The black bowl, Feb. 3, 1208; or, Tears of Eboracum An old Monkish Legend, found in an old mouldy chest, Formerly in the Possession of an old curious Antiquary of the famous old City of York: The Style somewhat obscure, the Spelling somewhat obsolete--but the Matter most pertinent and rare. Rescued from oblivion and published for the edification of the Learned, by J. Thelwall |
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 | The black bowl, Feb. 3, 1208; or, Tears of Eboracum |  |
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THE BLACK BOULE, FEB. 3, A. C. 1208;
Or, TERES of EBORACUM:
[_]
The Author of this curious Old Legend is supposed to have been a residentiary Canon of the Cathedral Church of St. Peter, in the Reign (as appears from the date of the MS.) of King John: though it is evident that the Language must have been somewhat modernized at a much later, though still distant period.
Gin that you'l here a story dolefule strange
Of what misventure happenede this daie,
Listenethe the while my rythmes alternate change
Shall snatch thereof the Rekkorde from decaie:
And soothe of straunger thingies, wotte yet wele,
(Of myrikle or prophesie of olde)
And, als, so treu as dolefulle, every dele,
In writte or hommillie was never tolde—
How Aldermene, and Communes eke beside,
And godlie priesties with their paunches large,
And flaggs and minstrelles, al in royale pride,
Did marche with muchel toyle and muchel charge—
With toyle and charge, and daggelde tayles beside,
O'er wich shal rayle the housewife's dere of some;
Yet thay, with watrie mouthies open wide,
Thinken of noute but goosen pie to come—
Of goosen pie, and haunch of fatted deare,
In Galtre's auncient forreste late ybredde,
And cheyne of stalled ox, for sollide cheare,
And capon plumpe, that was so daintie fedde;
And Mutton-Legge, with fatte so lillie wite,
And Hamb and Tong, that blushen like the rose,
And Game, in woodes and stubblies that delite,
And Wild Foule, that the mareshie countrie knose:
Of these and more—as tarte and mincen pye,
With Plums and Swetemetes rich, and grocerie,
And Windsoures, rare conserve! that raisen hye,
Above al others, fame of Yorke Countie;
And eke of Meede, so sweete, and Ale, so stron,
And Wyne of Fraunce, and Wassaile many a bole
They pondere joysome, as they marchen on,
Nor hede of louren skyes, or threatende dole.
Of what misventure happenede this daie,
Listenethe the while my rythmes alternate change
Shall snatch thereof the Rekkorde from decaie:
And soothe of straunger thingies, wotte yet wele,
(Of myrikle or prophesie of olde)
And, als, so treu as dolefulle, every dele,
In writte or hommillie was never tolde—
How Aldermene, and Communes eke beside,
And godlie priesties with their paunches large,
And flaggs and minstrelles, al in royale pride,
Did marche with muchel toyle and muchel charge—
With toyle and charge, and daggelde tayles beside,
O'er wich shal rayle the housewife's dere of some;
Yet thay, with watrie mouthies open wide,
Thinken of noute but goosen pie to come—
Of goosen pie, and haunch of fatted deare,
In Galtre's auncient forreste late ybredde,
And cheyne of stalled ox, for sollide cheare,
And capon plumpe, that was so daintie fedde;
And Mutton-Legge, with fatte so lillie wite,
And Hamb and Tong, that blushen like the rose,
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And Wild Foule, that the mareshie countrie knose:
Of these and more—as tarte and mincen pye,
With Plums and Swetemetes rich, and grocerie,
And Windsoures, rare conserve! that raisen hye,
Above al others, fame of Yorke Countie;
And eke of Meede, so sweete, and Ale, so stron,
And Wyne of Fraunce, and Wassaile many a bole
They pondere joysome, as they marchen on,
Nor hede of louren skyes, or threatende dole.
Ring forthe the Belles in Petere's Steaple hie—
The Minstrelles pipen everich one before—
Auld Pannies pipe with crooken Bugles vie,
And Harpe, so famous in Northumbric lore:
Nor lakt, I wene, that Bagge benethe the arme
That dronethe forthe so swete in northerne ere,
Nor Trumpette, that the soldier's breste dothe charme,
Nor Drum, nor Fife, that Widowe wailethe drere—
But not of Widdowes wailin sing this daye—
Thoughf dole enow I must hereaftere saye.
The Minstrelles pipen everich one before—
Auld Pannies pipe with crooken Bugles vie,
And Harpe, so famous in Northumbric lore:
Nor lakt, I wene, that Bagge benethe the arme
That dronethe forthe so swete in northerne ere,
Nor Trumpette, that the soldier's breste dothe charme,
Nor Drum, nor Fife, that Widowe wailethe drere—
But not of Widdowes wailin sing this daye—
Thoughf dole enow I must hereaftere saye.
Wythe sorde and mace in awefule state before,
Forthe marche the mayres, the auncient and the newe,
Arounde the neke a chayne of golden ore,
That binden themme to rule of Justyce trewe:
Them eche beside theyre chaplains garde the soule
And kon the Grayce to saie at dinner true;
Thanne cumes Rekorder, larnde thatte bares the Roule,—
Whome Fame precedes and Reverence dothe ensue.
Thanne strotte, in skarlette cloke and saible's pryde,
Full many a goodlie Alderman to see—
Large werne there heddies—stommakes large beside—
For Benche or Feste of knone capacitee.
Nexte, robde in skarlette, eke, from upper house,
Came five-and-thertie of the twentie-fore ,
In Shrievaltie who learnede to carrouse,
And lovde a bowntyus dinner evermore.
Of these werne some rite carnallie inclinde;
In others plane the Christyene all mote trace;
Yet Christyene selfe coude joy in feasting finde,
And deempt the beste of praiers was saying grace.
Thanne caime, in gownies blak, the communaltie—
Merchantes and Merceres with their silken flagge,
Draperes with broad Clothe mounted proudielie,
And Guldesmithies, thatte in thrifte did never lagge;
Thanne Dyers came, with rainbow streamers gaye,
And Habberdashers, all with lace o'ersprede,
Fatte Innholders, with tubb-like bellies aye,
And Jollie Vintners, with their nozies rede;
Thanne Bakers cumme, with spones for everye dishe,
And Butcheres, wettyng on theyre steles theyre knives,
Groceres, and Cukes, and Mongeres of lent fishe,
And Millers, that will liven all theyre lives.
Blacksmithes and Whitesmithes, Tanneyres, Braziers,
Bladesmithes and those that worke in Armorie
Were also there; and jollie Marrineres,
That lifte the flagge of Englondes victorie.
Embroidereres, Girdlers, Linene-weaveres, Silke-,
And all thatte been employde in braverie—
In Cothe, and Skinne, and flounce, and furr, and thilke
That fillen wommene's hedes wyth knaverie.
Thanne cummen those thatte bilde in stone or woode;
Locksmithes, and Glazieres, Poynters eke beside,
Porters, and Labourers, and Couperes goode,
And Peutereres, thatte the spacyous dishe provide.
Thanne Barberes caime, wythe baisonnes on theyre hede,
And Lawyeres eke, that shave more close then thaie,
And Doctours, thatte theyre oune prescription drede,
And Cannones, thatte ould raither ete then praie;
Druggestes and Pottecaries notte a few,
Wyth Clysterne pipe and pestille liften hye;
Chandleeres of Waxxe, and Tallow Chandleeres tew,
Who lite to Masse,—and eke to Panterye;
Sporriers spurrde on good eating to pursue;
And Satellers with unbridelde appetyte;
And parchment-makeres, who the worlde undue
Wythe dedes in Lawsutes and wythe drums in fyte.
All theese, and more, our Cyties Craftes so gaie,
Throe rayne and mudde parade withouten fayle,
To skyes averse theyre poyntede flags displaie,
Thof splashde and dagglede to the verrie tayle.
And, after these, theyre came a trayne besyde
Of stavesmene, fyremene, with theyre helmns of stele;
And menne of warre, in manie a forrage tryde,
Eager to charge on muttone poarke or vele.
Cannones and Deaconnes thanne went tue and tue,
And tue and tue Abbotes and Priesties alle,
Who keepen to theyre texte for ever true—
The first on Festes a blessing down to calle.
Themme close behynde the Choiristeres dide joine,
Singen the praysies of theyre Lorde on hye,
That given Fish, and Flesh, and Hanche, and Loine,
And guide Mayres-Daies, these baunties to injye.
Thus throe the Streeties thaye parrade in state,
Wythe bowilles yearning for the annual feeste;
And now, arriven at the destinde Gate,
Wythe joiyuse showte, the order is surceeste;
In rushe the thronge promisqus to the hall,
Intente to seize on breste or wyng or thie,
On roste and boilde, and bakde, and stewde to fall,
And drayne thie spacyus horne, Ulpheus, drie:
But, loe! a merrvylle, mirrakles renewde!—
Ulpheus horne could ne a droppe supplie—
Thie, wyng, nor breste, nor bakde, nor boilde, nor stewde,
Fyshe, flesh, nor foule salutes the ravinnus eie!
Closde is the Cellar, and the Kytchene colde,
The clothe unsprede, the pantrie all unstorde;
Instede of Feste, an emptie Boule beholde,
And meygre fammine crouchde upon the borde.
Ah who shal poynte the horrours of thisse daie!
How radge the bowilles! and how fel the chinne!
Whatte sancere eies, what mouthes agape displaie
The Demones of the Noone that rage withinne.
Forthe marche the mayres, the auncient and the newe,
Arounde the neke a chayne of golden ore,
That binden themme to rule of Justyce trewe:
Them eche beside theyre chaplains garde the soule
And kon the Grayce to saie at dinner true;
Thanne cumes Rekorder, larnde thatte bares the Roule,—
Whome Fame precedes and Reverence dothe ensue.
Thanne strotte, in skarlette cloke and saible's pryde,
Full many a goodlie Alderman to see—
Large werne there heddies—stommakes large beside—
For Benche or Feste of knone capacitee.
Nexte, robde in skarlette, eke, from upper house,
Came five-and-thertie of the twentie-fore ,
5
And lovde a bowntyus dinner evermore.
Of these werne some rite carnallie inclinde;
In others plane the Christyene all mote trace;
Yet Christyene selfe coude joy in feasting finde,
And deempt the beste of praiers was saying grace.
Thanne caime, in gownies blak, the communaltie—
Merchantes and Merceres with their silken flagge,
Draperes with broad Clothe mounted proudielie,
And Guldesmithies, thatte in thrifte did never lagge;
Thanne Dyers came, with rainbow streamers gaye,
And Habberdashers, all with lace o'ersprede,
Fatte Innholders, with tubb-like bellies aye,
And Jollie Vintners, with their nozies rede;
Thanne Bakers cumme, with spones for everye dishe,
And Butcheres, wettyng on theyre steles theyre knives,
Groceres, and Cukes, and Mongeres of lent fishe,
And Millers, that will liven all theyre lives.
Blacksmithes and Whitesmithes, Tanneyres, Braziers,
Bladesmithes and those that worke in Armorie
Were also there; and jollie Marrineres,
That lifte the flagge of Englondes victorie.
Embroidereres, Girdlers, Linene-weaveres, Silke-,
And all thatte been employde in braverie—
In Cothe, and Skinne, and flounce, and furr, and thilke
That fillen wommene's hedes wyth knaverie.
Thanne cummen those thatte bilde in stone or woode;
Locksmithes, and Glazieres, Poynters eke beside,
Porters, and Labourers, and Couperes goode,
And Peutereres, thatte the spacyous dishe provide.
Thanne Barberes caime, wythe baisonnes on theyre hede,
And Lawyeres eke, that shave more close then thaie,
And Doctours, thatte theyre oune prescription drede,
And Cannones, thatte ould raither ete then praie;
Druggestes and Pottecaries notte a few,
Wyth Clysterne pipe and pestille liften hye;
Chandleeres of Waxxe, and Tallow Chandleeres tew,
Who lite to Masse,—and eke to Panterye;
Sporriers spurrde on good eating to pursue;
And Satellers with unbridelde appetyte;
6
Wythe dedes in Lawsutes and wythe drums in fyte.
All theese, and more, our Cyties Craftes so gaie,
Throe rayne and mudde parade withouten fayle,
To skyes averse theyre poyntede flags displaie,
Thof splashde and dagglede to the verrie tayle.
And, after these, theyre came a trayne besyde
Of stavesmene, fyremene, with theyre helmns of stele;
And menne of warre, in manie a forrage tryde,
Eager to charge on muttone poarke or vele.
Cannones and Deaconnes thanne went tue and tue,
And tue and tue Abbotes and Priesties alle,
Who keepen to theyre texte for ever true—
The first on Festes a blessing down to calle.
Themme close behynde the Choiristeres dide joine,
Singen the praysies of theyre Lorde on hye,
That given Fish, and Flesh, and Hanche, and Loine,
And guide Mayres-Daies, these baunties to injye.
Thus throe the Streeties thaye parrade in state,
Wythe bowilles yearning for the annual feeste;
And now, arriven at the destinde Gate,
Wythe joiyuse showte, the order is surceeste;
In rushe the thronge promisqus to the hall,
Intente to seize on breste or wyng or thie,
On roste and boilde, and bakde, and stewde to fall,
And drayne thie spacyus horne, Ulpheus, drie:
But, loe! a merrvylle, mirrakles renewde!—
Ulpheus horne could ne a droppe supplie—
Thie, wyng, nor breste, nor bakde, nor boilde, nor stewde,
Fyshe, flesh, nor foule salutes the ravinnus eie!
Closde is the Cellar, and the Kytchene colde,
The clothe unsprede, the pantrie all unstorde;
Instede of Feste, an emptie Boule beholde,
And meygre fammine crouchde upon the borde.
Ah who shal poynte the horrours of thisse daie!
How radge the bowilles! and how fel the chinne!
Whatte sancere eies, what mouthes agape displaie
The Demones of the Noone that rage withinne.
In silence drede three secondes and a halfe
Like statues fixde (tremendouse pause) they stode;
Thann rorde vocifferouse as the weannede calfe,—
Brestes heevde wythe grones, and eyes dischargde a flode.
Gaunt Gestes alike and Corporation foke
In shreekes and murmurs waile theyre lotte severe,
Shrives, Communes Councille, sobbs convulsive choke,
Nor Aldermene themselves coude stem the tere:
Priestes rend theyre garments, shreke for shreke replie,
And brinie torrents dimn the warryeres eie.
Like statues fixde (tremendouse pause) they stode;
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Brestes heevde wythe grones, and eyes dischargde a flode.
Gaunt Gestes alike and Corporation foke
In shreekes and murmurs waile theyre lotte severe,
Shrives, Communes Councille, sobbs convulsive choke,
Nor Aldermene themselves coude stem the tere:
Priestes rend theyre garments, shreke for shreke replie,
And brinie torrents dimn the warryeres eie.
Ah who shal counte the teres that houre were shede!
Ah who shal counte the grones were herde that hour!
Goe count the hayres that bristelde on eche hede!—
Goe count the rayne dropes of the wintrie shoure!—
Ah who shal counte the grones were herde that hour!
Goe count the hayres that bristelde on eche hede!—
Goe count the rayne dropes of the wintrie shoure!—
While thus they al dide stande, wythe grefe astounde,
Theyre crossid handes on emptie Paunches lade,
Loe! in the Boule was herde a jingling sounde—
And loe! a seconde myricle displade!
The Boule so emptie, sone with plenteous coyne,
Noble, and Marke, and Angele, overflose;
When from the hepe in beams of radient shyne,
Wythe turrets crounde, an angele forme arose.
Freshe was her cheke, her pollishde fronte was fare,
Her browe expansif as the orb of Daie;
The helthefulle windes amids hyr orburne hare
And flowing robes dide al enamourde plaie;
Whereat enlivende, she, wythe statelie trede,
Shewde al the graces of hyre majestie,
The whyle her honde, wythe chereful action, sprede
A beautyus Charte inscribde
Theyre crossid handes on emptie Paunches lade,
Loe! in the Boule was herde a jingling sounde—
And loe! a seconde myricle displade!
The Boule so emptie, sone with plenteous coyne,
Noble, and Marke, and Angele, overflose;
When from the hepe in beams of radient shyne,
Wythe turrets crounde, an angele forme arose.
Freshe was her cheke, her pollishde fronte was fare,
Her browe expansif as the orb of Daie;
The helthefulle windes amids hyr orburne hare
And flowing robes dide al enamourde plaie;
Whereat enlivende, she, wythe statelie trede,
Shewde al the graces of hyre majestie,
The whyle her honde, wythe chereful action, sprede
A beautyus Charte inscribde
WHATTE YORKE SHAL BEE!
The astoundied Croude, wythe new amazement, gaze—
The widening stretes, the expandide Arch they view,
That ore the Ouse, in frendlie stryde, displaze
Improvementes marche, and opennes prospectes niew.
The widening stretes, the expandide Arch they view,
That ore the Ouse, in frendlie stryde, displaze
Improvementes marche, and opennes prospectes niew.
Thanne, thus, emphattik, spekes the Angele Made—
“No more bewale the wasteful Feste denide,
“Since I, from hence, your favorde, toune pervade,
“And sprede expanding grace on everie side.
“For me, henceforthe, your Boule shal overflowe—
“By me directede shal its slores applide
“On aunciente Yorke eche moderne boune bestowe—
“The litesomme dome, the heltheful strete and wide.
“Haile aunciente Toune!—in rennovated state,
“I view thee, from neglektede chaos, ryse!
“Albion wythe joye shal see the toure elate,
“And pointe thie gildide turrettes to thie skyse!
Yet spare the rellikes of departedde tyme—
“The Roman Arch , the toures of Edwinne spare:
“Stil let hym lyfte the patriotte hede sublyme,
“Recorde thie olde, thie moderne tryumphes share.”
“No more bewale the wasteful Feste denide,
“Since I, from hence, your favorde, toune pervade,
“And sprede expanding grace on everie side.
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“By me directede shal its slores applide
“On aunciente Yorke eche moderne boune bestowe—
“The litesomme dome, the heltheful strete and wide.
“Haile aunciente Toune!—in rennovated state,
“I view thee, from neglektede chaos, ryse!
“Albion wythe joye shal see the toure elate,
“And pointe thie gildide turrettes to thie skyse!
Yet spare the rellikes of departedde tyme—
“The Roman Arch , the toures of Edwinne spare:
“Stil let hym lyfte the patriotte hede sublyme,
“Recorde thie olde, thie moderne tryumphes share.”
So spaken, vanishde strayte the forme divine:
The Croude al listnythe, understondythe some:
Eche at his proper charge departes to dine,
And drowne his sorrwees in a Cup at home.
The Croude al listnythe, understondythe some:
Eche at his proper charge departes to dine,
And drowne his sorrwees in a Cup at home.
| The black bowl, Feb. 3, 1208; or, Tears of Eboracum | |