
To thee my fancye I did give;
And for the welcome I thee gave,
Unthankfully thou didst me grave.
Therefore prepare thy fleeting soule
To wander with me in the ayre;
Where deadlye griefe shall make it howle,
Because of me thou tookst no care:
Delay not time, thy glasse is run,
Thy date is past, thy life is done.
To wander with me in the ayre;
Where deadlye griefe shall make it howle,
Because of me thou tookst no care:
Delay not time, thy glasse is run,
Thy date is past, thy life is done.
O stay a while, thou lovelye spright,
Be not so hasty to convay
My soule into eternal night,
Where it shall ne'er behold bright day.
O doe not frown, thy angry looke
Hath all my soule with horror shooke.
Be not so hasty to convay
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Where it shall ne'er behold bright day.
O doe not frown, thy angry looke
Hath all my soule with horror shooke.
But, woe is me! all is in vaine,
And bootlesse is my dismall crye;
Time will not be recall'd againe,
Nor thou surcease before I dye.
O let me live, and make amends
To some of thy most dearest friends.
And bootlesse is my dismall crye;
Time will not be recall'd againe,
Nor thou surcease before I dye.
O let me live, and make amends
To some of thy most dearest friends.
But seeing thou obdurate art,
And wilt no pitye on me showe,
Because from thee I did depart,
And left unpaid what I did owe:
I must content myself, to take
What lott to me thou wilt partake.
And wilt no pitye on me showe,
Because from thee I did depart,
And left unpaid what I did owe:
I must content myself, to take
What lott to me thou wilt partake.
And thus, as one being in a trance,
A multitude of uglye fiends
About this woefull prince did dance;
He had no helpe of any friends:
His body then they tooke away,
And no man knew his dying day.
A multitude of uglye fiends
About this woefull prince did dance;
He had no helpe of any friends:
His body then they tooke away,
And no man knew his dying day.
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XXIII. THE WITCHES' SONG
[_]
—From Ben Jonson's Masque of Queens, presented at Whitehall, Feb. 2, 1609.
The editor thought it incumbent on him to insert some old pieces on the popular superstition concerning witches, hobgoblins, fairies, and ghosts. The last of these make their appearance in most of the tragical ballads; and in the following songs will be found some description of the former.
It is true, this song of the Witches, falling from the learned pen of Ben Jonson, is rather an extract from the various incantations of classic antiquity, than a display of the opinions of our own vulgar. But let it be observed, that a parcel of learned wiseacres had just before busied themselves on this subject, with our British Solomon James I. at their head: and these had so ransacked all writers ancient and modern, and so blended and kneaded together the several superstitions of different times and nations, that those of genuine English growth could no longer be traced out and distinguished.
By good luck the whimsical belief of fairies and goblins could furnish no pretences for torturing our fellow-creatures, and therefore we have this handed down to us pure and unsophisticated.
I have beene all day looking after
A raven feeding upon a quarter;
And, soone as she turn'd her beak to the south,
I snatch'd this morsell out of her mouth.
2 Witch.
I have beene gathering wolves haires,
The mad dogges foame, and adders eares;
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And all since the evening starre did rise.
3 Witch.
I last night lay all alone
O' the ground, to heare the mandrake grone;
And pluckt him up, though he grew full low:
And, as I had done, the cocke did crow.
4 Witch.
And I ha' beene chusing out this scull
From charnell houses that were full;
From private grots, and publike pits;
And frighted a sexton out of his wits.
5 Witch.
Under a cradle I did creepe
By day; and, when the childe was a-sleepe
At night, I suck'd the breath; and rose,
And pluck'd the nodding nurse by the nose.
6 Witch.
I had a dagger: what did I with that?
Killed an infant to have his fat.
A piper it got, at a church-ale,
I bade him again blow wind i' the taile.
7 Witch.
A murderer, yonder, was hung in chaines;
The sunne and the wind had shrunke his veines:
20
I brought off his ragges, that danc'd i'the ayre.
8 Witch.
The scrich-owles egges, and the feathers blacke,
The bloud of the frogge, and the bone in his backe
I have been getting; and made of his skin
A purset, to keepe sir Cranion in.
9 Witch.
And I ha' beene plucking (plants among)
Hemlock, henbane, adders-tongue,
Night-shade, moone-wort, libbards-bane;
And twise by the dogges was like to be tane.
10 Witch.
I from the jawes of a gardiner's bitch
Did snatch these bones, and then leap'd the ditch:
Yet went I back to the house againe,
Kill'd the blacke cat, and here is the braine.
11 Witch.
I went to the toad, breedes under the wall,
I charmed him out, and he came at my call;
I scratch'd out the eyes of the owle before;
I tore the batts wing: what would you have more?
Dame.
Yes: I have brought, to helpe your vows,
Horned poppie, cypresse boughes,
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And juice, that from the larch-tree comes,
The basiliskes bloud, and the vipers skin:
And now our orgies let's begin.
Since this ballad was printed off the Editor hath seen an ancient black-letter copy, containing some variations, and intitled, “The merry pranks of Robin Good-Fellow. To the tune of Dulcina, &c.”
See p. 151.
To this copy were prefixed two wooden cuts of Robin Good-Fellow, which seem to represent the dresses in which this whimsical character was formerly exhibited on the stage. To gratify the curious these are engraven below.
XXIV. ROBIN GOOD-FELLOW
[_]
—alias Pucke, alias Hobgoblin, in the creed of ancient superstition, was a kind of merry sprite, whose character and atchievements are recorded in this ballad, and in those well-known lines of Milton's L'Allegro, which the antiquarian Peck supposes to be owing to it;
“Tells how the drudging Goblin swet
“To earn his cream-bowle duly set;
“When in one night, ere glimpse of morne,
“His shadowy flail hath thresh'd the corn
“That ten day-labourers could not end;
“Then lies him down the lubbar fiend,
“And stretch'd out all the chimneys length,
“Basks at the fire his hairy strength,
“And crop-full out of doors he flings,
“Ere the first cock his matins rings.”
“To earn his cream-bowle duly set;
“When in one night, ere glimpse of morne,
“His shadowy flail hath thresh'd the corn
“That ten day-labourers could not end;
“Then lies him down the lubbar fiend,
“And stretch'd out all the chimneys length,
“Basks at the fire his hairy strength,
“And crop-full out of doors he flings,
“Ere the first cock his matins rings.”
The reader will observe that our simple ancestors had reduced all these whimsies to a kind of system, as regular, and perhaps more consistent, than many parts of classic mythology: a proof of the extensive influence and vast antiquity of these superstitions. Mankind, and especially the common people, could not every where have been so unanimously agreed concerning these arbitrary notions, if they had not prevailed among them for many ages. Indeed, a learned friend in Wales assures the editor, that the existence of Fairies and Goblins is alluded to by the most ancient British Bards, who mention them under various names, one of the most common of
203
See also Preface to Song XXV.
This song (which Peck attributes to Ben Jonson, tho' it is not found among his works) is given from an ancient black letter copy in the British Museum. It seems to have been originally intended for some Masque. See the last page of this volume.
From Oberon, in fairye land,
The king of ghosts and shadowes there,
Mad Robin I, at his command,
Am sent to viewe the night-sports here.
What revell rout
Is kept about,
In every corner where I go,
I will o'ersee,
And merry bee,
And make good sport, with ho, ho, ho!
The king of ghosts and shadowes there,
Mad Robin I, at his command,
Am sent to viewe the night-sports here.
What revell rout
Is kept about,
In every corner where I go,
I will o'ersee,
And merry bee,
And make good sport, with ho, ho, ho!
More swift than lightening can I flye
About this aery welkin soone,
And, in a minutes space, descrye
Each thing that's done belowe the moone.
There's not a hag
Or ghost shall wag,
Or cry, ware Goblins! where I go;
But Robin I
Their feates will spy,
And send them home, with ho, ho, ho!
About this aery welkin soone,
And, in a minutes space, descrye
Each thing that's done belowe the moone.
There's not a hag
Or ghost shall wag,
Or cry, ware Goblins! where I go;
But Robin I
Their feates will spy,
And send them home, with ho, ho, ho!
Whene'er such wanderers I meete,
As from their night-sports they trudge home;
With counterfeiting voice I greete
And call them on, with me to roame
Thro' woods, thro' lakes,
Thro' bogs, thro' brakes;
Or else, unseene, with them I go,
All in the nicke
To play some tricke
And frolicke it, with ho, ho, ho!
As from their night-sports they trudge home;
204
And call them on, with me to roame
Thro' woods, thro' lakes,
Thro' bogs, thro' brakes;
Or else, unseene, with them I go,
All in the nicke
To play some tricke
And frolicke it, with ho, ho, ho!
Sometimes I meete them like a man;
Sometimes, an ox; sometimes, a hound;
And to a horse I turn me can;
To trip and trot about them round.
But if, to ride,
My backe they stride,
More swift than wind away I go,
Ore hedge and lands,
Thro' pools and ponds,
I whirry, laughing, ho, ho, ho!
Sometimes, an ox; sometimes, a hound;
And to a horse I turn me can;
To trip and trot about them round.
But if, to ride,
My backe they stride,
More swift than wind away I go,
Ore hedge and lands,
Thro' pools and ponds,
I whirry, laughing, ho, ho, ho!
When lads and lasses merry be,
With possets and with juncates fine;
Unseene of all the company,
I eat their cakes and sip their wine;
And, to make sport,
I fart and snort;
And out the candles I do blow:
The maids I kiss;
They shrieke—Who's this?
I answer nought, but ho, ho, ho!
With possets and with juncates fine;
Unseene of all the company,
I eat their cakes and sip their wine;
And, to make sport,
I fart and snort;
And out the candles I do blow:
The maids I kiss;
They shrieke—Who's this?
I answer nought, but ho, ho, ho!
205
Yet now and then, the maids to please,
At midnight I card up their wooll;
And while they sleepe, and take their ease,
With wheel to threads their flax I pull.
I grind at mill
Their malt up still;
I dress their hemp, I spin their tow.
If any 'wake,
And would me take,
I wend me, laughing, ho, ho, ho!
At midnight I card up their wooll;
And while they sleepe, and take their ease,
With wheel to threads their flax I pull.
I grind at mill
Their malt up still;
I dress their hemp, I spin their tow.
If any 'wake,
And would me take,
I wend me, laughing, ho, ho, ho!
When house or harth doth sluttish lye,
I pinch the maidens blacke and blue;
The bed-clothes from the bed pull I,
And lay them naked all to view.
'Twixt sleepe and wake,
I do them take,
And on the key-cold floor them throw.
If out they cry,
Then forth I fly,
And loudly laugh out, ho, ho, ho!
I pinch the maidens blacke and blue;
The bed-clothes from the bed pull I,
And lay them naked all to view.
'Twixt sleepe and wake,
I do them take,
And on the key-cold floor them throw.
If out they cry,
Then forth I fly,
And loudly laugh out, ho, ho, ho!
When any need to borrowe ought,
We lend them what they do require;
And for the use demand we nought;
Our owne is all we do desire.
If to repay,
They do delay,
Abroad amongst them then I go,
And night by night,
I them affright
With pinchings, dreames, and ho, ho, ho!
We lend them what they do require;
And for the use demand we nought;
Our owne is all we do desire.
If to repay,
They do delay,
Abroad amongst them then I go,
206
I them affright
With pinchings, dreames, and ho, ho, ho!
When lazie queans have nought to do,
But study how to cog and lye;
To make debate and mischief too,
'Twixt one another secretlye:
I marke their gloze,
And it disclose,
To them whom they have wronged so;
When I have done,
I get me gone,
And leave them scolding, ho, ho, ho!
But study how to cog and lye;
To make debate and mischief too,
'Twixt one another secretlye:
I marke their gloze,
And it disclose,
To them whom they have wronged so;
When I have done,
I get me gone,
And leave them scolding, ho, ho, ho!
When men do traps and engins set
In loop-holes, where the vermine creepe,
Who from their foldes and houses, get
Their duckes and geese, and lambes and sheepe:
I spy the gin,
And enter in,
And seeme a vermine taken so;
But when they there
Approach me neare,
I leap out laughing, ho, ho, ho!
In loop-holes, where the vermine creepe,
Who from their foldes and houses, get
Their duckes and geese, and lambes and sheepe:
I spy the gin,
And enter in,
And seeme a vermine taken so;
But when they there
Approach me neare,
I leap out laughing, ho, ho, ho!
By wells and rills, in meadowes greene,
We nightly dance our hey-day guise;
And to our fairye king, and queene,
We chant our moon-light minstrelsies.
When larks 'gin sing,
Away we fling;
And babes new-borne steal as we go,
An elfe in bed
We leave instead,
And wend us laughing, ho, ho, ho!
We nightly dance our hey-day guise;
And to our fairye king, and queene,
We chant our moon-light minstrelsies.
207
Away we fling;
And babes new-borne steal as we go,
An elfe in bed
We leave instead,
And wend us laughing, ho, ho, ho!
From hag-bred Merlins time have I
Thus nightly revell'd to and fro;
And for my pranks men call me by
The name of Robin Good-fellòw.
Fiends, ghosts, and sprites,
Who haunt the nightes,
The hags and goblins do me know;
And beldames old
My feates have told;
So Vale, Vale; ho, ho, ho!
Thus nightly revell'd to and fro;
And for my pranks men call me by
The name of Robin Good-fellòw.
Fiends, ghosts, and sprites,
Who haunt the nightes,
The hags and goblins do me know;
And beldames old
My feates have told;
So Vale, Vale; ho, ho, ho!
XXV. THE FAIRY QUEEN.
[_]
We have here a short display of the popular belief concerning Fairies. It will afford entertainment to a contemplative mind to trace these whimsical opinions up to their origin. Whoever considers, how early, how extensively, and how uniformly they have prevailed in these nations, will not readily assent to the hypothesis of those, who fetch them from the east so late as the time of the Croisades. Whereas it is well known that our Saxon ancestors long before they left their German forests, believed the existence of
208
Vid. Hervarer Saga Olaj Verelj. 1675. Hickes Thesaur. &c.
This Song is given from an old black-letter copy.
Come, follow, follow mee,
Ye Fairy Elves that be
Light tripping oer the green,
Come follow Mab your queen;
Hand in hand we'll dance around,
Because this place is fairye ground.
Ye Fairy Elves that be
Light tripping oer the green,
Come follow Mab your queen;
Hand in hand we'll dance around,
Because this place is fairye ground.
When mortals are at rest,
And snoring in their nest;
Unheard, and un-espy'd,
Through key-holes we do glide;
Over tables, stooles, and shelves,
We trip it with our fairye elves.
And snoring in their nest;
Unheard, and un-espy'd,
Through key-holes we do glide;
Over tables, stooles, and shelves,
We trip it with our fairye elves.
And, if the house be foull
With platter, dish or bowl,
Up staires we nimbly creep,
And find the sluts asleep:
Then we pinch their armes and thighes;
None us heares, and none us spies.
With platter, dish or bowl,
Up staires we nimbly creep,
And find the sluts asleep:
Then we pinch their armes and thighes;
None us heares, and none us spies.
But if the house be swept,
And from uncleanness kept,
We praise the houshold maid,
And duely she is paid:
Every night before we goe,
We drop a tester in her shoe.
And from uncleanness kept,
We praise the houshold maid,
And duely she is paid:
209
We drop a tester in her shoe.
Then o'er a mushroomes head
Our table-cloth we spread;
A grain of rye, or wheat,
The diet that we eat;
Pearly drops of dew we drink
In acorn cups fill'd to the brink.
Our table-cloth we spread;
A grain of rye, or wheat,
The diet that we eat;
Pearly drops of dew we drink
In acorn cups fill'd to the brink.
The braines of nightingales,
With unctuous fat of snailes,
Between two cockles stew'd,
Is meat that's easily chew'd;
Tailes of wormes, and marrow of mice
Do make a dish, that's wonderous nice.
With unctuous fat of snailes,
Between two cockles stew'd,
Is meat that's easily chew'd;
Tailes of wormes, and marrow of mice
Do make a dish, that's wonderous nice.
The grashopper, gnat, and fly,
Serve for our minstrelsy,
Grace said, we dance a while,
And so the time beguile:
And if the moon doth hide her head,
The glow-worm lightes us home to bed.
Serve for our minstrelsy,
Grace said, we dance a while,
And so the time beguile:
And if the moon doth hide her head,
The glow-worm lightes us home to bed.
O'er tops of dewy grasse
So nimbly we do passe,
The young and tender stalk
Ne'er bends where we do walk:
Yet in the morning may be seene
Where we the night before have beene.
So nimbly we do passe,
The young and tender stalk
Ne'er bends where we do walk:
Yet in the morning may be seene
Where we the night before have beene.
210
XXVI. THE FAIRIES FAREWELL.
[_]
This humorous old song fell from the hand of the facetious bishop Corbet (probably in his youth), and is printed from his Poëtica Stromata, 1648, 12 mo. (compared with the third edition of his poems, 1672.) It is there called, “A proper new Ballad, intituled, The Fairies Farewell, or God-a-mercy Will, to be sung or whistled to the tune of The Meddow brow, by the learned: by the unlearned, to the tune of Fortune.”
The departure of Fairies is here attributed to the abolition of monkery: Chaucer has, with equal humour, assigned a cause the very reverse.
“In the old dayes of king Artour
“(Of which the Britons speken grete honour)
“All was this lond fulfilled of fayry;
“The elf-quene, with her jolly company,
“Daunsed full oft in many a grene mede.
“This was an old opinion as I rede:
“I speke of many hundred yere agoe:
“But now can no man see no elfes moe:
“For now the grete charite, and prayeres
“Of Limitours, and other holy freres,
“That serchen every lond, and every streme,
“As thick as motes in the sunne beme,
“Blessing halles, chambers, kitchins, and bowres,
“Cities, borowes, castelles, and hie toures,
“Thropes, and bernes, shepens, and dairies;
“This maketh that there ben now no fairies:
“For there as wont to walken was an elfe,
“There walketh now the Limitour himselfe,
“In undermeles and in morrownynges,
“And saieth his mattins and his holie thinges,
“As he goeth in his limitacioune.
“Wymen may now go safely up and doune,
“In every bush, and under every tree,
“There is none other incubus but he:
“And he ne will don hem no dishonour.”
“(Of which the Britons speken grete honour)
“All was this lond fulfilled of fayry;
“The elf-quene, with her jolly company,
“Daunsed full oft in many a grene mede.
“This was an old opinion as I rede:
“I speke of many hundred yere agoe:
“But now can no man see no elfes moe:
“For now the grete charite, and prayeres
“Of Limitours, and other holy freres,
“That serchen every lond, and every streme,
“As thick as motes in the sunne beme,
“Blessing halles, chambers, kitchins, and bowres,
“Cities, borowes, castelles, and hie toures,
“Thropes, and bernes, shepens, and dairies;
“This maketh that there ben now no fairies:
“For there as wont to walken was an elfe,
“There walketh now the Limitour himselfe,
“In undermeles and in morrownynges,
“And saieth his mattins and his holie thinges,
211
“Wymen may now go safely up and doune,
“In every bush, and under every tree,
“There is none other incubus but he:
“And he ne will don hem no dishonour.”
Wife of Bath's Tale.
Dr. Richard Corbet, having been bishop of Oxford about three years, and afterwards as long Bp. of Norwich, died in 1635, Ætat. 52.
Farewell rewards and Fairies!
Good housewives now may say;
For now foule sluts in dairies,
Doe fare as well as they:
And though they sweepe their hearths no less
Than mayds were wont to doe,
Yet who of late for cleaneliness
Finds sixe-pence in her shoe?
Good housewives now may say;
For now foule sluts in dairies,
Doe fare as well as they:
And though they sweepe their hearths no less
Than mayds were wont to doe,
Yet who of late for cleaneliness
Finds sixe-pence in her shoe?
Lament, lament old Abbies,
The fairies lost command;
They did but change priests babies,
But some have chang'd your land:
And all your children stoln from thence
Are now growne Puritanes,
Who live as changelings ever since,
For love of your demaines.
The fairies lost command;
They did but change priests babies,
But some have chang'd your land:
And all your children stoln from thence
Are now growne Puritanes,
Who live as changelings ever since,
For love of your demaines.
At morning and at evening both
You merry were and glad,
So little care of sleepe and sloth,
These prettie ladies had.
When Tom came home from labour,
Or Ciss to milking rose,
Then merrily went their tabour,
And nimbly went their toes.
You merry were and glad,
So little care of sleepe and sloth,
These prettie ladies had.
212
Or Ciss to milking rose,
Then merrily went their tabour,
And nimbly went their toes.
Witness those rings and rounddelayes
Of theirs, which yet remaine;
Were footed in queene Maries dayes
On many a grassy playne.
But since of late Elizabeth
And later James came in;
They never danc'd on any heath,
As when the time hath bin.
Of theirs, which yet remaine;
Were footed in queene Maries dayes
On many a grassy playne.
But since of late Elizabeth
And later James came in;
They never danc'd on any heath,
As when the time hath bin.
By which wee note the fairies
Were of the old profession:
Their songs were Ave Maries,
Their dances were procession.
But now, alas! they all are dead,
Or gone beyond the seas,
Or farther for religion fled,
Or else they take their ease.
Were of the old profession:
Their songs were Ave Maries,
Their dances were procession.
But now, alas! they all are dead,
Or gone beyond the seas,
Or farther for religion fled,
Or else they take their ease.
A tell-tale in their company
They never could endure;
And whoso kept not secretly
Their mirth, was punish'd sure:
It was a just and christian deed
To pinch such blacke and blue:
O how the common-welth doth need
Such justices, as you!
They never could endure;
And whoso kept not secretly
Their mirth, was punish'd sure:
It was a just and christian deed
To pinch such blacke and blue:
O how the common-welth doth need
Such justices, as you!
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Now they have left our quarters;
A Register they have,
Who can preserve their charters;
A man both wise and grave.
An hundred of their merry pranks
By one that I could name
Are kept in store; con twenty thanks
To William for the same.
A Register they have,
Who can preserve their charters;
A man both wise and grave.
An hundred of their merry pranks
By one that I could name
Are kept in store; con twenty thanks
To William for the same.
To William Churne of Staffordshire
Give laud and praises due,
Who every meale can mend your cheare
With tales both old and true:
To William all give audience,
And pray yee for his noddle:
For all the fairies evidence
Were lost, if it were addle.
Give laud and praises due,
Who every meale can mend your cheare
With tales both old and true:
To William all give audience,
And pray yee for his noddle:
For all the fairies evidence
Were lost, if it were addle.
[_]
After these Songs on the Fairies, the Reader may be curious to see the manner in which they were formerly invoked and bound to human service. In Ashmole's Collection of MSS. at Oxford, [Num. 8259. 1406. 2.] are the papers of some Alchymist, which contain a variety of Incantations and Forms of Conjuring both Fairies, Witches and Demons, principally, as it should seem, to assist him in his Great Work of transmuting Metals. Most of them are too impious to be reprinted: but the two following may be very innocently laughed at.
Whoever looks into Ben Jonson's Alchymist, will find that these impostors, among their other Secrets, affected to have a power over Fairies.
214
“An excellent way to gett a Fayrie. (For myself I call Margarett Barrance; but this will obteine any one that is not allready bownd.)
“FIRST, gett a broad square christall or Venice glasse, in length and breadth 3 inches. Than lay that glasse or christall in the bloud of a white henne, 3 Wednesdayes, or 3 Fridayes. Then take it out, and wash it with holy aq. and fumigate it. Then take 3 hazle sticks, or wands of an yeare groth: pill them fayre and white; and make ‘them.’ soe longe, as you write the Spiritts name, or Fayries name, which you call, 3 times on every sticke being made flatt on one side. Then bury them under some hill, whereas you suppose Fayries haunt, the Wednesday before you call her: And the Friday followinge take them uppe, and call her at 8 or 3 or 10 of the clocke, which be good planetts and houres for that turne: but when you call, be in clean life, and turne thy face towards the east. And when you have her, bind her to that stone or glasse.”
“An Unguent to annoynt under the Eyelids, and upon the Eyelids evninge and morninge: but especially when you call; or find your sight not perfect.
“R. A pint of sallet-oyle, and put it into a viall glasse: but first wash it with rose-water, and marygold-water; the flowers ‘to’ be gathered towards the east. Wash it till the oyle come white; then put it into the glasse, ut supra: and then put thereto the budds of holyhocke, the flowers of marygold, the flowers or toppes of wild thime, the budds of young hazle: and the thime must be gathered neare the side of a hill where Fayries use to be: and ‘take’ the grasse of a fayrie throne, there. All these put into the oyle, into the glasse: and set it to dissolve 3 dayes in the sunne, and then keep it for thy use; ut supra.”
After this follows a Form of Incantation, wherein the Alchymist conjures a Fairy, named Elaby Gathon, to appear to him in that Chrystal Glass, meekly and mildly; to resolve him truly in all manner of questions; and to be obedient to all his commands, under pain of Damnation, &c.
THE END OF BOOK THE SECOND.
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BOOK III.
I. THE BIRTH OF ST. GEORGE.
[_]
The incidents in this, and the other ballad of St. George and the Dragon, are chiefly taken from the old story-book of the Seven Champions of Christendome; which, tho' now the play-thing of children, was once in high repute. Bp. Hall in his satires, published in 1597, ranks
“St. George's sorell, and his cross of blood”among the most popular stories of his time: and an ingenious critic thinks that Spencer himself did not disdain to borrow hints from it ; tho' I much doubt whether this popular romance were written so early as the Faery Queen.
The author of this book of the Seven Champions was one Richard Johnson, who lived in the reigns of Elizabeth
216
The Seven Champions, tho' written in a wild inflated style, contains some strong Gothic painting; which seems, for the most art, copied from the metrical romances of former ages. At least the story of St. George and the fair Sabra, is taken almost verbatim from the old poetical legend of “Syr Bevis of Hampton.”
This very antique poem was in great fame in Chaucer's time, [see above pag. 100.] and so continued till the introduction of printing, when it ran thro' several editions; two of which are in black letter, 4to, “imprinted by Wyllyam “Copland” without date; containing great variations.
As a specimen of the poetic powers of this very old rhimist, and as a proof how closely the author of the Seven Champions has followed him, take a description of the dragon slain by sir Bevis.
“—Whan the dragon, that foule is,
“Had a syght of syr Bevis,
“He cast up a loude cry,
“As it had thondred in the sky;
“He turned his bely towarde the son;
“It was greater than any tonne:
“His scales was bryghter then the glas,
“And harder they were than any bras:
“Betwene his shulder and his tayle,
“Was forty fote withoute fayle.
“He waltred out of his denne,
“And Bevis pricked his stede then,
“And to hym a spere he thraste
“That all to shyvers he it braste:
“The dragon then gan Bevis assayle,
“And smote syr Bevis with his tayle;
“Then downe went horse and man,
“And two rybbes of Bevis brused than.
“He cast up a loude cry,
“As it had thondred in the sky;
“He turned his bely towarde the son;
“It was greater than any tonne:
“His scales was bryghter then the glas,
“And harder they were than any bras:
“Betwene his shulder and his tayle,
“Was forty fote withoute fayle.
“He waltred out of his denne,
“And Bevis pricked his stede then,
“And to hym a spere he thraste
“That all to shyvers he it braste:
“The dragon then gan Bevis assayle,
“And smote syr Bevis with his tayle;
“Then downe went horse and man,
“And two rybbes of Bevis brused than.
217
After a long fight, at length, as the dragon was preparing to fly, sir Bevis
“Hit him under the wynge
“As he was in his flyenge,
“There he was tender without scale,
“And Bevis thought to be his bale.
“He smote after, as I you saye,
“With his good sword Morglaye.
“Up to the hiltes Morglay yode
“Through harte, lyver, bone, and bloude:
“To the ground fell the dragon,
“Great joye syr Bevis begon.
“Under the scales al on hight
“He smote off his head forth right,
“And put it on a spere: &c.
“As he was in his flyenge,
“There he was tender without scale,
“And Bevis thought to be his bale.
“He smote after, as I you saye,
“With his good sword Morglaye.
“Up to the hiltes Morglay yode
“Through harte, lyver, bone, and bloude:
“To the ground fell the dragon,
“Great joye syr Bevis begon.
“Under the scales al on hight
“He smote off his head forth right,
“And put it on a spere: &c.
Sign. K. iv.
Sir Bevis's dragon is evidently the parent of that in the Seven Champions, see Chap. III. viz. “The dragon no sooner had a sight of him [St. George] but he gave such a terrible peal, as though it had thundered in the elements. . . . . Betwixt his shoulders and his tail were fifty feet in distance, his scales glistering as bright as silver, but far more hard than brass; his belly of the colour of gold, but bigger than a tun. Thus weltered he from his den, &c. . . . . The champion . . . gave the dragon such a thrust with his spear, that it shivered in a thousand pieces: whereat the furious dragon so fiercely smote him with his venomous tail, that down fell man and horse; in which fall two of St. Georges ribs were sore bruised, &c.—At length . . . St. George smote the dragon under the wing where it was tender without scale, whereby his good sword Ascalon with an easie passage went to the very hilt through both the dragon's heart, liver, bone and blood—Then St. George—cut off the dragon's head and pitcht it upon the truncheon of a spear, &c.”
The History of the Seven Champions being written just before the decline of books of chivalry was never, I believe, translated into any foreign language: But “Le Roman de Beuves of Hantonne,” was published at Paris in 1502, 4to. Let. Gothique.
218
The learned Selden tells us that about the time of the Norman invasion was Bevis famous with the title of Earl of Southampton, whose residence was at Dunction in Wiltshire; but observes that the monkish enlargements of his story, have made his very existence doubted. See Notes on Poly-Olbion, Song III.
As for the martial History of St. George, it is given up as entirely apocryphal. The equestrian figure, worn by the knights of the garter, has been understood to be an emblem of the christian warrior, in his spiritual armour, vanquishing the old serpent. But a learned writer has lately shewn that it is neither more nor less, than a charm or amulet borrowed from some eastern heretics; which having been originally worn as a protection from the malignity of the air, at length was considered as a preservative from wounds, and a means to insure victory in battle. For it seems the ancient orientals represented the sun by a man on horseback; the sun's rays by a spear; and any noxious exhalation by a serpent.
See Petingall's dissertation. 4to.
It cannot be denied, but that a great part of the following ballad is modern: for which reason it would have been thrown to the end of the volume, had not its subject procured it a place here.
Listen, lords, in bower and hall,
I sing the wonderous birth
Of brave St. George, whose valorous arm
Rid monsters from the earth:
I sing the wonderous birth
Of brave St. George, whose valorous arm
Rid monsters from the earth:
Distressed ladies to relieve
He travell'd many a day;
In honour of the christian faith,
Which shall endure for aye.
He travell'd many a day;
In honour of the christian faith,
Which shall endure for aye.
In Coventry sometime did dwell
A knight of worthy fame,
High steward of this noble realme;
Lord Albret was his name.
A knight of worthy fame,
219
Lord Albret was his name.
He had to wife a princelye dame,
Whose beauty did excell.
This virtuous lady, being with child,
In sudden sadness fell:
Whose beauty did excell.
This virtuous lady, being with child,
In sudden sadness fell:
For thirty nights no sooner sleepe
Had clos'd her wakeful eyes,
But, lo! a foul and fearful dreame
Her fancy did surprize:
Had clos'd her wakeful eyes,
But, lo! a foul and fearful dreame
Her fancy did surprize:
She dreamt a dragon fierce and fell
Conceiv'd within her womb;
Whose mortal fangs her body rent
Ere he to life could come.
Conceiv'd within her womb;
Whose mortal fangs her body rent
Ere he to life could come.
All woe-begone, and sad was she;
She nourisht constant woe:
Yet strove to hide it from her lord,
Lest he should sorrow know.
She nourisht constant woe:
Yet strove to hide it from her lord,
Lest he should sorrow know.
In vain she strove, her tender lord,
Who watch'd her slightest look,
Discover'd soon her secret paine,
And soon that paine partook.
Who watch'd her slightest look,
Discover'd soon her secret paine,
And soon that paine partook.
And when to him the fearful cause
She weeping did impart,
With kindest speech he strove to heal
The anguish of her heart.
She weeping did impart,
220
The anguish of her heart.
Be comforted, my lady deare,
Those pearly drops refraine;
Betide me weal, betide me woe,
I'll try to ease thy paine.
Those pearly drops refraine;
Betide me weal, betide me woe,
I'll try to ease thy paine.
And for this foul and fearful dreame,
That causeth all thy woe,
Trust me I'll travel far away
But I'll the meaning knowe.
That causeth all thy woe,
Trust me I'll travel far away
But I'll the meaning knowe.
Then giving many a fond embrace,
And shedding many a teare,
To the weïrd lady of the woods
He purpos'd to repaire.
And shedding many a teare,
To the weïrd lady of the woods
He purpos'd to repaire.
To the weïrd lady of the woods,
Full long and many a daye,
Thro' lonely shades, and thickets rough
He winds his weary waye.
Full long and many a daye,
Thro' lonely shades, and thickets rough
He winds his weary waye.
At length he reach'd a dreary dell
With dismal yews o'erhung;
Where cypress spred it's mournful boughes,
And pois'nous nightshade sprung.
With dismal yews o'erhung;
Where cypress spred it's mournful boughes,
And pois'nous nightshade sprung.
No chearful gleams here pierc'd the gloome,
He hears no chearful sound;
But shrill night-ravens yelling screame,
And serpents hiss around.
He hears no chearful sound;
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And serpents hiss around.
The shriek of fiends, and damned ghosts
Ran howling thro' his eare:
A chilling horror froze his heart,
Tho' all unus'd to feare.
Ran howling thro' his eare:
A chilling horror froze his heart,
Tho' all unus'd to feare.
Three times he strives to win his waye,
And pierce those sickly dewes:
Three times to bear his trembling corse
His knocking knees refuse.
And pierce those sickly dewes:
Three times to bear his trembling corse
His knocking knees refuse.
At length upon his beating breast
He signs the holy crosse;
And, rouzing up his wonted might,
He treads th'unhallow'd mosse.
He signs the holy crosse;
And, rouzing up his wonted might,
He treads th'unhallow'd mosse.
Beneath a pendent craggy cliffe,
All vaulted like a grave,
And opening in the solid rocke,
He found the inchanted cave.
All vaulted like a grave,
And opening in the solid rocke,
He found the inchanted cave.
An iron grate clos'd up the mouthe,
All hideous and forlorne;
And, fasten'd by a silver chaine,
Near hung a brazen horne.
All hideous and forlorne;
And, fasten'd by a silver chaine,
Near hung a brazen horne.
Then offering up a ‘secret prayer,’
Three times he blowes amaine:
Three times a deepe and hollow sound
Did answer him againe.
Three times he blowes amaine:
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Did answer him againe.
“Sir knight, thy lady beares a son,
“Who, like a dragon bright,
“Shall prove most dreadful to his foes,
“And terrible in fight.
“Who, like a dragon bright,
“Shall prove most dreadful to his foes,
“And terrible in fight.
“His name advanc'd in future times
“On banners shall be worne:
“But lo! thy lady's life must passe
“Before he can be borne.”
“On banners shall be worne:
“But lo! thy lady's life must passe
“Before he can be borne.”
All sore opprest with feare and doubt
Long time lord Albret stood;
At length he winds his doubtful waye
Back thro' the dreary wood.
Long time lord Albret stood;
At length he winds his doubtful waye
Back thro' the dreary wood.
Eager to clasp his lovelye dame
Then fast he travels backe:
But when he reach'd his castle gate,
His gate was hung with blacke.
Then fast he travels backe:
But when he reach'd his castle gate,
His gate was hung with blacke.
In every court and hall he found
A sullen silence reigne;
Save where, amid the lonely towers,
He heard her maidens' plaine;
A sullen silence reigne;
Save where, amid the lonely towers,
He heard her maidens' plaine;
And bitterly lament and weepe,
With many a grievous grone:
Then sore his bleeding heart misgave,
His lady's life was gone.
With many a grievous grone:
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His lady's life was gone.
With faultering step he enters in,
Yet half affraid to goe;
With trembling voice asks why they grieve,
Yet fears the cause to knowe.
Yet half affraid to goe;
With trembling voice asks why they grieve,
Yet fears the cause to knowe.
“Three times the sun hath rose and set;
They said, then stopt to weepe:
“Since heaven hath laid thy lady deare
“In death's eternal sleepe.
They said, then stopt to weepe:
“Since heaven hath laid thy lady deare
“In death's eternal sleepe.
“For, ah! in travel sore she fell,
“So sore that she must dye;
“Unless some shrewd and cunning leech
“Could ease her presentlye.
“So sore that she must dye;
“Unless some shrewd and cunning leech
“Could ease her presentlye.
“But when a cunning leech was fet,
“Too soon declared hee,
“She, or her babe must lose its life;
“Both saved could not bee.
“Too soon declared hee,
“She, or her babe must lose its life;
“Both saved could not bee.
“Now take my life, thy lady said,
“My little infant save:
“And O commend me to my lord,
“When I am laid in grave.
“My little infant save:
“And O commend me to my lord,
“When I am laid in grave.
“O tell him how that precious babe
“Cost him a tender wife:
“And teach my son to lisp her name,
“Who died to save his life.
“Cost him a tender wife:
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“Who died to save his life.
“Then calling still upon thy name,
“And praying still for thee;
“Without repining or complaint,
“Her gentle soul did flee.”
“And praying still for thee;
“Without repining or complaint,
“Her gentle soul did flee.”
What tongue can paint lord Albret's woe,
The bitter tears he shed,
The bitter pangs that wrung his heart,
To find his lady dead?
The bitter tears he shed,
The bitter pangs that wrung his heart,
To find his lady dead?
He beat his breast: he tore his hair:
And shedding many a teare,
At length he askt to see his son;
The son that cost so deare.
And shedding many a teare,
At length he askt to see his son;
The son that cost so deare.
New sorrowe seiz'd the damsells all:
At length they faultering saye;
“Alas! my lord, how shall we tell?
“Thy son is stoln awaye.
At length they faultering saye;
“Alas! my lord, how shall we tell?
“Thy son is stoln awaye.
“Faire as the sweetest flower of spring,
“Such was his infant mien:
“And on his little body stampt
“Three wonderous marks were seen:
“Such was his infant mien:
“And on his little body stampt
“Three wonderous marks were seen:
“A blood-red cross was on his arme;
“A dragon on his breast:
“A little garter all of gold
“Was round his leg exprest.
“A dragon on his breast:
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“Was round his leg exprest.
“Three carefull nurses we provide
“Our little lord to keepe:
“One gave him sucke, one gave him food,
“And one did lull to sleepe.
“Our little lord to keepe:
“One gave him sucke, one gave him food,
“And one did lull to sleepe.
“But lo! all in the dead of night,
“We heard a fearful sound:
“Loud thunder clapt; the castle shook;
“And lightning flasht around.
“We heard a fearful sound:
“Loud thunder clapt; the castle shook;
“And lightning flasht around.
“Dead with affright at first we lay;
“But rousing up anon,
“We ran to see our little lord:
“Our little lord was gone!
“But rousing up anon,
“We ran to see our little lord:
“Our little lord was gone!
“But how or where we could not tell;
“For lying on the ground,
“In deep and magic slumbers laid,
“The nurses there we found.”
“For lying on the ground,
“In deep and magic slumbers laid,
“The nurses there we found.”
O grief on grief! lord Albret said:
No more his tongue cou'd say,
When falling in a deadly swoone,
Long time he lifeless lay.
No more his tongue cou'd say,
When falling in a deadly swoone,
Long time he lifeless lay.
At length restor'd to life and sense
He nourisht endless woe,
No future joy his heart could taste,
No future comfort knowe.
He nourisht endless woe,
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No future comfort knowe.
So withers on the mountain top
A fair and stately oake,
Whose vigorous arms are torne away,
By some rude thunder-stroke.
A fair and stately oake,
Whose vigorous arms are torne away,
By some rude thunder-stroke.
At length his castle irksome grew,
He loathes his wonted home;
His native country he forsakes
In foreign lands to roame.
He loathes his wonted home;
His native country he forsakes
In foreign lands to roame.
There up and downe he wandered far,
Clad in a palmer's gowne;
Till his brown locks grew white as wool,
His beard as thistle downe.
Clad in a palmer's gowne;
Till his brown locks grew white as wool,
His beard as thistle downe.
At length, all wearied, down in death
He laid his reverend head.
Meantime amid the lonely wilds
His little son was bred.
He laid his reverend head.
Meantime amid the lonely wilds
His little son was bred.
There the weïrd lady of the woods
Had borne him far away,
And train'd him up in feates of armes,
And every martial play.
Had borne him far away,
And train'd him up in feates of armes,
And every martial play.
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II. ST. GEORGE AND THE DRAGON.
[_]
The following ballad is given (with some corrections) from two ancient black-letter copies in the Pepys Collection: one of which is in 12 mo, the other in folio.
Of Hector's deeds did Homer sing;
And of the sack of stately Troy,
What griefs fair Helena did bring,
Which was sir Paris' only joy:
And by my pen I will recite
St. George's deeds, an English knight.
And of the sack of stately Troy,
What griefs fair Helena did bring,
Which was sir Paris' only joy:
And by my pen I will recite
St. George's deeds, an English knight.
Against the Sarazens so rude
Fought he full long and many a day;
Where many gyants he subdu'd,
In honour of the christian way:
And after many adventures past
To Egypt land he came at last.
Fought he full long and many a day;
Where many gyants he subdu'd,
In honour of the christian way:
And after many adventures past
To Egypt land he came at last.
Now, as the story plain doth tell,
Within that countrey there did rest
A dreadful dragon fierce and fell,
Whereby they were full sore opprest:
Who by his poisonous breath each day,
Did many of the city slay.
Within that countrey there did rest
A dreadful dragon fierce and fell,
Whereby they were full sore opprest:
Who by his poisonous breath each day,
Did many of the city slay.
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The grief whereof did grow so great
Throughout the limits of the land,
That they their wise-men did intreat
To shew their cunning out of hand;
What way they might this fiend destroy,
That did the countrey thus annoy.
Throughout the limits of the land,
That they their wise-men did intreat
To shew their cunning out of hand;
What way they might this fiend destroy,
That did the countrey thus annoy.
The wise-men all before the king
This answer fram'd incontinent;
The dragon none to death might bring
By any means they could invent:
His skin more hard than brass was found,
That sword nor spear could pierce nor wound.
This answer fram'd incontinent;
The dragon none to death might bring
By any means they could invent:
His skin more hard than brass was found,
That sword nor spear could pierce nor wound.
When this the people understood,
They cryed out most piteouslye,
The dragon's breath infects their blood,
That every day in heaps they dye:
Among them such a plague it bred,
The living scarce could bury the dead.
They cryed out most piteouslye,
The dragon's breath infects their blood,
That every day in heaps they dye:
Among them such a plague it bred,
The living scarce could bury the dead.
No means there were, as they could hear,
For to appease the dragon's rage,
But to present some virgin clear,
Whose blood his fury might asswage;
Each day he would a maiden eat,
For to allay his hunger great.
For to appease the dragon's rage,
But to present some virgin clear,
Whose blood his fury might asswage;
Each day he would a maiden eat,
For to allay his hunger great.
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This thing by art the wise-men found,
Which truly must observed be;
Wherefore throughout the city round
A virgin pure of good degree
Was by the kings commission still
Taken up to serve the dragon's will.
Which truly must observed be;
Wherefore throughout the city round
A virgin pure of good degree
Was by the kings commission still
Taken up to serve the dragon's will.
Thus did the dragon every day
Untimely crop some virgin flowr,
Till all the maids were worn away,
And none were left him to devour:
Saving the king's fair daughter bright,
Her father's only heart's delight.
Untimely crop some virgin flowr,
Till all the maids were worn away,
And none were left him to devour:
Saving the king's fair daughter bright,
Her father's only heart's delight.
Then came the officers to the king
That heavy message to declare,
Which did his heart with sorrow sting;
She is, quoth he, my kingdom's heir:
O let us all be poisoned here,
Ere she should die, that is my dear.
That heavy message to declare,
Which did his heart with sorrow sting;
She is, quoth he, my kingdom's heir:
O let us all be poisoned here,
Ere she should die, that is my dear.
Then rose the people presently,
And to the king in rage they went;
They said his daughter deare should dye,
The dragon's fury to prevent:
Our daughters all are dead, quoth they,
And have been made the dragons prey:
And to the king in rage they went;
They said his daughter deare should dye,
The dragon's fury to prevent:
Our daughters all are dead, quoth they,
And have been made the dragons prey:
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And by their blood we rescued were,
And thou hast sav'd thy life thereby;
And now in sooth it is but faire,
For us thy daughter so should die.
O save my daughter, said the king;
And let me feel the dragon's sting.
And thou hast sav'd thy life thereby;
And now in sooth it is but faire,
For us thy daughter so should die.
O save my daughter, said the king;
And let me feel the dragon's sting.
Then fell fair Sabra on her knee,
And to her father dear did say,
O father, strive not thus for me,
But let me be the dragon's prey;
It may be, for my sake alone
This plague upon the land was thrown.
And to her father dear did say,
O father, strive not thus for me,
But let me be the dragon's prey;
It may be, for my sake alone
This plague upon the land was thrown.
Tis better I should dye, she said,
Than all your subjects perish quite;
Perhaps the dragon here was laid,
For my offence to work his spite:
And after he hath suckt my gore,
Your land shall feel the grief no more.
Than all your subjects perish quite;
Perhaps the dragon here was laid,
For my offence to work his spite:
And after he hath suckt my gore,
Your land shall feel the grief no more.
What hast thou done, my daughter dear,
For to deserve this heavy scourge?
It is my fault, as may appear,
Which makes the gods our state to purge;
Then ought I die, to stint the strife,
And to preserve thy happy life.
For to deserve this heavy scourge?
It is my fault, as may appear,
Which makes the gods our state to purge;
Then ought I die, to stint the strife,
And to preserve thy happy life.
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Like mad-men, all the people cried,
Thy death to us can do no good;
Our safety only doth abide
In making her the dragon's food.
Lo! here I am, I come, quoth she,
Therefore do what you will with me.
Thy death to us can do no good;
Our safety only doth abide
In making her the dragon's food.
Lo! here I am, I come, quoth she,
Therefore do what you will with me.
Nay stay, dear daughter, quoth the queen,
And as thou art a virgin bright,
That hast for vertue famous been,
So let me cloath thee all in white;
And crown thy head with flowers sweet,
An ornament for virgins meet.
And as thou art a virgin bright,
That hast for vertue famous been,
So let me cloath thee all in white;
And crown thy head with flowers sweet,
An ornament for virgins meet.
And when she was attired so,
According to her mother's mind,
Unto the stake then did she go;
To which her tender limbs they bind:
And being bound to stake a thrall
She bade farewell unto them all.
According to her mother's mind,
Unto the stake then did she go;
To which her tender limbs they bind:
And being bound to stake a thrall
She bade farewell unto them all.
Farewell, my father dear, quoth she,
And my sweet mother meek and mild;
Take you no thought nor weep for me,
For you may have another child:
Since for my country's good I dye,
Death I receive most willinglye.
And my sweet mother meek and mild;
Take you no thought nor weep for me,
For you may have another child:
Since for my country's good I dye,
Death I receive most willinglye.
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The king and queen and all their train
With weeping eyes went then their way,
And let their daughter there remain,
To be the hungry dragon's prey:
But as she did there weeping lye,
Behold St. George came riding by.
With weeping eyes went then their way,
And let their daughter there remain,
To be the hungry dragon's prey:
But as she did there weeping lye,
Behold St. George came riding by.
And seeing there a lady bright
So rudely tyed unto a stake,
As well became a valiant knight,
He straight to her his way did take:
Tell me, sweet maiden, then quoth he,
What caitif thus abuseth thee?
So rudely tyed unto a stake,
As well became a valiant knight,
He straight to her his way did take:
Tell me, sweet maiden, then quoth he,
What caitif thus abuseth thee?
And, lo! by Christ his cross I vow,
Which here is figured on my breast,
I will revenge it on his brow,
And break my lance upon his chest:
And speaking thus whereas he stood,
The dragon issued from the wood.
Which here is figured on my breast,
I will revenge it on his brow,
And break my lance upon his chest:
And speaking thus whereas he stood,
The dragon issued from the wood.
The lady that did first espy
The dreadful dragon coming so,
Unto St. George aloud did cry,
And willed him away to go;
Here comes that cursed fiend, quoth she,
That soon will make an end of me.
The dreadful dragon coming so,
Unto St. George aloud did cry,
And willed him away to go;
Here comes that cursed fiend, quoth she,
That soon will make an end of me.
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St. George then looking round about,
The fiery dragon soon espy'd,
And like a knight of courage stout,
Against him did most fiercely ride;
And with such blows he did him greet,
He fell beneath his horse's feet.
The fiery dragon soon espy'd,
And like a knight of courage stout,
Against him did most fiercely ride;
And with such blows he did him greet,
He fell beneath his horse's feet.
For with his launce that was so strong,
As he came gaping in his face,
In at his mouth he thrust along,
For he could pierce no other place:
And thus within the lady's view
This mighty dragon straight he slew.
As he came gaping in his face,
In at his mouth he thrust along,
For he could pierce no other place:
And thus within the lady's view
This mighty dragon straight he slew.
The savour of his poisoned breath
Could do this holy knight no harm.
Thus he the lady sav'd from death,
And home he led her by the arm;
Which when king Ptolemy did see,
There was great mirth and melody.
Could do this holy knight no harm.
Thus he the lady sav'd from death,
And home he led her by the arm;
Which when king Ptolemy did see,
There was great mirth and melody.
When as that valiant champion there
Had slain the dragon in the field,
To court he brought the lady fair
Which to their hearts much joy did yield.
He in the court of Egypt staid
Till he most falsely was betray'd.
Had slain the dragon in the field,
To court he brought the lady fair
Which to their hearts much joy did yield.
He in the court of Egypt staid
Till he most falsely was betray'd.
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That lady dearly lov'd the knight,
He counted her his only joy;
But when their love was brought to light
It turn'd unto their great annoy:
Th'Morocco king was in the court,
Who to the orchard did resort:
He counted her his only joy;
But when their love was brought to light
It turn'd unto their great annoy:
Th'Morocco king was in the court,
Who to the orchard did resort:
Dayly to take the pleasant air,
For pleasure sake he us'd to walk,
Under a wall he oft did hear
St. George with lady Sabra talk:
Their love he shew'd unto the king,
Which to St. George great woe did bring.
For pleasure sake he us'd to walk,
Under a wall he oft did hear
St. George with lady Sabra talk:
Their love he shew'd unto the king,
Which to St. George great woe did bring.
Those kings together did devise
To make the christian knight away,
With letters him in curteous wise
They straightway sent to Persia:
But wrote to th'sophy him to kill,
And treacherously his blood to spill.
To make the christian knight away,
With letters him in curteous wise
They straightway sent to Persia:
But wrote to th'sophy him to kill,
And treacherously his blood to spill.
Thus they for good did him reward
With evil, and most subtilly
By much vile meanes they had regard
To work his death most cruelly;
Who, as through Persia land he rode,
With zeal destroy'd each idol god.
With evil, and most subtilly
By much vile meanes they had regard
To work his death most cruelly;
Who, as through Persia land he rode,
With zeal destroy'd each idol god.
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For which offence he straight was thrown
Into a dungeon dark and deep;
Where, when he thought his wrongs upon,
He bitterly did wail and weep:
Yet like a knight of courage stout,
At length his way he digged out.
Into a dungeon dark and deep;
Where, when he thought his wrongs upon,
He bitterly did wail and weep:
Yet like a knight of courage stout,
At length his way he digged out.
Three grooms of the king of Persia
By night this valiant champion slew,
Though he had fasted many a day;
And then away from thence he flew
On the best steed the sophy had;
Which when he knew he was full mad.
By night this valiant champion slew,
Though he had fasted many a day;
And then away from thence he flew
On the best steed the sophy had;
Which when he knew he was full mad.
Towards Christendom he made his flight,
But met a gyant by the way,
With whom in combat he did fight
Most valiantly a summer's day:
Who yet, for all his bats of steel,
Was forc'd the sting of death to feel.
But met a gyant by the way,
With whom in combat he did fight
Most valiantly a summer's day:
Who yet, for all his bats of steel,
Was forc'd the sting of death to feel.
Back o'er the seas with many bands
Of warlike souldiers soon he past,
Vowing upon those heathen lands
To work revenge; which at the last,
Ere thrice three years were gone and spent,
He wrought unto his heart's content.
Of warlike souldiers soon he past,
Vowing upon those heathen lands
To work revenge; which at the last,
Ere thrice three years were gone and spent,
He wrought unto his heart's content.
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Save onely Egypt land he spar'd
For Sabra bright her only sake,
And, ere for her he had regard,
He meant a tryal kind to make:
Mean while the king o'ercome in field
Unto saint George did quickly yield.
For Sabra bright her only sake,
And, ere for her he had regard,
He meant a tryal kind to make:
Mean while the king o'ercome in field
Unto saint George did quickly yield.
Then straight Morocco's king he slew,
And took fair Sabra to his wife,
But meant to try if she were true
Ere with her he would lead his life:
And, tho' he had her in his train,
She did a virgin pure remain.
And took fair Sabra to his wife,
But meant to try if she were true
Ere with her he would lead his life:
And, tho' he had her in his train,
She did a virgin pure remain.
Toward England then that lovely dame
The brave St. George conducted strait,
An eunuch also with them came,
Who did upon the lady wait;
These three from Egypt went alone.
Now mark St. George's valour shown.
The brave St. George conducted strait,
An eunuch also with them came,
Who did upon the lady wait;
These three from Egypt went alone.
Now mark St. George's valour shown.
When as they in a forest were,
The lady did desire to rest;
Mean while St. George to kill a deer,
For their repast did think it best:
Leaving her with the eunuch there,
Whilst he did go to kill the deer.
The lady did desire to rest;
Mean while St. George to kill a deer,
For their repast did think it best:
Leaving her with the eunuch there,
Whilst he did go to kill the deer.
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But lo! all in his absence came
Two hungry lyons fierce and fell,
And tore the eunuch on the same
In pieces small, the truth to tell;
Down by the lady then they laid,
Whereby they shew'd, she was a maid.
Two hungry lyons fierce and fell,
And tore the eunuch on the same
In pieces small, the truth to tell;
Down by the lady then they laid,
Whereby they shew'd, she was a maid.
But when he came from hunting back,
And did behold this heavy chance,
Then for his lovely virgin's sake
His courage strait he did advance,
And came into the lions sight,
Who ran at him with all their might.
And did behold this heavy chance,
Then for his lovely virgin's sake
His courage strait he did advance,
And came into the lions sight,
Who ran at him with all their might.
Their rage did him no whit dismay,
Who, like a stout and valiant knight,
Did both the hungry lyons slay
Within the lady Sabra's sight:
Who all this while sad and demure,
There stood most like a virgin pure.
Who, like a stout and valiant knight,
Did both the hungry lyons slay
Within the lady Sabra's sight:
Who all this while sad and demure,
There stood most like a virgin pure.
Now when St. George did surely know
This lady was a virgin true,
His heart was glad, that erst was woe,
And all his love did soon renew:
He set her on a palfrey steed,
And towards England came with speed.
This lady was a virgin true,
His heart was glad, that erst was woe,
And all his love did soon renew:
He set her on a palfrey steed,
And towards England came with speed.
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Where being in short space arriv'd
Unto his native dwelling place;
Therein with his dear love he liv'd,
And fortune did his nuptials grace:
They many years of joy did see,
And led their lives at Coventry.
Unto his native dwelling place;
Therein with his dear love he liv'd,
And fortune did his nuptials grace:
They many years of joy did see,
And led their lives at Coventry.
III. LOVE WILL FIND OUT THE WAY.
Over the mountains,
And over the waves;
Under the fountains,
And under the graves;
Over floods that are deepest,
Which Neptune obey;
Over rocks that are steepest,
Love will find out the way.
And over the waves;
Under the fountains,
And under the graves;
Over floods that are deepest,
Which Neptune obey;
Over rocks that are steepest,
Love will find out the way.
Where there is no place
For the glow-worm to lye;
Where there is no space
For receipt of a fly;
Where the midge dares not venture,
Lest herself fast she lay;
If love come, he will enter,
And soon find out his way.
For the glow-worm to lye;
Where there is no space
For receipt of a fly;
239
Lest herself fast she lay;
If love come, he will enter,
And soon find out his way.
You may esteem him
A child for his might;
Or you may deem him
A coward from his flight;
But if she, whom love doth honour,
Be conceal'd from the day,
Set a thousand guards upon her,
Love will find out the way.
A child for his might;
Or you may deem him
A coward from his flight;
But if she, whom love doth honour,
Be conceal'd from the day,
Set a thousand guards upon her,
Love will find out the way.
Some think to lose him,
By having him confin'd;
And some do suppose him,
Poor thing, to be blind;
But if ne'er so close ye wall him,
Do the best that you may,
Blind love, if so ye call him,
Will find out his way.
By having him confin'd;
And some do suppose him,
Poor thing, to be blind;
But if ne'er so close ye wall him,
Do the best that you may,
Blind love, if so ye call him,
Will find out his way.
You may train the eagle
To stoop to your fist;
Or you may inveigle
The phenix of the east;
The lioness, ye may move her
To give o'er her prey;
But you'll ne'er stop a lover:
He will find out his way.
To stoop to your fist;
Or you may inveigle
The phenix of the east;
The lioness, ye may move her
To give o'er her prey;
But you'll ne'er stop a lover:
He will find out his way.
240
IV. LORD THOMAS AND FAIR ANNET,
A Scottish Ballad
[_]
—seems to be composed (not without improvements) out of two ancient English ones, printed in the former part of this volume. See book I. ballad XV. and book II. ballad IV.—If this had been the original, the authors of these two ballads would hardly have adopted two such different stories: besides, this contains enlargements not to be found in either of the others. It is given with some corrections, from a MS. copy transmitted from Scotland.
Lord Thomas and fair Annet
Sate a' day on a hill;
Whan night was cum, and sun was sett,
They had not talkt their fill.
Sate a' day on a hill;
Whan night was cum, and sun was sett,
They had not talkt their fill.
Lord Thomas said a word in jest,
Fair Annet took it ill:
A'! I will nevir wed a wife
Against my ain friends will.
Fair Annet took it ill:
A'! I will nevir wed a wife
Against my ain friends will.
241
Gif ye wull nevir wed a wife,
A wife wull neir wed yee.
Sae he is hame to tell his mither,
And knelt upon his knee:
A wife wull neir wed yee.
Sae he is hame to tell his mither,
And knelt upon his knee:
O rede, O rede, mither, he says,
A gude rede gie to mee:
O sall I tak the nut-browne bride,
And let faire Annet bee?
A gude rede gie to mee:
O sall I tak the nut-browne bride,
And let faire Annet bee?
The nut-browne bride haes gowd and gear,
Fair Annet she has gat nane;
And the little beauty fair Annet haes,
O it wull soon be gane!
Fair Annet she has gat nane;
And the little beauty fair Annet haes,
O it wull soon be gane!
And he has till his brother gane:
Now brother rede ye mee;
A' fall I marrie the nut-browne bride,
And let fair Annet bee?
Now brother rede ye mee;
A' fall I marrie the nut-browne bride,
And let fair Annet bee?
The nut-browne bride has oxen, brother,
The nut-browne bride has kye;
I wad hae ye marrie the nut-browne bride,
And cast fair Annet bye.
The nut-browne bride has kye;
I wad hae ye marrie the nut-browne bride,
And cast fair Annet bye.
Her oxen may dye i' the house, Billìe,
And her kye into the byre;
And I sall hae nothing to my sell,
Bot a fat fadge by the fyre.
And her kye into the byre;
And I sall hae nothing to my sell,
Bot a fat fadge by the fyre.
242
And he has till his sister gane:
Now sister rede ye mee;
O fall I marrie the nut-browne bride,
And set fair Annet free?
Now sister rede ye mee;
O fall I marrie the nut-browne bride,
And set fair Annet free?
Ile rede ye tak fair Annet, Thomas,
And let the browne bride alane;
Lest ye sould sigh and say, Alace!
What is this we brought hame?
And let the browne bride alane;
Lest ye sould sigh and say, Alace!
What is this we brought hame?
No, I will tak my mithers counsel,
And marrie me owt o' hand;
And I will tak the nut-browne bride;
Fair Annet may leive the land.
And marrie me owt o' hand;
And I will tak the nut-browne bride;
Fair Annet may leive the land.
Up then rose fair Annets father
Twa hours or it wer day,
And he is gane into the bower,
Wherein fair Annet lay.
Twa hours or it wer day,
And he is gane into the bower,
Wherein fair Annet lay.
Rise up, rise up, fair Annet, he says,
Put on your silken sheene;
Let us gae to St. Maries kirke,
And see that rich weddeen.
Put on your silken sheene;
Let us gae to St. Maries kirke,
And see that rich weddeen.
My maides, gae to my dressing roome,
And dress to me my hair;
Whair-eir yee laid a plait before,
See yee lay ten times mair.
And dress to me my hair;
Whair-eir yee laid a plait before,
See yee lay ten times mair.
243
My maids, gae to my dressing room,
And dress to me my smock;
The one half is o' the holland fine,
The other o' needle-work.
And dress to me my smock;
The one half is o' the holland fine,
The other o' needle-work.
The horse fair Annet rade upon,
He amblit like the wind,
Wi' siller he was shod before,
Wi' burning gowd behind.
He amblit like the wind,
Wi' siller he was shod before,
Wi' burning gowd behind.
Four and twanty siller bells
Wer a' tyed till his mane,
And yae tift o' the norland wind,
They tinkled ane by ane.
Wer a' tyed till his mane,
And yae tift o' the norland wind,
They tinkled ane by ane.
Four and twanty gay gude knichts
Rade by fair Annets side,
And four and twanty fair ladies,
As gin she had bin a bride.
Rade by fair Annets side,
And four and twanty fair ladies,
As gin she had bin a bride.
And whan she cam to Maries kirk,
She sat on Maries stean;
The cleading that fair Annet had on
It skinkled in their een.
She sat on Maries stean;
The cleading that fair Annet had on
It skinkled in their een.
And whan she cam into the kirk,
She shimmer'd like the sun;
The belt that was about her waist,
Was a' wi' pearles bedone.
She shimmer'd like the sun;
The belt that was about her waist,
Was a' wi' pearles bedone.
244
She sat her by the nut-browne bride,
And her een they wer sae clear,
Lord Thomas he clean forgat the bride,
Whan fair Annet she drew.
And her een they wer sae clear,
Lord Thomas he clean forgat the bride,
Whan fair Annet she drew.
He had a rose into his hand,
And he gae it kisses three,
And reaching by the nut-browne bride,
Laid it on fair Annets knee.
And he gae it kisses three,
And reaching by the nut-browne bride,
Laid it on fair Annets knee.
Up than spak the nut-browne bride,
She spak wi' meikle spite;
And whair gat ye that rose-water,
That does mak yee sae white?
She spak wi' meikle spite;
And whair gat ye that rose-water,
That does mak yee sae white?
O I did get the rose-water,
Whair ye wull neir get nane,
For I did get that very rose-water
Into my mithers wame.
Whair ye wull neir get nane,
For I did get that very rose-water
Into my mithers wame.
The bride she drew a long bodkìn,
Frae out her gay head gear,
And strake fair Annet unto the heart,
That word she nevir spak mair.
Frae out her gay head gear,
And strake fair Annet unto the heart,
That word she nevir spak mair.
Lord Thomas he saw fair Annet wex pale,
And marvelit what mote bee:
But whan he saw her dear hearts blude,
A' wood-wroth wexed hee.
And marvelit what mote bee:
But whan he saw her dear hearts blude,
A' wood-wroth wexed hee.
245
He drew his dagger, that was sae sharp,
That was sae sharp and meet,
And drave it into the nut-browne bride,
That fell deid at his feit.
That was sae sharp and meet,
And drave it into the nut-browne bride,
That fell deid at his feit.
Now stay for me, dear Annet, he sed,
Now stay, my dear, he cry'd;
Than strake the dagger untill his heart,
And fell deid by her side.
Now stay, my dear, he cry'd;
Than strake the dagger untill his heart,
And fell deid by her side.
Lord Thomas was buried without kirk-wa',
Fair Annet within the quiere;
And o' the tane thair grew a birk,
The other a bonny briere.
Fair Annet within the quiere;
And o' the tane thair grew a birk,
The other a bonny briere.
And ay they grew, and ay they threw,
As they was faine be neare;
And by this ye may ken right weil,
They were twa luvers deare.
As they was faine be neare;
And by this ye may ken right weil,
They were twa luvers deare.
246
V. UNFADING BEAUTY.
[_]
This little beautiful sonnet is reprinted from a small volume of “Poems by Thomas Carew, Esq; one of the gentlemen of the privie-chamber, and fewer in ordinary to his majesty (Charles I). Lond. 1640.” This elegant, and almost-forgotten writer, whose poems deserve to be revived, died in the prime of his age, in 1639.
In the original follows a third stanza, which not being of general application, nor of equal merit, I have ventured to omit.
Hee that loves a rosie cheeke,
Or a corall lip admires,
Or from star-like eyes doth seeke
Fuell to maintaine his fires;
As old time makes these decay,
So his flames must waste away.
Or a corall lip admires,
Or from star-like eyes doth seeke
Fuell to maintaine his fires;
As old time makes these decay,
So his flames must waste away.
But a smooth and stedfast mind,
Gentle thoughts, and calme desires,
Hearts with equal love combin'd
Kindle never-dying fires:
Where these are not I despise
Lovely cheekes, or lips, or eyes.
Gentle thoughts, and calme desires,
Hearts with equal love combin'd
Kindle never-dying fires:
Where these are not I despise
Lovely cheekes, or lips, or eyes.
247
VI. GEORGE BARNWELL.
[_]
The subject of this ballad is sufficiently popular from the modern play which is founded upon it. This was written by George Lillo a jeweller of London, and first acted about 1730.—As for the ballad, it was printed at least as early as the middle of the last century.
It is here given from three old printed copies, which exhibit a strange intermixture of Roman and black letter. It is also collated with another copy in the Ashmole collection at Oxford, which is thus intitled, “An excellent ballad of George Barnwell, an apprentice of London, who . . . thrice robbed his master and murdered his vncle in Ludlow. The tune is “The Merchant.”
This tragical narrative seems to relate a real fact; but when it happened I have not been able to discover.
The First Part.
All youths of fair Englànd
That dwell both far and near,
Regard my story that I tell,
And to my song give ear.
That dwell both far and near,
Regard my story that I tell,
And to my song give ear.
A London lad I was,
A merchant's prentice bound;
My name George Barnwell; that did spend
My master many a pound.
A merchant's prentice bound;
My name George Barnwell; that did spend
My master many a pound.
248
Take heed of harlots then,
And their enticing trains;
For by that means I have been brought
To hang alive in chains.
And their enticing trains;
For by that means I have been brought
To hang alive in chains.
As I, upon a day,
Was walking through the street
About my master's business,
A wanton I did meet.
Was walking through the street
About my master's business,
A wanton I did meet.
A gallant dainty dame,
And sumptuous in attire;
With smiling look she greeted me,
And did my name require.
And sumptuous in attire;
With smiling look she greeted me,
And did my name require.
Which when I had declar'd,
She gave me then a kiss,
And said, if I would come to her,
I should have more than this.
She gave me then a kiss,
And said, if I would come to her,
I should have more than this.
Fair mistress, then quoth I,
If I the place may know,
This evening I will be with you,
For I abroad must go
If I the place may know,
This evening I will be with you,
For I abroad must go
To gather monies in,
That are my master's due:
And ere that I do home return,
I'll come and visit you.
That are my master's due:
And ere that I do home return,
I'll come and visit you.
249
Good Barnwell, then quoth she,
Do thou to Shoreditch come,
And ask for Mrs. Millwood's house,
Next door unto the Gun.
Do thou to Shoreditch come,
And ask for Mrs. Millwood's house,
Next door unto the Gun.
And trust me on my truth,
If thou keep touch with me,
My dearest friend, as my own heart
Thou shalt right welcome be.
If thou keep touch with me,
My dearest friend, as my own heart
Thou shalt right welcome be.
Thus parted we in peace,
And home I passed right;
Then went abroad, and gathered in,
By six o'clock at night,
And home I passed right;
Then went abroad, and gathered in,
By six o'clock at night,
An hundred pound and one:
With bag under my arm
I went to Mrs. Millwood's house,
And thought on little harm;
With bag under my arm
I went to Mrs. Millwood's house,
And thought on little harm;
And knocking at the door,
Straightway herself came down;
Rustling in most brave attire,
With hood and silken gown.
Straightway herself came down;
Rustling in most brave attire,
With hood and silken gown.
Who, through her beauty bright,
So gloriously did shine,
That she amaz'd my dazzling eyes,
She seemed so divine.
So gloriously did shine,
That she amaz'd my dazzling eyes,
She seemed so divine.
250
She took me by the hand,
And with a modest grace,
Welcome, sweet Barnwell, then quoth she,
Unto this homely place.
And with a modest grace,
Welcome, sweet Barnwell, then quoth she,
Unto this homely place.
And since I have thee found
As good as thy word to be;
A homely supper, ere we part,
Thou shalt take here with me.
As good as thy word to be;
A homely supper, ere we part,
Thou shalt take here with me.
O pardon me, quoth I,
Fair mistress, I you pray;
For why, out of my master's house,
So long I dare not stay.
Fair mistress, I you pray;
For why, out of my master's house,
So long I dare not stay.
Alas, good Sir, she said,
Are you so strictly ty'd,
You may not with your dearest friend
One hour or two abide?
Are you so strictly ty'd,
You may not with your dearest friend
One hour or two abide?
Faith, then the case is hard,
If it be so, quoth she;
I would I were a prentice bound,
To live along with thee:
If it be so, quoth she;
I would I were a prentice bound,
To live along with thee:
Therefore, my dearest George,
List well what I shall say,
And do not blame a woman much,
Her fancy to bewray.
List well what I shall say,
And do not blame a woman much,
Her fancy to bewray.
251
Let not affection's force
Be counted lewd desire,
Nor think it not immodesty,
I should thy love require.
Be counted lewd desire,
Nor think it not immodesty,
I should thy love require.
With that she turn'd aside,
And with a blushing red,
A mournful motion she bewray'd
By hanging down her head.
And with a blushing red,
A mournful motion she bewray'd
By hanging down her head.
A handkerchief she had,
All wrought with silk and gold:
Which she to stay her trickling tears
Before her eyes did hold.
All wrought with silk and gold:
Which she to stay her trickling tears
Before her eyes did hold.
This thing unto my sight
Was wondrous rare and strange;
And in my soul and inward thought,
It wrought a sudden change:
Was wondrous rare and strange;
And in my soul and inward thought,
It wrought a sudden change:
That I so hardy grew,
To take her by the hand:
Saying, Sweet mistress, why do you
So dull and pensive stand?
To take her by the hand:
Saying, Sweet mistress, why do you
So dull and pensive stand?
Call me no mistress now,
But Sarah, thy true friend,
Thy servant, Millwood, honouring thee,
Until her life hath end.
But Sarah, thy true friend,
Thy servant, Millwood, honouring thee,
Until her life hath end.
252
If thou wouldst here alledge,
Thou art in years a boy;
So was Adonis, yet was he
Fair Venus' only joy.
Thou art in years a boy;
So was Adonis, yet was he
Fair Venus' only joy.
Thus I, who ne'er before
Of woman found such grace,
But seeing now so fair a dame
Give me a kind embrace,
Of woman found such grace,
But seeing now so fair a dame
Give me a kind embrace,
I supt with her that night,
With joys that did abound;
And for the same paid presently,
In money twice three pound.
With joys that did abound;
And for the same paid presently,
In money twice three pound.
An hundred kisses then,
For my farewel she gave;
Crying, Sweet Barnwell, when shall I
Again thy company have?
For my farewel she gave;
Crying, Sweet Barnwell, when shall I
Again thy company have?
O stay not hence too long,
Sweet George, have me in mind.
Her words bewitcht my childishness,
She uttered them so kind:
Sweet George, have me in mind.
Her words bewitcht my childishness,
She uttered them so kind:
So that I made a vow,
Next Sunday without fail,
With my sweet Sarah once again,
To tell some pleasant tale.
Next Sunday without fail,
With my sweet Sarah once again,
To tell some pleasant tale.
253
When she heard me say so,
The tears fell from her eye;
O George, quoth she, if thou dost fail,
Thy Sarah sure will dye.
The tears fell from her eye;
O George, quoth she, if thou dost fail,
Thy Sarah sure will dye.
Though long, yet loe! at last,
The appointed day was come,
That I must with my Sarah meet;
Having a mighty sum
The appointed day was come,
That I must with my Sarah meet;
Having a mighty sum
Of money in my hand,
Unto her house went I,
Whereas my love upon her bed
In saddest sort did lye.
Unto her house went I,
Whereas my love upon her bed
In saddest sort did lye.
What ails my heart's delight,
My Sarah dear? quoth I;
Let not my love lament and grieve,
Nor sighing pine, and die.
My Sarah dear? quoth I;
Let not my love lament and grieve,
Nor sighing pine, and die.
But tell me, dearest friend,
What may thy woes amend,
And thou shalt lack no means of help,
Though forty pound I spend.
What may thy woes amend,
And thou shalt lack no means of help,
Though forty pound I spend.
With that she turn'd her head,
And sickly thus did say,
Oh me, sweet George, my grief is great,
Ten pound I have to pay
And sickly thus did say,
Oh me, sweet George, my grief is great,
Ten pound I have to pay
254
Unto a cruel wretch;
And God he knows, quoth she,
I have it not. Tush, rise, I said,
And take it here of me.
And God he knows, quoth she,
I have it not. Tush, rise, I said,
And take it here of me.
Ten pounds, nor ten times ten,
Shall make my love decay.
Then from my bag into her lap,
I cast ten pound straightway.
Shall make my love decay.
Then from my bag into her lap,
I cast ten pound straightway.
All blithe and pleasant then,
To banqueting we go;
She proffered me to lye with her,
And said it should be so.
To banqueting we go;
She proffered me to lye with her,
And said it should be so.
And after that same time,
I gave her store of coyn,
Yea, sometimes fifty pound at once;
All which I did purloyn.
I gave her store of coyn,
Yea, sometimes fifty pound at once;
All which I did purloyn.
And thus I did pass on;
Until my master then
Did call to have his reckoning in
Cast up among his men.
Until my master then
Did call to have his reckoning in
Cast up among his men.
The which when as I heard,
I knew not what to say:
For well I knew that I was out
Two hundred pound that day.
I knew not what to say:
For well I knew that I was out
Two hundred pound that day.
255
Then from my master straight
I ran in secret sort;
And unto Sarah Millwood there
My case I did report.
I ran in secret sort;
And unto Sarah Millwood there
My case I did report.
But how she us'd this youth,
In this his care and woe,
And all a strumpet's wiley ways,
The second part may showe.
In this his care and woe,
And all a strumpet's wiley ways,
The second part may showe.
The Second Part.
Young Barnwell comes to thee,
Sweet Sarah, my delight;
I am undone unless thou stand
My faithful friend this night.
Sweet Sarah, my delight;
I am undone unless thou stand
My faithful friend this night.
Our master to accompts,
Hath just occasion found;
And I am caught behind the hand,
Above two hundred pound:
Hath just occasion found;
And I am caught behind the hand,
Above two hundred pound:
And now his wrath to 'scape,
My love, I fly to thee,
Hoping some time I may remaine
In safety here with thee.
My love, I fly to thee,
Hoping some time I may remaine
In safety here with thee.
256
With that she knit her brows,
And looking all aquoy,
Quoth she, What should I have to do
With any prentice boy?
And looking all aquoy,
Quoth she, What should I have to do
With any prentice boy?
And seeing you have purloyn'd
Your master's goods away,
The case is bad, and therefore here
You shall no longer stay.
Your master's goods away,
The case is bad, and therefore here
You shall no longer stay.
Why, dear, thou knowst, I said,
How all which I could get,
I gave it, and did spend it all
Upon thee every whit.
How all which I could get,
I gave it, and did spend it all
Upon thee every whit.
Quoth she, Thou art a knave,
To charge me in this sort,
Being a woman of credit fair,
And known of good report.
To charge me in this sort,
Being a woman of credit fair,
And known of good report.
Therefore I tell thee flat,
Be packing with good speed,
I do defie thee from my heart,
And scorn thy filthy deed.
Be packing with good speed,
I do defie thee from my heart,
And scorn thy filthy deed.
Is this the friendship that
You did to me protest?
Is this the great affection which
You so to me exprest?
You did to me protest?
Is this the great affection which
You so to me exprest?
257
Now fie on subtle shrews!
The best is, I may speed
To get a lodging any where
For money in my need.
The best is, I may speed
To get a lodging any where
For money in my need.
False woman, now farewell,
Whilst twenty pound doth last,
My anchor in some other haven
With freedom I will cast.
Whilst twenty pound doth last,
My anchor in some other haven
With freedom I will cast.
When she perceiv'd by this,
I had store of money there:
Stay, George, quoth she, thou art too quick:
Why, man, I did but jeer:
I had store of money there:
Stay, George, quoth she, thou art too quick:
Why, man, I did but jeer:
Dost think for all my speech,
That I would let thee go?
Faith no, said she, my love to thee
I wiss is more than so.
That I would let thee go?
Faith no, said she, my love to thee
I wiss is more than so.
You scorne a prentice boy,
I heard you just now swear,
Wherefore I will not trouble you.—
—Nay, George, hark in thine ear;
I heard you just now swear,
Wherefore I will not trouble you.—
—Nay, George, hark in thine ear;
Thou shalt not go to-night,
What chance soe're befall:
But man we'll have a bed for thee,
Or else the devil take all.
What chance soe're befall:
But man we'll have a bed for thee,
Or else the devil take all.
258
So I by wiles bewitcht,
And snar'd with fancy still,
Had then no power to ‘get’ away,
Or to withstand her will.
And snar'd with fancy still,
Had then no power to ‘get’ away,
Or to withstand her will.
For wine on wine I call'd,
And cheer upon good cheer;
And nothing in the world I thought
For Sarah's love too dear.
And cheer upon good cheer;
And nothing in the world I thought
For Sarah's love too dear.
Whilst in her company,
I had such merriment;
All, all too little I did think,
That I upon her spent.
I had such merriment;
All, all too little I did think,
That I upon her spent.
A fig for care and thought!
When all my gold is gone,
In faith, my girl, we will have more,
Whoever I light upon.
When all my gold is gone,
In faith, my girl, we will have more,
Whoever I light upon.
My father's rich, why then
Should I want store of gold?
Nay with a father sure, quoth she,
A son may well make bold.
Should I want store of gold?
Nay with a father sure, quoth she,
A son may well make bold.
I've a sister richly wed,
I'll rob her ere I'll want.
Nay, then quoth Sarah, they may well
Consider of your scant.
I'll rob her ere I'll want.
Nay, then quoth Sarah, they may well
Consider of your scant.
259
Nay, I an uncle have,
At Ludlow he doth dwell:
He is a grazier, which in wealth
Doth all the rest excell.
At Ludlow he doth dwell:
He is a grazier, which in wealth
Doth all the rest excell.
Ere I will live in lack,
And have no coyn for thee;
I'll rob his house, and murder him.
Why should you not? quoth she:
And have no coyn for thee;
I'll rob his house, and murder him.
Why should you not? quoth she:
Was I a man, ere I
Would live in poor estate;
On father, friends, and all my kin,
I would my talons grate.
Would live in poor estate;
On father, friends, and all my kin,
I would my talons grate.
For without money, George,
A man is but a beast:
But bringing money, thou shalt be
Always my welcome guest.
A man is but a beast:
But bringing money, thou shalt be
Always my welcome guest.
For shouldst thou be pursued
With twenty hues and cryes,
And with a warrant searched for
With Argus' hundred eyes,
With twenty hues and cryes,
And with a warrant searched for
With Argus' hundred eyes,
Yet here thou shalt be safe;
Such privy ways there be,
That if they sought an hundred years,
They could not find out thee.
Such privy ways there be,
That if they sought an hundred years,
They could not find out thee.
260
And so carousing both
Their pleasures to content:
George Barnwell had in little space
His money wholly spent.
Their pleasures to content:
George Barnwell had in little space
His money wholly spent.
Which done, to Ludlow straight
He did provide to go,
To rob his wealthy uncle there;
His minion would it so.
He did provide to go,
To rob his wealthy uncle there;
His minion would it so.
And once he thought to take
His father by the way,
But that he fear'd his master had
Took order for his stay.
His father by the way,
But that he fear'd his master had
Took order for his stay.
Unto his uncle then
He rode with might and main,
Who with a welcome and good cheer
Did Barnwell entertain.
He rode with might and main,
Who with a welcome and good cheer
Did Barnwell entertain.
One fortnight's space he stayed,
Until it chanced so,
His uncle with his cattle did
Unto a market go.
Until it chanced so,
His uncle with his cattle did
Unto a market go.
His kinsman rode with him,
Where he did see right plain,
Great store of money he had took:
When coming home again,
Where he did see right plain,
Great store of money he had took:
When coming home again,
261
Sudden within a wood,
He struck his uncle down,
And beat his brains out of his head;
So sore he crackt his crown.
He struck his uncle down,
And beat his brains out of his head;
So sore he crackt his crown.
Then seizing fourscore pound,
To London straight he hyed,
And unto Sarah Millwood all
The cruell fact descryed.
To London straight he hyed,
And unto Sarah Millwood all
The cruell fact descryed.
Tush, 'tis no matter, George,
So we the money have
To have good cheer in jolly sort,
And deck us fine and brave.
So we the money have
To have good cheer in jolly sort,
And deck us fine and brave.
Thus lived in filthy sort,
Until their store was gone:
When means to get them any more,
I wis, poor George had none.
Until their store was gone:
When means to get them any more,
I wis, poor George had none.
Therefore in railing sort,
She thrust him out of door:
Which is the just reward of those,
Who spend upon a whore.
She thrust him out of door:
Which is the just reward of those,
Who spend upon a whore.
O! do me not disgrace
In this my need, quoth he.
She call'd him thief and murderer,
With all the spight might be:
In this my need, quoth he.
She call'd him thief and murderer,
With all the spight might be:
262
To the constable she sent,
To have him apprehended;
And shewed how far, in each degree,
He had the laws offended.
To have him apprehended;
And shewed how far, in each degree,
He had the laws offended.
When Barnwell saw her drift,
To sea he got straightway;
Where fear and sting of conscience
Continually on him lay.
To sea he got straightway;
Where fear and sting of conscience
Continually on him lay.
Unto the lord mayor then,
He did a letter write;
In which his own and Sarah's fault
He did at large recite.
He did a letter write;
In which his own and Sarah's fault
He did at large recite.
Whereby she seized was,
And then to Ludlow sent:
Where she was judg'd, condemn'd, and hang'd,
For murder incontinent.
And then to Ludlow sent:
Where she was judg'd, condemn'd, and hang'd,
For murder incontinent.
There dyed this gallant quean,
Such was her greatest gains:
For murder in Polonia,
Was Barnwell hang'd in chains.
Such was her greatest gains:
For murder in Polonia,
Was Barnwell hang'd in chains.
Lo! here's the end of youth,
That after harlots haunt;
Who in the spoil of other men,
About the streets do flaunt.
That after harlots haunt;
Who in the spoil of other men,
About the streets do flaunt.
263
VII. THE STEDFAST SHEPHERD.
[_]
These beautiful Stanzas were written by George Wither, of whom some account was given in the former part of this Volume; see the song intitled, The Shepherds Resolution, p. 190. In our first Edition only a small Fragment of this Sonnet had been recovered, but we are now able to give it more perfect and intire by the insertion of five additional Stanzas: These are extracted from Wither's Pastoral Poem, The Mistress of Philarete; of which this Song makes a part. There were two or three other Stanzas, but as they appeared to be of inferior merit, were not adopted.
Hence away, you Syrens, leave me,
And unclaspe your wanton armes;
Sugred words shall ne'er deceive me,
(Though ‘you’ prove a thousand charmes).
Fie, fie, forbeare;
No common snare
Could ever my affection chaine:
Your painted baits,
And poore deceits,
Are all bestowed on me in vaine.
And unclaspe your wanton armes;
Sugred words shall ne'er deceive me,
(Though ‘you’ prove a thousand charmes).
Fie, fie, forbeare;
No common snare
Could ever my affection chaine:
Your painted baits,
And poore deceits,
Are all bestowed on me in vaine.
264
I'me no slave to such, as you be;
Neither shall a snowy brest,
Wanton eye, or lip of ruby
Ever robb me of my rest:
Goe, goe, display
Your beautie's ray
To some ore-soone enamour'd swaine:
Those common wiles
Of sighs and smiles
Are all bestowed on me in vaine.
Neither shall a snowy brest,
Wanton eye, or lip of ruby
Ever robb me of my rest:
Goe, goe, display
Your beautie's ray
To some ore-soone enamour'd swaine:
Those common wiles
Of sighs and smiles
Are all bestowed on me in vaine.
I have elsewhere vowed a dutie;
Turne away ‘your’ tempting eyes:
Shew not me a naked beautie;
Those impostures I despise:
My spirit lothes
Where gawdy clothes
And fained othes may love obtaine:
I love her so,
Whose looke sweares No;
That all your labours will be vaine.
Turne away ‘your’ tempting eyes:
Shew not me a naked beautie;
Those impostures I despise:
My spirit lothes
Where gawdy clothes
And fained othes may love obtaine:
I love her so,
Whose looke sweares No;
That all your labours will be vaine.
Can he prize the tainted posies,
Which on every brest are worne;
That may plucke the spotlesse roses
From their never-touched thorne?
I can goe rest
On her sweet brest,
That is the pride of Cynthia's traine:
Then hold your tongues;
Your mermaid songs
Are all bestowed on me in vaine.
Which on every brest are worne;
That may plucke the spotlesse roses
From their never-touched thorne?
I can goe rest
On her sweet brest,
265
Then hold your tongues;
Your mermaid songs
Are all bestowed on me in vaine.
Hee's a foole, that basely dallies,
Where each peasant mates with him:
Shall I haunt the thronged vallies,
Whilst ther's noble hils to climbe?
No, no, though clownes
Are skar'd with frownes,
I know the best can but disdaine;
And those Ile prove:
So shall your love
Be all bestowed on me in vaine.
Where each peasant mates with him:
Shall I haunt the thronged vallies,
Whilst ther's noble hils to climbe?
No, no, though clownes
Are skar'd with frownes,
I know the best can but disdaine;
And those Ile prove:
So shall your love
Be all bestowed on me in vaine.
I doe scorne to vow a dutie,
Where each lustfull lad may wooe:
Give me her, whose sun-like beautie
Buzzards dare not soare unto:
Shee, shee it is
Affoords that blisse
For which I would refuse no paine:
But such as you,
Fond fooles, adieu;
You seeke to captive me in vaine.
Where each lustfull lad may wooe:
Give me her, whose sun-like beautie
Buzzards dare not soare unto:
Shee, shee it is
Affoords that blisse
For which I would refuse no paine:
But such as you,
Fond fooles, adieu;
You seeke to captive me in vaine.
Leave me then, you Syrens, leave me;
Seeke no more to worke my harmes:
Craftie wiles cannot deceive me,
Who am proofe against your charmes:
You labour may
To lead astray
The heart, that constant shall remaine:
And I the while
Will sit and smile
To see you spend your time in vaine.
Seeke no more to worke my harmes:
Craftie wiles cannot deceive me,
Who am proofe against your charmes:
266
To lead astray
The heart, that constant shall remaine:
And I the while
Will sit and smile
To see you spend your time in vaine.
VIII. THE SPANISH VIRGIN, OR EFFECTS OF JEALOUSY.
[_]
The subject of this ballad is taken from a folio collection of tragical stories, intitled “The theatre of God's judgments, by Dr. Beard and Dr. Taylor, 1642. Pt. 2. p. 89.—The text is given (with some corrections) from two copies; one of them in black letter in the Pepys collection. In this every stanza is accompanied with the following distich by way of burden,
“Oh jealousie! thou art nurst in hell:
“Depart from hence, and therein dwell.”
“Depart from hence, and therein dwell.”
All tender hearts, that ake to hear
Of those that suffer wrong;
All you, that never shed a tear,
Give heed unto my song.
Of those that suffer wrong;
All you, that never shed a tear,
Give heed unto my song.
Fair Isabella's tragedy
My tale doth far exceed:
Alas! that so much cruelty
In female hearts should breed!
My tale doth far exceed:
Alas! that so much cruelty
In female hearts should breed!
267
In Spain a lady liv'd of late,
Who was of high degree;
Whose wayward temper did create
Much woe and misery.
Who was of high degree;
Whose wayward temper did create
Much woe and misery.
Strange jealousies so fill'd her head
With many a vain surmize,
She thought her lord had wrong'd her bed,
And did her love despise.
With many a vain surmize,
She thought her lord had wrong'd her bed,
And did her love despise.
A gentlewoman passing fair
Did on this lady wait;
With bravest dames she might compare;
Her beauty was compleat.
Did on this lady wait;
With bravest dames she might compare;
Her beauty was compleat.
Her lady cast a jealous eye
Upon this gentle maid;
And taxt her with disloyaltye;
And did her oft upbraid.
Upon this gentle maid;
And taxt her with disloyaltye;
And did her oft upbraid.
In silence still this maiden meek
Her bitter taunts would bear,
While oft adown her lovely cheek
Would steal the falling tear.
Her bitter taunts would bear,
While oft adown her lovely cheek
Would steal the falling tear.
In vain in humble sort she strove
Her fury to disarm;
As well the meekness of the dove
The bloody hawke might charm.
Her fury to disarm;
As well the meekness of the dove
The bloody hawke might charm.
268
Her lord of humour light and gay,
And innocent the while,
As oft as she came in his way,
Would on the damsell smile.
And innocent the while,
As oft as she came in his way,
Would on the damsell smile.
And oft before his lady's face,
As thinking her her friend,
He would the maiden's modest grace
And comeliness commend.
As thinking her her friend,
He would the maiden's modest grace
And comeliness commend.
All which incens'd his lady so
She burnt with wrath extreame;
At length the fire that long did glow,
Burst forth into a flame.
She burnt with wrath extreame;
At length the fire that long did glow,
Burst forth into a flame.
For on a day it so befell,
When he was gone from home,
The lady all with rage did swell,
And to the damsell come.
When he was gone from home,
The lady all with rage did swell,
And to the damsell come.
And charging her with great offence,
And many a grievous fault;
She bade her servants drag her thence,
Into a dismal vault,
And many a grievous fault;
She bade her servants drag her thence,
Into a dismal vault,
That lay beneath the common-shore:
A dungeon dark and deep:
Where they were wont, in days of yore,
Offenders great to keep.
A dungeon dark and deep:
Where they were wont, in days of yore,
Offenders great to keep.
269
There never light of chearful day
Dispers'd the hideous gloom;
But dank and noisome vapours play
Around the wretched room:
Dispers'd the hideous gloom;
But dank and noisome vapours play
Around the wretched room:
And adders, snakes, and toads therein,
As afterwards was known,
Long in this loathsome vault had bin,
And were to monsters grown.
As afterwards was known,
Long in this loathsome vault had bin,
And were to monsters grown.
Into this foul and fearful place,
The fair one innocent
Was cast, before her lady's face;
Her malice to content.
The fair one innocent
Was cast, before her lady's face;
Her malice to content.
This maid no sooner enter'd is,
But strait, alas! she hears
The toads to croak, and snakes to hiss:
Then grievously she fears.
But strait, alas! she hears
The toads to croak, and snakes to hiss:
Then grievously she fears.
Soon from their holes the vipers creep,
And fiercely her assail:
Which makes the damsel sorely weep,
And her sad fate bewail.
And fiercely her assail:
Which makes the damsel sorely weep,
And her sad fate bewail.
With her fair hands she strives in vain
Her body to defend:
With shrieks and cries she doth complain,
But all is to no end.
Her body to defend:
With shrieks and cries she doth complain,
But all is to no end.
270
A servant listning near the door,
Struck with her doleful noise,
Strait ran his lady to implore;
But she'll not hear his voice.
Struck with her doleful noise,
Strait ran his lady to implore;
But she'll not hear his voice.
With bleeding heart he goes agen
To mark the maiden's groans;
And plainly hears, within the den,
How she herself bemoans.
To mark the maiden's groans;
And plainly hears, within the den,
How she herself bemoans.
Again he to his lady hies
With all the haste he may:
She into furious passion flies,
And orders him away.
With all the haste he may:
She into furious passion flies,
And orders him away.
Still back again does he return
To hear her tender cries;
The virgin now had ceas'd to mourn;
Which fill'd him with surprize.
To hear her tender cries;
The virgin now had ceas'd to mourn;
Which fill'd him with surprize.
In grief, and horror, and affright,
He listens at the walls;
But finding all was silent quite,
He to his lady calls.
He listens at the walls;
But finding all was silent quite,
He to his lady calls.
Too sure, O lady, now quoth he,
Your cruelty hath sped:
Make hast, for shame, and come and see;
I fear the virgin's dead.
Your cruelty hath sped:
Make hast, for shame, and come and see;
I fear the virgin's dead.
271
She starts to hear her sudden fate,
And does with torches run:
But all her haste was now too late,
For death his worst had done.
And does with torches run:
But all her haste was now too late,
For death his worst had done.
The door being open'd strait they found
The virgin stretch'd along:
Two dreadful snakes had wrapt her round,
Which her to death had stung.
The virgin stretch'd along:
Two dreadful snakes had wrapt her round,
Which her to death had stung.
One round her legs, her thighs, her wast
Had twin'd his fatal wreath:
The other close her neck embrac'd,
And stopt her gentle breath.
Had twin'd his fatal wreath:
The other close her neck embrac'd,
And stopt her gentle breath.
The snakes, being from her body thrust,
Their bellies were so fill'd,
That with excess of blood they burst,
Thus with their prey were kill'd.
Their bellies were so fill'd,
That with excess of blood they burst,
Thus with their prey were kill'd.
The wicked lady at this sight,
With horror strait ran mad;
So raving dy'd as was most right,
Cause she no pity had.
With horror strait ran mad;
So raving dy'd as was most right,
Cause she no pity had.
Let me advise you, ladies all,
Of jealousy beware:
It causeth many a one to fall,
And is the devil's snare.
Of jealousy beware:
It causeth many a one to fall,
And is the devil's snare.
272
IX. JEALOUSY TYRANT OF THE MIND.
What state of life can be so blest,
As love that warms the gentle brest?
Two souls in one; the same desire
To grant the bliss, and to require:
If in this heaven a hell we find,
Tis all from thee,
O Jealousie!
Thou tyrant, tyrant of the mind.
As love that warms the gentle brest?
Two souls in one; the same desire
To grant the bliss, and to require:
If in this heaven a hell we find,
Tis all from thee,
O Jealousie!
Thou tyrant, tyrant of the mind.
All other ills, though sharpe they prove,
Serve to refine and perfect love:
In absence, or unkind disdaine,
Sweet hope relieves the lovers paine:
But, oh, no cure but death we find
To sett us free
From jealousie,
Thou tyrant, tyrant of the mind.
Serve to refine and perfect love:
In absence, or unkind disdaine,
Sweet hope relieves the lovers paine:
But, oh, no cure but death we find
To sett us free
From jealousie,
Thou tyrant, tyrant of the mind.
False in thy glass all objects are,
Some sett too near, and some too farre:
Thou art the fire of endless night,
The fire that burns, and gives no light.
All torments of the damn'd we find
In only thee,
O Jealousie;
Thou tyrant, tyrant of the mind.
Some sett too near, and some too farre:
Thou art the fire of endless night,
The fire that burns, and gives no light.
273
In only thee,
O Jealousie;
Thou tyrant, tyrant of the mind.
X. CONSTANT PENELOPE.
[_]
The ladies are indebted for the following notable documents to the Pepys collection, where the original is preserved in black-letter, and is intitled, “A looking-glass for ladies, or a mirrour for married women. Tune Queen Dido, or Troy town.”
When Greeks, and Trojans fell at strife,
And lords in armour bright were seen;
When many a gallant lost his life
About fair Hellen, beauties queen;
Ulysses, general so free,
Did leave his dear Penelope.
And lords in armour bright were seen;
When many a gallant lost his life
About fair Hellen, beauties queen;
Ulysses, general so free,
Did leave his dear Penelope.
When she this wofull news did hear,
That he would to the warrs of Troy;
For grief she shed full many a tear,
At parting from her only joy;
Her ladies all about her came,
To comfort up this Grecian dame.
That he would to the warrs of Troy;
For grief she shed full many a tear,
At parting from her only joy;
Her ladies all about her came,
To comfort up this Grecian dame.
274
Ulysses, with a heavy heart,
Unto her then did mildly say,
The time is come that we must part;
My honour calls me hence away;
Yet in my absence, dearest, be
My constant wife, Penelope.
Unto her then did mildly say,
The time is come that we must part;
My honour calls me hence away;
Yet in my absence, dearest, be
My constant wife, Penelope.
Let me no longer live, she sayd,
Then to my lord I true remain;
My honour shall not be betray'd
Until I see my love again;
For I will ever constant prove,
As is the loyal turtle-dove.
Then to my lord I true remain;
My honour shall not be betray'd
Until I see my love again;
For I will ever constant prove,
As is the loyal turtle-dove.
Thus did they part with heavy chear,
And to the ships his way he took;
Her tender eyes dropt many a tear;
Still casting many a longing look:
She saw him on the surges glide,
And unto Neptune thus she cry'd:
And to the ships his way he took;
Her tender eyes dropt many a tear;
Still casting many a longing look:
She saw him on the surges glide,
And unto Neptune thus she cry'd:
Thou god, whose power is in the deep,
And rulest in the ocean main,
My loving lord in safety keep
Till he return to me again:
That I his person may behold,
To me more precious far than gold.
And rulest in the ocean main,
My loving lord in safety keep
Till he return to me again:
That I his person may behold,
To me more precious far than gold.
275
Then straight the ships with nimble sails
Were all convey'd out of her sight:
Her cruel fate she then bewails,
Since she had lost her hearts delight:
Now shall my practice be, quoth she,
True vertue and humility.
Were all convey'd out of her sight:
Her cruel fate she then bewails,
Since she had lost her hearts delight:
Now shall my practice be, quoth she,
True vertue and humility.
My patience I will put in ure,
My charity I will extend;
Since for my woe there is no cure,
The helpless now I will befriend:
The widow and the fatherless
I will relieve, when in distress.
My charity I will extend;
Since for my woe there is no cure,
The helpless now I will befriend:
The widow and the fatherless
I will relieve, when in distress.
Thus she continued year by year
In doing good to every one;
Her fame was noised every where,
To young and old the same was known;
No company that she would mind,
Who were to vanity inclin'd.
In doing good to every one;
Her fame was noised every where,
To young and old the same was known;
No company that she would mind,
Who were to vanity inclin'd.
Mean while Ulysses fought for fame,
'Mongst Trojans hazarding his life:
Young gallants, hearing of her name,
Came flocking for to tempt his wife:
For she was lovely, young, and fair,
No lady might with her compare.
'Mongst Trojans hazarding his life:
Young gallants, hearing of her name,
Came flocking for to tempt his wife:
For she was lovely, young, and fair,
No lady might with her compare.
276
With costly gifts and jewels fine,
They did endeavour her to win;
With banquets and the choicest wine,
For to allure her unto sin:
Most persons were of high degree,
Who courted fair Penelope.
They did endeavour her to win;
With banquets and the choicest wine,
For to allure her unto sin:
Most persons were of high degree,
Who courted fair Penelope.
With modesty and comely grace,
Their wanton suits she did denye;
No tempting charms could e'er deface
Her dearest husband's memorye;
But constant she would still remain,
Hopeing to see him once again.
Their wanton suits she did denye;
No tempting charms could e'er deface
Her dearest husband's memorye;
But constant she would still remain,
Hopeing to see him once again.
Her book her dayly comfort was,
And that she often did peruse;
She seldom looked in her glass;
Powder and paint she ne'er would use,
I wish all ladies were as free
From pride, as was Penelope.
And that she often did peruse;
She seldom looked in her glass;
Powder and paint she ne'er would use,
I wish all ladies were as free
From pride, as was Penelope.
She in her needle took delight,
And likewise in her spinning-wheel;
Her maids about her every night
Did use the distaff, and the reel:
The spiders, that on rafters twine,
Scarce spin a thread more soft and fine.
And likewise in her spinning-wheel;
Her maids about her every night
Did use the distaff, and the reel:
The spiders, that on rafters twine,
Scarce spin a thread more soft and fine.
277
Sometimes she would bewail the loss
And absence of her dearest love:
Sometimes she thought the seas to cross,
Her fortune on the waves to prove:
I fear my lord is slain, quoth she,
He stays so from Penelope.
And absence of her dearest love:
Sometimes she thought the seas to cross,
Her fortune on the waves to prove:
I fear my lord is slain, quoth she,
He stays so from Penelope.
At length the ten years siege of Troy
Did end; in flames the city burn'd;
And to the Grecians was great joy,
To see the towers to ashes turn'd:
Then came Ulysses home to see
His constant, dear, Penelope.
Did end; in flames the city burn'd;
And to the Grecians was great joy,
To see the towers to ashes turn'd:
Then came Ulysses home to see
His constant, dear, Penelope.
O blame her not if she was glad,
When she her lord again had seen.
Thrice-welcome home, my dear, she said,
A long time absent thou hast been:
The wars shall never more deprive
Me of my lord whilst I'me alive.
When she her lord again had seen.
Thrice-welcome home, my dear, she said,
A long time absent thou hast been:
The wars shall never more deprive
Me of my lord whilst I'me alive.
Fair ladies all example take;
And hence a worthy lesson learn,
All youthful follies to forsake,
And vice from virtue to discern:
And let all women strive to be,
As constant as Penelope.
And hence a worthy lesson learn,
All youthful follies to forsake,
And vice from virtue to discern:
And let all women strive to be,
As constant as Penelope.
278
XI. TO LUCASTA, ON GOING TO THE WARS.
[_]
By Col. Richard Lovelace: from the volume of his poems intitled, “Lucasta, Lond. 1649.” 12mo. The elegance of this writer's manner would be more admired, if it had somewhat more of simplicity.
Tell me not, sweet, I am unkinde,
That from the nunnerie
Of thy chaste breast and quiet minde,
To warre and armes I flie.
That from the nunnerie
Of thy chaste breast and quiet minde,
To warre and armes I flie.
True; a new mistresse now I chase,
The first foe in the field;
And with a stronger faith imbrace
A sword, a horse, a shield.
The first foe in the field;
And with a stronger faith imbrace
A sword, a horse, a shield.
Yet this inconstancy is such,
As you too shall adore;
I could not love thee, deare, so much,
Lov'd I not honour more.
As you too shall adore;
I could not love thee, deare, so much,
Lov'd I not honour more.
279
XII. VALENTINE AND URSINE.
[_]
It would be in vain to put off this ballad for ancient, nor yet is it altogether modern. The original is an old MS poem in the Editor's possession; which being in a wretched corrupt state, the subject was thought worthy of some embellishments.
The old story-book of Valentine and Orson (which suggested the plan of this tale, but it is not strictly followed in it) was originally a translation from the French, being one of their earliest attempts at romance.
See “Le Bibliotheque de Romans, &c.”
The circumstance of the bridge of bells is taken from the old metrical legend of Sir Bevis, and has also been copied in the Seven Champions. The original lines are,
“Over the dyke a bridge there lay,
“That man and beest might passe away:
“Under the brydge were sixty belles;
“Right as the Romans telles;
“That there might no man passe in,
“But all they rang with a gyn.”
“That man and beest might passe away:
“Under the brydge were sixty belles;
“Right as the Romans telles;
“That there might no man passe in,
“But all they rang with a gyn.”
Sign. E. iv.
Part the First.
When Flora 'gins to decke the fields
With colours fresh and fine,
Then holy clerkes their mattins sing
To good Saint Valentine!
With colours fresh and fine,
Then holy clerkes their mattins sing
To good Saint Valentine!
280
The king of France that morning fair
He would a hunting ride:
To Artois forest prancing forth
In all his princely pride.
He would a hunting ride:
To Artois forest prancing forth
In all his princely pride.
To grace his sports a courtly train
Of gallant peers attend;
And with their loud and cheerful cryes
The hills and valleys rend.
Of gallant peers attend;
And with their loud and cheerful cryes
The hills and valleys rend.
Through the deep forest swift they pass,
Through woods and thickets wild;
When down within a lonely dell
They found a new-born child:
Through woods and thickets wild;
When down within a lonely dell
They found a new-born child:
All in a scarlet kercher lay'd
Of silk so fine and thin:
A golden mantle wrapt him round
Pinn'd with a silver pin.
Of silk so fine and thin:
A golden mantle wrapt him round
Pinn'd with a silver pin.
The sudden sight surpriz'd them all;
The courtiers gather'd round;
They look, they call, the mother seek;
No mother could be found.
The courtiers gather'd round;
They look, they call, the mother seek;
No mother could be found.
At length the king himself drew near,
And as he gazing stands,
The pretty babe look'd up and smil'd,
And stretch'd his little hands.
And as he gazing stands,
The pretty babe look'd up and smil'd,
And stretch'd his little hands.
281
Now, by the rood, king Pepin says,
This child is passing fair:
I wot he is of gentle blood;
Perhaps some prince's heir.
This child is passing fair:
I wot he is of gentle blood;
Perhaps some prince's heir.
Goe bear him home unto my court
With all the care ye may:
Let him be christen'd Valentine,
In honour of this day:
With all the care ye may:
Let him be christen'd Valentine,
In honour of this day:
And look me out some cunning nurse;
Well nurtur'd let him bee;
Nor ought be wanting that becomes
A bairn of high degree.
Well nurtur'd let him bee;
Nor ought be wanting that becomes
A bairn of high degree.
They look'd him out a cunning nurse;
And nurtur'd well was hee;
Nor ought was wanting that became
A bairn of high degree.
And nurtur'd well was hee;
Nor ought was wanting that became
A bairn of high degree.
Thus grewe the little Valentine
Belov'd of king and peers;
And shew'd in all he spake or did
A wit beyond his years.
Belov'd of king and peers;
And shew'd in all he spake or did
A wit beyond his years.
But chief in gallant feates of arms
He did himself advance,
That ere he grewe to man's estate
He had no peere in France.
He did himself advance,
That ere he grewe to man's estate
He had no peere in France.
282
And now the early downe began
To shade his youthful chin;
When Valentine was dubb'd a knight,
That he might glory win.
To shade his youthful chin;
When Valentine was dubb'd a knight,
That he might glory win.
A boon, a boon, my gracious liege,
I beg a boon of thee!
The first adventure, that befalls,
May be reserv'd for mee.
I beg a boon of thee!
The first adventure, that befalls,
May be reserv'd for mee.
The first adventure shall be thine;
The king did smiling say.
Nor many days, when lo! there came
Three palmers clad in graye.
The king did smiling say.
Nor many days, when lo! there came
Three palmers clad in graye.
Help, gracious lord, they weeping say'd;
And knelt as it was meet:
From Artoys forest we be come,
With weak and wearye feet.
And knelt as it was meet:
From Artoys forest we be come,
With weak and wearye feet.
Within those deep and drearye woods
There wends a savage boy;
Whose fierce and mortal rage doth yield
Thy subjects dire annoy.
There wends a savage boy;
Whose fierce and mortal rage doth yield
Thy subjects dire annoy.
'Mong ruthless beares he sure was bred;
He lurks within their den:
With beares he lives; with beares he feeds,
And drinks the blood of men.
He lurks within their den:
With beares he lives; with beares he feeds,
And drinks the blood of men.
283
To more than savage strength he joins
A more than human skill:
For arms, ne cunning may suffice
His cruel rage to still.
A more than human skill:
For arms, ne cunning may suffice
His cruel rage to still.
Up then rose sir Valentine,
And claim'd that arduous deed.
Go forth and conquer, say'd the king,
And great shall be thy meed.
And claim'd that arduous deed.
Go forth and conquer, say'd the king,
And great shall be thy meed.
Well mounted on a milk-white steed,
His armour white as snow;
As well beseem'd a virgin knight,
Who ne'er had fought a foe:
His armour white as snow;
As well beseem'd a virgin knight,
Who ne'er had fought a foe:
To Artoys forest he repairs
With all the haste he may;
And soon he spies the savage youth
A rending of his prey.
With all the haste he may;
And soon he spies the savage youth
A rending of his prey.
His unkempt hair all matted hung
His shaggy shoulders round:
His eager eye all fiery glow'd:
His face with fury frown'd.
His shaggy shoulders round:
His eager eye all fiery glow'd:
His face with fury frown'd.
Like eagles' talons grew his nails:
His limbs were thick and strong;
And dreadful was the knotted oak
He bare with him along.
His limbs were thick and strong;
And dreadful was the knotted oak
He bare with him along.
284
Soon as sir Valentine approach'd,
He starts with sudden spring;
And yelling forth a hideous howl,
He made the forests ring.
He starts with sudden spring;
And yelling forth a hideous howl,
He made the forests ring.
As when a tyger fierce and fell
Hath spyed a passing roe,
And leaps at once upon his throat;
So sprung the savage foe;
Hath spyed a passing roe,
And leaps at once upon his throat;
So sprung the savage foe;
So lightly leap'd with furious force
The gentle knight to seize:
But met his tall uplifted spear,
Which sunk him on his knees.
The gentle knight to seize:
But met his tall uplifted spear,
Which sunk him on his knees.
A second stroke so stiff and stern
Had laid the savage low;
But springing up, he rais'd his club,
And aim'd a dreadful blow.
Had laid the savage low;
But springing up, he rais'd his club,
And aim'd a dreadful blow.
The watchful warrior bent his head,
And shun'd the coming stroke;
Upon his taper spear it fell,
And all to shivers broke.
And shun'd the coming stroke;
Upon his taper spear it fell,
And all to shivers broke.
Then lighting nimbly from his steed,
He drew his burnisht brand:
The savage quick as lightning flew
To wrest it from his hand.
He drew his burnisht brand:
The savage quick as lightning flew
To wrest it from his hand.
285
Three times he grasp'd the silver hilt;
Three times he felt the blade;
Three times it fell with furious force;
Three ghastly wounds it made.
Three times he felt the blade;
Three times it fell with furious force;
Three ghastly wounds it made.
Now with redoubled rage he roar'd;
His eye-ball flash'd with fire;
Each hairy limb with fury shook;
And all his heart was ire.
His eye-ball flash'd with fire;
Each hairy limb with fury shook;
And all his heart was ire.
Then closing fast with furious gripe
He clasp'd the champion round,
And with a strong and sudden twist
He laid him on the ground.
He clasp'd the champion round,
And with a strong and sudden twist
He laid him on the ground.
But soon the knight, with active spring,
O'erturn'd his hairy foe:
And now between their sturdy fists
Past many a bruising blow.
O'erturn'd his hairy foe:
And now between their sturdy fists
Past many a bruising blow.
They roll'd and grappled on the ground,
And there they struggled long:
Skilful and active was the knight;
The savage he was strong.
And there they struggled long:
Skilful and active was the knight;
The savage he was strong.
But brutal force and savage strength
To art and skill must yield:
Sir Valentine at length prevail'd,
And won the well-fought field.
To art and skill must yield:
Sir Valentine at length prevail'd,
And won the well-fought field.
286
Then binding strait his conquer'd foe
Fast with an iron chain,
He tyes him to his horse's tail,
And leads him o'er the plain.
Fast with an iron chain,
He tyes him to his horse's tail,
And leads him o'er the plain.
To court his hairy captive soon
Sir Valentine doth bring;
And kneeling downe upon his knee,
Presents him to the king.
Sir Valentine doth bring;
And kneeling downe upon his knee,
Presents him to the king.
With loss of blood and loss of strength,
The savage tamer grew;
And to sir Valentine became
A servant try'd and true.
The savage tamer grew;
And to sir Valentine became
A servant try'd and true.
And 'cause with beares he erst was bred,
Ursine they call his name;
A name which unto future times
The Muses shall proclame.
Ursine they call his name;
A name which unto future times
The Muses shall proclame.
Part the Second.
In high renown with prince and peere
Now liv'd sir Valentine:
His high renown with prince and peere
Made envious hearts repine.
Now liv'd sir Valentine:
His high renown with prince and peere
Made envious hearts repine.
287
It chanc'd the king upon a day
Prepar'd a sumptuous feast;
And there came lords, and dainty dames,
And many a noble guest.
Prepar'd a sumptuous feast;
And there came lords, and dainty dames,
And many a noble guest.
Amid their cups, that freely flow'd,
Their revelry, and mirth;
A youthful knight tax'd Valentine
Of base and doubtful birth.
Their revelry, and mirth;
A youthful knight tax'd Valentine
Of base and doubtful birth.
The foul reproach, so grossly urg'd,
His generous heart did wound:
And strait he vow'd he ne'er would rest
Till he his parents found.
His generous heart did wound:
And strait he vow'd he ne'er would rest
Till he his parents found.
Then bidding king and peers adieu,
Early one summer's day,
With faithful Ursine by his side,
From court he takes his way.
Early one summer's day,
With faithful Ursine by his side,
From court he takes his way.
O'er hill and valley, moss and moor,
For many a day they pass;
At length upon a moated lake,
They found a bridge of brass.
For many a day they pass;
At length upon a moated lake,
They found a bridge of brass.
Beyond it rose a castle fair
Y-built of marble stone:
The battlements were gilt with gold,
And glittred in the sun.
Y-built of marble stone:
The battlements were gilt with gold,
And glittred in the sun.
288
Beneath the bridge, with strange device,
A hundred bells were hung;
That man, nor beast, might pass thereon,
But strait their larum rung.
A hundred bells were hung;
That man, nor beast, might pass thereon,
But strait their larum rung.
This quickly found the youthful pair,
Who boldly crossing o'er,
The jangling sound bedeast their ears,
And rung from shore to shore.
Who boldly crossing o'er,
The jangling sound bedeast their ears,
And rung from shore to shore.
Quick at the sound the castle gates
Unlock'd and opened wide,
And strait a gyant huge and grim
Stalk'd forth with stately stride.
Unlock'd and opened wide,
And strait a gyant huge and grim
Stalk'd forth with stately stride.
Now yield you, caytiffs, to my will;
He cried with hideous roar;
Or else the wolves shall eat your flesh,
And ravens drink your gore.
He cried with hideous roar;
Or else the wolves shall eat your flesh,
And ravens drink your gore.
Vain boaster, said the youthful knight,
I scorn thy threats and thee:
I trust to force thy brazen gates,
And set thy captives free.
I scorn thy threats and thee:
I trust to force thy brazen gates,
And set thy captives free.
Then putting spurs unto his steed,
He aim'd a dreadful thrust:
The spear against the gyant glanc'd,
And caus'd the blood to burst.
He aim'd a dreadful thrust:
The spear against the gyant glanc'd,
And caus'd the blood to burst.
289
Mad and outrageous with the pain,
He whirl'd his mace of steel:
The very wind of such a blow
Had made the champion reel.
He whirl'd his mace of steel:
The very wind of such a blow
Had made the champion reel.
It haply mist; and now the knight
His glittering sword display'd,
And riding round with whirlwind speed
Oft made him feel the blade.
His glittering sword display'd,
And riding round with whirlwind speed
Oft made him feel the blade.
As when a large and monstrous oak
Unceasing axes hew:
So fast around the gyant's limbs
The blows quick-darting flew.
Unceasing axes hew:
So fast around the gyant's limbs
The blows quick-darting flew.
As when the boughs with hideous fall
Some hapless woodman crush:
With such a force the enormous foe
Did on the champion rush.
Some hapless woodman crush:
With such a force the enormous foe
Did on the champion rush.
A fearful blow, alas! there came,
Both horse and knight it took,
And laid them senseless in the dust;
So fatal was the stroke.
Both horse and knight it took,
And laid them senseless in the dust;
So fatal was the stroke.
Then smiling forth a hideous grin,
The gyant strides in haste,
And, stooping, aims a second stroke:
“Now caytiff breathe thy last!”
The gyant strides in haste,
And, stooping, aims a second stroke:
“Now caytiff breathe thy last!”
290
But ere it fell, two thundering blows
Upon his scull descend:
From Ursine's knotty club they came,
Who ran to save his friend.
Upon his scull descend:
From Ursine's knotty club they came,
Who ran to save his friend.
Down sunk the gyant gaping wide,
And rolling his grim eyes:
The hairy youth repeats his blows:
He gasps, he groans, he dies.
And rolling his grim eyes:
The hairy youth repeats his blows:
He gasps, he groans, he dies.
Quickly sir Valentine reviv'd
With Ursine's timely care:
And now to search the castle walls
The venturous youths repair.
With Ursine's timely care:
And now to search the castle walls
The venturous youths repair.
The blood and bones of murder'd knights
They found where'er they came:
At length within a lonely cell
They saw a mournful dame.
They found where'er they came:
At length within a lonely cell
They saw a mournful dame.
Her gentle eyes were dim'd with tears;
Her cheeks were pale with woe:
And long sir Valentine besought
Her doleful tale to know.
Her cheeks were pale with woe:
And long sir Valentine besought
Her doleful tale to know.
“Alas! young knight,” she weeping said,
“Condole my wretched fate:
“A childless mother here you see;
“A wife without a mate.
“Condole my wretched fate:
“A childless mother here you see;
“A wife without a mate.
291
“These twenty winters here forlorn
“I've drawn my hated breath;
“Sole witness of a monster's crimes,
“And wishing aye for death.
“I've drawn my hated breath;
“Sole witness of a monster's crimes,
“And wishing aye for death.
“Know, I am sister of a king;
“And in my early years
“Was married to a mighty prince,
“The fairest of his peers.
“And in my early years
“Was married to a mighty prince,
“The fairest of his peers.
“With him I sweetly liv'd in love
“A twelvemonth and a day:
“When, lo! a foul and treacherous priest
“Y-wrought our loves' decay.
“A twelvemonth and a day:
“When, lo! a foul and treacherous priest
“Y-wrought our loves' decay.
“His seeming goodness wan him pow'r;
“He had his master's ear:
“And long to me and all the world
“He did a saint appear.
“He had his master's ear:
“And long to me and all the world
“He did a saint appear.
“One day, when we were all alone,
“He proffer'd odious love:
“The wretch with horrour I repuls'd,
“And from my presence drove.
“He proffer'd odious love:
“The wretch with horrour I repuls'd,
“And from my presence drove.
“He feign'd remorse, and piteous beg'd
“His crime I'd not reveal:
“Which, for his seeming penitence,
“I promis'd to conceal.
“His crime I'd not reveal:
“Which, for his seeming penitence,
“I promis'd to conceal.
292
“With treason, villainy, and wrong
“My goodness he repay'd:
“With jealous doubts he fill'd my lord,
“And me to woe betray'd.
“My goodness he repay'd:
“With jealous doubts he fill'd my lord,
“And me to woe betray'd.
“He hid a slave within my bed,
“Then rais'd a bitter cry:
“My lord, possest with rage, condemn'd
“Me, all unheard, to dye.
“Then rais'd a bitter cry:
“My lord, possest with rage, condemn'd
“Me, all unheard, to dye.
“But 'cause I then was great with child,
“At length my life he spar'd:
“But bade me instant quit the realme,
“One trusty knight my guard.
“At length my life he spar'd:
“But bade me instant quit the realme,
“One trusty knight my guard.
“Forth on my journey I depart,
“Opprest with grief and woe;
“And tow'rds my brother's distant court,
“With breaking heart, I goe.
“Opprest with grief and woe;
“And tow'rds my brother's distant court,
“With breaking heart, I goe.
“Long time thro' sundry foreign lands
“We slowly pace along:
“At length within a forest wild
“I fell in labour strong:
“We slowly pace along:
“At length within a forest wild
“I fell in labour strong:
“And while the knight for succour sought,
“And left me there forlorn,
“My childbed pains so fast increast
“Two lovely boys were born.
“And left me there forlorn,
“My childbed pains so fast increast
“Two lovely boys were born.
293
“The eldest fair, and smooth, as snow
“That tips the mountain hoar:
“The younger's little body rough
“With hairs was cover'd o'er.
“That tips the mountain hoar:
“The younger's little body rough
“With hairs was cover'd o'er.
“But here afresh begin my woes:
“While tender care I took
“To shield my eldest from the cold,
“And wrap him in my cloak;
“While tender care I took
“To shield my eldest from the cold,
“And wrap him in my cloak;
“A prowling bear burst from the wood,
“And seiz'd my younger son:
“Affection lent my weakness wings,
“And after them I run.
“And seiz'd my younger son:
“Affection lent my weakness wings,
“And after them I run.
“But all forewearied, weak and spent,
“I quickly swoon'd away;
“And there beneath the greenwood shade
“Longtime I lifeless lay.
“I quickly swoon'd away;
“And there beneath the greenwood shade
“Longtime I lifeless lay.
“At length the knight brought me relief,
“And rais'd me from the ground:
“But neither of my pretty babes
“Could ever more be found.
“And rais'd me from the ground:
“But neither of my pretty babes
“Could ever more be found.
“And, while in search we wander'd far,
“We met that gyant grim;
“Who ruthless slew my trusty knight,
“And bare me off with him.
“We met that gyant grim;
“Who ruthless slew my trusty knight,
“And bare me off with him.
294
“But charm'd by heav'n, or else my griefs,
“He offer'd me no wrong;
“Save that within these lonely walls
“I've been immur'd so long.”
“He offer'd me no wrong;
“Save that within these lonely walls
“I've been immur'd so long.”
Now, surely, said the youthful knight,
Ye are lady Bellisance,
Wife to the Grecian emperor:
Your brother's king of France.
Ye are lady Bellisance,
Wife to the Grecian emperor:
Your brother's king of France.
For in your royal brother's court
Myself my breeding had;
Where oft the story of your woes
Hath made my bosom sad.
Myself my breeding had;
Where oft the story of your woes
Hath made my bosom sad.
If so, know your accuser's dead,
And dying own'd his crime;
And long your lord hath sought you out
Thro' every foreign clime.
And dying own'd his crime;
And long your lord hath sought you out
Thro' every foreign clime.
And when no tidings he could learn
Of his much-wronged wife,
He vow'd thenceforth within his court
To lead a hermit's life.
Of his much-wronged wife,
He vow'd thenceforth within his court
To lead a hermit's life.
Now heaven is kind! the lady said;
And dropt a joyful tear:
Shall I once more behold my lord?
That lord I love so dear?
And dropt a joyful tear:
Shall I once more behold my lord?
That lord I love so dear?
295
But, madam, said sir Valentine,
And knelt upon his knee;
Know you the cloak that wrapt your babe,
If you the same should see?
And knelt upon his knee;
Know you the cloak that wrapt your babe,
If you the same should see?
And pulling forth the cloth of gold,
In which himself was found;
The lady gave a sudden shriek,
And fainted on the ground.
In which himself was found;
The lady gave a sudden shriek,
And fainted on the ground.
But by his pious care reviv'd,
His tale she heard anon;
And soon by other tokens found,
He was indeed her son.
His tale she heard anon;
And soon by other tokens found,
He was indeed her son.
But who's this hairy youth? she said;
He much resembles thee:
The bear devour'd my younger son,
Or sure that son were he.
He much resembles thee:
The bear devour'd my younger son,
Or sure that son were he.
Madam, this youth with beares was bred,
And rear'd within their den.
But recollect ye any mark
To know your son agen?
And rear'd within their den.
But recollect ye any mark
To know your son agen?
Upon his little side, quoth she,
Was stampt a bloody rose.
Here, lady, see the crimson mark
Upon his body grows!
Was stampt a bloody rose.
Here, lady, see the crimson mark
Upon his body grows!
296
Then clasping both her new-found sons,
She bath'd their cheeks with tears;
And soon towards her brother's court
Her joyful course she steers.
She bath'd their cheeks with tears;
And soon towards her brother's court
Her joyful course she steers.
What pen can paint king Pepin's joy,
His sister thus restor'd!
And soon a messenger was sent
To chear her drooping lord:
His sister thus restor'd!
And soon a messenger was sent
To chear her drooping lord:
Who came in haste with all his peers,
To fetch her home to Greece;
Where many happy years they reign'd
In perfect love and peace.
To fetch her home to Greece;
Where many happy years they reign'd
In perfect love and peace.
To them sir Ursine did succeed,
And long the scepter bare.
Sir Valentine he stay'd in France,
And was his uncle's heir.
And long the scepter bare.
Sir Valentine he stay'd in France,
And was his uncle's heir.
XIII. THE DRAGON OF WANTLEY.
[_]
This humorous song (as a former Editor has well observed) is to old metrical romances and ballads of chivalry, what Don Quixote is to prose narratives of that kind:—a lively satire on their extravagant fictions. But altho' the satire is thus general; the subject of this ballad seems local and peculiar; so that many of the finest strokes of humour are lost for want of our knowing the particular facts
297
In handling this subject the Author has brought in most of the common incidents which occur in Romance. The description of the dragon —his outrages—the people flying to the knight for succour—his care in chusing his armour—his being drest for fight by a young damsel—and most of the circumstances of the battle and victory (allowing for the burlesque turn given to them) are what occur in every book of chivalry whether in prose or verse.
If any one piece, more than other, is more particularly levelled at, it seems to be the old rhiming legend of sir Bevis. There a Dragon is attacked from a Well in a manner not very remote from this of the ballad:
There was a well, so have I wynne,
And Bevis stumbled ryght therein.
[OMITTED] Than was he glad without fayle,
And rested a whyle for his avayle;
And dranke of that water his fyll;
And than he lepte out, with good wyll,
And with Morglay his brande,
He assayled the dragon, I understande:
On the dragon he smote so faste,
Where that he hit the scales braste:
The dragon then faynted sore,
And cast a galon and more
Out of his mouthe of venim strong,
And on syr Bevis he it flong:
It was venymous y-wis.
And Bevis stumbled ryght therein.
[OMITTED] Than was he glad without fayle,
And rested a whyle for his avayle;
And dranke of that water his fyll;
And than he lepte out, with good wyll,
And with Morglay his brande,
He assayled the dragon, I understande:
On the dragon he smote so faste,
Where that he hit the scales braste:
The dragon then faynted sore,
And cast a galon and more
Out of his mouthe of venim strong,
And on syr Bevis he it flong:
It was venymous y-wis.
298
This seems to be meant by the Dragon of Wantley's stink, ver. 110. As the politick knight's creeping out, and attacking the dragon, &c. seems evidently to allude to the following,
Bevis blessed himselfe, and forth yode,
And lepte out with haste full good;
And Bevis unto the dragon gone is;
And the dragon also to Bevis.
Longe, and harde was that fyght
Betwene the dragon, and that knyght:
But ever whan syr Bevis was hurt sore,
He went to the well, and washed him thore;
He was as hole as any man,
Ever freshe as whan he began:
The dragon sawe it might not avayle
Besyde the well to hold batayle;
He thought he would, wyth some wyle,
Out of that place Bevis begyle;
He woulde have flowen then awaye,
But Bevis lepte after with good Morglaye,
And hyt him under the wynge,
As he was in his flyenge, &c.
And lepte out with haste full good;
And Bevis unto the dragon gone is;
And the dragon also to Bevis.
Longe, and harde was that fyght
Betwene the dragon, and that knyght:
But ever whan syr Bevis was hurt sore,
He went to the well, and washed him thore;
He was as hole as any man,
Ever freshe as whan he began:
The dragon sawe it might not avayle
Besyde the well to hold batayle;
He thought he would, wyth some wyle,
Out of that place Bevis begyle;
He woulde have flowen then awaye,
But Bevis lepte after with good Morglaye,
And hyt him under the wynge,
As he was in his flyenge, &c.
Sign. M. jv. L. j. &c.
After all, perhaps the writer of this ballad was acquainted with the above incidents only thro' the medium of Spenser, who has assumed most of them in his Faery Queen. At least some particulars in the description of the Dragon, &c. seem evidently borrowed from the latter, See Book 1. Canto 11. where the Dragon's “two wynges like sayls—huge long tayl—with stings—his cruel-rending clawes—and yron teeth—his breath of smothering smoke and sulphur”—and the duration of the fight for upwards of two days, bear a great resemblance to passages in the following ballad; though it must be confessed that these particulars are common to all old writers of Romance.
The following ballad appears to have been written late in the last century; at least we have met with none but modern copies: the text is given from one in Roman letter in the Pepys collection, collated with two or three others.
299
Old stories tell, how Hercules
A dragon slew at Lerna,
With seven heads, and fourteen eyes,
To see and well discern-a:
But he had a club, this dragon to drub,
Or he had ne'er done it, I warrant ye:
But More of More-Hall, with nothing at all,
He slew the dragon of Wantley.
A dragon slew at Lerna,
With seven heads, and fourteen eyes,
To see and well discern-a:
But he had a club, this dragon to drub,
Or he had ne'er done it, I warrant ye:
But More of More-Hall, with nothing at all,
He slew the dragon of Wantley.
This dragon had two furious wings,
Each one upon each shoulder;
With a sting in his tayl, as long as a flayl,
Which made him bolder and bolder.
He had long claws, and in his jaws
Four and forty teeth of iron;
With a hide as tough, as any buff,
Which did him round environ.
Each one upon each shoulder;
With a sting in his tayl, as long as a flayl,
Which made him bolder and bolder.
He had long claws, and in his jaws
Four and forty teeth of iron;
With a hide as tough, as any buff,
Which did him round environ.
Have you not heard how the Trojan horse
Held seventy men in his belly?
This dragon was not quite so big,
But very near, I'll tell ye.
Devoured he poor children three,
That could not with him grapple;
And at one sup, he eat them up,
As one would eat an apple.
Held seventy men in his belly?
This dragon was not quite so big,
But very near, I'll tell ye.
Devoured he poor children three,
That could not with him grapple;
And at one sup, he eat them up,
As one would eat an apple.
300
All sorts of cattle this dragon did eat.
Some say he did eat up trees,
And that the forests sure he would
Devour up by degrees:
For houses and churches, were to him geese and turkies;
He eat all, and left none behind,
But some stones, dear Jack, that he could not crack,
Which on the hills you will find.
Some say he did eat up trees,
And that the forests sure he would
Devour up by degrees:
For houses and churches, were to him geese and turkies;
He eat all, and left none behind,
But some stones, dear Jack, that he could not crack,
Which on the hills you will find.
In Yorkshire, near fair Rotherham,
The place I know it well;
Some two or three miles, or thereabouts,
I vow I cannot tell;
But there is a hedge, just on the hill edge,
And Matthew's house hard by it;
O there and then, was this dragon's den,
You could not chuse but spy it.
The place I know it well;
Some two or three miles, or thereabouts,
I vow I cannot tell;
But there is a hedge, just on the hill edge,
And Matthew's house hard by it;
O there and then, was this dragon's den,
You could not chuse but spy it.
Some say, this dragon was a witch;
Some say, he was a devil,
For from his nose a smoke arose,
And with it burning snivel;
Which he cast off, when he did cough,
In a well that he did stand by;
Which made it look, just like a brook
Running with burning brandy.
Some say, he was a devil,
For from his nose a smoke arose,
And with it burning snivel;
Which he cast off, when he did cough,
In a well that he did stand by;
Which made it look, just like a brook
Running with burning brandy.
301
Hard by a furious knight there dwelt,
Of whom all towns did ring;
For he could wrestle, play at quarter-staff, kick, cuff and huff,
Call son of a whore, do any kind of thing:
By the tail and the main, with his hands twain
He swung a horse till he was dead;
And that which is stranger, he for very anger
Eat him all up but his head.
Of whom all towns did ring;
For he could wrestle, play at quarter-staff, kick, cuff and huff,
Call son of a whore, do any kind of thing:
By the tail and the main, with his hands twain
He swung a horse till he was dead;
And that which is stranger, he for very anger
Eat him all up but his head.
These children, as I told, being eat;
Men, women, girls and boys,
Sighing and sobbing, came to his lodging,
And made a hideous noise:
O save us all, More of More-Hall,
Thou peerless knight of these woods;
Do but slay this dragon, who won't leave us a rag on,
We'll give thee all our goods.
Men, women, girls and boys,
Sighing and sobbing, came to his lodging,
And made a hideous noise:
O save us all, More of More-Hall,
Thou peerless knight of these woods;
Do but slay this dragon, who won't leave us a rag on,
We'll give thee all our goods.
Tut, tut, quoth he, no goods I want;
But I want, I want in sooth,
A fair maid of sixteen, that's brisk, ‘and keen,’
And smiles about the mouth;
Hair black as sloe, skin white as snow,
With blushes her cheeks adorning;
To anoynt me o'er night, ere I go to fight,
And to dress me in the morning.
But I want, I want in sooth,
A fair maid of sixteen, that's brisk, ‘and keen,’
And smiles about the mouth;
Hair black as sloe, skin white as snow,
With blushes her cheeks adorning;
To anoynt me o'er night, ere I go to fight,
And to dress me in the morning.
302
This being done he did engage
To hew the dragon down;
But first he went, new armour to
Bespeak at Sheffield town;
With spikes all about, not within but without,
Of steel so sharp and strong;
Both behind and before, arms, legs, and all o'er
Some five or six inches long.
To hew the dragon down;
But first he went, new armour to
Bespeak at Sheffield town;
With spikes all about, not within but without,
Of steel so sharp and strong;
Both behind and before, arms, legs, and all o'er
Some five or six inches long.
Had you but seen him in this dress,
How fierce he look'd and how big,
You would have thought him for to be
Some Egyptian porcupig:
He frighted all, cats, dogs, and all,
Each cow, each horse, and each hog:
For fear they did flee, for they took him to be
Some strange outlandish hedge-hog.
How fierce he look'd and how big,
You would have thought him for to be
Some Egyptian porcupig:
He frighted all, cats, dogs, and all,
Each cow, each horse, and each hog:
For fear they did flee, for they took him to be
Some strange outlandish hedge-hog.
To see this fight, all people then
Got up on trees and houses,
On churches some, and chimneys too;
But these put on their trowses,
Not to spoil their hose. As soon as he rose,
To make him strong and mighty,
He drank by the tale, six pots of ale,
And a quart of aqua-vitæ.
Got up on trees and houses,
On churches some, and chimneys too;
But these put on their trowses,
Not to spoil their hose. As soon as he rose,
To make him strong and mighty,
He drank by the tale, six pots of ale,
And a quart of aqua-vitæ.
303
It is not strength that always wins,
For wit doth strength excell;
Which made our cunning champion
Creep down into a well;
Where he did think, this dragon would drink,
And so he did in truth;
And as he stoop'd low, he rose up and cry'd, boh!
And hit him in the mouth.
For wit doth strength excell;
Which made our cunning champion
Creep down into a well;
Where he did think, this dragon would drink,
And so he did in truth;
And as he stoop'd low, he rose up and cry'd, boh!
And hit him in the mouth.
Oh, quoth the dragon, pox take thee, come out,
Thou disturb'st me in my drink:
And then he turn'd, and s*** at him;
Good lack how he did stink!
Beshrew thy soul, thy body's foul,
Thy dung smells not like balsam;
Thou son of a whore, thou stink'st so sore,
Sure thy diet is unwholsome.
Thou disturb'st me in my drink:
And then he turn'd, and s*** at him;
Good lack how he did stink!
Beshrew thy soul, thy body's foul,
Thy dung smells not like balsam;
Thou son of a whore, thou stink'st so sore,
Sure thy diet is unwholsome.
Our politick knight, on the other side,
Crept out upon the brink,
And gave the dragon such a douse,
He knew not what to think:
By cock, quoth he, say you so: do you see?
And then at him he let fly
With hand and with foot, and so they went to't;
And the word it was, hey boys, hey!
Crept out upon the brink,
And gave the dragon such a douse,
He knew not what to think:
By cock, quoth he, say you so: do you see?
And then at him he let fly
With hand and with foot, and so they went to't;
And the word it was, hey boys, hey!
304
Your words, quoth the dragon, I don't understand:
Then to it they fell at all,
Like two wild boars so fierce, if I may
Compare great things with small.
Two days and a night, with this dragon did fight
Our champion on the ground;
Tho' their strength it was great, their skill it was neat,
They never had one wound.
Then to it they fell at all,
Like two wild boars so fierce, if I may
Compare great things with small.
Two days and a night, with this dragon did fight
Our champion on the ground;
Tho' their strength it was great, their skill it was neat,
They never had one wound.
At length the hard earth began to quake,
The dragon gave him a knock,
Which made him to reel, and straitway he thought,
To lift him as high as a rock,
And thence let him fall. But More of More-Hall,
Like a valiant son of Mars,
As he came like a lout, so he turn'd him about,
And hit him a kick on the a***
The dragon gave him a knock,
Which made him to reel, and straitway he thought,
To lift him as high as a rock,
And thence let him fall. But More of More-Hall,
Like a valiant son of Mars,
As he came like a lout, so he turn'd him about,
And hit him a kick on the a***
Oh, quoth the dragon, with a deep sigh,
And turn'd six times together,
Sobbing and tearing, cursing and swearing
Out of his throat of leather;
More of More-Hall! O thou rascàl!
Would I had seen thee never;
With the thing at thy foot, thou hast prick'd my a*** gut,
And I'm quite undone for ever.
And turn'd six times together,
Sobbing and tearing, cursing and swearing
Out of his throat of leather;
More of More-Hall! O thou rascàl!
Would I had seen thee never;
With the thing at thy foot, thou hast prick'd my a*** gut,
And I'm quite undone for ever.
305
Murder, murder, the dragon cry'd,
Alack, alack, for grief;
Had you but mist that place, you could
Have done me no mischief.
Then his head he shaked, trembled and quaked,
And down he laid and cry'd;
First on one knee, then on back tumbled he,
So groan'd, kickt, s***, and dy'd.
Alack, alack, for grief;
Had you but mist that place, you could
Have done me no mischief.
Then his head he shaked, trembled and quaked,
And down he laid and cry'd;
First on one knee, then on back tumbled he,
So groan'd, kickt, s***, and dy'd.
[_]
Since the first Edition was printed off, the Editor has been favoured with some curious particulars relating to the foregoing Song, which are here given in the words of the Relater.
“In Yorkshire, six miles from Rotherham, is a village, called Wortley, the seat of the late Wortley Montague, Esq; About a mile from this village is a lodge, called Warncliff Lodge, but vulgarly called Wantley: here lies the scene of the Song. I was there above forty years ago; and it being a woody, rocky place, my friend made me clamber over rocks and stones, not telling me to what end, till I came to a sort of a cave; then asked my opinion of the place, and pointing to one end, says, Here lay the Dragon killed by Moor of Moor-hall: here lay his head; here lay his tail; and the stones we came over on the hill, are those he could not crack; and yon white house you see half a mile off, is Moor-hall. I had dined at the lodge, and knew the man's name was Matthew, who was a keeper to Mr. Wortley, and, as he endeavoured to persuade me, was the same Matthew mentioned in the Song: In the house is the picture of the Dragon and Moor of Moor-hall, and near it a Well, which, says he, is the Well described in the Ballad.”
306
XIV. ST. GEORGE FOR ENGLAND.
The First Part.
[_]
As the former song is in ridicule of the extravagant incidents in old ballads and metrical romances; so this is a burlesque of their style; particularly of the rambling transitions and wild accumulation of unconnected parts, so frequent in many of them.
This ballad is given from an old black-letter copy in the Pepys collection, “imprinted at London, 1612.” It is more ancient than many of the preceding; but we place it here for the sake of connecting it with the Second Part.
Why doe you boast of Arthur and his knightes,
Knowing ‘well’ how many men have endured fightes?
For besides king Arthur, and Lancelot du lake,
Or sir Tristram de Lionel, that fought for ladies sake;
Read in old histories, and there you shall see
How St. George, St. George the dragon made to flee.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France.
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense.
Knowing ‘well’ how many men have endured fightes?
For besides king Arthur, and Lancelot du lake,
Or sir Tristram de Lionel, that fought for ladies sake;
Read in old histories, and there you shall see
How St. George, St. George the dragon made to flee.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France.
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense.
Mark our father Abraham, when first he resckued Lot
Onely with his household, what conquest there he got:
David was elected a prophet and a king,
He slew the great Goliah, with a stone within a sling:
Yet these were not knightes of the table round;
Nor St. George, St. George, who the dragon did confound.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France.
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense.
Onely with his household, what conquest there he got:
307
He slew the great Goliah, with a stone within a sling:
Yet these were not knightes of the table round;
Nor St. George, St. George, who the dragon did confound.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France.
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense.
Jephthah and Gideon did lead their men to fight,
They conquered the Amorites, and put them all to flight:
Hercules his labours ‘were’ on the plaines of Basse;
And Sampson slew a thousand with the jawbone of an asse,
And eke he threw a temple downe, and did a mighty spoyle:
And St. George, St. George he did the dragon foyle.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France.
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense.
They conquered the Amorites, and put them all to flight:
Hercules his labours ‘were’ on the plaines of Basse;
And Sampson slew a thousand with the jawbone of an asse,
And eke he threw a temple downe, and did a mighty spoyle:
And St. George, St. George he did the dragon foyle.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France.
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense.
The warres of ancient monarches it were too long to tell,
And likewise of the Romans, how farre they did excell;
Hannyball and Scipio in many a fielde did fighte:
Orlando Furioso he was a worthy knighte:
Remus and Romulus, were they that Rome did builde:
But St. George, St. George the dragon made to yielde.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France.
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense.
And likewise of the Romans, how farre they did excell;
Hannyball and Scipio in many a fielde did fighte:
Orlando Furioso he was a worthy knighte:
Remus and Romulus, were they that Rome did builde:
But St. George, St. George the dragon made to yielde.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France.
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense.
308
The noble Alphonso, that was the Spanish king,
The order of the red scarffes and bandrolles in did bring :
For he had a troope of mighty knightes, when first he did begin,
Which sought adventures farre and neare, that conquest they might win:
The rankes of the Pagans he often put to flight.
But St. George, St. George did with the dragon fight.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France.
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense.
The order of the red scarffes and bandrolles in did bring :
For he had a troope of mighty knightes, when first he did begin,
Which sought adventures farre and neare, that conquest they might win:
The rankes of the Pagans he often put to flight.
But St. George, St. George did with the dragon fight.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France.
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense.
Many ‘knights’ have fought with proud Tamberlaine.
Cutlax the Dane, great warres he did maintaine:
Rowland of Beame, and good ‘sir’ Olivere
In the forest of Acon slew both woolfe and beare:
Besides that noble Hollander, ‘sir’ Goward with the bill.
But St. George, St. George the dragon's blood did spill.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France.
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense.
Cutlax the Dane, great warres he did maintaine:
Rowland of Beame, and good ‘sir’ Olivere
In the forest of Acon slew both woolfe and beare:
Besides that noble Hollander, ‘sir’ Goward with the bill.
But St. George, St. George the dragon's blood did spill.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France.
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense.
Valentine and Orson were of king Pepin's blood:
Alfride and Henry they were brave knightes and good:
The four sons of Aymon, that follow'd Charlemaine:
Sir Hughon of Burdeaux, and Godfrey of Bullaine:
These were all French knightes that lived in that age.
But St. George, St. George the dragon did assuage.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France.
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense.
Alfride and Henry they were brave knightes and good:
The four sons of Aymon, that follow'd Charlemaine:
309
These were all French knightes that lived in that age.
But St. George, St. George the dragon did assuage.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France.
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense.
Bevis conquered Ascupart, and after slew the boare,
And then he crost beyond the seas to combat with the Moore:
Sir Isenbras, and Eglamore they were knightes most bold;
And good Sir John Mandeville of travel much hath told:
There were many English knights that Pagans did convert.
But St. George, St. George pluckt out the dragon's heart.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France.
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense.
And then he crost beyond the seas to combat with the Moore:
Sir Isenbras, and Eglamore they were knightes most bold;
And good Sir John Mandeville of travel much hath told:
There were many English knights that Pagans did convert.
But St. George, St. George pluckt out the dragon's heart.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France.
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense.
The noble earl of Warwick, that was call'd sir Guy,
The infidels and pagans stoutly did defie;
He slew the giant Brandimore, and after was the death
Of that most gastly dun cowe, the divell of Dunsmore heath:
Besides his noble deeds all done beyond the seas.
But St. George, St. George the dragon did appease.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France.
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense.
The infidels and pagans stoutly did defie;
He slew the giant Brandimore, and after was the death
Of that most gastly dun cowe, the divell of Dunsmore heath:
Besides his noble deeds all done beyond the seas.
But St. George, St. George the dragon did appease.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France.
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense.
310
Richard Coeur-de-lion erst king of this land,
He the lion gored with his naked hand :
The false duke of Austria nothing did he feare;
But his son he killed with a boxe on the eare:
Besides his famous actes done in the holy lande.
But St. George, St. George the dragon did withstande.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France.
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense.
He the lion gored with his naked hand :
The false duke of Austria nothing did he feare;
But his son he killed with a boxe on the eare:
Besides his famous actes done in the holy lande.
But St. George, St. George the dragon did withstande.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France.
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense.
Henry the fifth he conquered all France,
And quartered their arms, his honour to advance:
He their cities razed, and threw their castles downe,
And his head he honoured with a double crowne:
He thumped the French-men, and after home he came.
But St. George, St. George he did the dragon tame.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France.
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense.
And quartered their arms, his honour to advance:
He their cities razed, and threw their castles downe,
And his head he honoured with a double crowne:
He thumped the French-men, and after home he came.
But St. George, St. George he did the dragon tame.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France.
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense.
St. David of Wales the Welsh-men much advance:
St. Jaques of Spaine, that never yet broke lance:
St. Patricke of Ireland, which was St. Georges boy,
Seven yeares he kept his horse, and then stole him away:
For which knavish act, as slaves they doe remaine.
But St. George, St. George the dragon he hath slaine.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France.
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense.
St. Jaques of Spaine, that never yet broke lance:
St. Patricke of Ireland, which was St. Georges boy,
Seven yeares he kept his horse, and then stole him away:
For which knavish act, as slaves they doe remaine.
But St. George, St. George the dragon he hath slaine.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France.
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense.
This probably alludes to “An Ancient Order of Knighthood, called the Order of the Band, instituted by Don Alphonsus, king of Spain, . . to wear a red riband of three fingers breadth.” See Ames Typog. p. 327.
Alluding to the fabulous Exploits attributed to this King in the Old Romances. See the Dissertation prefixed to this Volume.
311
XV. ST. GEORGE FOR ENGLAND,
The Second Part.
[_]
—was written by John Grubb, M. A. of Christ Church, Oxford. The occasion of its being composed is said to have been as follows. A set of gentlemen of the university had formed themselves into a Club, all the members of which were to be of the name of George: Their anniversary feast was to be held on St. George's day. Old Grubb of Christ Church solicited strongly to be admitted; but his name being unfortunately John, this disqualification was not without great difficulty dispensed with; and at last only upon this condition, that he would compose a song in honour of their Patron Saint, and would every year produce one or more new stanzas, to be sung on their annual festival. This gave birth to the following humorous performance, the several stanzas of which were the produce of many successive anniversaries.
All that we can learn further concerning this facetious writer is contained in a few extracts from the university Register; by which it appears that he was matriculated in 1667, aged 20 years, being the son of John Grubb “de Acton Burnel in Comitatu Salop. pauperis.” He took his degree of Batchelor of Arts, June 7, 1671; and became Master of Arts, June 28, 1675. He was still living in Oxford, when the following humorous Distich was written,
Alma novem genuit celebres Rhedycina poetas,
Bub, Stubb, Grubb, Crabb, Trapp, Young, Carey,
Tickel, Evans.
Bub, Stubb, Grubb, Crabb, Trapp, Young, Carey,
Tickel, Evans.
312
These were Bub Dodington (the late Lord Melcombe,) Dr. Stubbes, our Poet Grubb, Mr. Crabb, Dr. Trapp the Poetry Professor, Dr. Edw. Young the Poet, Walter Carey, Thomas Tickel, Esq; and Dr. Evans the Epigrammatist.
The Editor has never met with any two copies of the following ballad in which the stanzas were ranged alike, he has therefore thrown them into what seemed to him the most natural order. The verses were originally written in long lines as Alexandrines, but the narrowness of the page made it necessary to subdivide them.
In this second Edition the Reader will find many improvements, which the Editor received from an ingenious friend.
The story of king Arthur old
Is very memorable.
The number of his valiant knights,
And roundness of his table:
The knights around his table in
A circle sate, d'ye see:
And altogether made up one
Large hoop of chivalry.
He had a sword, both broad and sharp,
Y-cleped Caliburn,
Would cut a flint more easily,
Than pen-knife cuts a corn;
As case-knife does a capon carve,
So would it carve a rock,
And split a man at single slash,
From noddle down to nock.
As Roman Augur's steel of yore
Dissected Tarquin's riddle,
So this would cut both conjurer
And whetstone thro' the middle.
He was the cream of Brecknock,
And flower of all the Welsh:
But George he did the dragon fell,
And gave him a plaguy squelsh,
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France.
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense.
Is very memorable.
The number of his valiant knights,
And roundness of his table:
The knights around his table in
A circle sate, d'ye see:
And altogether made up one
Large hoop of chivalry.
He had a sword, both broad and sharp,
Y-cleped Caliburn,
Would cut a flint more easily,
Than pen-knife cuts a corn;
As case-knife does a capon carve,
So would it carve a rock,
313
From noddle down to nock.
As Roman Augur's steel of yore
Dissected Tarquin's riddle,
So this would cut both conjurer
And whetstone thro' the middle.
He was the cream of Brecknock,
And flower of all the Welsh:
But George he did the dragon fell,
And gave him a plaguy squelsh,
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France.
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense.
Pendragon, like his father Jove,
Was fed with milk of goat;
And in return a shield made of
His shaggy nurse's coat:
On top of burnisht helmet he
Did wear a crest of leeks;
And onions' heads, whose dreadful nod
Drew tears down hostile cheeks.
Itch, and Welsh blood did make him hot,
And very prone to ire;
H' was ting'd with brimstone, like a match,
And would as soon take fire:
As brimstone he took inwardly
When scurf gave him occasion,
His postern puff of wind was a
Sulphureous exhalation.
The Briton never tergivers'd,
But was for adverse drubbing,
And never turn'd his back for aught,
But to a post for scrubbing.
His sword would serve for battle, or
For dinner, if you please;
When it had slain a Cheshire man,
'Twould toast a Cheshire cheese.
He wounded, and, in their own blood,
Did anabaptize Pagans.
But George he made the dragon an
Example to all dragons.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France.
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense.
Was fed with milk of goat;
And in return a shield made of
His shaggy nurse's coat:
On top of burnisht helmet he
Did wear a crest of leeks;
And onions' heads, whose dreadful nod
Drew tears down hostile cheeks.
Itch, and Welsh blood did make him hot,
And very prone to ire;
H' was ting'd with brimstone, like a match,
And would as soon take fire:
As brimstone he took inwardly
When scurf gave him occasion,
His postern puff of wind was a
Sulphureous exhalation.
314
But was for adverse drubbing,
And never turn'd his back for aught,
But to a post for scrubbing.
His sword would serve for battle, or
For dinner, if you please;
When it had slain a Cheshire man,
'Twould toast a Cheshire cheese.
He wounded, and, in their own blood,
Did anabaptize Pagans.
But George he made the dragon an
Example to all dragons.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France.
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense.
Brave Warwick Guy, at dinner time,
Challeng'd a gyant savage;
And streight came out the unweildy lout
Brim-full of wrath and cabbage:
He had a phiz of latitude,
And was full thick i'th' middle;
The cheeks of puffed trumpeter,
And paunch of squire Beadle .
But the knight fell'd him, like an oak,
And did upon his back tread;
The valiant knight his weazon cut,
And Atropos his packthread.
Besides he fought with a dun cow,
As say the poets witty,
A dreadful dun, and horned too,
Like dun of Oxford city:
The fervent dog-days made her mad,
By causing heat of weather,
Syrius and Procyon baited her,
As bull-dogs did her father:
Grasiers, nor butchers this fell beast,
E'er of her frolick hindred;
John Dorset she'd knock down as flat,
As John knocks down her kindred:
Her heels would lay ye all along,
And kick into a swoon;
Frewin's cow-heels keep up your corpse,
But hers would beat you down.
She vanquisht many a sturdy wight,
And proud was of the honour;
Was pufft by mauling butchers so,
As if themselves had blown her.
At once she kickt, and pusht at Guy,
But all that would not fright him;
Who wav'd his whinyard o'er sir-loyn,
As if he'd gone to knight him:
He let her blood, her frenzy to cure,
And eke he did her gall rip;
His trenchant blade, like cook's long spit,
Ran thro' the monster's bald-rib:
He rear'd up the vast crooked rib,
Instead of arch triumphal.
But George hit th'dragon such a pelt,
As made him on his bum fall.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France.
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense.
Challeng'd a gyant savage;
And streight came out the unweildy lout
Brim-full of wrath and cabbage:
He had a phiz of latitude,
And was full thick i'th' middle;
The cheeks of puffed trumpeter,
And paunch of squire Beadle .
But the knight fell'd him, like an oak,
And did upon his back tread;
The valiant knight his weazon cut,
And Atropos his packthread.
315
As say the poets witty,
A dreadful dun, and horned too,
Like dun of Oxford city:
The fervent dog-days made her mad,
By causing heat of weather,
Syrius and Procyon baited her,
As bull-dogs did her father:
Grasiers, nor butchers this fell beast,
E'er of her frolick hindred;
John Dorset she'd knock down as flat,
As John knocks down her kindred:
Her heels would lay ye all along,
And kick into a swoon;
Frewin's cow-heels keep up your corpse,
But hers would beat you down.
She vanquisht many a sturdy wight,
And proud was of the honour;
Was pufft by mauling butchers so,
As if themselves had blown her.
At once she kickt, and pusht at Guy,
But all that would not fright him;
Who wav'd his whinyard o'er sir-loyn,
As if he'd gone to knight him:
He let her blood, her frenzy to cure,
And eke he did her gall rip;
His trenchant blade, like cook's long spit,
Ran thro' the monster's bald-rib:
316
Instead of arch triumphal.
But George hit th'dragon such a pelt,
As made him on his bum fall.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France.
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense.
Tamerlain, with Tartarian bow,
The Turkish squadrons slew;
And fetch'd the pagan crescent down,
With half-moon made of yew:
His trusty bow proud Turks did gall,
With showers of arrows thick,
And bow-strings, without throtling, sent
Grand-Visiers to old Nick:
Much turbants, and much Pagan pates
He made to humble in dust,
And heads of Saracens he fixt
On spears, as on a sign-post:
He coop'd in cage grim Bajazet,
Prop of Mahound's religion,
As if he had been the whispering bird,
That prompted him; the pigeon.
In Turkey-leather scabbard, he
Did sheath his blade so trenchant.
But George he swing'd the dragon's tail,
And cut off every inch on't.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France.
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense.
The Turkish squadrons slew;
And fetch'd the pagan crescent down,
With half-moon made of yew:
His trusty bow proud Turks did gall,
With showers of arrows thick,
And bow-strings, without throtling, sent
Grand-Visiers to old Nick:
Much turbants, and much Pagan pates
He made to humble in dust,
And heads of Saracens he fixt
On spears, as on a sign-post:
He coop'd in cage grim Bajazet,
Prop of Mahound's religion,
As if he had been the whispering bird,
That prompted him; the pigeon.
In Turkey-leather scabbard, he
Did sheath his blade so trenchant.
But George he swing'd the dragon's tail,
And cut off every inch on't.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France.
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense.
317
The amazon Thalestris was
Both beautiful, and bold;
She sear'd her breasts with iron hot,
And bang'd her foes with cold.
Her hand was like the tool, wherewith
Jove keeps proud mortals under;
It shone just like his lightning,
And batter'd like his thunder:
Her eye darts lightning, that would blast
The proudest he that swagger'd,
And melt the rapier of his soul,
In its corporeal scabbard.
Her beauty, and her drum to foes
Did cause amazement double;
As timorous larks amazed are
With light, and with a low-bell:
With beauty, and that lapland-charm ,
Poor men she did bewitch-all;
Still a blind whining lover had,
As Pallas had her scrich-owl.
She kept the chastness of a nun
In armour, as in cloyster.
But George undid the dragon just
As you'd undo an oister.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France.
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense.
Both beautiful, and bold;
She sear'd her breasts with iron hot,
And bang'd her foes with cold.
Her hand was like the tool, wherewith
Jove keeps proud mortals under;
It shone just like his lightning,
And batter'd like his thunder:
Her eye darts lightning, that would blast
The proudest he that swagger'd,
And melt the rapier of his soul,
In its corporeal scabbard.
Her beauty, and her drum to foes
Did cause amazement double;
As timorous larks amazed are
With light, and with a low-bell:
With beauty, and that lapland-charm ,
Poor men she did bewitch-all;
Still a blind whining lover had,
As Pallas had her scrich-owl.
She kept the chastness of a nun
In armour, as in cloyster.
But George undid the dragon just
As you'd undo an oister.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France.
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense.
318
Great Hercules, the offspring of
Great Jove, and fair Alcmene:
One part of him celestial was,
The other part terrene.
To scale the hero's cradle walls
Two fiery snakes combin'd,
And, curling into swadling cloaths,
About the infant twin'd:
But he put out these dragons' fires,
And did their hissing stop;
As red-hot iron with hissing noise
Is quencht in blacksmith's shop.
He cleans'd a stable, and rubb'd down
The horses of new-comers;
And out of horse-dung he rais'd fame,
As Tom Wrench does cucumbers.
He made a river help him through;
Alpheus was under groom;
The stream, grumbling at office mean,
Ran murmuring thro' the room:
This liquid ostler to prevent
Being tired with that long work,
His father Neptune's trident took,
Instead of three-tooth'd dung-fork.
This Hercules, as soldier, and
As spinster, could take pains;
His club would sometimes spin ye flax,
And sometimes knock out brains:
H' was forc'd to spin his miss a shift,
By Juno's wrath and hér-spite;
Fair Omphale whipt him to his wheel,
As cooks whip barking turn-spit.
From man, or churn he well knew how
To get him lasting fame:
He'd pound a giant, till the blood,
And milk till butter came.
Often he fought with huge battoon,
And oftentimes he boxed;
Tapt a fresh monster once a month,
As Hervey doth fresh hogshead.
He gave Anteus such a hug,
As wrestlers give in Cornwall.
But George he did the dragon kill,
As dead as any door-nail.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France.
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense.
Great Jove, and fair Alcmene:
One part of him celestial was,
The other part terrene.
To scale the hero's cradle walls
Two fiery snakes combin'd,
And, curling into swadling cloaths,
About the infant twin'd:
But he put out these dragons' fires,
And did their hissing stop;
As red-hot iron with hissing noise
Is quencht in blacksmith's shop.
He cleans'd a stable, and rubb'd down
The horses of new-comers;
And out of horse-dung he rais'd fame,
As Tom Wrench does cucumbers.
He made a river help him through;
Alpheus was under groom;
The stream, grumbling at office mean,
Ran murmuring thro' the room:
This liquid ostler to prevent
Being tired with that long work,
His father Neptune's trident took,
Instead of three-tooth'd dung-fork.
This Hercules, as soldier, and
As spinster, could take pains;
His club would sometimes spin ye flax,
And sometimes knock out brains:
319
By Juno's wrath and hér-spite;
Fair Omphale whipt him to his wheel,
As cooks whip barking turn-spit.
From man, or churn he well knew how
To get him lasting fame:
He'd pound a giant, till the blood,
And milk till butter came.
Often he fought with huge battoon,
And oftentimes he boxed;
Tapt a fresh monster once a month,
As Hervey doth fresh hogshead.
He gave Anteus such a hug,
As wrestlers give in Cornwall.
But George he did the dragon kill,
As dead as any door-nail.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France.
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense.
The Gemini, sprung from an egg,
Were put into a cradle:
Their brains with knocks and bottled ale,
Were often-times full addle:
And, scarcely hatch'd, these sons of him,
That hurls the bolt trisulcate,
With helmet-shell on tender head,
Did bustle with red-ey'd pole-cat.
Castor a horseman, Pollux tho'
A boxer was, I wist:
The one was fam'd for iron heel;
Th'other for leaden fist.
Pollux to shew he was a god,
When he was in a passion,
With fist made noses fall down flat,
By way of adoration:
This fist, as sure as French disease,
Demolish'd noses' ridges:
He like a certain lord was fam'd
For breaking down of bridges.
Castor the flame of fiery steed,
With well-spur'd boot took down;
As men, with leathern buckets, do
Quench fire in country town.
His famous horse, that liv'd on oats,
Is sung on oaten quill;
By bards' immortal provender
The nag surviveth still.
This shelly brood on none but knaves
Employ'd their brisk artillery:
Flew naturally at rogues, as eggs
At Dan De Foe in pillory.
Much sweat they spent in furious fight,
Much blood they did effund:
Their whites they vented thro' the pore;
Their yolks thro' gaping wound:
Then both were cleans'd from blood and dust
To make a heavenly sign;
The lads were, like their armour, scowr'd,
And then hung up to shine;
Such were the heavenly double-Dicks,
The sons of Jove and Tindar.
But George he cut the dragon up,
As 't had bin duck or windar.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France:
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense.
Were put into a cradle:
Their brains with knocks and bottled ale,
Were often-times full addle:
And, scarcely hatch'd, these sons of him,
That hurls the bolt trisulcate,
With helmet-shell on tender head,
Did bustle with red-ey'd pole-cat.
320
A boxer was, I wist:
The one was fam'd for iron heel;
Th'other for leaden fist.
Pollux to shew he was a god,
When he was in a passion,
With fist made noses fall down flat,
By way of adoration:
This fist, as sure as French disease,
Demolish'd noses' ridges:
He like a certain lord was fam'd
For breaking down of bridges.
Castor the flame of fiery steed,
With well-spur'd boot took down;
As men, with leathern buckets, do
Quench fire in country town.
His famous horse, that liv'd on oats,
Is sung on oaten quill;
By bards' immortal provender
The nag surviveth still.
This shelly brood on none but knaves
Employ'd their brisk artillery:
Flew naturally at rogues, as eggs
At Dan De Foe in pillory.
Much sweat they spent in furious fight,
Much blood they did effund:
Their whites they vented thro' the pore;
Their yolks thro' gaping wound:
321
To make a heavenly sign;
The lads were, like their armour, scowr'd,
And then hung up to shine;
Such were the heavenly double-Dicks,
The sons of Jove and Tindar.
But George he cut the dragon up,
As 't had bin duck or windar.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France:
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense.
Gorgon a twisted adder wore
For knot upon her shoulder:
She kemb'd her hissing periwig,
And curling snakes did powder.
These snakes they made stiff changelings
Of all the folks they hist on;
They turned barbers into hones,
And masons into free-stone:
Sworded magnetic Amazon
Her shield to load-stone changes;
Then amorous sword by magic belt
Clung fast unto her haunches.
This shield long village did protect,
And kept the army from-town,
And chang'd the bullies into rocks,
That came t'invade Long-compton .
She post-diluvian stone unmans,
And Pyrrha's work unravels;
And stares Deucalion's hardy boys
Into their primitive pebbles.
Red noses she to rubies turns,
And noddles into bricks.
But George made dragon laxative;
And gave him a bloody flix.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France:
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense.
For knot upon her shoulder:
She kemb'd her hissing periwig,
And curling snakes did powder.
These snakes they made stiff changelings
Of all the folks they hist on;
They turned barbers into hones,
And masons into free-stone:
Sworded magnetic Amazon
Her shield to load-stone changes;
Then amorous sword by magic belt
Clung fast unto her haunches.
This shield long village did protect,
And kept the army from-town,
And chang'd the bullies into rocks,
That came t'invade Long-compton .
322
And Pyrrha's work unravels;
And stares Deucalion's hardy boys
Into their primitive pebbles.
Red noses she to rubies turns,
And noddles into bricks.
But George made dragon laxative;
And gave him a bloody flix.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France:
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense.
By boar-spear Meleager
Acquir'd a lasting name,
And out of haunch of basted swine,
He hew'd eternal fame.
This beast each hero's trouzers ript,
And rudely shew'd his bare-breech,
Prickt but the wem, and out there came
Heroic guts and garbadge.
Legs were secur'd by iron bolts
No more, than peas by peascods:
Brass helmets, with inclosed sculls,
Wou'd crackle in's mouth like chesnuts.
His tawny hairs erected were
By rage, that was resistless;
And wrath, instead of cobler's wax,
Did stiffen his rising bristles.
His tusks lay'd dogs so dead asleep,
Nor horn, nor whip cou'd wake 'um:
It made them vent both their last blood,
And their last album-grecum.
But the knight gor'd him with his spear,
To make of him a tame one,
And arrows thick, instead of cloves,
He stuck in monster's gammon.
For monumental pillar, that
His victory might be known,
He rais'd up, in cylindric form,
A coller of the brawn.
He sent his shade to shades below,
In Stygian mud to wallow:
And eke the stout St. George eftsoon,
He made the dragon follow.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France:
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense.
Acquir'd a lasting name,
And out of haunch of basted swine,
He hew'd eternal fame.
This beast each hero's trouzers ript,
And rudely shew'd his bare-breech,
Prickt but the wem, and out there came
Heroic guts and garbadge.
Legs were secur'd by iron bolts
No more, than peas by peascods:
Brass helmets, with inclosed sculls,
Wou'd crackle in's mouth like chesnuts.
His tawny hairs erected were
By rage, that was resistless;
And wrath, instead of cobler's wax,
Did stiffen his rising bristles.
323
Nor horn, nor whip cou'd wake 'um:
It made them vent both their last blood,
And their last album-grecum.
But the knight gor'd him with his spear,
To make of him a tame one,
And arrows thick, instead of cloves,
He stuck in monster's gammon.
For monumental pillar, that
His victory might be known,
He rais'd up, in cylindric form,
A coller of the brawn.
He sent his shade to shades below,
In Stygian mud to wallow:
And eke the stout St. George eftsoon,
He made the dragon follow.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France:
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense.
Achilles of old Chiron learnt
The great horse for to ride;
H' was taught by th'Centaur's rational part,
The hinnible to bestride.
Bright silver feet, and shining face
Had this stout hero's mother;
As rapier's silver'd at one end,
And wounds us at the other.
Her feet were bright, his feet were swift,
As hawk pursuing sparrow:
Her's had the metal, his the speed
Of Barfoot's silver arrow.
Thetis to double pedagogue
Commits her dearest boy;
Who bred him from a slender twig
To be the scourge of Troy:
But ere he lasht the Trojans, h' was
In Stygian waters steept;
As birch is soaked first in piss,
When boys are to be whipt.
With skin exceeding hard, he rose
From lake, as black and muddy,
As lobsters from the ocean rise,
With shell about their body:
And, as from lobster's broken claw,
Pick out the fish you might:
So might you from one unshell'd heel
Dig pieces of the knight.
His myrmidons robb'd Priam's barns
And hen-roosts, says the song;
Carried away both corn and eggs,
Like ants from whence they sprung.
Himself tore Hector's pantaloons,
And sent him down bare-breech'd
To pedant Radamanthus, in
A posture to be switch'd.
But George he made the dragon look,
As if he had been bewitch'd.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France:
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense.
The great horse for to ride;
H' was taught by th'Centaur's rational part,
The hinnible to bestride.
Bright silver feet, and shining face
Had this stout hero's mother;
As rapier's silver'd at one end,
And wounds us at the other.
324
As hawk pursuing sparrow:
Her's had the metal, his the speed
Of Barfoot's silver arrow.
Thetis to double pedagogue
Commits her dearest boy;
Who bred him from a slender twig
To be the scourge of Troy:
But ere he lasht the Trojans, h' was
In Stygian waters steept;
As birch is soaked first in piss,
When boys are to be whipt.
With skin exceeding hard, he rose
From lake, as black and muddy,
As lobsters from the ocean rise,
With shell about their body:
And, as from lobster's broken claw,
Pick out the fish you might:
So might you from one unshell'd heel
Dig pieces of the knight.
His myrmidons robb'd Priam's barns
And hen-roosts, says the song;
Carried away both corn and eggs,
Like ants from whence they sprung.
Himself tore Hector's pantaloons,
And sent him down bare-breech'd
To pedant Radamanthus, in
A posture to be switch'd.
325
As if he had been bewitch'd.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France:
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense.
Full fatal to the Romans was
The Carthaginian Hanni-
bal; him I mean, who gave to them
A devilish thump at Cannæ:
Moors thick, as goats on Penmenmure,
Stood on the Alpes's front:
Their one-eyed guide , like blinking mole,
Bor'd thro' the hindring mount:
Who, baffled by the massy rock,
Took vinegar for relief;
Like plowmen, when they hew their way
Thro' stubborn rump of beef.
As dancing louts from humid toes
Cast atoms of ill savour
To blinking Hyatt , when on vile crowd
He merriment does endeavour,
And saws from suffering timber out
Some wretched tune to quiver:
So Romans stunk and squeak'd at sight
Of Affrican carnivor:
The tawny surface of his phiz
Did serve instead of vizzard:
But George he made the dragon have
A grumbling in his gizzard.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France:
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense.
The Carthaginian Hanni-
bal; him I mean, who gave to them
A devilish thump at Cannæ:
Moors thick, as goats on Penmenmure,
Stood on the Alpes's front:
Their one-eyed guide , like blinking mole,
Bor'd thro' the hindring mount:
Who, baffled by the massy rock,
Took vinegar for relief;
Like plowmen, when they hew their way
Thro' stubborn rump of beef.
As dancing louts from humid toes
Cast atoms of ill savour
To blinking Hyatt , when on vile crowd
He merriment does endeavour,
And saws from suffering timber out
Some wretched tune to quiver:
So Romans stunk and squeak'd at sight
Of Affrican carnivor:
326
Did serve instead of vizzard:
But George he made the dragon have
A grumbling in his gizzard.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France:
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense.
The valour of [illeg.]itian,
It must not be forgotten;
Who from the jaws of worm-blowing flies,
Protected veal and mutton.
A squadron of flies errant,
Against the foe appears;
With regiments of buzzing knights,
And swarms of volunteers:
The warlike wasp encourag'd 'em,
With animating hum;
And the loud brazen hornet next,
He was their kettle-drum:
The Spanish don Cantharido
Did him most sorely pester,
And rais'd on skin of vent'rous knight
Full many a plaguy blister.
A bee whipt thro' his button hole,
As thro' key hole a witch,
And stabb'd him with her little tuck
Drawn out of scabbard breech:
But the undaunted knight lifts up
An arm so big and brawny,
And slasht her so, that here lay head,
And there lay bag and honey:
Then 'mongst the rout he flew as swift,
As weapon made by Cyclops,
And bravely quell'd seditious buz,
By dint of massy fly-flops.
Surviving flies do curses breathe,
And maggots too at Cæsar.
But George he shav'd the dragon's beard,
And Askelon was his razor.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France:
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense.
It must not be forgotten;
Who from the jaws of worm-blowing flies,
Protected veal and mutton.
A squadron of flies errant,
Against the foe appears;
With regiments of buzzing knights,
And swarms of volunteers:
The warlike wasp encourag'd 'em,
With animating hum;
And the loud brazen hornet next,
He was their kettle-drum:
The Spanish don Cantharido
Did him most sorely pester,
And rais'd on skin of vent'rous knight
Full many a plaguy blister.
A bee whipt thro' his button hole,
As thro' key hole a witch,
And stabb'd him with her little tuck
Drawn out of scabbard breech:
327
An arm so big and brawny,
And slasht her so, that here lay head,
And there lay bag and honey:
Then 'mongst the rout he flew as swift,
As weapon made by Cyclops,
And bravely quell'd seditious buz,
By dint of massy fly-flops.
Surviving flies do curses breathe,
And maggots too at Cæsar.
But George he shav'd the dragon's beard,
And Askelon was his razor.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France:
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense.
328
XVI. LUCY AND COLIN
[_]
—was written by Thomas Tickel, Esq; the celebrated friend of Mr. Addison, and editor of his works. He was son of a Clergyman in the north of England, had his education at Queen's college Oxon, was under-secretary to Mr. Addison and Mr. Craggs, when successively secretaries of state; and was lastly (in June, 1724) appointed secretary to the Lords Justices in Ireland, which place he held till his death in 1740. He acquired Mr. Addison's patronage by a poem in praise of the opera of Rosamond written while he was at the University.
Of Leinster, fam'd for maidens fair,
Bright Lucy was the grace;
Nor e'er did Liffy's limpid stream
Reflect so fair a face.
Bright Lucy was the grace;
Nor e'er did Liffy's limpid stream
Reflect so fair a face.
Till luckless love, and pining care
Impair'd her rosy hue,
Her coral lip, and damask cheek,
And eyes of glossy blue.
Impair'd her rosy hue,
Her coral lip, and damask cheek,
And eyes of glossy blue.
Oh! have you seen a lily pale,
When beating rains descend?
So droop'd the slow-consuming maid;
Her life now near its end.
When beating rains descend?
So droop'd the slow-consuming maid;
Her life now near its end.
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By Lucy warn'd, of flattering swains
Take heed, ye easy fair:
Of vengeance due to broken vows,
Ye perjured swains, beware.
Take heed, ye easy fair:
Of vengeance due to broken vows,
Ye perjured swains, beware.
Three times, all in the dead of night,
A bell was heard to ring;
And at her window, shrieking thrice,
The raven flap'd his wing.
A bell was heard to ring;
And at her window, shrieking thrice,
The raven flap'd his wing.
Too well the love-lorn maiden knew
The solemn boding sound;
And thus, in dying words, bespoke
The virgins weeping round.
The solemn boding sound;
And thus, in dying words, bespoke
The virgins weeping round.
“I hear a voice, you cannot hear,
“Which says, I must not stay:
“I see a hand, you cannot see,
“Which beckons me away.
“Which says, I must not stay:
“I see a hand, you cannot see,
“Which beckons me away.
“By a false heart, and broken vows,
“In early youth I die.
“Am I to blame, because his bride
“Is thrice as rich as I?
“In early youth I die.
“Am I to blame, because his bride
“Is thrice as rich as I?
“Ah Colin! give not her thy vows;
“Vows due to me alone:
“Nor thou, fond maid, receive his kiss,
“Nor think him all thy own.
“Vows due to me alone:
“Nor thou, fond maid, receive his kiss,
“Nor think him all thy own.
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“To-morrow in the church to wed,
“Impatient, both prepare;
“But know, fond maid, and know, false man,
“That Lucy will be there.
“Impatient, both prepare;
“But know, fond maid, and know, false man,
“That Lucy will be there.
“Then, bear my corse; ye comrades, bear,
“The bridegroom blithe to meet;
“He in his wedding-trim so gay,
“I in my winding-sheet.”
“The bridegroom blithe to meet;
“He in his wedding-trim so gay,
“I in my winding-sheet.”
She spoke, she dy'd;—her corse was borne,
The bridegroom blithe to meet;
He in his wedding-trim so gay,
She in her winding-sheet.
The bridegroom blithe to meet;
He in his wedding-trim so gay,
She in her winding-sheet.
Then what were perjur'd Colin's thoughts?
How were those nuptials kept?
The bride-men flock'd round Lucy dead,
And all the village wept.
How were those nuptials kept?
The bride-men flock'd round Lucy dead,
And all the village wept.
Confusion, shame, remorse, despair
At once his bosom swell:
The damps of death bedew'd his brow,
He shook, he groan'd, he fell.
At once his bosom swell:
The damps of death bedew'd his brow,
He shook, he groan'd, he fell.
From the vain bride (ah bride no more!)
The varying crimson fled,
When, stretch'd before her rival's corse,
She saw her husband dead.
The varying crimson fled,
When, stretch'd before her rival's corse,
She saw her husband dead.
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Then to his Lucy's new-made grave,
Convey'd by trembling swains,
One mould with her, beneath one sod
For ever now remains.
Convey'd by trembling swains,
One mould with her, beneath one sod
For ever now remains.
Oft at their grave the constant hind
And plighted maid are seen;
With garlands gay, and true-love knots
They deck the sacred green.
And plighted maid are seen;
With garlands gay, and true-love knots
They deck the sacred green.
But, swain forsworn, whoe'er thou art,
This hallow'd spot forbear;
Remember Colin's dreadful fate,
And fear to meet him there.
This hallow'd spot forbear;
Remember Colin's dreadful fate,
And fear to meet him there.
XVII. MARGARET's GHOST.
[_]
This Ballad, which appeared in some of the public newspapers in or before the year 1724, came from the pen of David Mallet, Esq; who in the edition of his poems, 3 vols. 1759, informs us that the plan was suggested by the four verses quoted above in pag. 119, which he supposed to be the beginning of some ballad now lost.
“These lines, says he, naked of ornament and simple, as they are, struck my fancy; and bringing fresh into my mind an unhappy adventure much talked of formerly, gave birth to the following poem, which was written many years ago.”
The two introductory lines (and one or two others elsewhere) had originally more of the ballad simplicity, viz.
“When all was wrapt in dark midnight,
“And all were fast asleep, &c.
“And all were fast asleep, &c.
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'Twas at the silent solemn hour,
When night and morning meet;
In glided Margaret's grimly ghost,
And stood at William's feet.
When night and morning meet;
In glided Margaret's grimly ghost,
And stood at William's feet.
Her face was like an April morn,
Clad in a wintry cloud:
And clay-cold was her lily hand,
That held her sable shrowd.
Clad in a wintry cloud:
And clay-cold was her lily hand,
That held her sable shrowd.
So shall the fairest face appear,
When youth and years are flown:
Such is the robe that kings must wear,
When death has reft their crown.
When youth and years are flown:
Such is the robe that kings must wear,
When death has reft their crown.
Her bloom was like the springing flower,
That sips the silver dew;
The rose was budded in her cheek,
Just opening to the view.
That sips the silver dew;
The rose was budded in her cheek,
Just opening to the view.
But love had, like the canker worm,
Consum'd her early prime:
The rose grew pale, and left her cheek;
She dy'd before her time.
Consum'd her early prime:
The rose grew pale, and left her cheek;
She dy'd before her time.
“Awake! she cry'd, thy true love calls,
“Come from her midnight grave;
“Now let thy pity hear the maid,
“Thy love refus'd to save.
“Come from her midnight grave;
“Now let thy pity hear the maid,
“Thy love refus'd to save.
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“This is the dumb and dreary hour,
“When injur'd ghosts complain;
“Now yawning graves give up their dead,
“To haunt the faithless swain.
“When injur'd ghosts complain;
“Now yawning graves give up their dead,
“To haunt the faithless swain.
“Bethink thee, William, of thy fault,
“Thy pledge, and broken oath:
“And give me back my maiden vow,
“And give me back my troth.
“Thy pledge, and broken oath:
“And give me back my maiden vow,
“And give me back my troth.
“Why did you promise love to me,
“And not that promise keep?
“Why did you swear mine eyes were bright,
“Yet leave those eyes to weep?
“And not that promise keep?
“Why did you swear mine eyes were bright,
“Yet leave those eyes to weep?
“How could you say my face was fair,
“And yet that face forsake?
“How could you win my virgin heart,
“Yet leave that heart to break?
“And yet that face forsake?
“How could you win my virgin heart,
“Yet leave that heart to break?
“Why did you say my lip was sweet,
“And made the scarlet pale?
“And why did I, young witless maid,
“Believe the flattering tale?
“And made the scarlet pale?
“And why did I, young witless maid,
“Believe the flattering tale?
“That face, alas! no more is fair;
“These lips no longer red:
“Dark are my eyes, now clos'd in death,
“And every charm is fled.
“These lips no longer red:
“Dark are my eyes, now clos'd in death,
“And every charm is fled.
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“The hungry worm my sister is;
“This winding-sheet I wear:
“And cold and weary lasts our night,
“Till that last morn appear.
“This winding-sheet I wear:
“And cold and weary lasts our night,
“Till that last morn appear.
“But hark! the cock has warn'd me hence!
“A long and last adieu!
“Come see, false man, how low she lies,
“Who dy'd for love of you.”
“A long and last adieu!
“Come see, false man, how low she lies,
“Who dy'd for love of you.”
The lark sung loud; the morning smil'd,
With beams of rosy red:
Pale William shook in ev'ry limb,
And raving left his bed.
With beams of rosy red:
Pale William shook in ev'ry limb,
And raving left his bed.
He hyed him to the fatal place,
Where Margaret's body lay;
And stretch'd him on the grass-green turf,
That wrapt her breathless clay:
Where Margaret's body lay;
And stretch'd him on the grass-green turf,
That wrapt her breathless clay:
And thrice he call'd on Margaret's name,
And thrice he wept full sore:
Then laid his cheek to her cold grave,
And word spake never more.
And thrice he wept full sore:
Then laid his cheek to her cold grave,
And word spake never more.
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XVIII. THE BOY AND THE MANTLE,
As revised and altered by a modern hand.
[_]
Mr. Warton, in his ingenious Observations on Spenser, has given his opinion that the fiction of the Boy and the Mantle is taken from an old French piece intitled Le court mantel quoted by M. de St. Palaye in his curious “Memoires sur l' ancienne Chevalerie,” Paris, 1759. 2 tom. 12mo. who tells us the story resembles that of Ariosto's inchanted cup. 'Tis possible our English poet may have taken the hint of this subject from that old French Romance, but he does not appear to have copied it in the manner of execution: to which (if one may judge from the specimen given in the Memoires) that of the ballad does not bear the least resemblance. After all 'tis most likely that all the old stories concerning K. Arthur are originally of British growth, and that what the French and other southern nations have of this kind were at first exported from this island. See Memoires de l' Acad. des Inscrip. tom. xx. p. 352.
In Carleile dwelt king Arthur,
A prince of passing might;
And there maintain'd his table round,
Beset with many a knight.
A prince of passing might;
And there maintain'd his table round,
Beset with many a knight.
And there he kept his Christmas
With mirth and princely cheare,
When, lo! a straunge and cunning boy
Before him did appeare.
With mirth and princely cheare,
When, lo! a straunge and cunning boy
Before him did appeare.
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A kirtle, and a mantle
This boy had him upon,
With brooches, rings, and owches
Full daintily bedone.
This boy had him upon,
With brooches, rings, and owches
Full daintily bedone.
He had a sarke of silk
About his middle meet;
And thus, with seemely courtesy,
He did king Arthur greet.
About his middle meet;
And thus, with seemely courtesy,
He did king Arthur greet.
“God speed thee, brave king Arthur,
“Thus feasting in thy bowre.
“And Guenever thy goodly queen,
“That fair and peerlesse flowre.
“Thus feasting in thy bowre.
“And Guenever thy goodly queen,
“That fair and peerlesse flowre.
“Ye gallant lords, and lordings,
“I wish you all take heed,
“Lest, what ye deem a blooming rose
“Should prove a cankred weed.”
“I wish you all take heed,
“Lest, what ye deem a blooming rose
“Should prove a cankred weed.”
Then straitway from his bosome
A little wand he drew;
And with it eke a mantle
Of wondrous shape, and hew.
A little wand he drew;
And with it eke a mantle
Of wondrous shape, and hew.
“Now have thou here, king Arthur,
“Have thou here of mee,
“And give unto thy comely queen,
“All-shapen as you see.
“Have thou here of mee,
“And give unto thy comely queen,
“All-shapen as you see.
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“No wife it shall become,
“That once hath been to blame.”
Then every knight in Arthur's court
Slye glaunced at his dame.
“That once hath been to blame.”
Then every knight in Arthur's court
Slye glaunced at his dame.
And first came lady Guenever,
The mantle she must trye.
This dame, she was new-fangled,
And of a roving eye.
The mantle she must trye.
This dame, she was new-fangled,
And of a roving eye.
When she had tane the mantle,
And all was with it cladde,
From top to toe it shiver'd down,
As tho' with sheers beshradde.
And all was with it cladde,
From top to toe it shiver'd down,
As tho' with sheers beshradde.
One while it was too long,
Another while too short,
And wrinkled on her shoulders
In most unseemly sort.
Another while too short,
And wrinkled on her shoulders
In most unseemly sort.
Now green, now red it seemed,
Then all of sable hue.
“Beshrew me, quoth king Arthur,
“I think thou beest not true.”
Then all of sable hue.
“Beshrew me, quoth king Arthur,
“I think thou beest not true.”
Down she threw the mantle,
Ne longer would not stay;
But storming like a fury,
To her chamber flung away.
Ne longer would not stay;
But storming like a fury,
To her chamber flung away.
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She curst the whoreson weaver,
That had the mantle wrought:
And doubly curst the froward impe,
Who thither had it brought.
That had the mantle wrought:
And doubly curst the froward impe,
Who thither had it brought.
“I had rather live in desarts
“Beneath the green-wood tree:
“Than here, base king, among thy groomes,
“The sport of them and thee.”
“Beneath the green-wood tree:
“Than here, base king, among thy groomes,
“The sport of them and thee.”
Sir Kay call'd forth his lady,
And bade her to come near:
“Yet dame, if thou be guilty,
“I pray thee now forbear.”
And bade her to come near:
“Yet dame, if thou be guilty,
“I pray thee now forbear.”
This lady, pertly gigling,
With forward step came on,
And boldly to the little boy
With fearless face is gone.
With forward step came on,
And boldly to the little boy
With fearless face is gone.
When she had tane the mantle,
With purpose for to wear:
It shrunk up to her shoulder,
And left her b**side bare.
With purpose for to wear:
It shrunk up to her shoulder,
And left her b**side bare.
Then every merry knight,
That was in Arthur's court,
Gib'd, and laught, and flouted,
To see that pleasant sport.
That was in Arthur's court,
Gib'd, and laught, and flouted,
To see that pleasant sport.
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Downe she threw the mantle,
No longer bold or gay,
But with a face all pale and wan,
To her chamber slunk away.
No longer bold or gay,
But with a face all pale and wan,
To her chamber slunk away.
Then forth came an old knight,
A pattering o'er his creed;
And proffer'd to the little boy
Five nobles to his meed:
A pattering o'er his creed;
And proffer'd to the little boy
Five nobles to his meed:
“And all the time of Christmass
“Plumb-porridge shall be thine,
“If thou wilt let my lady fair
“Within the mantle shine.”
“Plumb-porridge shall be thine,
“If thou wilt let my lady fair
“Within the mantle shine.”
A saint his lady seemed,
With step demure, and slow,
And gravely to the mantle
With mincing pace does goe.
With step demure, and slow,
And gravely to the mantle
With mincing pace does goe.
When she the same had taken,
That was so fine and thin,
It shrivell'd all about her,
And show'd her dainty skin.
That was so fine and thin,
It shrivell'd all about her,
And show'd her dainty skin.
Ah! little did her mincing,
Or his long prayers bestead;
She had no more hung on her,
Than a tassel and a thread.
Or his long prayers bestead;
She had no more hung on her,
Than a tassel and a thread.
340
Down she threwe the mantle,
With terror and dismay,
And, with a face of scarlet,
To her chamber hied away.
With terror and dismay,
And, with a face of scarlet,
To her chamber hied away.
Sir Cradock call'd his lady,
And bade her to come neare:
“Come win this mantle, lady,
“And do me credit here.
And bade her to come neare:
“Come win this mantle, lady,
“And do me credit here.
“Come win this mantle, lady,
“For now it shall be thine,
“If thou hast never done amiss,
“Sith first I made thee mine.”
“For now it shall be thine,
“If thou hast never done amiss,
“Sith first I made thee mine.”
The lady gently blushing,
With modest grace came on,
And now to trye the wondrous charm
Courageously is gone.
With modest grace came on,
And now to trye the wondrous charm
Courageously is gone.
When she had tane the mantle,
And put it on her backe,
About the hem it seemed
To wrinkle and to cracke.
And put it on her backe,
About the hem it seemed
To wrinkle and to cracke.
“Lye still, shee cryed, O mantle!
“And shame me not for nought,
“I'll freely own whate'er amiss,
“Or blameful I have wrought.
“And shame me not for nought,
“I'll freely own whate'er amiss,
“Or blameful I have wrought.
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“Once I kist Sir Cradocke
“Beneathe the green-wood tree:
“Once I kist Sir Cradocke's mouth
“Before he married mee.”
“Beneathe the green-wood tree:
“Once I kist Sir Cradocke's mouth
“Before he married mee.”
When thus she had her shriven,
And her worst fault had told,
The mantle soon became her
Right comely as it shold.
And her worst fault had told,
The mantle soon became her
Right comely as it shold.
Most rich and fair of colour,
Like gold it glittering shone:
And much the knights in Arthur's court
Admir'd her every one.
Like gold it glittering shone:
And much the knights in Arthur's court
Admir'd her every one.
Then towards king Arthur's table
The boy he turn'd his eye:
Where stood a boar's-head garnished
With bayes and rosemarye.
The boy he turn'd his eye:
Where stood a boar's-head garnished
With bayes and rosemarye.
When thrice he o'er the boar's head
His little wand had drawne,
Quoth he, “There's never a cuckold's knife,
“Can carve this head of brawne.”
His little wand had drawne,
Quoth he, “There's never a cuckold's knife,
“Can carve this head of brawne.”
Then some their whittles rubbed
On whetstone, and on hone:
Some threwe them under the table,
And swore that they had none.
On whetstone, and on hone:
Some threwe them under the table,
And swore that they had none.
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Sir Cradock had a little knife
Of steel and iron made;
And in an instant thro' the skull
He thrust the shining blade.
Of steel and iron made;
And in an instant thro' the skull
He thrust the shining blade.
He thrust the shining blade
Full easily and fast:
And every knight in Arthurs court
A morsel had to taste.
Full easily and fast:
And every knight in Arthurs court
A morsel had to taste.
The boy brought forth a horne,
All golden was the rim:
Said he, “No cuckolde ever can
“Set mouth unto the brim.
All golden was the rim:
Said he, “No cuckolde ever can
“Set mouth unto the brim.
“No cuckold can this little horne
“Lift fairly to his head:
“But or on this, or that side,
“He shall the liquor shed.”
“Lift fairly to his head:
“But or on this, or that side,
“He shall the liquor shed.”
Some shed it on their shoulder,
Some shed it on their thigh;
And hee that could not hit his mouth,
Was sure to hit his eye.
Some shed it on their thigh;
And hee that could not hit his mouth,
Was sure to hit his eye.
Thus he, that was a cuckold,
Was known of every man:
But Cradock lifted easily,
And wan the golden can.
Was known of every man:
But Cradock lifted easily,
And wan the golden can.
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Thus boar's head, horn and mantle
Were this fair couple's meed:
And all such constant lovers,
God send them well to speed.
Were this fair couple's meed:
And all such constant lovers,
God send them well to speed.
Then down in rage came Guenever,
And thus could spightful say,
“Sir Cradock's wife most wrongfully
“Hath borne the price away.
And thus could spightful say,
“Sir Cradock's wife most wrongfully
“Hath borne the price away.
“See yonder shameless woman,
“That makes herselfe so clean:
“Yet from her pillow taken
“Thrice five gallants have been.
“That makes herselfe so clean:
“Yet from her pillow taken
“Thrice five gallants have been.
“Priests, clarkes, and wedded men
“Have her lewd pillow prest:
“Yet she the wonderous prize forsooth
“Must beare from all the rest.”
“Have her lewd pillow prest:
“Yet she the wonderous prize forsooth
“Must beare from all the rest.”
Then bespake the little boy,
Who had the same in hold:
“Chastize thy wife, king Arthur,
“Of speech she is too bold:
Who had the same in hold:
“Chastize thy wife, king Arthur,
“Of speech she is too bold:
“Of speech she is too bold,
“Of carriage all too free;
“Sir king, she hath within thy hall
“A cuckold made of thee.
“Of carriage all too free;
“Sir king, she hath within thy hall
“A cuckold made of thee.
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“All frolick light and wanton
“She hath her carriage borne:
“And given thee for a kingly crown
“To wear a cuckold's horne.”
“She hath her carriage borne:
“And given thee for a kingly crown
“To wear a cuckold's horne.”
[_]
The learned editor of the Specimens of Welch Poetry, 4to. informs me that the story of the Boy and the Mantle is taken from what is related in some of the old Welsh MSS. of Tegan Earfron, one of King Arthur's mistresses. She is said to have possessed a mantle that would not fit any immodest or incontinent woman; this (which, the old writers say, was reckoned among the curiosities of Britain) is frequently alluded to by the old Welsh Bards.
Carleile, so often mentioned in the Ballads of K. Arthur, the editor once thought might probably be a corruption of Caer-leon, an ancient British city on the river Uske in Monmouthshire, which was one of the places of K. Arthur's chief residence; but he is now convinced, that it is no other than Carlisle, in Cumberland; the Old English Minstrels, being most of them Northern Men, naturally represented the Hero of Romance as residing in the North: And many of the places mentioned in the Old Ballads are still to be found there: Thus Tearne-Wadling (vid. p. 12. note.) is the name of a Lake near Hesketh in Cumberland, on the road from Penrith to Carlisle. A Tradition still prevails in the neighbourhood, that an old Castle once stood at Tearne-Wadling, the remains of which are either now, or were not long since to be seen.
346
THE END OF THE THIRD BOOK.
358
THE END OF VOLUME THE THIRD.
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