Books / in_ernet_dli_2015_52209_2015_52209_Reliques-Of-Ancient-English-Poetry

1. in_ernet_dli_2015_52209_2015_52209_Reliques-Of-Ancient-English-Poetry

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DELHI UNIVERSITY LIBRARY SYSTEM

PLATINUM JUBILEE 1922-1997

DONATED BY

Prof. A.N. KAUL

&

Prof. MYTHILI KAUL

(Department of English, DU)

CENTRAL REFERENCE LIBRARY

FOR CONSULTATION ONLY

Call No. C111.4117,c Acc. No. 1167666

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RELIQUES

OF

ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY

Consisting of Old Heroic Ballads,

Songs, and Other Pieces,

COLLECTED

BY THOMAS PERCY, D. D.,

DEAN OF DUBLIN.

With a Supplement of

MANY CURIOUS HISTORICAL AND NARRATIVE BALLAD

REPRINTED FROM RARE COPIES.

AND A COPIOUS GLOSSARY AND NOTES.

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PER DIAS REGIS

CAXTON PRESS OF

BILLMAN & CO., PHILADELPHIA.

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PALMAM QUI MERUIT FERAT

GATTON PRESS OF

SHERMAN & CO., PHILADELPHIA.

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Preface.

The reader is here presented with select remains of our ancient English Bards and Minstrols, an order of men, who were once greatly respected by our ancestors, and contributed to soften the roughness of a martial and unlettered people by their songs and by their music.

The greater part of them are extracted from an ancient folio manuscript, in the Editor's possession, which contains near two hundred poems, Songs, and Metrical Romances. This MS. was written about the middle of the last century; but contains compositions of all times and dates, from the ages prior to Chaucer, to the conclusion of the reign of Charles I.*

This manuscript was shown to several learned and ingenious friends, who thought the contents too curious to be consigned to oblivion, and importuned the possessor to save some of them and give them to the press, As most of them are not of great simplicity, and seem to have been merely written for the people, he was long in doubt, whether, in the present state of improved literature, they could be deemed worthy the attention of the public. At length the importunity of his friends prevailed, and he could refuse nothing to such judges as the Author of the Rambler and the late Mr. Shenstone.

Accordingly, such specimens of ancient poetry have been selected, as either show the gradation of our language, exhibit the progress of popular opinions, display the peculiar manners and customs of former ages, or throw light on our earlier classical poets.

They are here distributed into volumes, each of which contains an independent series of poems, arranged chiefly according to the order of time, and showing the gradual improvements of the English language and poetry from the earliest ages down to the present. Each volume, or series, is divided into three books, to afford so many pauses, or resting places to the reader, and to assist him in distinguishing between the productions of the earlier, the middle, and the latter times.

In a polished age, like the present, I am sensible that many of these reliques of antiquity will require great allowances to be made for them. Yet have they, for the most part, a pleasing simplicity, and many artless graces, which in the opinion of no mean critics* have been thought to compensate for the want of higher beauties, and if they do not dazzle the imagination, are frequently found to interest the heart.

To atone for the rudeness of the more obsolete poems, each volume concludes with a few modern attempts in the same kind of writing: and, to take off from the tediousness of the longer narratives, they are every where intermingled with little elegant pieces of the lyric kind. Select ballads in the old Scottish dialect, most of them of the first rate merit, are also interspersed among those of our ancient bards.

  • Chaucer quotes the old Romancer 'Of Alban Btescencus,' and some others, which are found in this MS. It also contains several Songs relating to the Civil War in the last century, but not one that alludes to the Restoration.

  • Mr. Addison, Mr. Dryden, and the witty Lord Dorset, &c. See the Spectator, No. 70. To these might be added many of those now alive.—The learned Selden appears also to have been fond of collecting these old things See below.

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tuitions of these old rhapsodists are occasionally confronted with specimens of a higher

position of contemporary poets of a higher class; of those who had all the advantages

of learning in the times in which they lived, and who wrote for fame and for posterity.

Yet perhaps the palm will be frequently due to the old strolling Minstrels, who composed

their rhymes to be sung to their harps, and who looked no further than for present ap-

plause, and present subsistence.

The reader will find this class of men occasionally described in the following ro-

lumes, and some particulars relating to their history in an Essay subjoined to this preface.

It will be proper here to give a short account of the other collections that were con-

sulted, and to make my acknowledgments to those gentlemen who were so kind as to im-

part extracts from them; for, while this selection was making, a great number of ingenious friends took a share in the work and

explored many large repositories in its favour.

The first of these that deserved notice was the Pepysian library at Magdalene College,

Cambridge. Its founder, Sam. Pepys,* Esq.,

Secretary of the Admiralty in the reigns of Charles II. and James II., had made a large

collection of ancient English ballads, near two thousand in number, which he has left

pasted in five volumes in folio; besides char-

lands and other smaller miscellanies. This collection, he tells us, was begun by Mr.

Selden; improved by the addition of many pieces older thereto in time; and the whole

continued down to the year 1700; when the form peculiar till then thereto, viz. of the

black letter with pictures, seems (for cheapness sake) wholly laid aside for that of the

white letter without pictures.

In the Ashmole Library at Oxford is a small collection of Ballads made by Anthony

Wood in the year 1670, containing somewhat more than two hundred. Many ancient po-

pular poems are also preserved in the Bodle-

yan Library.

The archives of the Antiquarian Society at London contain a multitude of curious

  • A Life of our curious collector, Mr. Pepys, may be seen in the "The Continuation of Mr. Collier's Supplement to

his Great Dictionary, 1715, at the end of vol. iii. folio, Art. PEP."

ed under the several reigns of Henry VIII.,

Edward VI., Mary, Elizabeth, James I., &c.

In the British Museum is preserved a large treasure of ancient English poems, in MSS.,

besides one folio volume of printed ballads.

From all these sources the best pieces were selected; and from many private collections,

as well printed as manuscript, particularly from one large folio volume which was lent

by a lady.

And such a fund of materials, the Editor is afraid he has been sometimes led to make

too great a parade of his authorities. This desire of being accurate has perhaps seduced

him into too minute and trifling an exactness; and in pursuit of information he may have

been drawn into many a petty and trivial research. It was however necessary to give

some account of the old copies; though often, for the sake of brevity, one or two of these

only are mentioned, where yet assistance was received from several. Where anything was

altered that deserved particular notice, the passage is generally distinguished by two

inverted 'commas'. And the Editor has endeavoured to be faithful as to the imperfect

state of his materials would admit. For these old popular rhymes being many of them

copied only from illiterate transcribers, or the imperfect recollection of itinerant ballad-sing-

ers, have, as might be expected, been handled down to us with less care than any other

writings in the world. And the old copies, whether MS. or printed, were often so de-

fective or corrupted, that a scrupulous adherence to their written readings would only

have exhibited unintelligible nonsense, or such poor meagre stuff as neither came from

the Bard nor was worthy the press: when, by a few slight corrections or additions, it

most beautiful or interesting sense hath started forth, and this so naturally and easily,

that the Editor could seldom prevail on himself to indulge the vanity of making a formal

claim to the improvement; but must plead guilty to the charge of concealing his own

share in the amendments under some such general title as a "Modern Copy," or the like.

Yet it has been his design to give sufficient intimation where any considerable liberties*

  • Such liberties have been taken with all those pieces which have three asterisks subjoined, thus #_*

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retained either in the text or margin any word or phrase which was antique, obsolete, unusual, or peculiar, so that those might be safely quoted as of genuine and unadulterated antiquity. His object was to please both the judicious antiquary and the reader of taste; and he hath endeavoured to gratify both without offending either.

The plan of the work was settled in concert with the late elegant Mr. Shenstone, who was to have borne a joint share in it had not death unhappily prevented him.* Most of the modern pieces were of his selection and arrangement, and the Editor hopes to be pardoned if he has retained some things out of partiality to the judgement of his friend.

The old folio MS. above mentioned was a present from Humphrey Pitt, Esq., of Prior's-lee, in Shropshire,† to whom this public acknowledgement is due for that, and many other obliging favours. To Sir David Dalrymple, Bart., of Hales, near Edinburgh, the editor is indebted for most of the beautiful Scottish poems with which this little miscellany is enriched, and for many curious and elegant remarks with which they are illustrated.

Some obliging communications of the same kind were received from John Mac Gowan, Esq., of Edinburgh; and many curious explanations of Scottish words in the glossaries from John Davidson, Esq., of Edinburgh, and from the Rev. Mr. Hutcheson of Kimbolton.

Mr. Warton, who has twice done so much honour to the Poetry Professor's chair at Oxford, and Mr. West of Worcester College, contributed some curious pieces from the Oxford libraries. The ingenious and learned acknowledgments; to Mr. Blakeway, late Fellow of Magdalen College, he owes all the assistance received from the Pepysian library; and Mr. Farmer, Fellow of Emmanuel College, often exerted, in favour of this little work, that extensive knowledge of ancient English literature for which he is so distinguished.*

Many extracts from ancient MSS. in the British Museum, and other repositories, were owing to the kind services of Thomas Astle, Esq., to whom the public is indebted for the curious 'Preface and Index annexed to the Harleian Catalogue.' The worthy Librarian of the Society of Antiquarians, Mr. Norris, deserves acknowledgment for the obliging manner in which he gave the Editor access to the volumes under his care.

In Mr. Garrick's curious collection of old plays are many scarce pieces of ancient poetry, with the free use of which he indulged the Editor in the politest manner. To the Rev. Dr. Birch he is indebted for the use of several ancient and valuable tracts. To the friendship of Dr. Samuel Johnson he owes many

  • To the same learned and ingenious friend, whose Master of Emmanuel College, the Editor is obliged for many corrections and improvements to his second and subsequent editions; as also to the Rev. Mr. Howlet, of Himblesdon, near Salisbury, Editor of the curious edition of 'Amuletanus,' in Spanish, in 6 vols. 4to.; to the Rev. Mr. Cole, formerly of Founy-Strafford, near Buckingham; to the Rev. Mr. Latham, of Norham, in Northumberland, author of a 'History of Thesea', 1764, 8vo., and Editor of an 'Account of the Battle of Flodden Field,' with learned Notes, 1774, 8vo.; and to G. Paton, Esq., of Edinburgh, he is particularly indebted to two friends, to whom the public, as well as himself, are under the greatest obligations; to the Honourable Daines Barrington, for his very learned and curious 'Observations on the Statutes', 4to.; and to Thomas Tyrwhitt, Esq., whose most correct and elegant edition of Chaucer's 'Canterbury Tales,' 6 vols. 4to., is a standard book, and shows how an ancient English classic should be published.

The Editor was also favoured with many valuable remarks and corrections from the Rev. Geo. Ashby, late Fellow of St. John's College, in Cambridge, which are not particularly pointed out because they occur so often. He was no less obliged to Thomas Dutler, Esq., F.A.S., agent to the Duke of Northumberland, and Clerk of the Peace for the county of Middlesex; whose extensive knowledge of ancient writings, records, and history, has been of great use to the Editor in his attempts to illustrate the literature or manners of our ancestors.

Some valuable remarks were procured by Samuel Pegge, Esq., author of that curious work 'Curialia', 4to.; but this impression was too far advanced to profit by them all; which hath also been the case with a series of learned and ingenious annotations inserted in the Gentleman's Magazine for August, 1793, April, June, July, and October, 1794, and which, it is hoped, will be continued.

† Since Keeper of the Records in the Tower.

  • That the Editor hath not here underrated the assistance he received from his friend, will appear from Mr. Shenstone's own letter to the late Mr. Graves, dated March 1, 1761. See his works, vol. III. letter xcii. It is doubtful if a great loss to this work, that Mr. Shenstone never saw a proof of it.

† Who informed the Editor that this MS. had been purchased in a library of old books, which was thought to have belonged to Thomas Blount, author of the 'Jocular Tenures, 1679,' 4to.; and of many other publications enumerated in Wood's Athence, II. 773; the earliest of which is 'The Art of Making Dorikes, 1609,' 4to., whereunto he is deserted to be 'of the Inner Temple.' If the collection was made by this lawyer (who also published the 'Law Dictionary, 1671,' folio), it should seem, from the errors and defects with which the MS. abounds, that he had employed his clerk in writing the transcripts, who was often weary of his task.

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And, if the Glossaries are more exact and

curious than might be expected in so slight

a publication, it is to be ascribed to the perusal

of a friend, who stands at this time

the first in the world for Northern literature,

and whose learning is better known and respected

in foreign nations than in his own

country. It is perhaps needless to name the

Rev. Mr. Iye, Editor of Lye's Etymologicon,

and of the Gothic Gospels.

The names of so many men of learning

and character the Editor hopes will serve as

an amulet, to guard him from every unfavorable

censure for having bestowed any

attention on a parcel of Old Ballads. It

was at the request of many of these gentlemen,

and of others eminent for their genius

and taste, that this little work was undertaken.

To prepare it for the press has been the

amid the leisure and retirement of mental life,

and hath only served as a relaxation from

graver studies. It has been taken up at different

times, and often thrown aside for

many months, during an interval of four or

five years. This has occasioned some irregularities

and repetitions, which the candid

reader will pardon. As present taste has been

taken to admit nothing immatured and indecorous,

the Editor hopes he need not be ashamed of

having bestowed some of his idle hours on

the ancient literature of our own country, or

in rescuing from oblivion some pieces (though

but the amusements of our ancestors) which

tend to place in a striking light their taste,

genius, sentiments, or manners.

Except in one paragraph, and in the Notes

subjoined, this Preface is given with little

variation from the first edition in mdcclxv.

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1 Essay on the Ancient Minstrels in England

ix

2 Notes and Illustrations . . . . xxiii

SERIES THE FIRST.

BOOK THE FIRST.

1 The ancient Ballad of Chevy-Chase .

51

2 The Battle of Otterburne

. . 56

Illustration of the Names in the foregoing

Ballads . . . 62

3 The Jew's Daughter. A Scottish Ballad . 63

4 Sir Cauline . . . 64

5 Edward, Edward. A Scottish Ballad

. . 70

6 King Estmere . . . 71

On the word Termagant

. . 75

7 Sir Patrick Spens. A Scottish Ballad

. 76

8 Robin Hood and Guy of Gisborne .

77

9 An Elegy on Henry, Fourth Earl of North-

umberland, by Skelton

. . 82

10 The Tower of Doctrine, by Stephen Hawes

. 86

11 The Child of Elle .

87

12 Edom (Adam) o' Gordon. A Scottish Ballad

90

BOOK THE SECOND.

(Containing Ballads that Illustrate Shakespeare.)

Essay on the Origin of the English Stage

93

1 Adam Bell, Clym o' the Clough, and Wil-

liam of Cloudesly .

104

2 The aged Lover renounceth Love .

113

3 Jephthah, Judge of Israel

. 114

4 A Robyn, Jolly Robyn

115

5 A Song to the Lute in Musicko

. 116

6 King Cuphetua and the Beggar-maid

. 117

7 Take thy old Clown about theo

. 119

8 Willow, Willow, Willow

. 120

9 Sir Lancelot du Lako

. 122

10 Corydon's Farewell to Phillis

. 124

The Ballad of Constant Susannah .

124

11 Gernutus, the Jew of Venice

. 124

12 The Passionate Shepherd to his Love, by

Marlow . . . 128

The Nymph's Reply, by Sir W. Raleigh

. 129

13 Titus Andronicus's Complaint .

129

14 Take those Lips away

. 132

15 King Leir and his Three Daughters

. 132

16 Youth and Age, by Shakespeare

. 135

17 The Frolicksome Duke, or the Tinker's

Good Fortune . . . 135

18 The Friar of Orders Gray .

. . 137

PAGE

BOOK THE THIRD.

PAGE

1 The more modern Ballad of Chevy Chase

139

Illustration of the Northern Names .

145

2 Death's Final Conquest, by James Shirley

. 145

3 The Rising in the North . . . 149

4 Northumberland betrayed by Douglas .

149

5 My Mind to me a Kingdom is .

153

6 The Patient Countess, by W. Warner .

154

7 Dorsabell, by Drayton . . . 157

8 The Farewell to Love, from Beaumont and

Fletcher . . . 159

9 Mysses and the Syren, by S. Daniel .

159

10 Cupid's Pastime, by Davison .

160

11 The Character of a Happy Life, by Sir W.

Wotton . . . 161

12 Gilderoy. A Scottish Ballad . . . 162

13 Winfrede. . . 163

14 The Witch of Wokery . . . 164

15 Brynn and Porcen. A West India Ballad,

by Dr. Grainger

. 165

16 The thirtieth River, thence River. Translated

from the Spanish . . 166

17 Alcumzar and Zayda, a Moorish Tale .

169

SERIES THE SECOND.

BOOK THE FIRST.

1 Richard of Almaigne . . . 171

2 On the Death of King Edward I. .

173

3 An original Ballad, by Chaucer . . 174

4 The Tournament of Tottenham . . 175

5 For the Victory at Agincourt . . . 179

6 The Not-browne Mayd . . . 180

7 A Balot by the Earl Riverz

. 185

8 Cupid's Assault. By Lord Vaux .

. 186

9 Sir Aldingar . . . 188

10 The Gaberlunzie Man. Scottish. By King

James V. . . . 191

11 On Thomas Lord Cromwell . . 192

12 Harpalus. An Ancient English Pastoral

. 194

13 Robin and Makyne. An ancient Scottish

Pastoral . . . 195

14 Gentlo Hordeman, ell to me . . 197

15 King Edward IV. and the Tanner of Tam-

worth . . . 199

16 As ye came from the Holy Land .

202

17 Hardyknute. A Scottish Fragment. By

Sir J. Bruce . . . 203

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valuable hints for the conduct of the work.

And, if the Glossaries are more exact and

curious than might be expected in so slight

a publication, it is to be ascribed to the su-

pervisal of a friend, who stands at this time

the first in the world for Northern literature,

and whose learning is better known and re-

spected in foreign nations than in his own

country. It is perhaps needless to name the

Rev. Mr. Lye, Editor of Junius's Etymologi-

cum, and of the Gothic Gospels.

The names of so many men of learning

and character the Editor hopes will serve as

an amulet, to guard him from every unfa-

vorable censure for having bestowed any

attention on a parcel of Old Barians. It

was at the request of many of those gentle-

men, and of others eminent for their genius

and taste, that this little work was undertaken.

To prepare it for the press has been the

amusement of now and then a vacant hour

amid the leisure and retirement of mental life,

and hath only served as an alleviation to

greater studies. It has been taken up at dif-

ferent times, and laid by for

many months, during and intervals of five

years. This has been attended with incon-

sistencies and repetitions, which the reader

will perhaps pardon. A judicious critic

taken the trouble to intimate and subdue't.

The Editor hopes he need not be detained of

having bestowed more of his idle hours on

the ancient literature of our with a mutry,

in rescuing from oblivion some perithough

but the amusements of our ancestors which

tend to place in a striking light their taste,

genius, sentiments, or manners.

Except in one paragraph, and in the Notes

subjoined, this Preface is given with little

variation from the first edition in mdcclxv.

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Contents.

1 Essay on the Ancient Minstrels in England

ix

2 Notes and Illustrations . . . . xxiii

SERIES THE FIRST.

BOOK THE FIRST.

1 The ancient Ballad of Chevy-Chase .

51

2 The Battle of Otterbourne

Illustration of the Names in the foregoing Ballads . . . 56

3 The Jew's Daughter. A Scottish Ballad

63

4 Sir Cawline . . . . 64

5 Edward, Edward. A Scotish Ballad

70

6 King Estmere .

71

On the word Termagant

75

7 Sir Patrick Spens. A Scottish Ballad

76

8 Robin Hood and Guy of Gisborne .

77

9 An Elegy on Henry, Fourth Earl of North-

umberland, by Skelton

82

10 The Power of Doctrine, by Stephen Hawes

84

11 The Child of Elle .

87

12 Elen (Elen) o' Gierdon. A Scottish Ballad

90

BOOK THE SECOND.

(Containing Ballads that Illustrate Shakspeure.)

Essay on the Origin of the English Stage

93

1 Adam Bell, Clym o' the Clough, and Wil-

liam of Cloudesly .

104

2 The aged Lover renounceth Love .

113

3 Jephthah, Judge of Israel .

114

4 A Robyn, Jolly Robyn

115

5 A Song to the Lute in Musicke

116

6 King Cuphetua and the Beggar-maid

117

7 Take thy old Cloak about thee

119

8 Willow, Willow, Willow

120

9 Sir Lancelot du Lake

122

10 Corydon's Farewell to Phillis

124

The Ballad of Constant Susannah

124

11 Gernutus, the Jow of Vleloo

124

12 The Passionate Shepherd to his Love, by

Marlow .

128

The Nymph's Reply, by Sir W. Ralegh

129

13 Titus Andronicus's Complaint .

132

14 Take those Lips away

132

15 King Leir and his Three Daughters

132

16 Youth and Age, by Shakspeare

135

17 The Frolicksome Duke, or the Tinker's

Good Fortune . . . . 135

18 The Friar of Orders Gray . . . 137

BOOK THE THIRD.

PAGE

1 The more modern Ballad of Chevy Chase

139

Illustration of the Northern Naues .

143

2 Death's Final Conquest, by James Shirley

145

3 The Rising in the North . . . 146

4 Northumberland betrayed by Douglas .

149

5 My Mind to me a Kingdom is .

153

6 The Patient Countes, by W. Warner .

154

7 Dowsabel, by Drayton . . . . 157

8 The Farewell to Love, from Beaumont and

Fletcher .

159

9 Ulysses and the Syren, by S. Daniel .

159

10 Cuid's Pastime, by Davison .

160

11 The Character of a Happy Life, by Sir H.

Wotton .

161

12 Gil Morrice. A Scottish Ballad . . . 162

13 Winifreda . . . . 163

14 The Witch of Wokey . . . . 164

15 Bryant and Pereen. A West Indian Ballad,

by Dr. Grainger

165

16 Denths River, the River. Translated

from the Spaniell . . . . 166

17 Alemanzor and Zayda, a Moorish Tale .

169

SERIES THE SECOND.

BOOK THE FIRST.

1 Richard of Almaigne . * . . . 171

2 On the Death of King Edward I. . . 172

3 An original Ballad, by Chaucer . . 174

4 The Turnament of Tottenham . . . 175

5 For the Victory at Agincourt . . . 179

6 The Not-browne Mayd . . . . 180

7 A Balet by the Eald Rivers . . . 185

8 Cupid's Assault. By Lord Vaux . . 186

9 Sir Aldingar . . . . 188

10 The Gaberlunzie Man. Scotlish. By King

James V. . . . . 191

11 On Thomas Lord Cromwell . . . 192

12 Harpalus. An Ancient English Pastoral

194

13 Robin and Makyne. An ancient Scottish

Pastoral . . . . 195

14 Gentle Hordsman, tell to me . . . 197

15 King Edward IV. and the Tanner of Tam-

worth . . . . 199

16 As ye came from the Holy Land . . 202

17 Hardyknute. A Scottish Fragment. By

Sir J. Bruce . . . . 203

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Page 14

BOOK THE THIRD.

1 A Ballad of Fathers, the Pope, a Cardinal,

and a Husbandman . . . . . . . 201

2 John Anderson my Jo. A Scottish Song . 211

3 Little John Nobby . . . . . . 211

4 Queen Elizabeth's Virgins, while Pucelle

at Wundetork . . . . . . . 211

5 The Lair of Lamm . . . . . . 211

6 Hascuigue's Praise of the fair Bride, afterwards Lady Saunders . 214

7 Fair Rosamond, By Thomas Delone

8 Queen Elinour's Confession . . . 221

9 The Sturdy Boreke . . . . . . 230

10 The Beggar's Daughter of Bednall Green. An Essay on the word Fir, and the Ancient

Ballad Singing . . . . . . 231

11 Fancy and Desire. By the Earl of Oxford 231

12 Sir Andrew Barton . . . . . 231

13 Lady Anne Bothwell's Lament. A Scot-

tish Song . . . . . . . 239

14 The Murder of the King of Scots. . 240

15 A Sonnet by Queen Elizabeth . . 241

16 The King of Scots and And. Browne. By

W. Elderton . . . . . . . 242

17 The Bonny Earl of Murray. A Scottish

Song . . . . . . . . 244

18 Young Waters. A Scottish Song . 245

19 Mary Ambree . . . . . . . 246

20 Brave Lord Willoughby . . . . 249

21 Victorious Men of Earth. By James Shirley

22 The Winning of Cales . . . . 251

23 The Spanish Lady's Love . . . 254

24 Argentile and Curan. By W. Warner

25 Corin's Fate . . . . . . . 260

26 Jane Shore . . . . . . . 260

27 Corydon's Doleful Knoll . . . 261

BOOK THE THIRD.

Essay on the Metro of Pierce Plowman's

Visions . . . . . . . 265

1 The Complaint of Conscience, . . 272

2 Plain Truth and Blind Ignorance . 274

3 The Wandering Jow . . . . . 276

4 The Lye. By Sir W. Raleigh . . 278

5 Verses (viz. two Sonnets) by King James I. 279

6 King John and the Abbot of Canterbury 280

7 You Meaneer Beauties. By Sir H. Wotton 283

8 The Old and Young Courtier . . 283

9 Sir John Suckling's Campaign . . 285

10 To Althea from Prison. By Col. Lovelace 286

11 The Downfall of Charing Cross . . 287

12 Loyalty Confined. By Sir Roger L'Estrange

13 Verses by King Charles I. . . . 289

14 The Sale of Rebellious Household Stuff 290

15 The Ballad Knight, or Lady's Policy . 292

16 Why so Pale? By Sir John Suckling . 294

17 Old Tom of Bedlam. Mad Song the First 294

18 The Distracted Puritan. Mad Song the Second

19 The Lunatic Lover. Mad Song the Third 297

20 The Lady Distracted with Love. Mad Song

the Fourth . . . . . . . 298

1 The Lover and his Lass . . . . 304

2 The Murran . . . . . . . 304

3 King Ryance . . . . . . . 325

4 King Arthur's Knights. A Fragment

5 The Lute, and Lute-Player . . . 329

6 A Hymn to the Graces . . . . 330

7 Little Musgrave . . . . . . 334

8 Old Robin of Portingale . . . 335

9 Child Waters . . . . . . . 336

10 Phillida and Corydon. By Sir R. . . . 340

11 Little Musgrave and Lady Barnard . 341

12 The Two Knights of Murran. A new Scots

Song . . . . . . . . 343

13 The Knight and the Shepherd's Daughter

14 The Shepherd's Address to his Merry

N. Pearson . . . . . . . 343

15 Lord Thomas and Fair Ellinor . . 343

16 Cupid and Campaspe. By John Lyly . 347

17 The Lady Turned Serving Man . . 347

18 Gil (or Child) Morrice. A notable h Ballad

1 The Lover of . . . . . . 352

2 Clay and Adamant. By Adam Haselton

3 The Child that was born A . . . 353

4 Fair Margaret and Sweet William . 358

5 Barbara Allen's Cruelty . . . . 360

6 Sweet William's Ghost. A Scottish Ballad 361

7 Sir John tirdesmond Bastards Alman. Latin 362

8 The Balliff's Daughter of Islington . 362

9 The Willow Tree. A Pastoral Inalogue

10 The Lady's Fall . . . . . . 364

11 Waily, waily, Love be hungry. A Scottish

Song . . . . . . . . 366

12 The Bride's Burial . . . . . 368

13 Juliena . . . . . . . . 369

14 The Lady Isabella's Tragedy . . 369

15 A Fife and Cry after Cupid. By Ben Jon-

son . . . . . . . . 370

16 The King of France's Daughter . . 371

17 The Sweat Neglect. By Ben Jonson

18 The Children in the Wood . . . 374

19 A Lover of late was I . . . . 376

20 The King and the Miller of Mansfield 377

21 The Shepherd's Resolution. By W. Wither

22 Queen Dido, or the Wandering Prince of

Troy . . . . . . . . 382

23 The Witches Song. By Ben Jonson . 384

24 Robin Good-fellow . . . . . 385

25 The Fairy Queen . . . . . . 387

26 The Fairies Farewell. By Dr. Corbet . 388

Page 15

BOOK THE THIRD.

PAGE

1 The Birth of St. George . . . 390

2 St. George and the Dragon . . . 391

3 Love will find out the Way . . . 397

4 Lord Thomas and Fair Annie. A Scottish Ballad . . . 398

5 Unfading Beauty. By Thomas Carew 399

6 George Barnwell . . . 400

7 The Staidfast Shepherd. By George Wither 401

8 The Spanish Virgin; or the Effects of Jealousy . . . 405

9 Jealousy. Tyrant of the Mind. By Dryden 407

10 Constant Penelope . . . 408

11 To Laura, on going to the Wars. By Col. Lovelace . . . 400

12 Valentine and Orson . . . 409

13 The Dragon of Wantley . . . 414

14 St. George for England. The First Part, 418

15 St. George for England. The Second Part. By J. Crutch . . . 420

16 Margaret's Ghost. By David Mallet . . . 426

17 Lucy and Colin. By The Tickell . . . 427

18 The Boy and the Mantle, Revised, &c. . . . 429

19 The ancient Fragment of the Marriage of Sir Chawaine . . . 432

20 Hermit of Warkworth . . . 435

ADDENDUM

Robin Hood's Death and Burial . . . 416

Lord Soulis . . . 448

The Frere and the Boye . . . 451

Komjion . . . 460

The Demon Lover . . . 462

How a Merchande dyd Wyle betray . . . 464

Fause Foudrage . . . 468

Sir Agilthorn . . . 471

The Life and Death of Tom Thumbeo . . . 475

The Eve of St. John . . . 481

Fremet Hall . . . 485

The Jovial Quarrel; or, Child's Triumpl Katharina Jadarica . . . 487

How the Wise Man taught his Son . . . 495

Barthram's Dirge . . . 497

Northwick's Beereu . . . 499

Sir Giliam of Mydelton . . . 502

The Death of King Malcolm . . . 505

The Slaughter of the Bishop . . . 508

The Outlawdlish Knight. . . . 510

Cockhrane's Bonny Grizzy . . . 512

Young Ratcliffe . . . 514

The Fair Flower of Northumberland . . . 517

Syr John le Sprynge . . . 519

Lady Jean . . . 520

Sir Richard Whittington's Advancement . . . 522

Life and Death of Richard the Third . . . 524

The Baleful Death of Queen Jane . . . 526

The Humour of a London Prentice . . . 527

The Story of III May day . . . 529

Johnnie of Breadislea . . . 531

The Downie Deuk of Yarrow . . . 534

Belted Will . . . 536

GLOSSARY . . . . . . . 543

Page 16

BOOK THE SECOND.

PAGE

1 A Ballad of Tather, the Pope, a Cardinal, and a Husbandman

209

2 John Anderson my Jo, A Scottish Song

211

3 Little John Noby

212

4 Queen Elizabeth's Verses, while Prisoner at Woodstock

214

5 The Hoire of Jame

214

6 Gascogne's Praise of the fair Bridges, afterwards Lady Sandes

218

7 Fair Rosamond, By Thomas Delone

230

8 Queen Elenor's Confession

231

9 The Sturdy Rock

230

10 The Beggar's Daughter of Bednall Groen

226

An Essay on the word Err, and the Ancient Ballad Singing

231

11 Fancy and Desire. By the Earl of Oxford

233

12 Sir Andrew Barton

234

13 Lady Anne Bothwell's Lament. A Scottish Song

239

14 The Murder of the King of Scots

240

15 A Sonnet by Queen Elizabeth

241

16 The King of Scots and And. Browne. By W. Elderton

242

17 The Bonny Earl of Murray. A Scottish Song

244

18 Young Waters. A Scottish Song

245

19 Mary Ambree

246

20 Bravo Lord Willoughby

249

21 Victorious Men of Earth. By James Shirley

250

22 The Winning of Cales

251

23 The Spanish Lady's Love

252

24 Argentilo and Curan. By W. Warnor

254

25 Corin's Fate

259

26 Jane Shore

259

27 Corydon's Doleful Knell

264

PAGE

21 The Distracted Lover. Mad Song the Fifth

297

22 The Funtin Lady. Mad Song the Sixth

299

23 Lilli burlero. By Lord Wharton

300

24 The Brats of Yarraw, In Imitation of the ancient Scottish Manner. By W. Hamilton.

301

25 Admiral Hosier's Ghost. By Mr. Clower

303

26 Jemmy Dawson. By Mr. Shenstone

304

SERIES THE THIRD.

BOOK THE FIRST.

Essay on the Ancient Metrical Romances

306

1 The Boy and the Mantle

320

2 The Marriage of Sir Gawaino

324

3 King Ryvenus's Challenge

328

4 King Arthur's Death. A Fragment

329

5 The Legend of King Arthur

332

6 A Dytty to Rey Downe

333

7 Glasgerion

334

8 Old Robin of Portingale

335

9 Child Waters

337

10 Phillida and Corydon. By Nic. Breton

340

11 Little Musgrave and Lady Barnard

341

12 The Ew-buighs Marion. A Scottish Song

343

13 The Knight and Shepherd's Daughter

343

14 The Shepherd's Address to his Muse. By N. Breton

345

15 Lord Thomas and Fair Ellinor

345

16 Cupid and Campaspe. By John Lilly

347

17 The Lady turned Serving Man

347

18 Gil (Child) Morrice. A Scottish Ballad

349

BOOK THE SECOND.

1 The Legend of Sir Guy

352

2 Guy and Amarant. By Sam. Rowlands

354

Essay on the Metro of Pierce Plowman's Visions

265

1 The Complaint of Conscience

272

2 Plin Truth and Blind Ignorance

274

3 The Wandering Jew

276

4 The Lye. By Sir W. Raleigh

278

5 Verses (viz. two Sonnets) by King James I.

279

6 King John and the Abbot of Canterbury

280

7 You Meane Beauties, By Sir H. Wotton

283

8 The Old and Young Courtier

9 Sir John Suckling's Campaigne

285

10 To Althea from Prison. By Col. Lovelace

286

11 The Downfall of Charing Cross

287

12 Loyalty Confined. By Sir Roger L'Estrange

288

13 Verses by King Charles I.

289

14 The Sale of Rebellious Household Stuff

290

15 The Baffled Knight, or Lady's Policy

292

16 Why so Pale? By Sir John Suckling

294

17 Old Tom of Bedlam. Mad Song the First

294

18 The Distracted Puritan. Mad Song the Second

296

19 The Lunatic Lover. Mad Song the Third

297

20 The Lady Distracted with Love. Mad Song the Fourth

298

3 The Auld Cloak-man. A Scottish Song

358

4 Fair Margaret and Sweet William

368

5 Barbara Allen's Cruelty

360

6 Sweet William's Ghost. A Scottish Ballad

361

7 Sir John Greham and Barbara Allan. Ditto

362

8 The Bailiff's Daughter of Islington

362

9 The Willow Tree. A Pastoral Dialogue

363

10 The Lady's Fall

364

11 Waly, Waly, Love be bonny. A Scottish Song

366

12 The Bride's Burial

366

13 Dulcina

368

14 The Lady Isabella's Tragedy

369

15 A Hue and Cry after Cupid. By Ben Jonson

370

16 The King of France's Daughter

371

17 The Sweet Neglect. By Ben Jonson

374

18 The Children in the Wood

374

19 A Lover of late I

376

20 The King and the Miller of Mansfield

377

21 The Shepherd's Resolution. By G. Wither

381

22 Queen Dido, or the Wandering Prince of Troy

382

23 The Witches Song. By Ben Jonson

384

24 Robin Good-fellow

385

25 The Fairy Queen

387

26 The Fairies Farewell. By Dr. Corbet

388

Page 17

BOOK THE THIRD.

1 The Birth of St. George . . . 390

2 St. George and the Dragon . . . 391

3 Love will find out the Way . . . 397

4 Lord Thomas and Fair Annot. A Scottlish Ballad . . . 398

5 Unfading Beauty. By Thomas Carew . 399

6 George Barnwell . . . . 400

7 The Stoicfast Shepherd. By George Wither 404

8 The Spanish Virgin; or the Effects of Jealousy . . . 405

9 Jealousy, Tyrant of the Mind. By Dryden 407

10 Constant Penelope . . . . 408

11 To Luceasta, on going to the Wars. By Col. Lovelace . . . 409

12 Valentina and Orsino . . . 409

13 The Beggar of Wanstley . . . 414

14 St. George for England. The First Part. 418

15 St. George for England. The Second Part. By J. Grubb . . . 420

16 Margaret's Ghost. By David Mallet . 420

17 Lacy and Colin. By Tho. Tickell . . 427

18 The Boy and the Mantle, Revised, &c. 429

19 The ancient Fragment of the Marriage of Sir Cawline . . . 432

20 Hermit of Warkworth . . . . 435

Appendix.

Robin Hood's Death and Burial . . . 446

Lord Soulis . . . . 448

The Fiere and the Boye . . . . 451

Kempion . . . . . 460

The Domon Lover . . . . 462

How a Merchande dyd hys Wyfe betrays . 465

Fause Foodrage . . . . 468

Sir Agilthorn . . . . 471

The Life and Death of Tom Thumbe . 475

The Eve of St. John . . . . 481

Fronnet Hall . . . . 485

The Fovera' Quarrel; or, Cupid's Teianiph 487

Kathrina Jaufrio . . . . 492

How the Wise Man taught his Son . 495

Barthram's Dirge . . . . 497

Northwlek's Deeree . . . . 499

Sir Gillem of Mydeltonm . . . 502

The Death of King Malcolm . . . 505

The Slaughter of the Bishop . . . 508

The Outlandish Knight. . . . 510

Cochrane's Bonny Gizzy . . . . 512

Young Ratcliffe . . . . 514

The Fair Flower of Northumberland . 517

Syr John le Sprynge . . . . 519

Lady Jean . . . . 520

Sir Richard Whittington's Advancement 522

Life and Death of Richard the Third . 524

The Doloful Death of Queen Jano . 526

The Humour of a London Prentice . 527

The Story of Ill May-day . . . 529

Johnie of Breadlies . . . . 531

The Dowrie Dens of Yarrow . . . 534

Betred Will . . . . 536

GLOSSARY . . . . . 543

2

Page 19

AN ESSAY

ON THE

ANCIENT MINSTRELS IN ENGLAND.

  1. The Minstrels (A) were an order of men in the middle ages, who subsisted by the arts of poetry and music, and sang to the harp verses composed by themselves or others.* They also appear to have accompanied their songs with mimicry and action; and to have practised such various means of diverting as were much admired in those rude times, and supplied the want of more refined entertainment. (B) These arts dorad them extremely popular and acceptable in this and all the neighbouring countries; where no high scene of festivity was esteemed complete, that was not set off with the exercize of their talents; and whore, so long as the spirit of chivalry subsisted, they were protected and caressed, becauso their songs tended to do honour to the ruling passion of the times, and to encourage and foment a martial spirit.

The Minstrels seem to have been the genuine successors of the ancient Bards, (C) who under different names were admired and revered, from the earliest ages, among the people of Gaul, Britain, Ireland, and the North; and indeed, by almost all the first inhabitants of Europe, whether of Celtic or Gothie race;* but by none more than by our own Tentonic ancestors,† particularly by all the Danish tribes.‡ Among these, they were distinguished by the name of Scalds, a word which denotes "smoothers and polishers of language."§ The origin of their art was attributed to Odin or Woden, the father of their gods; and the professors of it were held in the highest ostimation. Their skill was considered as something divine; their persons were deemed sacred ; their attendance was solicited by kings; and they were everywhere loaded with honours and rewards. In short, Poets and their art were held among them in that rude admiration which is ever shown by an ignorant people to such as excel them in intellectual accomplishments.

As these honours were paid to Poetry and Song, from the earliest times, in those countries from which our Anglo-Saxon ancestors inhabited before their removal into Britain, we may reasonably conclude, that they would not lay aside all their regard for men of this sort immediately on quitting their German forests. At least so long as they retained their ancient manners and opinions, they would still hold them in high estimation. But as the Saxons, soon after their establish-

(A) The larger Notes and Illustrations referred to by the capital letters (A) (B), &c., are thrown together to the end of this Essay.

  • Wedded to no hypothesis, the Author hath readily corrected any mistakes which have been proved to be in this Essay; and, considering the novelty of the subject, and the time, and place, when and where he first took it up, many such had been excusable. That the term Minstrel was not confined, as some contend, to a mere Musician, in this country, any more than on the Continent, will be considered more fully in the last note (G g) at the end of this Essay.

  • Vid. Pelloutier Hist. des Celtes, tom. 1, 1. 2, c. 6, 10.

† Tacit. de Mor. Germ. cap. 2.

‡ Vid. Bartholin. de Causis contemptæ a Danis Mortis, lib. 1, cap. 10.—Wormii Literatura Runica. ad finem.—See also "Northern Antiquities, or a Descríption of the Manners, Customs, &c., of the ancient Danes, and other Northern Nations: from the French of M. Mallet," London, printed for T. Carnan, 1770, 2 vols. 8vo.

§ Torfei Proœfat. ad Orcad. Hist.—Pref. to "Five Pieces of Runic Poetry," &c.

(9)

Page 20

ment in this island, were converted to Chris-

tianity; in proportion as literature prevailed

among them, this rudo admiration would

begin to abate, and poetry would be no longer

a peculiar profession. Thus the Poet and

the Minstrel carly with us became two per-

sons. (D) Poetry was cultivated by men of

letters indiscriminately; and many of the

most popular rhymes were composed amidst

the leisure and retirement of monasteries.

But the Minstrels continued a distinct order

of men for many ages after the Norman con-

quest; and got their livelihood by singing ver-

ses to the harp at the houses of the great. (E)

There they were still hospitably and re-

spectfully received, and retained many of

the honours shown to their predecessors, the

Bards and Scalds. (F) And though, as their

art declined, many of them only recited

compositions of others, some of them still

composed songs themselves, and all of them

could probably invent a few stanzas on occa-

sion. I have no doubt but most of the old

heroic Ballads in this collection were com-

posed by this order of men. For although

some of the larger metrical romances might

come from the pen of the monks or others,

yet the smaller narratives were probably com-

posed by the minstrels who sang them.

From the amazing variations which occur in

different copies of the old pieces, it is evident

they made no scruple to alter each other's

productions; and the recitor added or omitted

whole stanzas, according to his own fancy or

convenience.

In the early ages, as was hinted above, the

profession of oral itinerant Poet was held in

the utmost reverence among all the Danish

tribes; and, therefore, we might have con-

cluded, that it was not unknown or unre-

spected among their Saxon brethren in Bri-

tain, even if history had been altogether silent

on this subject. The original country of our

Anglo-Saxon ancestors is well known to have

lien chiefly in the Cimbric Chersonese, in the

tracts of land since distinguished by the

name of Jutland, Angeln, and Holstein.*

The Jutes and Angles in particular, who com-

posed two-thirds of the conquerors of Britain,

were a Danish people, and their country at

this day belongs to the crown of Denmark;† so

that when the Danes again infested England,

three or four hundred years after, they made

war on the descendants of their own ances-

tors.‡ From this near affinity, we might

expect to discover a strong resemblance be-

tween both nations in their customs, man-

ners, and oral language: and, in fact, we

find them to differ no more than would natu-

rally happen between a parent country and

its own colonies, that had been severed in a

rude uncivilized state, and had dropt all in-

tercourse for three or four centuries: especi-

ally if we reflect that the colony here settled

had adopted a new religion, extremely oppo-

site in all respects to the ancient Paganism

of the mother country; and that even at first,

along with the original Angli, had been in-

corporated a large mixture of Saxons from

the neighbouring parts of Germany; and

afterwards, among the Danish invaders, had

come vast multitudes of adventurers from the

more northern parts of Scandinavia. But all

these were only different tribes of the same

common Teutonic stock, and spoke only dif-

ferent dialects of the same Gothic language.‡

From this sameness of original and simi-

larity of manners, we might justly have won-

dered, if a character, so dignified and dis-

tinguished among the ancient Danes, as the

Scald or Bard, had been totally unknown or

unregarded in this sister nation. And, in-

deed, this argument is so strong, and, at the

same time, the early annals of the Anglo-

Saxons are so scanty and defective, (G) that

no objections from their silence could be suf-

ficient to overthrow it. For if these popular

Bards were confessedly revered and admired

in those very countries which the Anglo-

Saxons inhabited before their removal into

Britain, and if they were afterwards common

and numerous among the other descendants

of the same Teutonic ancestors, can we do

otherwise than conclude, that men of this

order accompanied such tribes as migrated

hither; that they afterwards subsisted here,

though, perhaps, with less splendour than in

the North; and that there never was wanting

  • Vid. Chron. Saxon. & Gibson, p. 12, 13, 4to.—Bed.

Hist. Eccles. l. 1. c. 15.—“Fœdesse [Regio antiq.

Saxonum] in orvice Cimbricæ Chersonesi, Holsatiam pro-

priâ dictam Dithmarselam, Stormarlam, et Wagrlam, com-

plectens.” Annot. in Bed. & Smith, p. 52. Et vid. Camdeni

Britan.

  • “Anglia Vetus, hodie estam Anglon, olim est Iutor

Saxones et Iotes [Iutes], habens oppidum capitale..

Sleswick.” Ethelwerd. lib. 1.

† See Northern Antiquities, &c., vol. i. pag. 7, 8, 185, 250,

‡ Ibid. Preface, p. 20.

Page 21

a succession of them to hand down the art, though some particular conjunctures may have rendered it more respectable at one time than another? And this was evidently the case. For though much greater honours seem to have been heaped upon the northern Scalds, in whom the characters of historian, genealogist, poet, and musician, were all united, than appear to have been paid to the Minstrels and Harpers (H) of the Anglo-Saxons, whose talents were chiefly calculated to entertain and divert; while the Scalds professed to inform and instruct, and were at once the moralists and theologians of their Pagan countrymen; yet the Anglo-Saxon Minstrels continued to possess no small portion of public favour; and the arts they professed were so extremely acceptable to our ancestors, that the word Gleé, which peculiarly denoted their art, continues still in our own language to be of all others the most expressive of that popular mirth and jollity, that strong sensation of delight, which is felt by unpolished and simple minds. (I)

II. Having promised those general considerations, I shall now proceed to collect from history such particular incidents as occur on this subject; and, whether the facts themselves are true or not, they are related by authors who lived too near the Saxon times, and had before them too many recent monuments of the Anglo-Saxon nation, not to know what was conformable to the genius and manners of that people; and therefore we may presume, that their relations prove at least the existence of the customs and habits they attribute to our forefathers before the conquest, whatever becomes of the particular incidents and events themselves. If this be admitted, we shall not want sufficient proofs to show that Minstrelsy and Song were not extinct among the Anglo-Saxons; and that the professor of them here, if not quite so respectable a personage as the Danish Scald, was yet highly favoured and protected, and continued still to enjoy considerable privileges.

Even so early as the first invasion of Britain by the Saxons, an incident is recorded to have happened, which, if true, shows that the Minstrel or Bard was not unknown among this people; and that their princes themselves could, upon occasion, assume that character. Colgrin, son of that Ella who was elected king or leader of the Saxons in the room of Hengist,* was shut up in York, and closely besieged by Arthur and his Britons. Baldulph, brother of Colgrin, wanted to gain access to him, and to apprise him of a reinforcement which was coming from Germany. He had no other way to accomplish his design, but to assume the character of a Minstrel. He therefore shaved his head and beard, and, dressing himself in the habit of that profession, took his harp in his hand. In this disguise, he walked up and down the trenches without suspicion, playing all the while upon his instrument as a Harper. By little and little he advanced near to the walls of the city, and, making himself known to the sentinels, was in the night drawn up by a rope.

Although the above fact comes only from the suspicious pen of Geoffrey of Monmouth, (K) the judicious reader will not too hastily reject it; because, if such a fact really happened, it could only be known to us through the medium of the British writers: for the first Saxons, a martial but unlettered people, had no historians of their own; and Geoffrey, with all his fables, is allowed to have recorded many true events, that have escaped other annalists.

We do not, however, want instances of a less fabulous era, and more indubitable authority: for later history affords us two remarkable facts,(L) which I think clearly show that the same arts of poetry and song, which were so much admired among the Danes, were by no means unknown or neglected in this sister nation: and that the privileges and honours which were so lavishly bestowed upon the Northern Scalds, were not wholly withheld from the Anglo-Saxon Minstrels.

Our great King Alfred, who is expressly said to have excelled in music,† being desirous to learn the true situation of the Danish army, which had invaded his realm, assumed the dress and character of a Minstrel; (M) when, taking his harp, and one of the most trusty of his friends disguised as a servant‡ (for in the early times it was not unusual for a minstrel to have a servant to carry his harp), he went with the utmost security into the Danish

  • See Rapin's Hist. by Tindal, fol. 1732, vol. i. p. 36, who places the incident here related under the year 496.

† By Bale and Spelman. See note (M). ‡ Ibid.

Page 22

xii

AN ESSAY ON THE ANCIENT MINSTRELS.

camp; and, though he could not but be known

to be a Saxon by his dialect, the character he

had assumed procured him a hospitable re-

ception. He was admitted to entertain the

king at table, and stayed among them long

enough to contrive that assault which after-

wards destroyed them. This was in the year

About sixty years after,* a Danish king

made use of the same disguise to explore the

camp of our King Athelstan. With his harp

in his hand, and dressed like a minstrel, (N)

Aulaff,† king of the Danes, went among the

Saxon tents; and, taking his stand near the

king's pavilion, began to play, and was im-

mediately admitted. There he entertained

Athelstan and his lords with his singing and

his music, and was at length dismissed with

an honourable reward, though his songs must

have discovered him to have been a Dane. (O)

Athelstan was saved from the consequences of

this stratagem by a soldier, who had observed

Aulaff bury the money which had been given

him, either from some scruple of honour, or

motive of superstition. This occasioned a

discovery.

Now if the Saxons had not been accus-

tomed to have minstrels of their own, Alfred's

assuming so new and unusual a character

would have excited suspicions among the

Danes. On the other hand, if it had not

been customary with the Saxons to show

favour and respect to the Danish Scalds,

Aulaff would not have ventured himself

among them, especially on the eve of a bat-

tle. (P) From the uniform procedure of

both these kings, we may fairly conclude

that the same mode of entertainment pre-

vailed among both people, and that the min-

strel was a privileged character with each.

But, if these facts had never existed, it can

be proved from undoubted records, that the

minstrel was a regular and stated officer in

the court of our Anglo-Saxon kings: for in

Domesday Book, Joculator Regis, the King's

Minstrel, is expressly mentioned in Glouces-

tershire ; in which country it should seem that

  • Anno 938. Vid. Rapin, &c.

† So I think the name should be printed, rather than

Aulaff the more usual form (the

express both names in MS.), Aulaff being evidently the

genuine modern name Olaff, or Olafe, Lat. Olaus. In the

old romance of “Ioru-Childe” (fee vol. iii. p xxxiii.), the

name of the king his father is Allof, which is evidently

Ollaf, with the vowels only transposed.

he had lands assigned him for his mainten-

ance. (Q)

III. We have now brought the inquiry

down to the Norman Conquest; and as the

Normans had been a late colony from Norway

and Denmark, where the Scalds had arrived

to the highest pitch of credit before Rollo's

expedition into France, we cannot doubt but

this adventurer, like the other northern

princes, had many of these men in his train,

who settled with him in his new duchy of

Normandy, and left behind them successors

in their art: so that, when his descendant,

William the Bastard, invaded this kingdom

in the following century,* that mode of enter-

tainment could not but be still familiar with

the Normans. And that this is not mere

conjecture will appear from a remarkable

fact, which shows that the arts of poetry and

song were still as reputable among the Nor-

mans in France, as they had been among

their ancestors in the North; and that the

profession of Minstrel, like that of Scald,

was still aspired to by the most gallant sol-

diers. In William's army was a valiant war-

rior, named Taillefer, who was distinguished

no less for the minstrel arts,(R) than for his

courage and intrepidity. This man asked

leave of his commander to begin the onset,

and obtained it. He accordingly advanced

before the army, and with a loud voice ani-

mated his countrymen with songs in praise

of Charlemagne and Roland, and other heroes

of France; then rushing among the thickest

of the English, and valiantly fighting, lost

his life.

Indeed the Normans were so early distin-

guished for their minstrel talents, that an

eminent French writer (S) makes no scruple

to refer to them the origin of all modern

poetry, and shows that they were celebrated

for their songs near a century before the

Troubadours of Provence, who are supposed

to have led the way to the poets of Italy,

France, and Spain.†

We see then that the Norman conquest

was rather likely to favour the establishment

of the minstrel profession in this kingdom,

  • Rollo was invested in his new duchy of Normandy,

A.D. 912. William invaded England, A.D. 1066.

† Vid. “Hist. des Troubadours, 3 tom.” passim; et vid,

“Fableaux ou Contes du XII. et du XIII. Siecle, traduits,

&c., avec des Notes historiques et critiques, &c., par M. Le

Grand. Paris, 1781,” 5 tom. 12mo.

Page 23

than to suppress it; and although the favour

of the Norman conquerors would be probably

confined to such of their own countrymen as

excelled in the minstrel arts; and in the first

ages after the conquest no other songs would

be listened to by the great nobility, but such

as were composed in their own Norman

French : yet as the great mass of the original

inhabitants were not extirpated, those could

only understand their own native gleemen or

minstrels ; who must still be allowed to exist,

unless it can be proved that they were all

proscribed and massacred, as it is said the

Welsh bards were afterwards by the severe

policy of King Edward I. But this we know

was not the case; and even the cruel attempts

of that monarch, as we shall see below, proved

ineffectual. (S 2)

The honours shown to the Norman or

French minstrels, by our princes and great

barons, would naturally have been imitated

by their English vassals and tenants, even

if no favour or distinction had been shown

hown hero to the same order of men in the

Anglo-Saxon and Danish reigns. So that we

cannot doubt but the English harper and

songster would, at least in a subordinate de-

gree, enjoy the same kind of honours, and be

received with similar respect among the in-

ferior English gentry and populace. I must be

allowed therefore to consider them as belong-

ing to the same community, as subordinate

members at least of the same college; and

therefore, in gleaning the scanty materials for

this slight history, I shall collect whatever

incidents I can find relating to minstrels and

their art, and arrange them, as they occur in

our own annals, without distinction; as it

will not always be easy to ascertain, from the

slight mention of them by our regular histo-

rians, whether the artists were Norman or

English. For it need not be remarked that

subjects of this trivial nature are but inci-

dentally mentioned by our ancient annalists,

and were fastidiously rejected by other grave

and serious writers ; so that, unless they were

accidentally connected with such events as

became recorded in history, they would pass

unnoticed through the lapse of ages, and be

as unknown to posterity as other topics re-

lating to the private life and amusements of

the greatest nations.

On this account it can hardly be expected

that we should be able to produce regular and

unbroken annals of the minstrel art and its

professors, or have sufficient information

whether every minstrel or harper composed

himself, or only repeated, the songs he

chanted. Some probably did the one, and

some the other: and it would have been won-

derful indeed if men whose peculiar profes-

sion it was, and who devoted their time and

talents to entertain their hearers with poetical

compositions, were peculiarly deprived of all

poetical genius themselves, and had been

under a physical incapacity of composing

those common popular rhymes which were the

usual subjects of their recitation. Whoever

examines any considerable quantity of those,

finds them in style and colouring as different

from the elaborate production of the seden-

tary composer at his desk or in his cell, as

the rambling harper or minstrel was remote

in his modes of life and habits of thinking

from the retired scholar or the solitary

monk. (T 1)

It is well known that on the Continent,

whence our Norman nobles came, the Bard

who composed, the Harper who played and

sang, and even the Dancer and the Mimic,

were all considered as of one community, and

were even all included under the common

name of Minstrels.* I must therefore be

here, without being expected to prove that

every singor composed, or every composer

chanted, his own song; much less that every

one excelled in all the arts which were occa-

sionally exercised by some or other of this

fraternity.

IV. After the Norman Conquest, the first

occurrence which I have met with relating

to this order of men is the founding of a

Priory and Hospital by one of them: scil. the

Priory and Hospital of St. Bartholomew,

Smithfield, London, by Royer or Raherus the

King's Minstrel, in the third year of King

Henry I., A. D. 1102. He was the first prior

of his own establishment, and presided over

it to the time of his death. (T 2)

In the reign of King Henry II., we have

upon record the name of Galfrid or Jeffrey,

a harper, who in 1180 received a corrody or

annuity from the abbey of Hyde near Win-

chester; and, as in the early times every

  • See note (B) and (A a).

Page 24

xiv

AN ESSAY ON THE ANCIENT MINSTRELS.

harper was expected to sing, we cannot doubt

but this reward was given to him for his

music and his songs; which, if they were for

the solace of the monks there, we may conclude would be in the English language. (V)

Under his romantic son, King Richard I.,

the Minstrel profession seems to have acquired additional splendour. Richard, who

was the great hero of chivalry, was also the distinguished patron of Poets and Minstrels.

He was himself of their number, and some of his poems are still extant* They were

no less patronized by his favourites and chief officers. His Chancellor, William Bishop of

Ely, is expressly mentioned to have invited Singers and Minstrels from France, whom he

loaded with reward; and they in return celebrated him as the most accomplished person

in the world. (U 2) This high distinction and regard, although confined perhaps in the first instance to Poets and Songsters of the French

nation, must have had a tendency to do honour to poetry and song among all his subjects,

and to encourage the cultivation of those arts among the natives; as the indulgent favour shown by the monarch, or his great

courtiers, to the Provengal Troubadour, or Norman Rymour, would naturally be imitated by their inferior vassals to the English Gleeman or Minstrel. At more than a century

after the conquest, the national distinctions must have begun to decline, and both the Norman and English languages would be

heard in the houses of the great; (U 3) so that probably about this æra, or soon after,

we are to date that remarkable intercommunity and exchange of each other's compositions, which we discover to have taken place

at some early period between the French and English Minstrels ; the same set of phrases,

the same species of characters, incidents, and adventures, and often the same identical

stories, being found in the old metrical romances of both nations. (V)

The distinguished service which Richard received from one of his own minstrels, in

rescuing him from his cruel and tedious captivity, is a remarkable fact, which ought to

be recorded for the honour of poets and their art. This fact I shall relate in the following

words of an ancient writer:§

"The Englishmen were more than a whole yeare without hearing any tydings of their

king, or in what place he was kept prisoner.

He had trained up in his court a Rimor or Minstrel,† called Blondel de Nesle; who (so

saith the manuscript of old Poesies,‡ and an ancient manuscript French Chronicle) being

so long without the sight of his lord, his life seemed wearisome to him, and he became

confounded with melancholly. Knowne it was, that he came backe from the Holy Land;

but none could tell in what country he arrived. Whereupon this Blondel, resolving to

make search for him in many countries, but he would heare some newes of him; after

exponce of divers dayes in travaile, he came to a towne§ (by good hap) neere to the castoll

where his maister King Richard was kept.

Of his host he demanded to whom the castoll appertained, and the host told him that it

belonged to the Duke of Austria. Then he enquired whether there were any prisoners

therein detained or no: for alwayes he made such secret questiongs wheresoever he came.

And the hoste gave answer, there was one only prisoner, but he know not what he

was, and yet he hid him detained there more than the space of a yeare. When Blondel

heard this, he wrought such meanes, that he

  • See a pathetic song of his in Mr. Walpole's Catalogue of Royal Authors, vol 1 p. 5 The reader will find a translation of it into modern French, in Hist. Litteraire des Troubadours, 1774, 3 tom 12mo. See vol 1. p. 58, where some more of Richard's poetry is translated. In Dr. Burney's

Hist of Music, vol ii. p 238, is a poetical version of it in English.

† Favino's Theatre of Honour and Knighthood,

translated from the French. Lond. 1623, fol. tom. ii p 40.

An elegant relation of the same event (from the Fianch of Fauchet, Recitell, &c.) may be soon in "Miscellanies in prose and verse," by Anna Williams, Lond. 1760,

4to. p. 40.—It will excite the reader's admiration to be informed, that most of the pieces of that collection were composed under the disadvantage of a total deprivation of sight.

‡ Favine's words are, "Jonglour appelle Blondiaux de Nesle." Paris, 1620, 4to, p. 1106. But Fauchet, who has given the same story, thus expresses it, "Or ce roy ayant nourri un Menestrel appelle Blondel," &c., liv. 2, p 92.

"Des andans Poittes François,"—He is however said to have been another Blondel (or Blondiaux) de Nesle; but this no way affects the circumstances of the story.

§ This the Author calls in another place, "An ancient MS. of old Poesies, written about those very times"—From this MS. Favine gives a good account of the taking of Richard by the Duke of Austria, who sold him to the Emperor. As for the MS. chronicle, it is evidently the same that supplied Fauchet with this story. See his "Recuoll de l'Origine de la Langue et Poesie Françoise,

Hymne, et Romans," &c., Par. 1581.

? Triballes.—"Retruddit eum præcopit in Triballis: a quo

careere nullus ante dies status exivit." Lat. Chron. of Otho of Austria: apud Favln.

Page 25

AN ESSAY ON THE ANCIENT MINSTRELS.

xv

became acquainted with them of the castell,

as Minstrols doe casily win acquaintance any

where:* but see the king he could not, neither

understand that it was he. One day he sat

directly before a window of the castell where

King Richard was kept prisoner, and began

to sing a song in French, which King Richard

and Blondel had some time composd to-

gether. When King Richard heard the song,

he knew it was Blondel that sung it: and

when Blondel paused at halfe of the song,

the king 'began the other halfe and completed

it.'† Thus Blondel won knowledge of the

king his maister, and returning home into

England, made the barons of the countrie

acquainted where the king was." This hap-

pened about the year 1193.

The following old Provençal lines are given

as the very original song;‡ which I shall ac-

company with an imitation offered by Dr.

Burney, ii. 237.

BLONDEL.

Domna vestra beutas

Elas bella fals vos

Elas bels olls amores

Elas gens cors bel tallhats

Don slou emprasumatz

De vostra ano qul mi lla.

RICHART.

Si bel trop affansta

Ju de vos non portral

Que major honorat

Sol on vostra doman

Que sautra dos beteau

Tot can de vos volria

The access which Blondel so readily ob-

tained in the privileg'd character of a min-

strel, is not the only instance upon record of

the same nature.(V 2) In this very reign of

King Richard I. the young heiress of D'Eve-

reux, Earl of Salisbury, had been carried

abroad and secreted by her French relations

in Normandy. To discover the place of her

concealment, a knight of the Talbot family

spent two years in exploring that province,

at first under the disguise of a pilgrim; till

having found where she was confined, in

order to gain admittance he assumed the

dress and character of a harper, and being a

joouse person exceedingly skilled in the

"gests of the ancients;"* so they called the

romances and stories which were the delight

of that age; he was gladly received into the

family. Whence he took an opportunity to

carry off the young lady, whom he presented

to the king; and he bestowed her on his na-

tural brother William Longospee (son of fair

Rosamond), who became in her right Earl of

Salisbury.(V 3)

The next memorable event which I find in

history reflects credit on the English Min-

strels : and this was their contributing to the

rescue of one of the great Earls of Chester

when besioged by the Welsh. This happened

in tho reign of King John, and is related to

this offect.

"Hugh, the first Earl of Chester, in his

charter of foundation of St. Worburg's Abbey

in that city, had granted such a privilego to

those who should come to Chester fair, that

they should not then bo apprehended for theft

or any othor misdcmcanour, oxcept the crimo

were committed during the fair. This special

protootion ocensioning a multitude of loose

people to resort to that fair, was afterwards

of signal benefit to one of his successors. For

Ranulph, the last Earl of Chester, marching

into Wales with a slender attendance, was

constrained to retire to his castle of Rothelan,

(or Rhuydland) to which the Welsh forthwith

laid siege. In this distress he sent ror help

to the Lord de Laoy, constable of Chester;

"Who, making use of the Minstrels of all

sorts, then met at Chester fair : by the allure-

ment of their musick, got together a vast

number of such loose people as, by reason of

the before specified priviledge, were then in

that city; whom he forthwith sent under the

  • The words of the original, viz., "Citharizator homc

jocosus In Gestis antiquorum valde peritus," I conceive tc

give the precise idea of the anclent Minstrel. See note

(V 2). That Gesta was appropriated to romantic storiea,

see note (I) Part IV (1).

† See Dugdale, Bar. I. 42, 101, who places it after 13 John,

A. D. 1212. See also Plot's Staffordsh. Camden's Britann.

(Cheshire.)

3

Page 26

xvi

AN ESSAY ON THE ANCIENT MINSTRELS.

conduct of Dutton (his steward), a gallant of an old Englisch hoke yn ryme,* and is

youth, who was also his son-in-law. The Welsh, alarmed at the approach of this rabble,

supposing them to be a regular body of armed and disciplined veterans, instantly

raised the siege and retired."

For this good service, Ranulph is said to have granted to De Lacy, by charter, the patronage and authority over the Minstrels and

to himself that of the lower artificers, conferred on Dutton the jurisdiction of the Minstrels and Harlots;x and under the descendants of this family the Minstrels enjoyed

certain privileges, and protection for many ages. For even so late as the reign of Elizabeth, when this profession had fallen into

such discredit that it was considered in law as a nuisance, the Minstrels under the jurisdiction of the family of Dutton, are expressly excepted out of all acts of parliament made

for their suppression; and have continued to be so excepted ever since.(W)

The ceremonies attending the exercise of this jurisdiction are thus described by Dugdale,† as handed down to his time, viz.:

"That at midsummer fair there, all the Minstrels of that country resorting to Chester do attend the heir of Dutton, from his lodging

to St. John's Church (he being then accompanied by many gentlemen of the country),

one of 'the Minstrels' walking before him in a surcoat of his arms depicted on taffata; the rest of his fellows proceeding (two and two)

and playing on their several sorts of musical instruments. And after divine service nade,

give the like attendance on him back to his lodging; where a court being kept by his [Mr. Dutton's] steward, and all the Minstrels formally called, certain orders and laws are

usually made for the better government of that society, with penalties to those who transgress."

In the same reign of King John we have a remarkable instance of a Minstrel, who to his other talents superadded the character

of soothsayer, and by his skill in drugs and medicated potions was able to rescue a knight from imprisonment. This occurs in Leland's

Narrative of the Gestes of Guarine (or Warren) and his sons, which he "excerpted owte

  • See the ancient record in Blount's Law Dictionary (Art. Minstrel).

Bar. l. p. 101.

Whiting ton Castle in Shropshire, which together with the coheiress of the original proprietor had been won in a solama turna

in the reign of King John been seized by the Prince of Wales, and was afterwards possessed by Morice, a retainer of that prince,

to whom the king, out of hatred to the true heir Fuleo Guarine (with whom he had formerly had a quarrel at chess),† not only confirmed the possession, but also made him

governor of the marches, of which Fuleo himself had the custody in the time of King Richard. The Guarines demanded justice

of the king, but obtaining no gracious answer, renounced their allegiance and fled into Bretagnie. Returning into England after

various conflicts, "Fuleo resorted to one John of Raumpayne, a Soothsayer and Jocular Minstrelle, and made hym his spy to Morice

at Whiting ton." The privileges of this character we have already seen, and John so well availed himself of them, that in consequence of the intlligence which he doubtless

procured, "Fuleo and his brothrene laid waito for Morice, as he went toward Salosbyri, and Fuleo thor woundid hym: and

Bracy," a knight who was their friend and assistant, "cut of Morice['s] hoddlo." This Sir Bracy being in a subsequent rencontre sore wounded, was taken and brought to

King John: from whose vengeance he was however rescued by this notable Minstrel;

for "John Raumpayne found the means to cast them, that kepto Bracy, into a dondely slepe; and so he and Bracy cam to Fuleo to

Whiting ton," which on the death of Morice had been restored to him by the Prince of Wales. As no further mention occurs of the

Minstrel, I might here conclude this narrative; but I shall just add that Fuleo was

  • Leland's Collectanea, vol. i. pages 261, 266, 267.

† This old feudal custom of marrying an heiress to the knight who should vanquish all his opponents in solamn

contest, &c., appears to be burlesqued in the Tournament of Tottenham, as is well observed by the learned author of

Remarks, &c., in Gent. Mag. for July, 1794, p. 613.

† "John, sun to King Henry, and Fuleo fulo to Fuleo at variance at Chestor [r Chessa]; and John brake Fuleo ['s] hed with

the chost horde; and then Fuleo gave him such a blow, that he had almost killid hym." (Lol. Coll. l. p. 264.) A curious

picture of courtly manners in that age! Notwithstanding this fray, we read in the next paragraph, that "King Henry

dubb'd Fuleo and 3 of his bretherne Knightes at Winchester." Ibid.

Page 27

AN ESSAY ON THE ANCIENT MINSTRELS.

xlii

obliged to flee into France, where, assuming

the name of Sir Amiea, he distinguished him-

self in justs and tournamonts; and, after va-

rious romantic adventures by sea and land;

having in the true style of chivalry rescued

"certayne ladies owt of prison;" he finally

obtained the king's pardon, and the quiet

possession of Whitington Castle.

In the reign of King Henry III, we have

mention of Master Ricard the King's Harper,

to whom in his thirty-sixth year (1252) that

monarch gave not only forty shillings and a

pipe of wine, but also a pipe of wine to Bea-

trice, his wife.* The title of Magister, or Mas-

ter, given to this Minstrel deserves notice,

and shows his respectable situation.

V. The Harper, or Minstrel, was so neces-

sary an attendant on a royal personage, that

Prince Edward (afterwards King Edward I.),

in his crusade to the Holy Land, in 1271, was

not without his Harper; who must have

been officially very near his person; as we

are told by a contemporary historian,† that,

in the attempt to assassinate that heroic

prince, when he had wrested the poisoned

knife out of the Sarazen's hand, and killed

him with his own weapon; the attendants,

who had stood apart while he was whisper-

ing to their master, hearing the struggle, ran

to his assistance, and one of them, to wit his

Harper, seizing a tripod or trestle, struck the

assassin on the head and beat out his brains.‡

And though the prince blamed him for strik-

ing the man after he was dead, yet his near

access shows the respectable situation of this

officer; and his affectionate zeal should have

induced Edward to entreathis brethren the

Welsh Bards afterwards with more lenity.

Whatever was the extent of this great

  • Burney's Hist. ii. p. 356.—Rot. Pip. An. 36 II. III.

"Et in uno dolio vini empto & dato Magistro Ricardo

Citharistæ Regis, xl. sol. per. b. Reg. £t in uno dollo

sumpto & dato Beatrici uxori ejusdem Ricardi."

† Walter Hemmingford (vixit temp. Edw. I.), in Chronic.

cap. 35, inter V. Ilist. Ang. Scriptores, vol. ii. Oxon. 1687,

fol. pag. 591.

‡ "Accurrentes ad hæc Ministri ejus, quia longo staterunt,

invenorunt eum [scil. Nuntum] in terra mortuum, et

apprehendit unus eorum tripodam, scilicet Citharcdæ suæ.

& percussit eum in capite, et effuditcerebrum ejus. Incre-

pavitque eum Edwardus quod hominem mortuum percus-

sisset." Ibid. These Ministri must have been upon a

very confidential footing, as it appears above in the same

chapter, that they had been made acquainted with the

contents of the letters which the assassin had delivered to

the prince from his master.

monarch's severity towards the professors of

music and of song in Wales; whether the

exccuting by martial law such of them as

fell into his hands was only during the heat

of conflict, or was continued afterwards with

more systematic rigour;* yet in his own

court the Minstrels appear to have been

highly favoured: for when, in 1306, he con-

ferred the order of knighthood on his son and

many others of the young nobility, a multi-

tude of Minstrels were introduced to invite

and induce the new knights to make some

military vow.(X) And

Under the succeeding reign of King Ed-

ward II, such extensive privileges were

claimed by these men, and by dissolute per-

sons assuming their character, that it became

a matter of public grievance, and was obliged

to be reformed by an express regulation in

A. D. 1315.(Y) Notwithstanding which, an

incident is recorded in the ensuing year,

which shews that Minstrels still retained the

liberty of entering at will into the royal re-

sponse, and had something peculiarly splen-

did in their dress. It is thus related by

Stow.(Z)

"In the year 1316, Edward the Second did

solemnize his feast of Pentecost at Westmin-

ster, in the great hall; where sitting royally

at the table with his peers about him, there

entered a woman adorned like a Minstrel,

sitting on a great horse trapped, as Minstrels

then used; who rode round about the table,

shewing pastime; and at length came up to

the king's table, and laid before him a letter,

and forthwith turning her horse saluted

overy one and departed."—The subject of

this letter was a remonstrance to the king on

the favours heaped by him on his minions,

to the neglect of his knights and faithful ser-

vants.

The privileged character of a Minstrel was

employed on this occasion, as sure of gaining

an easy admittance; and a female the rather

deputed to assume it, that, in case of detec-

tion, her sex might disarm the king's resent-

ment. This is offered on a supposition that

she was not a real minstrel; for there should

seem to have been women of this profes-

sion (A n), as well as of the other sex; and no

  • See Gray's Odo; and the Hist. of the Gwedir Family in

"Miscellanles by the Hon. Daines Barrington," 1781, 4to.,

p. 390; who in the Laws, &c. of this monarch could find

no instances of severity against the Welsh. See his observa-

tions on the Statutes, 4to. 4th edit. p. 358.

Page 28

ii

AN ESSAY ON THE ANCIENT MINSTRELS.

somplishment is so constantly attributed to

ales, by our ancient bards, as their sing-

g to, and playing on, the harp.(A a 2)

In the fourth year of King Richard II.,

hn of Gaunt erected at Tutbury in Stafford-

ire, a court of Minstrels, similar to that

nually kept at Chester, and which, like a

urt-feet or court baron, had a legal juris-

ction, with full power to receive suit and

rvice from the men of this profession within

re neighbouring counties, to enact laws, and

etermine their controversies; and to appre-

end and arrest such of them as should refuse

o appear at the said court annually held on

e 16th of August. For this they had a

harter, by which they were empowered to

ppoint a King of the Minstrels with four

fficers to preside over them.(B b) These

vere every year elected with great ceremony;

he whole form of which, as observed in 1680,

s described by Dr. Plot:* in whose time,

rowever, they appear to have lost their sing-

ing talents, and to have confined all their

skill to "wind and string music."†

The Minstrels seem to have been in many

respects upon the same footing as the her-

alds : and the King of the Minstrels, like the

king at arms, was both here and on the Con-

tinent an usual officer in the courts of princes.

Thus we have in the reign of King Edward

I. mention of a King Robert and others. And

in 16 Edward II. is a grant to William de

Morlec, "the King's Minstrel, styled Roy de

North,"‡ of houses which had belonged to

another king, John le Boteler.(B b 2) Ry-

mer hath also printed a licence granted by

King Richard II. in 1387, to John Caumz,

the King of his Minstrels, to pass the seas,

recommending him to the protection and

kind treatment of all his subjects and allies.§

In the subsequent reign of King Henry

IV. we meet with no particulars relating to

the Minstrels in England, but we find in the

Statute Book a severe law passed against

their brethren tho Welsh Bards; whom our

ancestors could not distinguish from their

own Rimours Ministralx; for by these names

they describe them.(B b 3) This act plainly

shows, that far from being extirpated by the

rigorous policy of King Edward I., this or-

der of men were still able to alarm the Eng-

lish government, which attributed to them

"many disenses and mischiefs in Wales," and

prohibited their meetings and contributions.

When his beroic son King Henry V. was

preparing his great voyage for France, in

1415, an express order was given for his Min-

strels, fifteen in number, to attend him;*

and eighteen are afterwards mentioned, to

each of whom he allowed xii. d. a day, when

that sum must have been of more than ten

times the value it is at present.† Yet when

he entered London in triumph after the battle

of Agincourt, he, from a principle of humi-

lity, slighted the pageants and verses which

were prepared to hail his return; and, as we

are told by Holingshed,‡ would not suffer

"any dities to be made and song by Min-

strels, of his glorious victorie; for that he

would whollie have the praise and thankes

altogether given to God." (B b 4) But this

did not proceed from any disregard for the

professors of music or of song; for at the

feast of Pentecost, which he celebrated in

1416, having the Emperor and the Duke of

Holland for his guests, he ordered rich gowns

far sixteen of his Minstrels, of which the par-

ticulars are preserved by Rymer.§ And

having before his death orally granted an

annuity of one hundred shillings to each of his

Minstrels, the grant was confirmed in the first

year of his son King Henry VI., A. D. 1423,

and payment ordered out of the Exchequer.||

  • Rymer, ix. 265.

† Ibid. p. 260.

‡ See his Chronicle, sub anno 1415, p. 1170. He also

gives this other instance of the king's great modesty, "that

he would not suffer his helmet to be carried with him, and

shewed to the people, that they might behold the dities

and cutlers whiche appeared in the same. of such blowes and

stripes as hee received the daye of the batell." Ibid. Vid.

T. de Elmham, c. 29, p. 72.

§ The prohibition against vain and secular songs would

probably not include that inserted in Series the Second

Book I. No. V., which would be considered as a hymn.

The original notes engraven on a plata at the end of the

vol. may be seen reduced and set to score in Mr. Stafford

Smith's "Collection of English Songs for three and four

Voices," and in Dr. Burney's Hist. of Music, ii. p. 384.

|| Rymer, tom. x. 287. They are mentioned by name,

being ten in number: one of them was named Thomas

Chatterton.

Page 29

AN ESSAY ON THE ANCIENT MINSTRELS.

xiii

The unfortunate reign of King Henry VI. affords no occurrences respecting our subject; but in his 34th year, A. D. 1456, we have in Rymer* a commission for impressing boys or youths, to supply vacancics by death among the King's Minstrels : in which it is expressly directed that they shall be elegant in their limbs, as well as instructed in the Minstrel art, wherever they can be found, for the solace of his majesty.

In the following reign, King Edward IV. (in his 9th year, 1469), upon a complaint that certain rude husbandmen and artificers of various trades had assumed the title and livery of the King's Minstrels, and under that colour and pretence had collected money in diverse parts of the kingdom, and committed other disorders, the king grants to Walter Haliday, Marshal, and to seven others his own Minstrels whom he names, a charter,† by which he creates, or rather restores, a fraternity or perpetual gild (such as, he under- stands, the brothers and sisters of the fraternity of Minstrels had in times past), to be governed by a Marshall appointed for life, and by two Wardens to be chosen annually ; who are empowered to admit brothers and sisters into the said gild, and are authorized to examine the pretensions of all such as affected to exercise the Minstrel profession ; and to regulate, govern, and punish them throughout the realm (those of Chester excepted). This seems to have some resemblance to the Earl Marshal's court among the heralds, and is another proof of the great affinity and resemblance which the Minstrels bore to the members of the College of Arms.

It is remarkable that Walter Haliday, whose name occurs as marshal in the foregoing charter, had been retained in the service of the two preceding monarchs, King Henry V.‡ and VI.§ Nor is this the first time he is mentioned as Marshal of the King's Minstrels, for in the third year of this reign 1464, he had a grant from King Edward of 10 marks per annum during life, directed to him with that title.||

But besides their Marshal, we have also in this reign mention of a Sergeant of the Minstrels, who upon a particular occasion was able to do his royal master a singular service, wherein his confidential situation and ready access to the king at all hours is very apparent; for " as he [King Edward IV.] was in the north contray in the monneth of Septem- ber, as he lay in his bedde, one namid Alex- ander Carlile, that was Sarinaunt of the Myn- strellis, cam to him in grete hast, and badde hym aryse for he hadde encmyes cummyng for to take him, the which were within vi. or vii. mylis, of the which tydinges the king gretely marveylid," &c.* This happened in the same year, 1469, wherein the king granted or confirmed the charter for the fraternity or gild above mentioned ; yet this Alexander Carlile is not one of the eight Minstrels to whom that charter is directed.†

The same charter was renewed by King Henry VIII. in 1520, to John Gilman, his then marshal, and to seven others his Min- strels;‡ and on the death of Gilman, he granted in 1529, this office of Marshal of his Minstrels to Hugh Wodehouse,§ whom I take to have borne the office of his serjeant over them.||

VI. In all the establishments of royal and noble households, we find an ample provision made for the Minstrels ; and their situation to have been both honourable and lucrative. In proof of this it is sufficient to refer to the household book of the Earl of Northumberland, A. D. 1512.(C e) And the rewards they received so frequently recur in ancient writers that it is unnecessary to crowd the page with them here.(C e 2)

The name of Minstrel seems however to

  • Tom. xi. 375.

† See it in Rymer, tom. xi. 642, and in Sir J. Hawkins, vol. iv. p. 300. Nota. The above Charter is recited in letters patent of King Charles I., 15 July (11 Anno Regni), for a Corporation of Musicians, &c., in Westminster, which may be seen ibid.

‡ Rymer, ix. 255. § Ibid. xi. 375. || Ibid. xi. 512.

  • Here unfortunatly ends a curious fragment (an. 9 R. IV.), ad calcem Sprotti Chron. Ed. Hearne. Oxon. 1719, 8vo.

Vid. T. Warton's Hist. ii. p. 134. Nota (c).

† Rymer, xi. 642.

‡ Ibid. xiii. 705.

§ Rymer, tom. xiv. 2, 93.

|| So I am inclined to understand the term Serviens noster Hugo Wodehous, in the original grant. (See Rymer ubi supra.) It is needless to observe that Serviens expressed a serjeant as well as a servant. If this interpretation of Serviens be allowed, it will account for his placing Wode- house at the head of his gild, although he had not been one of the eight minstrels who had had the general direction. The Serjeant of his Minstiels, we may presume, was next in dignity to the Marshal, although he had no share in the government of the gild.

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xx

AN ESSAY ON THE ANCIENT MINSTRELS.

have been gradually appropriated to the musician only, ospecially in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, yet we occasionally meet with applications of the term in its more enlarged meaning, as including the Singer, if not the composor, of heroic or popular rhymes.*

In the time of King Henry VIII, we find it to have been a common entertainment to hear verses recited, or moral speeches learned for that purpose by a set of men who got their livelihood by repeating them, and who intruded without ceremony into all companies; not only in taverns, but in the houses of the nobility themselves. This we learn from Erasmus, whose argument led him only to describe a species of these men who did not sing their compositions; but the others that did, enjoyed, without doubt, the same privileges.(D d)

For even long after, in the reign of Queen Elizabeth, it was usual "in places of assembly" for the company to be "desirous to hear of old adventures and valiances of noble knights in times past, as those of King Arthur, and his knights of the round table, Sir Bevys of Southampton, Guy of Warwicke, and others like" in "short and long meotres, and by breaches or divisions, [so. Fits†] to be moro commodiously sung to the harpe," as the reader may be informed by a courtly writer, in 1589.‡ Who himself had "written for pleasure a little briefe romance or historicall ditty . . . . . of the Isle of Groat Britaine," in order to contribute to such entertainment. And he subjoins this caution: "Such as have not premonition hereof," (viz. that his poem was written in short metre, &c., to be sung to the harp in such places of assembly,) "and cnsideration of the causes alledged, would peradventure reprove and disgrace every romance, or short historicall ditty, for that they be not written in long meeters or versos Alexandrins," which constituted the prevailing versification among the poets of that age, and which no one now can endure to read.

And that the recital of such romances sung to the harp was at that time the delight of the common people, we are told by the same writer,§ who mentions that "common rimers"

were fond of using rimes at short distunces, "in small and popular musickes sung by these Cantabamqui" [the said common rimers] "upon benches and barrels heads," &c., "or else by blind Harpers or such like 'Taverne Minstrels that give a fit of mirth for a groat; and their matter being for the most part stories of old time, as the tale of Sir Topas, the reportes of Bevis of Southampton, Guy of Warwicke, Adam Boll, and Clymmo of the Clough, and such other old romances, or historcall rimes," &c., "also they be used in carols and rounds, and such light or lascivious pocmes,which are commonly more commodiously uttered by these buffons, or vices in playes, then by any other person. Such were the rimes of Skelton (usurping the name of a Poet Laurent), being in deede but a rude railing rimer, and all his doings ridiculous."*

But although we find here that the Minstrels had lost much of their dignity, and were sinking into contempt and neglect, yet that they still sustained a character far superior to anything we can conceive at present of the singers of old ballads, I think, may be inferred from the following representation.

When Queen Elizabeth was entertained at Killingworth Castle by the Earl of Leicester in 1575, among the many devices and pageants which were contrived for her entertainment, one of the porsonages introduced was to have boen that of an ancient Minstrel; whose apparance and dress areso minutely desoribed by a writer there present,† and gives us so distinct an idea of the character, that I shall quote the passage at large.(E e)

"A person very meot seomed he for the purpose, of a xlv years old, apparellled partly as he would himself. His cap off: his head seemly rounded tonsterwise:‡ fair kembd, that with a sponge daintily dipt in a little capon's greace was finely smoothed, to make it shine like a mallard's wing. His beard smugly shaven: and yet his shirt after the new trink, with ruffs fair starched, sleeked

  • Puttenham, &c, p. 09.

† See a very curious "Letter whenr∣tainly unto the Queenz Maiesty, at Killingwoorth Castl, in Warwick Sheer, in this soomerz progress 1575, 4to. sign∣fied," &c., bl. l. 4to. vid. p. 46 & seqq. (Printed in Nichol's Collection of Queen Elizabeth's Progresses, &c., in two vols. 4to.) We have not followed above the peouliar and affected orthography of this writer, who was named Ro. Laneham, or rather Langham; see p. 84.

‡ I suppose "tonsure-wise," after the manner of the Monks.

  • See below, and note (G g).

† See vol. ii. page 174.

‡ Puttenham in his "Arte of English Poesie," 1589, 4to. p. 33.

§ Puttenham, &c., p. 69.

Page 31

and glistering like a pair of new shoes, mar-

shalled in good order with a setting stick, and

strut, that every ruff stood up like a wafer.

A side [i. e. long] gown of Kendal green,

after the freshness of the year now, gathered

at the neck with a narrow gorget, fastoned

afore with a white clasp and a keeper close

up to the chin; but easily, for heat to undo

when he list. Seemly begirt in a red caddis

girdle: from that a pair of capped Sheffield

knives hanging a two sides. Out of his bosom

drawn forth a lappet of his napkin* edged

with a blue lace, and marked with a true

love, a heart, and a D for Damian, for he was

but a bachelor yet.

"His gown had side [i. e. long] sleeves

down to mid-leg, slit from the shoulder to

the hand, and lined with white cotton. His

doublet-sleeves of black worsted: upon them

a pair of poynets† of tawny chamlot laced

along the wrist with blue threaden points, a

wreath towards the hand of fustion-a-napes.

A pair of red neathor stocks. A pair of pumps

on his feet, with a cross cut at the toes for

corne: not now indeed, yet cleanly blackt

with soot, and shining as a shoing horn.

"About his neck a red ribband suitable to

his girdle. His harp in good grace dependant

before him. His wrest‡ tyed to a green lace

and hanging by. Under the gorget of his

gown a fair flaggon chain (powter,§ for) silver,

as a Squire Minstrel of Middlesex, that

travelled the country this summer season,

unto fairs and worshipful mens houses. From

his chain hung a scutcheon, with metal and

colour, resplendant upon his breast, of the

ancient arms of Islington."

This Minstrel is described as belonging to

that village. I suppose such as were retained

by noble familes wore the arms of their pa-

trons hanging down by a silver chain as a

kind of badge.|| From the expression of Squire

Minstrel above, we may conclude there were

other inferior orders, as Yoomen Minstrels,

or the like.

This Minstrel, the author tells us a little

below, "after three lowly courtisies, cleared

his voice with a hem . . . and . . . wiped his

lips with the hollow of his hand for 'filling

his napkin, tempered a string or two with his

wrest, and after a little warbling on his harp

for a prelude, came forth with a solemn song,

warranted for story out of King Arthurs

acts," &c.—This song the reader will find

printed in this work.

Towards the end of the sixteenth century

this class of men had lost all credit, and were

sunk so low in the public opinion, that in the

39th year of Elizabeth,* a statute was passed

by which "Minstrels, wandering abroad,"

were included among "rogues, vagabonds,

and sturdy beggars," and were adjudged to

be punished as such. This act seems to have

put an end to the profession. (F o 2)

VII. I cannot conclude this account of the

ancient English Minstrels, without remarking

that they are most of them represented to

have been of the North of England. There

is scarce an old historical song or ballad (F f)

wherein a Minstrel or Harper appears, but he

is characterized by way of eminence to have

been "of the North Countrye;" and indeed

the prevalence of the northern dialect in such

compositions, shows that this representation

is real.† On the other hand the scene of the

lord, and pay their annual suit and service at Alnwick

Castle; their instrument being the ancient Northumber-

land bagpipe (very different in form and execution from

that of the Scots; being smaller, and blown, not with the

breath, but with a small pair of bellows).

This, with many other venerable customs of the ancient

Lord Percys, was revived by their illustrious representa-

tives, the late Duke and Duchess of Northumberland.

  • Anno Dom. 1567. Vid. Fult. Stat. p. 1110, 39o Eliz.

† Giraldua Cambrensis, writing in the reign of King

Henry II., mentions a very extraordinary habit or pro-

pensuty, which then prevailed in the North of England,

beyond the Humber, for "symphonlous harmony" or slug-

ing "in two parts, the one murmuring in the base, and

the other warbling in the acute or treble." (I use Dr.

Burney's Version, vol. ii. p. 108.) This he describes as

practised by their very children from the cradle; and he

derives it from the Danes [so Daci signifies in our old

writers] and Norwegians, who long overran, and in effect

new-peopled, the Northern parts of England, where alone

this manner of singing prevailed. (Vide Cambric Descript.

cap. 13, and in Burney ubi supra).—Giraldus is proba-

bly right as to the origin or derivation of this practice, for

the Danish and Icelandiic Scalds had carried the arts of

Poetry and Singing to great perfection at the time the

Danish settlements were made in the North. And it will

  • i. e. handkerchief. So in Shakespeare's Othello, passim.

† Perhaps, points.

‡ The key, or screw, with which he tuned his harp.

§ The reader will remember that this was not a real

Minstrel, but only one personating that character; his

ornaments therefore were only such as outwardly repre-

sented those of a real Minstrel.

|| As the House of Northumberland had anciently three

Minstrels attending on them in their castles in Yorkshire,

so they still retain three in their service in Northumber-

land, who wear the badge of the family (a silver crescent

on the right arm), and are thus distributed, viz. one for

the barony of Prudhoe, and two for the barony of Roth-

bury. These attend the court feasts and fairs held for the

Page 32

xxii

AN ESSAY ON THE ANCIENT MINSTRELS.

finest Scottish ballads is laid in the south of

Scotland; which should seem to have been

peculiarly the nursery of Scottish Minstrels.

In the old song of Muggie Lawder, a piper is

asked, by way of distinction, "come ze frac

the border?"* The martial spirit constantly

kept up and exercised near the frontier of the

two kingdoms, as it furnished continual subjects for their songs, so it inspired the inhabitants of the adjacent counties on both sides

with the powers of poetry. Besides, as our

southern metropolis must have been ever the

scene of novelty and refinement, the northern

countries, as being most distant, would preserve their ancient manners longest, and of

course the old poetry, in which those manners

are peculiarly described.

The reader will observe in the more ancient

ballads of this collection, a cast of style and

measure very different from that of contemporary poets of a higher class ; many phrases

and idioms, which the Minstrels seem to have

appropriated to themselves, and a very remarkable licence of varying the accent of

words at pleasure, in order to humour the flow

of the verse, particularly in the rhymes ; as

also help to account for the superior skill and fame of our northern Minstrels and Harpers afterwards, who had preserved and transmitted the arts of their Scalldic ancestors. See Northorn Antiquities, vol. i. c. 13. p. 386, and Five

Pleces of Runic Poetry, 1763, 8vo.—Compare the original passage in GiralduS, as given by Sir John Hawkins, i. 408, and by Dr. Burney, ii. 108, who are both at a loss to account for this peculiarity, and therefore doubt the fact. The credit of GiralduS, which hath been attacked by some partial and bigoted antiquaries, the reader will find defended in that learned and curious work, "Antiquities of Ireland, by Edward Ledwich, LL.D., &c., Dublin, 1790," 4to., p. 207 & seq.

  • This line being quoted from memory, and given as old Scottish Poetry is now usually printed, would have been readily corrected by the copy published in "Scottish Songs, 1792," 2 vols., 12mo. i. p. 267, thus (though apparently corrupted from the Scottish Idiom),

"Live you upo' the Border?"

had not all confidence been destroyed by its being altered in the "Historical Essay" prefixed to that publication (p. cx.) to

"Ye live upo' the Border."

the better to favour a position, that many of the pipers

"might live upon the border, for the conveniency of attending fairs, &c., in both kingdoms." But whoever is acquainted with that part of England, knows that on the English frontier, rude mountains and barren wastes reach almost across the island, scarcely inhabited by any but solitary shepherds; many of whom dare not venture into the opposite border on account of the ancient feuds and subsequent disputes concerning the Debatable Lands,

which separated the boundaries of the two kingdoms, as well as the estates of the two great families of Percy and Douglas, till these disputes were settled not many years since by arbitration between the present Lord Douglas and the late Duke and Duchess of Northumberland.

Countrie harpèr bittèd mourning

Luthe singèr dunsèd lording,

instead of countrie, laird, harper, singer, &c.—

This liberty is but sparingly assumed by the classical poets of the same age; or even by the latter composers of heroic ballads; I mean, by such as professedly wrote for the press. For it is to be observed, that so long as the Minstrels subsisted, they seem never to have designed their rhymes for literary publication, and probably never committed them to writing themselves: what copies are preserved of them were doubtless taken down from their mouths. But as the old Minstrels gradually wore out, a new race of ballad-writers succeeded, an inferior sort of minor poets, who wrote narrative songs merely for the press. Instances of both may be found in the reign of Elizabeth. The two latest pieces in the genuine strain of the old minstrelsy that I can discover, are No.III. and IV. of Book III., Series the First. Lower than these I cannot trace the old mode of writing.

The old Minstrel ballads are in the northern dialect, abound with antique words and phrases, are extremely incorrect, and run into the utmost licence of metre; they have also a romantic wildness, and are in the true spirit of chivalry. The other sort are written in exact measure, have a low or subordinate correctness, sometimes bordering on the insipid, yet often well adapted to the pathetic: these are generally in the southern dialect, exhibit a more modern phraseology, and are commonly descriptive of more modern manners.—To be sensible of the difference between them, let the reader compare in Series the First, No. III. of Book III., with No. XI. of Book II.

Towards the end of Queen Elizabeth's reign (as is mentioned above), the genuine old minstrelsy seems to have been extinct, and thenceforth the ballads that were produced were wholly of the latter kind, and these came forth in such abundance, that in the reign of James I. they began to be collected into little miscellanies, under the name of garlands, and at length to be written purposely for such collections. (F f 2)

P.S.—By way of Postscript, should follow here the discussion of the question whether the term Minstrels was applied in English to Singers, and Composers of Songs, &c., or confined to Musicians only. But it is reserved for the concluding note. (G g)

Page 33

NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS

REFERRED TO IN THE

FOREGOING ESSAY.

(A) The Minstrels, &c. The word Min-strel does not appear to have been in use here before the Norman Conquest; whereas, it had long before that time been adopted in France.*—Menestrel, so early as the eighth century, was a title given to the Macstro di Capella of King Pepin, the father of Charlemagne; and afterwards to the Coryphæus, or leader of any band of musicians. [Vid. Bur-ney's Hist. of Music, ii. 268.] This term menestrel, menestrier, was thus expressed in Latin, ministellus, ministrellus, ministerellus, &c. [Vid. Gloss. Du Cange et Supplem.]

Menago derives the French words above mentioned from ministerialis, or ministeria-rius, barbarous Latin terms, used in the middle ages to express a workman or artificer (still called in Languedoc ministral), as if those men were styled Artificers or Per-formers by way of excellence. [Vid. Diction. Etym.] But the origin of the name is given, perhaps more truly, by Du Cange: "Minis-telli . . . quos vulgò menestreux vel menes-triers appellamus, quod minoribus aulæ ministris accensorentur." [Gloss. iv. p. 709.]

Accordingly, we are told, the word "minister" is sometimes used "pro ministellus" [Ibid.] and an instance is produced which I shall insert at large in the next paragraph.

  • The Anglo-Saxon and primary English name for this character was Gleeman [see below, note (I) sect. 1], so that, wherever the term Minstrel is in these pages applied to it before the Conquest, it must be understood to be only in anticipation. Another early name for this profession in English was Jogelar, or Jocular. Lat Joculator. [See p. 15, as also note (V 2) and note (Q).] To prevent confusion, we have chiefly used the more general word Minstrel: which (as the author of the Obscrv. on the Statutes bath suggested to the Editor) might have been originally derived from a diminutive of the Lat. Minister, scil. Ministerellus, Ministrellus.

Minstrels sometimes assisted at divine ser-vice, as appears from the record of the 9th of Edw. IV., quoted above in p. xix., by which Haliday and others are erected into a per-petnal gild, &c. See the original in Rymer, xi. 642. By part of this record it is recited to be their duty, "to pray (exorare: which it is presumed they did by assisting in the chant, and musical accompaniment, &c.) in the king's chapel, and particularly for the departed souls of the king and queen when they shall die, &c."—The same also appears from the passage in the Supplem. to Du Cange, alluded to above. "Minister . . . pro ministellus joculator.*—Votus Ceremoniale MS. B.M. deaurate Tolos. Item, etiam congregabuntur piscatores, qui debent intercsse isto die in processione cum ministris seu joculatoribus: quia ipsi piscatores tenentur habere isto die joculatores, seu mimos ob hono-rem Crucis—et vadunt primi ante processio-nem cum ministris seu joculatoribus semper pulsantibus usque ad ecclesium S. Stephani." [Gloss. 773.]—This may, perhaps, account for the clerical apparance of the minstrels, who seem to have been distinguished by the tonsure, which was one of the inferior marks of the clerical character.† Thus Jeffrey of

  • Ministers seems to be used for Minstrels in the Account of the Inthronization of Abp. Neville. (An. 6 Edw. IV.) "Thon all the Chaplyns must say grace, and the Ministers do sing." Vid. Leland. Collectanea, by Hearne, vol. vi. p. 13.

† It has however been suggested to the Editor by the learned and ingenious author of "Irish Antiquities," 4to., that the ancient Mimi among the Romans had their heads and beards shaven, as is shown by Salmasius in Notis ad Hist. August. Scriptores VI. Paris, 1620, fol. p. 835. So that this peculiarity had a classical origin, though it afterwards might make the Minstrels sometimes pass for Ecclesiastics, as appears from the instance given below. Dr. Burney tells us that Histriones, and Mimi, abounded in France in (23

Page 34

xxiv

NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY.

Monmouth, speaking of one who acted the part of a minstrel, says, "Rusit capillos suos et barbum" (see note K). Again, a writer in the reign of Elizabeth, describing the habit of an ancient minstrel, speaks of his head as "rounded Tonstcr-wise" (which I venture to read tonsure-wise), "his beard smugly shaven." See above, p. xx.

It must, however, be observed, that notwithstanding such clerical appearance of the minstrels, and though they might be sometimes countenanced by such of the clergy as were of more relaxed morals, their sportive talents rendered them generally obnoxious to the more rigid ecclesiastics, and to such of the religious orders as were of more severe discipline ; whose writings commonly abound with heavy complaints of the great encouragement shown to those men by the princes and nobles, and who can seldom afford them a better name than that of scurrae, jarnelici, nebulo:nes, &c., of which innumerable instances may be seen in Du Cange. It was even an established order in some of the monasteries, that no minstrel should ever be suffered to enter the gates.*

We have, however, innumerable particulars of the good cheer and great rewards given to the Minstrels in many of the Convents, which are collected by T. Warton (i. 91, &c.), and others. But one instance, quoted from Wood's Hist. Antiq. Univ. Ox. i. 67 (sub an. 1224), deserves particular mention. Two itinerant or Minstrels, gained admittance. But the cellarer, sacrist, and others of the brethren, who had hoped to have been entertained with their diverting arts, &c., when they found them to be only two indigent Ecclesiastics, who could only administer spiritual consolation, and were consequently disappointed of their mirth, beat them, and turned them out of the monastery. (Ibid. p. 92.) This passage furnishes an additional proof that a

the time of Charlemagne (ii. 221), so that their profession was handed down in regular succession from the time of the Romans, and thereby with some leading distinctions of their habit or appearances; yet with a change in their arts of pleasing, which latterly were most confined to singing and music.

  • Yet in St. Mary's church at Beverley, one of the columns hath this inscription: "Thys Pillar made the Mynstryls" having its capital decorated with figures of five men in short coats; one of whom holds an instrument resembling a lute. See Sir J. Hawkins, Hist. ii. 203.

Minstrel might by his dress or appearance be mistaken for an Ecclesiastic.

(B) ["The Minstrels use mimiery and action, and other means of diverting, &c."] It is observable that our old monkish historians do not use the words Cantator, Citharœdus, Musicus, or the like, to express a Minstrel in Latin, so frequently as Mimus, Histrio, Joculator, or some other word that implies gesture. Hence it might be inferred, that the Minstrels set off their songs with all the arts of gesticulation, &c., or, according to the ingenious hypothesis of Dr. Brown, united the powers of melody, poem, and dance. [See his History of the Rise of Poetry, &c.]

But indeed all the old writers describe them as exercising various arts of this kind. Joinville, in his Life of St. Lewis, speaks of some Armenian Minstrels, who were very dextrous Tumblers and Posture-masters.

"Avoe le Prince virrent ces Menestriers de la Grando lyormonie (Armenie) . . . ot avoient troiz cors--Quand ils commencercoient a corner, vous disiez que ca sont les voix do cygnes, . . . ot fosolont les plus douces melodics.--Ils fesoicnt trois maryeillous sauts, car on leur metoit une tounillo desous les piez, ot tournioit tout debout . . . Les doux tournoient les testes ariores," &c. [See the extract at large, in the Hon. D. Barrington's Observations on the Anc. Statutes, 4to., 2d Edit. p. 273, omitted in the last impression.]

This may also account for that remarkable clause in the press warrant of Henry VI. "De Ministrallia proptor solatium Regis providendis," by which it is required, that the boys, to be provided "in arte Ministrallatus instructor," should also be "membris naturalibus elegantes." See above page xix. (Ob-serv. on the Anc. Stat. 4th Edit. p. 337.)

Although by Minstrel was properly understood, in English, one who sung to the harp, or some other instrument of music, verses composed by himself or others ; yet the term was also applied by our old writers to such as professed either music or singing soparately, and perhaps to such as practised any of the sportive arts connected with these.* Music, however, being the leading idea, was at length peculiarly called Minstrelsy, and

  • Vid. infra, Not. (A a).

Page 35

NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY.

XXV

the name of Minstrel at last confined to the Musician only.

In the French language all these Arts were included under the general name of Menest- traudie, Menestrandise, Jonglerie, &c. [Med. Lat. Menestellorum Ars, Ars Joculatoria, &c.]

—“ On peut comprendre sous le nom de Jon- glerie tout ce qui appartient aux anciens chan- sonniers Provençaux, Normands, Picards, &c. Le corps de la Jonglerie etoit formé des Trouveres, ou Troubadours, qui composaient les chansons, et parmi lesquels il y avoit des Im- provisateurs, comme on en trouve en Italie; des Chanteurs ou Chanteres qui exécutoient ou chantoient ces compositions; des Conteurs qui faisoient en vers ou en prose les contes, les recits, les histoires; des Jongleurs ou Menestrels qui accompagnoient de leurs in- struments.—L’art de ces Chastres ou Chan- sonniers, etoit nommé la Science Gnic, Guy Saber.” (Pref. Anthologie Franç. 1765, 8vo. p. 17.)—See also the curious Fauchet (De l’Orig. de la Lang. Fr. p. 72, &c.) “Bien tost apres la division de ce grand empire François on fauit de petits royaumes, duchez, et comtez, au lieu des Poetes commençoient a se faire cognoistre les Trouverres, ot Chanterres, Con- teurs,’ ot Juglëours : qui sont Trouverres, Chastres, Contours, Jongleurs, ou Jugleurs, c’est à dire, Monestriors chantans avec la vi cle.”

We see then that Jongleur, Jugleur (Lat. Joculator, Jugulator), was a peculiar name appropriated to the Minstrels. “Les Jon- gleurs ne faisoient que chanter les poesies sur leurs instrumens. On les apppelloit aussi Menestrels.” says Fouterieff, in his Hist. du Theat. Franç. prefixed to his Life of Corneille.

(C) “Successors of the ancient Bards.”

That the Minstrels in many respects bore a strong resemblance both to the British Bards and to the Danish Scalds, appears from this, that the old Monkish writers express them all without distinction by the same names in Latin. Thus Geoffrey of Monmouth, him- self a Welshman, speaking of an old pagan British king, who excelled in singing and music so far as to be esteemed by his coun- trymen the Patron Deity of the Bards, uses the phrase Deus Joculatorum; which is the peculiar name given to the English and French Minstrels.* In like manner, William

4 * Vid. note (B) (H) (Q).

Malmsbury, speaking of a Danish king's assuming the profession of a Seald, expresses it by Professus Mimvm ; which was another name given to the Minstrels in Middle Latin- ity.* Indeed Du Cange, in his Glossary, quotes a writer, who positively asserts that the Minstrels of the middle ages were the same with the ancient Bards. I shall give a large extract from this learned glossographer, as he relates many curious particulars con- cerning the profession and arts of the Min- strels; whom, after the Monks, he stigmatizes by the name of Scurra; though he acknowledges their songs often tended to inspire virtue.

“Ministelli, dicti præsertim Scurræ, Mimi, Joculatores.” . . . “Ejusmodi Scurrarum munus erat principes non suis duntaxat ludi- cris oblectare, sed et eorum aures variis, avorum, adeoque ipsorum principum laudi- bus, non sine Assontatione, cum cantilenis et musicis instrumentis deventareo . . .

“Intordum etiam virorum insignium et herorum gesta, nut explicata et jocunda nar- ratione commomorabant, aut suavi vocis in- flexione, fidibusque decantabant, quo sic dominorum, cetatorumque qui his intererant ludicris, nobilium animos ad virtutem capes- sendam, ot summorum virorum imitationem accendcrent: quod fuit olim apud Callos Bardorum ministerium, ut auctor est Tacitus Noque onim alios à Ministellis, veterum Gal- lorum Bardos fuisse pluribus probat Henricus Valesius ad 15 Ammiani . . . . Chronicon Bertrandi Guesclini.

“Qui veut avoir renom des bons et des vaillans Il doit aler souvenit a la pluie et au champs Et estre en la bataille, ainsy que fu Rollans, Les Quatre Fils Haimon, et Charlion li plus grans, Li dus Lions de Bourges, et Guions de Connans, Perceval li Galois, Lancelot, et Tristans, Alixandres, Artus, Godfroi li Sachans, De quoy cils Menestriers font les nobles Romans.”

“ Nicolaus de Braia describens solenne con- vivium, quo post inaugurationem suam pro- ceres exepit Lud. VIII. rex Francorum, ait inter ipsius convivii apparatus, in medium prodissse Mimvm, qui regis laudes ad cythar- rum decantavit.”—

  • Vid. note (N).

Page 36

xxvi

NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY.

Our author then gives the lines at length, which begin thus,

"Dumque fovent genium geniali munere Bacchi,

Noctare commixto curas removento Lyæo

Principis a fronte, citraque eleberrimus arte

Assurgit Mimnus, ars musica quam decoravit,

Hic ergo chorda resonante subtiluit ista:

Inclite rex regum, probitatis stemmate ver-

nans,

Quem vigor et virtus extollit in æthera fa-

mæ," &c.

The rest may be seen in Du Cange, who thus proceeds, "Mittó reliqua similia, ex

quibus omnino patet ejusmodi Mimorum et

Ministellorum cantilenas ad virtutem princi-

pes excitassé. . . . Id præsertim in pugnæ

præcinctu, dominiis suis occinebant, ut mar-

tim ardorem in eorum animis concitarent;

eujusmodi cantum Cantilenam Rollandi appellat Will. Malmesb. lib. 3.—Aimoinus, lib.

  1. de Mirac. S. Benedic. c. 37. 'Tanta vero

illis securitas . . . . . ut Scurram so procedere

facerent, qui musico instrumento ros fortiter

gestas et priorum bella præcinaret, quatenus

his acrius incitarentur,' " &c. As the writer

was a monk, we shall not wonder at his call-

ing the Minstrel, Scurram.

This word Scurra, or some one similar, is

represented in the Glossaries as the proper

meaning of Leccator (Fr. Lecceour) the ancient

term by which the Minstrel appears to be ex-

pressed in the Grant to Dutton, quoted above

in page xxxvii. On this head I shall produce

a very curious passage, which is twice quoted

in Du Cange's Glossary, (sc. ad verb. Men-

estellus et ad verb. Locator.)—"Phillippus

Mouskes in Philip. Aug. fingit Carolum M.

Provincie comitatum Scurris et Mimis suis

olim donasse, indeque postea tantum in hac

regione poetarum numerum excrevisse.

"Quar quant li buens Rois Karlemaigne,

Ot toute mise a son demaina

Provence, qui mult iert plentive

De vins, de bois, d'eiguë, de rive,

As Leccours as Menestreus

Qui sont anquiés lururiens

Le donna toute et departi."

(D) "The Poet and the Minstrel early with

us became two persons." The word Scould

comprehended both characters among the

Danes, nor do I know that they had any po-

culiar name for either of them separate. But it

was not so with the Anglo-Saxons. They called

a poet Scop, and [Leuδ pý lta; the last

of these comes from Leuδ, a song; and the

former answers to our old word Maker (li-

lourns) being derived from Scipian or Scee-

pan, formare, facere, fingere, creare (Ang. to

shape). As for the Minstrel, they distin-

guished him by the peculiar appellation of

Ili:gman, and perhaps by the more simple

title of Heanpene, Harper: [See below

Notas (H), (I).] This last title, at least, is often

given to a Minstrel by our most ancient Eng-

lish rhymists. See in this work series i. p.

89, &c., series iii. p.

(E) "Minstrels . . . . at the houses of the

great," &c.] Du Cange affirms, that in the

middle ages the courts of princes swarmed so

much with this kind of men, and such largo

sums were expended in maintaining and re-

warding them, that they often drained the

royal treasuries; especially, he adds, of such

as were delighted with their flatteries (" pro-

sortim qui ejusmodi Ministellorum assenta-

tionibus delectabantur.") He then confirms

his assertion by several passages out of

monastic writers, who sharply inveigh against

this extravagance. Of these I shall here se-

lect only one or two, which show what kind

of rewards were bestowed on these old Song-

sters.

"Rigordus de Gestis Philippi Aug. ann.

  1. Cum curiis regum seu aliorum prin-

cipum, frequenter turba Histrionum convenire

soleat, ut ab eis Aurum, Argentum, Equos,

seu vestes,* quos persæpe mutare consueve-

runt principes, ab eis extorqueant, verba joc-

ulatoria variis adulationibus plena proferre

nituntur. Et ut magis placeant, quicquid de

ipsis principibus probabiliter fingi potest, vi-

delicit omnes delitias et lepores, et visu dig-

  • The Minstrels in France were received with great mag-

nificence in the fourteenth century. Froissart, describing

a Christmas entertainment given by the Comte de Foix,

tells us, that "there many Mynstrels, as well of hys own

as of straungers, and eche of them dyd their devoyre in

their faculties. The same day the Earle of Foix gave to

Hauralds and Minstrelles the som of fyve hundred frankes;

and gave to the Duke of Tourayns Mynstrelus gownes of

clothe of gold furred with ermyne valued at two hundred

frankes." B. iii. c. 31. Eng. Trans. Lond. 1525. (Mr. C.)

Page 37

nes urbanitatos et caetera ineptias, trutinantibus buccis in medium eruclare non erubescunt. Vidimus quondam quosdam principi-

pes, qui vestes diu excogitatas, et variis florum picturationibus artificiose elaboratas, pro quibus forsan 20 vel. 30 marcas argenti consumpserant, vix revolutis septem diebus, Histrionibus, ministris diabolis, ad primam vocem dedisse, &c."

The curious reader may find a similar, though at the same time a more candid account, in that most excellent writer, Presid. Fauchet: (Recueil de la Lang. Fr. p. 73), who says that, like the ancient Greek Aοιδοι, " Nos Trouverres, ainsi que ceux la, prenans leur subject sur les faits des vaillans (qu'ils appelloyent Geste, venant de Gesta Latin) alloyent . . . par les cours rejouir les Princes

. . . . . Remportans des grandes recompences des seigneurs, qui bien souvent leur donnoyent jusques aux robes qu'ils avoyent vestues: et lesappelles ces Juleours ne failloient de porter aux autres cours, à fin d'inviter les seigneurs a pareille liberalité. Ce qui a duré si longuement, qu'il me souvient avoir veu Marten Baraton (ja viel Menostrier d'Orleans) lequel aux festes et nopces hatoit un tabourin d'argent, semé des places aussi d'argent, gravees des armoirics de ceux a qui il avoit appris a danser."—Hero we see that a Minstrel sometimes performed the function of a dancing-master.

Fontenelle even gives us to understand, that those men were often rewarded with favours of a still higher kind. "Les princesses et les plus grandes dames y joignoient souvent leurs faveurs. Elles etoient fort toibles contre les beaux esprits." (Hist. du Théat.)

We are not to wonder then that this profession should be followed by men of the first quality, particularly the younger sons and brothers of great houses. "Tel qui par les partages de fa famille n'avoit que la moitié ou le quart d'une vieux chateaux bien seigneurial, alloit quelque temps courir le monde en rimant, et revenoit acquerir le reste de Chateau." (Fontenelle Hist. du Théat.) We see, then, that there was no improbable fiction in those ancient songs and romances, which are founded on the story of Minstrels being beloved by kings' daughters, &c., and discovering themselves to be the sons of some liruign prince, &c.

(F) "The honours and rewards lavished upon the Minstrels were not confined to the continent. Our own countryman Johannes Sarisburcensis (in the time of Henry II.) declares no less than the Monks abroad, against the extravagant favour shown to those men.

" Non enim more nugatorum ejus seculi in Histriones et Mimos, et hujusmodi monstra hominum, ob famæ redemptionem et dilatationem nominis effunditis opes vestras," &c. [Epist. 247.*]

The Monks seem to grudge every act of munificence that was not applied to the benefit of themselves and their convents. They therefore great applauses upon the Emperor Henry, who at his marriage with Agnes of Poictou, in 1044, disappointed the poor Minstrels, and sent them away empty. " Initatem Histrionem et Joculatorum multitudinem sine cibo et muneribus vacuam et misericordem permisit." (Chronic Virtzi-burg.) For which I doubt not but he was sufficiently stigmatized in the Songs and Ballads of those times. Vid. Du Cange, Gloss. tom. iv. p. 771, &c.

(G) "The annals of the Anglo-Saxons are scanty and defective."| Of the few histories now remaining that were written before the Norman Conquest, almost all are such short and naked sketches and abridgments, giving only a concise and general relation of the more remarkable events, that scarce any of the minute circumstantial particulars are to be found in them : nor do they hardly ever descend to a description of the customs, manners, or domestic economy of their countrymen. The Saxon Chronicle, for instance, which is the best of them, and upon some accounts extremely valuable, is almost such an epitome as Lucian Florus and Eutropius have left us of the Roman history. As for Ethelward, his book is judged to be an imperfect translation of the Saxon Chronicle;† and the Pseudo-Asser, or Chronicle of St. Neot, is a poor defective performance. How absurd would it be then to argue against the existence of customs or facts, from the silence of such scanty records as these! Whoever would carry his researches deep into that period of history, might safely plead the excuse of a learned writer, who had particularly stu-

  • Et vld. Polieraticou, cap. 8, &c.

† Vid. Nicolson's Eng. Hist. Lib, &c.

Page 38

died the Ante-Norman historians, “Conjec-

turis (licet nusquam verisimili fundamento),

aliquoties indulgemus . . . utpote ub Historis-

cis jejune nimis et indiligenter res nostras

tractantibus coacti . . . Nostri . . . nulla fac-

torum commemoratione plerumque contenti,

relinquâ omnia, sive ob scriptorum, sive

historicorum officii

ignorantiam, fere intacta prætereunt.” Vide

plura in Præfat. ad Elfric. Vitam à Spelman.

Ox. 1678, fol.

(II) “ Minstrels and Harpers.”] That the

Harp (Cithara) was the common musical in-

strument of the Anglo-Saxons, might be in-

ferred from the very word itself, which is not

derived from the British, or any other Celtic

language, but of genuine Gothic original, and

current among every branch of that people:

viz. Ang. Sax. He ap pe, Peanpa, Iceland.

Harpa, Haurpa. Dan. and Belg. Harpe.

Gorm. Harpffe, Harpffa. Gal. Harpe. Span.

Harpa. Ital. Arpa [Vid. Jun. Etym.—Mo-

nago Etym. &c.] As also from this, that the

word He ap pe is constantly used in the

Anglo-Saxon versions, to express the Latin

words Cithara, Lyra, and even Cymbalum:

the word Psalmus itself being sometimes

translated He ap p ran y , harp song. [Gloss.

Jun. R. apud Lye Anglo-Sax. Lexic.]

But the fact itself is positively proved by

the express testimony of Bede, who tells us

that it was usual at festival meetings for this

instrument to be handed round, and each of

the company to sing to it in his turn. See

his Hist. Eccles. Lib 4, c. 24, where,

speaking of their sacred poet Cædmon, who

lived in the times of the Heptarchy (ob. circ.

680), he says:—

“ Nihil unquam frivoli et supervacui poe-

matis facere potuit; sed ea tantummodo, quæ

ad religionem pertinent, religiosæ ejus lin-

guam decebant. Siquidem in habitu sæcul-

lari, usque ad tempora provectioris ætatis

constitutus, nil Carminum aliquando didi-

cerat. Unde nonnunquam in convivio, cùm

esset lætitiæ causa decretum ut omnes per

ordinem cantare deberent, ille ubi appropin-

quare sibi citharam cernebat, surgebat a

mediâ cœnâ, et egressus, ad suam domum

repedabat.”

I shall now suhjoin King Alfred's own

Anglo-Saxon translation of this passage, with

a literal interlineary English version.

“ He . . . ne æppe nolte learunga, ne

“ He . . . . nerer no leasings, nor

iðele r leaðer pyncean ne miltce. ne

idle songs compose ne might; but

e þe ða an ða ðe to are'rneðre

lo! only those things which to religion [piety]

belong, and his then pious tongue

ðe bæfenobe rungan: Wær he re

became to sing: He was the [a

man in peopold hade ðeferteb oð ða

man in worldly [secular] state set to the

ðe he ðe wær oð ðelýtebðre ýlbo.

time in which he was of an advanced age;

ð he neððe aung leop ðeleoðnobe.

and he never any song learned.

ð he ðonðon oðre ðebeopðraipe

And he therefore oft in an entertainment

ðonne ðeðp pað hirðre intinga

when there was for merriment-sake adjidged

ðebemeb ð li eulle ðreolban ðupðh

[or decreed] that they all shouid through

endelpyneðrre be heaðpan r'ingan.

their turns by [the] harp sing;

ðonne he ðeðah ða heaðpan him

when he saw the harp him

nealdceam. ðonne anðr he fon ðrecome

approach, then arose he for shame

fram ðam rymle. ð ham eobe co

from the supper, and home yode [went] to

hir huye.

his horse.—Bed. Hist. Eccl. a Smith. Can-

tab. 1722, fol. p. 597.

In this version of Alfred's it is observa-

ble, (1) that he has expressed the Latin word

cantare, by the Anglo-Saxon words “ he

heaðpan r'ingan,” sing to the harp; as if

they were synonymous, or as if his coun-

trymen had no idea of singing unaccompa-

nied with tho Harp: (2) That when Bede

simply says, surgebat a mediâ cœnâ; he as-

signs a motive, “ anar fon ðrecome,”

arose for shame: that is, either from an aus-

terity of manners, or from his being deficient

in an accomplishment which so generally pre-

vailed among his countrymen.

(1) “ The word Glee, which peculiarly de-

noted their art,” &c. This word Glee is de-

rived from the Anglo-Saxon Gliðð, [Glige]

Musica, Music, .Minstrelsy (Somn). ‘This is

the common radix, whence arises such a va-

riety of terms and phrases relating to the

Page 39

Minstrel Art, as affords the strongest internal proof, that this profession was extremely common and popular here before the Norman Conquest. Thus we have

NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY. xxix

I. (1). Eliþ, [Gliw] Minus a Minstrel. Eliþman, 3li3mon, 3luman [Gleeman,*] Histrio Mimvs, Pantomimus; all common names in middle Latinity for a Minstrel : and Somner accordingly renders the original by a Minstrel; a Player on a Timbral or Taber. He adits, a Fiditer ; but although the Fythell or Fiddle was an ancient instrument, by which the Jogelar or Minstrel sometimes accompanied his song (see Warton, i. 17), it is probable that Somner annexes here only a modern sense to the word, not having at all investigated the subject.

Eliþmen, 3li3men. [Gloe-men]. Histriones Minstrels. Hence Eliþmann y þþe. Orchestra vel Pulpitus. The place where the Minstrels exhibited their performances.

(2). But their most proper and expressive name was Eliþleopþienð. Musicus, a Minstrel; and Eliþleopþienðlic. Musicus, Musical. These two words include the full iden of the Minstrel character, expressing at once their music and singing, being compounded of Eliþ, Musicus, Musis, a Musician, Minstrel, and Leoð, Carmen, a Song.

(3). From the above word Irliz3, the profession itself was called Eli3eþe. [Glig or Glee-craft.] Mu-

  • Gleman continued to be the name given to a Minstrel both in England and Scotland almost as long as this order of men continued.

In De Brunne's metrical version of Bishop Grosthead's Manuel de Peche, A. D. 1303 (see Warton, t. ii), we have this, "—— Gode men, ye shall lore When ye any Gleman here." Fabyan (in his Chronicle, 1533, f. 32), translating the passage from Geoffrey of Moumouth, quoted below in page 28, Note (K), renders Deus Joculatorum. by God of Gle-men. (Warton's Illst. Eng. Poet. Diss. I.) Fabyan died in 1592.

Dunbar, who lived in the same century, describing, in one of his poems "The Dance," what passed in the infernal regions "amang the Feyndis," says, "No Mastralls playit to thame, but dowt, For Gle-men thatre wer haldin, out, Be day and eke by nicht." Bea Poems from Bannatyne's MS. Edinb. 1770, 12mo, page 150. Maitland's MS. at Cambridge reads here, Glowe men.

sica, Histrionia, Mimica, Gesticulatio: which Somner rightly gives in English, Minstrelsy, Mimical Gesticulation, Mummery. He also adds, Stage-playing ; but here again I think he substitutes an idea too modern, induced by the word Histrionia, which in Middle Latinity only signifies the Minstrel Art.

However, it should seem that both mimical gesticulation and a kind of rude exhibition of characters were sometimes attempted by the old Minstrels. But

(4). As Musical Performances was the leading idea, so Irþopian, Cantus musicos edere; and Irliþbeam, 3liþbeam. [Glig- or Glee-beam.] Tympanum; a Timbral or Taber. (So Somn.) Hence Irliþpan. Tympanum pulsare ; and Irliþ-beon; Eliþpienbe-mabeu [Glee-Maidem.] Tympanistria: which Somner renders a She-Minstrel; for it should seem that they had Females of this profession ; one name for which was also Irliþ pýðe-neiþa.

(5). Of congonial derivation to the foregoing, is Irliþpo. [Glywe.] Tibia, a Pipe or Flute. Both this and the common radix Irliþ3, are with great appearance of truth derived by Junius from the Icelanndio Cliggur, Flatlus : as supposing the first attempts at music among our Gothic ancestors were from wind-instruments. Vid. Jun. Etym. Ang. V. Glee.

II.

But the Minstrels, as is hinted above, did not confine themselves to the mere exercise of their primary arts of Music and Song, but occasionally used many other modes of diverting. Hence, from the above root was derived, in a secondary sense, (1). Irleo, and þingum glip. Facetice. Irleopian, jociari ; to jest or be merry (Somn.); and Irloopienð, jocans ; jesting, speaking merrily (Somn.). Irliþman also signified Jocista, a Jester. Eliþ-3amen [Glee-games], joci. Which Somner renders Merriments, or merry Jests, or tricks, or Sports; Gamboies.

(2). Hence, again, by a common metonymy of the cause for the effect, Irliþe, gaudium, alacritas, latitia, facetice;

Page 40

xxx

NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY.

Joy, Mirth, Gladness, Cheerfulness, Glee.

[Sumner.] Which last application of the

word still continues, though rather in a low,

debasig sense.

Iilpen. Purusitus, Assentutor; "A

Fawner, a Togger, a Parasite, a Flatterer."

(Somm.)

III.

But however agreeable and delightful the

various arts of the Minstrels might be to the

Anglo-Saxon laity, there is reason to believe

that, before the Norman Conquest at least,

they were not much favoured by the clergy;

particularly by those of monastic profession.

For, not to mention that the sportive talents

of these men would be considered by those

austere ecclesiastics as tending to levity and

licentiousness, the Pagan origin of their art

would excite in the Monks an insuperable

prejudice against it. The Anglo-Saxon Harp-

ers and Gleemen were the immediate suc-

cessors and imitators of the Scandinavian

Scalds; who were the great promoters of

Pagan superstition, and fomented that spirit

of cruelty and outrage in their countrymen,

the Danes, which fell with such peculiar

severity on the religious and their convents.—

Hence arose a third application of words de-

rived from Irligg, Minstrelsy, in a very un-

favourable sense, and this chiefly prevails in

books of religion and ecclesiastical discipline.

Thus,

(1). Irlig is Ludibrium, laughing to scorn.*

So in S. Basil. Regul. 11, Hi hæpbon him

to glize halpene minegunge. Ludri-

brio habebant salutarem ejus admonitionem.

(10).—This sense of the word was perhaps

not ill founded; for as the sport of rude un-

cultivated minds often arises from ridicule,

it is not improbable but the old Minstrels

often indulged a vein of this sort, and that

of no very delicate kind. So again,

Irlig-man was also used to signify Scurra,

a "Saucy Jester. (Somn.)

Irlig-geopn. Dicax, Scurriles jocos supra

quæm par est amans. Officium Episcopale, 3.

Irlipian. Scurrilibus oblectamentis induigere; Scurram agere. Canon. Edgar, 58.

(2). Again, as the various attempts to

please, practised by an order of men who

owed their support to the public favour,

might be considered by those grave censors

as mean and debasing: Hence came from

the same root,

  • To gleek. Is used in Shakespeare, for "to make sport,

IV.

To return to the Anglo-Saxon word Irligg;

notwithstanding the various secondary senses

in which this word (as we have seen above)

was so early applied; yet

The derivative Glee (though now chiefly

used to express Merriment and Joy) long

retained its first simple meaning, and is even

applied by Chaucer to signify Music and

Minstrelsy. (Vid. Jun. Etym.) E. g.

"For though that the best harper upon live

Would on the beste sounid jolly harpe

That evir was, with all his fingours fivo

Touch nic o string, or nic o warble harpo,

Wero his nailos poincted nevir so sharpo

It sholdo makyn ovary wight to dull

To heare is gleo, and of his strokes fal."

TroyL lib. ii. 1030.

Junius interprets Glees by Musica Instru-

menta, in the following passages of Chaucer's

Third Boke of Fame:

.. Stodon . tho castoll all aboutin

Of all maner of Mynstrales

And Jostours that tollen talos

Both of wepyng and of game,

And of all that longeth unto fame;

There herde I play on a harpe

That sownded both well and sharpe

Hym Orpheus full craftily;

And on this syde fast by

Sate the harper Orion;

And Eacides Chirion;

And other harpers many one,

And the Briton Glaskyriion.

After mentioning these, the great masters

of the art, he proceeds:

  • The preceding list of Anglo-Saxon works, so full and

copious beyond anything that ever yet appeared in print on

this subject, was extracted fiom Mr. Lye's curious Anglo-

Saxon Lexicon, in MS., but the arrangoment here is the

Editor's own. It had however received the sanction of Mr.

Lye's approbation, and would doubtless have been received

into his printed copy had he lived to publish it himself.

It should also be observed, for the sake of future re-

searches, that without the assistance of the old English

Interpretations given by Somner, in his Anglo-Saxon Dic-

tionary, the Editor of this book never could have discovered

that Glea signified "Minstrelsy," or Gligman a "Minstrel."

Page 41

NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY.

xxxi

"And small Harpers with her Glees

Sat under them in divers sees."


Again, a little below, the poet, having enumerated the performers on all the different

sorts of instruments, adds:

"There sawe I syt in other sees

Playing upon other sundry Glees,

Which that I cannot neven.*

More than starres ben in heven, &c.

Upon the above lines I shall only make a

few observations:

(1). That by Jestours, I suppose we are to

understand Gestours; scil. the relaters of

Gests (Lat. Gesta), or stories of adventures

both comic and tragical; whether true or

feigned; I am inclined to add, whether in

prose or verse. (Compare the record below,

in marginal note subjoined to (V) 2.) Of the

stories in prose, I conceive we have specimens

in that singular book the Gesta Romanorum,

and this will account for its seemingly im-

proper title. These were evidently what the

French called Conteurs, or Story-tellers, and

to them we are probably indebted for the first

Prose Romances of chivalry: which may be

considered as specimens of their manner.

(2). That the "Briton Glaskeryon," who-

ever he was, is apparently the same person

with our famous Harper Glasgerion, of whom

the reader will find a tragical ballad, at page

206.—In that song may be seen an instance

of what was advanced above in note (E), of

the dignity of the minstrel profession, or at

least of the artifice with which the Minstrels

endeavoured to set off its importance.

Thus, "a king's son is represented as

appearing in the character of a Harper or

Minstrel in the court of another king. He

wears a collar (or gold chain) as a person of

illustrious rank; rides on horseback, and is

admitted to the embraces of a king's daugh-

ter."

The Minstrels lost no opportunity of doing

honour to their art.

(3). As for the word Glees, it is to this day

used in a musical sense, and applied to a

peculiar piece of composition. Who has not

seen the advertisements proposing a reward

to him who should produce the best Catch,

Canon, or Glee?

(K) "Comes from the pen of Geoffrey of

Monmouth."] Geoffrey's own words are,

"Cum ergo alterius modi aditum [Boldolphus]

non haberet, rasit capillos suos et barbam,*

cultumque Joculatoris cum Cythara fecit.

Deinde intra castra deambulans, modulis quos

in Lyra componebat, sese Cytharistam exhi-

bebat." Galf. Monum. Hist., 4to., 1508, lib.

vii. c. 1.—That Joculator signifies precisely a

Minstrel appears not only from this passage,

where it is used as a word of like import to

Citharista or Harper (which was the old

English word for Minstrel), but also from

another passage of the same author, where

it is applied as equivalent to Cantor. See

lib. i. cap. 22, where, speaking of an ancient

(perhaps fabulons) British king, he says,

"Ut ic cantores quos præcedens atatus

habuerat et in modulis et in omnibus musicis

instrumentis excedebat: ita ut Deus Jocular-

torum videretur."—Whatever credit is due

to Geoffrey as a relater of Facts, he is cer-

tainly as good authority as any for the signi-

fication of Words.

(L) "Two remarkable facts."] Both of

these facts are recorded by William of

Malmesbury; and the first of them, relating

to Alfred, by Ingulphus also. Now Ingul-

phus (afterwards Abbot of Croyland) was

near forty years of age at the time of the

Conquest,† and consequently was as proper

judge of the Saxon manners, as if he had

  • Geoffrey of Monmouth is probably here describing the

appearance of the Joculatores or Minstrels, as it was in his

own time. For they apparently derived this part of their

dress, &c. from the Mimi of the ancient Romans, who had

their heads and beards shavon : (see above, p. xx. note ‡,)

as they likewrise did the mimiery, and other arts of divert-

ing, which they superadded to the composing and singing to

the harp heroic songs, &c. which they inherited from their

own progenitors the bards and scalds of the ancient Celtic

and Gothic nations. The Longobardi had, like other nor-

thern people, brought three with them into Italy. For in

the year 774, when Charlomagne entered Italy and found

his passage impeded, he was met by a Minstrel of Lombardy,

whose song promised him success and victory. "Contigit

Joculatorem ex Longobardorum gente ad Carolum venire,

et Cantiunculam a se compositam, rotando in conspectu

suorum cantare." Tom. ii. p. 2 Chron. Monest. Noval.

lib. iii. cap. x. p. 717. Warton's Hist. vol. ii. Emend

of vol. i. p. 113.)

† Natus 1030, scripsit 1091, obiit 1109. Tanner.

  • Neven, i. e. name.

5

Page 42

xxxii

NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY.

actually written his history before that event; he is therefore to be considered as an Ante-Norman writer: so that whether the fact concerning Alfred be true or not, we are assured from his testimony, that the Joculator or Minstrel was a common character among the Anglo-Saxons. The same also may be inferred from the relation of William of Malmesbury, who outlived Ingulphus but thirty-three years.* Both these writers had doubtless recourse to innumerable records and authentic memorials of the Anglo-Saxon times which never descended down to us; their testimony therefore is too positive and full to be overturned by the mere silence of the two or three slight Anglo-Saxon epitomes that are now remaining. Vid. note (G).

As for Asser Menevensis, who has given a somewhat more particular detail of Alfred's actions, and yet takes no notice of the following story, it will not be difficult to account for his silence, if we consider that he was a rigid Monk, and that the Minstrels, however acceptable to the laity, were never much respected by men of the more strict monastic profession, especially before the Norman Conquest, when they would be considered as brethren of the Pagan Scalds.† Asser therefore might not regard Alfred's skill in Minstrelsy in a very favourable light; and might be induced to drop the circumstance related below, as reflecting, in his opinion, no great honour on his patron.

The learned editor of Alfred's Life, in Latin, after having examined the scene of action in person, and weighed all the circumstances of the event, determines, from the whole collective evidence, that Alfred could never have gained the victory he did if he had not with his own eyes previously seen the disposition of the enemy by such a stratagem as is here described. Vid. Annot. in Ælfir. Mag. Vitam, p. 33, Oxon. 1678, fol.

(M) "Alfred . . . assumed the dress and character of a 'Minstrel.'] "Fingens se Joculatorem, assumpta cithara," &c. Ingulpi Hist. p. 809.—"Sub specie mimi . . . ut Jocutatorie professor artis." Gul. Malmesb.

  • Obit anno 1142. Tanner.

† (See above, p. xxx.) Both Ingulph and Will. of Malmesb. had been very conversant among the Normans, who appear not to have had such prejudices against the Minstrels as the Anglo-Saxons had.

l. ii. c. 4, p. 43. That both Joculator and Mimus signify literally, a Minstrel, see proved in notes (B), (K), (N), (Q), &c. See also note (G g).

Malmesbury adds, "Unius tantum fidelis-simi fruebatur conscientia." As this confidant does not appear to have assumed the disguise of a Minstrel himself, I conclude that he only appeared as the Minstrel's attendant. Now that the Minstrel had sometimes his servant or attendant to carry his harp, and even to sing to his music, we have many instances in the old Metrical Romances, and even some in this present collection: See Series the First, Song vi.; Series the Third, Song vii., &c. Among the French and Provençal Bards, the Trouvère, or Inventur, was generally attended with his singer, who sometimes also played on the harp, or other musical instrument. "Quolqne fois durant le repas d'un prince on voyoit arriver un Trouverre ou Menestrels ou Jongleurs, et il leur faisoit chanter sur leurs harpes ou vielles les vers qu'il avoit composés. Ceux qui faisoient les Sons aussi bien que les Mots étoient les plus estimés." Fontenolle Hist. du Theatr.

That Alfred excelled in Music is positively asserted by Bale, who doubtless had it from some ancient MS., many of which subsisted in his time that are now lost: as also by Sir J. Spelman, who, we may conclude, had good authority for this anecdote, as he is known to have compiled his life of Alfred from authentic materials collected by his learned father: this writer informs us that Alfred "provided himself of musicians, not common, or such as knew but the practick part, but men skilful in the art itself, whose skill and service he yet further improved with his own instruction:" p. 199. This proves Alfred at least to have understood the theory of music; and how could this have been acquired without practising on some instrument? which we have seen above, note (H), was so extremely common with the Anglo-Saxons, even in much ruder times, that Alfred himself plainly tells us, it was shameful to be ignorant of it. And this commonness might be one reason why Asser did not think it of consequence enough to be particularly mentioned in his short life of that great monarch. This rigid Monk may also have esteemed it a slight and frivolous accomplishment, savouring only of

Page 43

NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY.

xxxii

worldly vanity. He has however particularly recorded Alfred's fondness for the oral Anglo-

Saxon poems and songs. [Saxonica poemata die nocteque . . . audiens . . . memorita

retinebat:” p. 10. “Carmina Saxonica me-

moriter discere,” &c.: p. 43, et ib.] Now the

poems learnt by rote, among all ancient un-

polished nations, are ever sung by the reciter, and accompanied with instru-

mental melody.*

(N) “With his harp in his hand, and

dressed like a Minstrel.”] “Assumpta manu

citharâ . . . professus Mimam, qui hujus-

modi arte stipem quotidianam merearetur . . .

Jussus abire pretium Cantus accepit:”

Malmesb. 1. ii. c. 6. We see here that

which was rewarded was (not any mimicry

or tricks, but) his singing (Cantus); this

proves, beyond dispute, what was the nature

of the entertainment Aululf afforded them.

Perhaps it is needless by this time to prove

to the reader, that Mimnus in Middle Latinity

signifies a Minstrel, and Mimia, Minstrelsy,

or the Minstrel-art. Should he doubt it, let

him cast his eye o'er the two following

extracts from Du Cange:

“Mimus: Musicus, qui instrumentis mu-

sicis canit. Legos Palatinæ Jacobi II. Reg.

Majoric. In domibus principum, ut tradit

antiquitas, Mimi seu Joculatores licite pos-

sunt esse. Nam illorum officium tribuit

lætitiam . . . Quapropter volumus et ordi-

namus, quod in nostra curia Mimi debeant

esse quique, quorum duo sint tubicinatores,

et tetius sit tubicenjus fi. e a player on the

tabor].† Lit. remiss. ann. 1374. Ad Mimos

cornicitantes, seu bucinantes accesserunt.”

  • Thus Leob, the Saxon word for a Poem, is propaly a

song and its derivative Lied stills a ballad to this duy

in the German tongue. and Cantare, we have seen above,

is by Alf red himself rendered Be heappan fingan

† 'The Tabour or Taboulin was a common instrument

with the Flemch Minstrels, as it had also been with the

Anglo-Saxon (vid p lix) 'thus in an anelent French MS

in the Ha.l collection (2253, 75), a Minstrel is described

as riding on horseback and beaing his Tabour.

"Entour son col porta son Tabour,

Dopeynt de Or, e riche Agour."

See also a passage in Menage's Dietion Etym. [v Menes-

treis], where Tabour is used as synonmous to Menestriers

Another fiequent instrument with them was the Vielle

This, I am told, is the name of an instrument at this day,

which differs fom a guitar, in that the player turns round

a handle at the top of the instrument, and with his other

hand plays on some keys that touch the chords and prodnce

the sound.

See Dr. Burney's account of the Vielle, vol. II p. 283,

Mimia, Ludus Mimicus, Instrumentum

[potius, Ars Joculatoria.] Ann. 1482 . . .

"mimia et cantu victum acquiro."

Du Cange, Gloss. tom. iv. 1762. Supp. c.

(O) "To havebeen in Dane."] The northern

historians produce such instances of the great

respect shown to the Danish Scalds in the

courts of our Anglo-Saxon kings, on account

of their musical and poetic talents (notwith-

standing they were of so hateful a nation),

that if a similar order of men had not existed

here before, we cannot doubt but the profes-

sion would have been taken up by such of

the natives as had a genius for poetry and

music.

"Extant Rhythmí hoc ipso [Islandico]

idiomate Angliæ, Hyberniæque Regibus

oblati et liberaliter compensati, &c. Itaque

hinc colligi potest linguam Danicam in aulis

vicinum regum, principumque familiærem

fuisse, non secus ac hodie in aulis principum

peroguiâ idiomata in deliciis haberi cœni-

mus. Imprimis Vata Egilli Skallagrimii id

invidto argumento adstruit. Quippe qui in-

terrogatus ab Adalsteino, Angliæ rego, quo-

modo manus Eirici Blodoxii, Northumbriæ

regis, postquam in ejus potestatom venerat,

evasisset, cujus filium propinquosque occi-

derat . . . rei statim ordinem metio, nunc

satis obscuro, exposuit nequaquam ita narra-

turs non intelligenti." [Vid. plura apud

Torfxii Præfat. ad Oread. Hist. fol.]

This same Egill was no less distinguished

for his valour and skill as a soldier, than for

his poetic and singing talents as a Scald;

and he was such a favourite with our king

Athelstan, that he at one time presented him

with "duobus annulis et scriniis, duobus

bene magnis argento repletis . . . Quinetiam

hoc addidit, ut Egillus quidvis præterea se

petens, obtineret; bona mobilia, sive immo-

bilia, præbendam vel præfecturas. Egillus

porro regiam munificentiam gratus excipiens,

Carmen Encomiasticon, à se linguâ Norve-

gicâ (quæ tum his regnis communis) com-

positum, regi dicat; ac pro eo, duas marcas

auri puri (pondus marces . . . 8 auriis æquun-

who thinks it the same with the Rote, or wheel. See page

270 in the nota.

"Il ot un Jougleor a sens,

Qui navoit pas sovent robe entiere;

Sovent estolt sans sa Vielle."

Fabliaux et Cont li. 184, 5 .

Page 44

xxxii

NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY.

actually written his history before that event; he is therefore to be considered as an Ante-Norman writer: so that whether the fact concerning Alfred be true or not, we are assured from his testimony, that the Joculator or Minstrel was a common character among the Anglo-Saxons. The same also may be inferred from the relation of William of Malmesbury, who outlived Ingulphus but thirty-three years.* Both these writers had doubtless recourse to innumerable records and authentic memorials of the Anglo-Saxon times which never descended down to us; their testimony therefore is too positive and full to be overturned by the mere silence of the two or three slight Anglo-Saxon epitomes that are now remaining. Vid. note (G).

As for Asser Menevensis, who has given a somewhat more particular detail of Alfred's actions, and yet takes no notice of the following story, it will not be difficult to account for his silence, if we consider that he was a rigid Monk, and that the Minstrels, however respected by men of the more strict monastic profession, especially before the Norman Conquest, when they would be considered as brethren of the Pagan Scalds,† Asser therefore might not regard Alfred's skill in Minstrelsy in a very favourable light; and might be induced to drop the circumstance related below, as reflecting, in his opinion, no great honour on his patron.

The learned editor of Alfred's Life, in Latin, after having examined the scene of action in person, and weighed all the circumstances of the event, determines, from the whole collective evidence, that Alfred could never have gained the victory he did if he had not with his own eyes previously seen the disposition of the enemy by such a stratagem as is here described. Vid. Annot. in Ælfr. Mag. Vitam, p. 33, Oxon. 1678, fol.

(M) "Alfred . . . assumed the dress and character of a 'Minstrel.'"] "Fingens se Joculatorem, assumpta cithara," &c. Ingulpi Hist. p. 869.—"Sub specie mrxr . . . ut Joculatoris professor artis." Gul.Malmesb.

  • Obït anno 1142. Tanner.

† (See above, p. xxx.) Both Ingulph. and Will. of Malmesb. had been very conversant among the Normans, who appear not to have had such prejudices against the Minstrels as the Anglo-Saxons had.

  1. ii. c. 4, p. 43. That both Joculator and Mimns signify literally, a Minstrel, see proved in notes (B), (K), (N), (Q), &c. See also note (G g).

Malmesbury adds, "Unìs tantùm fidelissimè fruebatur conscientiâ." As this eumflaut does not appear to have assumed the disguise of a Minstrel himself, I conclude that he only appeared as the Minstrel's attendant. Now that the Minstrel had sometimes his servant or attendant to carry his harp, and even to sing to his music, we have many instances in the old Metrical Romances, and even some in his present collection : See Series the First, Song vi.; Series the Third, Song vii., &c. Among the French and Provençal Bards, the Trouvère, or Inventor, was generally attended with his singer, who sometimes also played on the harp, or other musical instrument. "Quelque fois durant le repas d'un prince ou voit arriver un Trouverre inconnu avec ses Menestrels ou Jongleurs, et il leur faisoit chanter sur leurs harpes ou vielles les vers qu'il avoit composés. Ceux qui faisoient les Sons ausi bien que les

Mots étoient les plus estimés." Fontenello Hist. du Theatr.

That Alfred excelled in Music is positively asserted by Bale, who doubtless had it from some ancient MS., many of which subsisted in his time that are now lost: as also by Sir J. Spelman, who, we may conclude, had good authority for this anecdote, as he is known to have compiled his life of Alfred from authentic materials collected by his learned father: this writer informs us that Alfred "provided himself of musicians, not common, or such as knew but the practical part, but men skilful in the art itself, whose skill and service he yet further improved with his own instruction :" p. 199. This proves Alfred at least to have understood the theory of music; and how could this have been acquired without practising on some instrument? which we have seen above, note (H), was so extremely common with the Anglo-Saxons, even in much ruder times, that Alfred himself plainly tells us, it was shameful to be ignorant of it. And this commonness might be one reason why Asser did not think of consequence enough to be particularly mentioned in his short life of that great monarch. This rigid Monk may also have esteemed it a slight and frivolous accomplishment, savouring only of

Page 45

NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY.

xxxiii

worldly vanity. He has however particularly

recorded Alfred's fondness for the oral Anglo-

Saxon poems and songs. [Saxonica poemata

die nocteque . . . audiens . . . memoria

retinebat:"] p. 16. "Carmina Saxonica me-

moriter discere," &c.: p.43, et ib.] Now the

poems learnt by rote, among all ancient un-

polished nations, are ever songs chanted by

the reciter, and accompanied with instru-

mental melody.*

(N) "With his harp in his hand, and

dressed like a Minstrel."] "Assumptâ manu

citharâ . . . professus Mimum, qui hujus-

medi arte stipem quotidianam mereatur . . .

Jussus abire pretium Cantus accepit:"

Malmesb. l. ii. c. 6. We see here that

which was rewarded was (not any mimicry

or tricks, but) his singing (Cantus); this

proves, beyond dispate, what was the nature

of the entertainment Aulalf afforded them.

Perhaps it is needless by this time to prove

to the reader, that Mimvs in Middle Latinity

signifes a Minstrel, and Mimia, Minstrelsy,

or the Minstrel-art. Should we doubt it, let

him cast his eye over the two following

extracts from Du Cange:

"Mimus: Musicus, qui instrumentis mu-

sicis canit. Legos Palatinæ Jacobi II. Reg.

Majoric. In domibus principum, ut tradit

antiquitas, Mini seu Joculatores licitè pos-

sunt esse. Nam illorum officium tribuit

lætitixm . . . Quapropter volumns et ordi-

namus, quod in nostra curia Mimi debeant

esse quinque, quorum duo sint tubicinatores,

et tertius sit tubelerius [i. e. a player on the

tabor].† Lit. remiss. ann. 1374. Ad Mimos

cornicitantos, seu bucinnantes nccesserunt."

  • Thus Leos, the Saxon word for a Poem, is properly a

song, and its derivative Lied signifies a ballad to this day

in the German tongue; and Carulare, we have seen above,

is by Alfred himself rendered he hæppan rıngan.

† The Tabor or Tabourin was a common instrument

with the French Minstrels, as it had also been with the

Anglo-Saxon (vid. p. lxix:) thus In an ancient French MS.

in the Harl. collection (2253, 75), a Minstrel is described

as riding on horsback and bearing his Tabour.

"Entour son col port son Tabour,

Depeynt de Or, e riche Acour."

See also a passage in Menage's Dietion. Etym. [v. Menes-

triers], where Tabours is used as synonynous to Menestriers.

Another frequent instrument with them was the Vielle.

This, I am told, is the name of an instrument at this day,

which differs from a guitar, in that the player turns round

a handle at the top of the instrument, and with his other

hand plays on some keys that touch the chords and produce

the sound.

See Dr. Burney's account of the Vielle, vol. II. p. 263,

Mimia, Ludus Mimicus, Instrumentum

[potus, Ars Joculatoria.] Ann. 1482 . . .

"mimim et cantu victum acquiro."

Du Cange, Gloss. tom. iv. 1762. Supp. c.

(O) "To havebên a Dane."] The northern

historians produce such instances of the great

respect shown to the Danish Scalds in the

courts of our Anglo-Saxon kings, on account

of their musical and poetic talents (notwith-

standing they were of so hateful a nation),

that if a similar order of men had not existed

here before, we cannot doubt but the profes-

sion would have been taken up by such of

the natives as had a genius for poetry and

music.

"Extant Rhythmí hoc ipso [Islandico]

idiomate Anglicæ, Hyberniæque Regibus

oblati et liberaliter compensati, &c. Itaque

hine colligi potest linguam Dunicam in aulis

vicinorum regum, primæpumque familharem

fuisse, non secus ac hodie in aulis principum

peregrina idiomata in deliciis haberi cœni-

mus. Imprimis Vita Egilli Skallagrimii id

invicto argumento adstruxit. Quippe qui in-

terrogatus ab Adalsteino, Angliæ rego, quo-

modo manvs Eirici Blodoxii, Northumbriæ

regis, postquam in ejus potestatem venerat,

evasisset, cujus filium propinquosque occi-

derat . . . rei statim ordinem metro, nunc

satis obscuro, exposuit nequaquam ita narra-

turs non intelligenti." [Vid. plura apud

Torfæi Præfat. ad Orcad. Hist. fol.]

This same Egil was no less distinguished

for his valour and skill as a soldier, than for

his poetic and singing talents as a Scald;

and he was such a favourite with our king

Athelstan, that he at one time presented him

with "duobus annulis et scriniis, duobus

bene magnis argento repletis . . . Quinetiam

hoc addidit, ut Egillus quidvis præterea a se

potens, obtineret; bona mobilia, sive immo-

bilia, præbendxm vel præfecturas. Egillus

porro regiam munificentiam gratus excipiens,

Carmen Encomiasticon, à se linguâ Norve-

gicâ (quæ tum his regnis communis) com-

positam, regi dicat; ac pro eo, duas marcas

auri puri (pondus marcæ . . . 8 flncins æquun-

who thinks it the same with the Rote, or wheel. See page

270 in the note.

"Il ot un Jougloour a sens,

Qui navoit pas robe entiere;

Sovent estolt sans sa Vicle."

Fabliaux et Cont. ii. 184, 5.

Page 46

xxxiv

NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY

bat) honorarii loco rotulit." [Arngr. Jon

Rer. Islandic. lib. ii. p. 129.]

See more of Egill, in the "Five Pieces of

Runic Poetry," p. 45, whose poem, there

translated, is the most ancient piece all in

rhyme, that is, I conceive, now to be found in

any European language, except Latin. See

Egill's Islandic original, printed at the end

of the English Version in the said Five

Pieces, &c.

(P) "If the Saxons had not been accus-

tomed to have Minstrels of their own . . . .

and to show favour and respect to the Danish

Scalds"]; if this had not been the case, we

may be assured, at least, that the stories

given in the text could never have been

recorded by writers who lived so near the

Anglo-Saxon times as Malmesbury and In-

gulphus, who, though they might be deceived

as to particular facts, could not be so as to

the general manners and customs which pre-

vailed so near their own times among their

ancestors.

(Q) "In Duomesday Book," &c.] Extract

ex Libro Domesday: Et vid. Anstis Ord.

Gart. ii. 304.

Gloweccestescire.

Fol. 162. Col. 1. Berdic Joculator Regis

habet iii. villas. et ibi v. car. nil redd.

That Joculator is properly a Minstrel, might

be inferred from the two foregoing passages

of Geoffrey of Monmouth (v. note K), where

the word is used as equivalent to Citharista

in one place, and to Cantor in the other; this

union forms the precise idea of the character.

But more positive proofs have already

offered, vid. supra, p. xxv., xxxii., xxxiii., note

"Jogulator pro Joculator.—Consilium Masil.

an. 1381. Nullus Ministrey's, Jogulator,

audet pinsare vel sonare instrumentum cu-

juscumque generis," &c. &c.

As the Minstrel was termed in French Jon-

gleur and Jugleur; so he was called in Spanish

Juglar and Juglar. "Tenemos canciones y

versos para recitar muy antiguos y memorias

ciertas de los Juglares, que assistian en los

banquetes, como los que pinta Homero."

Prolog. a las Comed. de Cervantes, 1740, 4to.

"El anno 1328, en las siestas de la Coro-

gon . . . * el Juglar Ramasot cantó una

Villanesca de la Composicion del . . . infante

[Don Pedro] y otro Juglar, Llamado Novellot,

recitó y representó en voz y sin cantar mas

de 600 versos, que hizo el Infante en el metro

que llamaban Rima Vulgar." Ibid.

"Los Trobadores inventaron la Gaya Cien-

cia . . . estos Trobadores eran casi todos de

la primera Nobleza.—Es verdad, que ya

entonces se hurian entrometida entre las

diversones Cortasunos, los Contudores, los

Cantores, los Juglares, los Truanez, y los

Bufones." Ibid.

In England the King's Juglar continued

to have an establishment in the royal house-

hold down to the reign of Henry VIII. [vid.

Note (C c)]. But in what sense the title was

there applied does not appear. In Barklay's

Egloges, written circ. 1514, Juglers and Pipers

are mentioned together. Egl. iv. (vid. T.

Warton's Hist. ii. 254).

(R) "A valiant warrior, named Taillefor,"

&c.] See Du Cange, who produces this as

an instance, "Quod Ministollorum munus

interdum prœstabant milites probatissimi.

Le Roman Do Vacee, MS.

"Quant il virent Normanz venir

Mout veissiez Engleiz fremir . . . .

Taillefor qui nout bien chantoit,

Sur un cheval, qui tost alloit,

Devant euls aloit chantant

De Kallemaigne et de Roullant,

Et d'Olirier de Vassaux,

Qui moururent en Rainschevaux.

"Qui quidem Taillefer a Gulielmo obtinuit ut

primus in hostes irrueret, inter quos fortiter

dimicando occubuit." Gloss. tom. iv. 769,

770, 771.

"Les anciennes chroniques nous appen-

nent, qu'en premier rang de l'Armée Nor-

mande, un éuyer nommé Taillefer, monté

sur un cheval armé, chanta la Chanson de

Roland, qui fut si long temps dans les bouches

des François, sans qu'il soit resté le moindre

fragment. Le Taillefer après avoir entonné

la chanson que les soldats répétoient, se jeta

le premier parmi les Anglois, et fut tué."

[Voltaire Add. Hist. Univ. p. 69.]

The reader will see an attempt to restore

the Chanson de Roland, with musical notes,

in Dr. Burney's Hist. ii. p. 276.—See more

concerning the Song of Roland, Series the

Third. p. 189. Note (m).

Page 47

NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY.

(S) "An eminent French writer," &c.] "M. l'Êvêque de la Ravaliere, qui avoit fait beaucoup de recherches sur nos anciennes Chansons, prétend que c'est à la Normandie de Provenceaus, mais postérieurement au Regne Phillippe I. ou à l'an 1100.] [v. Révolutions de la Langue Françoise, à la suite des Poesies du Roi de Navarre.] "Ce seroit une antériorité de plus d'une demi siecle à l'époque des premiers Troubadours, que leur historien Jean de Nostre-dame fixe à l'an 1162," &c. Prof. à l'Antologie Franç. 8vo. 1765.

This subject hath since been taken up and prosecuted at length in the Prefaces, &c., to M. Le Grand's "Fabliaux ou Contes du xiie et du xiiie Siecle, Paris, 1788," 5 tom. 12mo., who seems pretty clearly to have established the priority and superior excellence of the old Rimeurs of the North of France over the Troubadours of Provence, &c.

(S 2) "Their own native Gleemen or Minstrels must be allowed to exist." Of this we have proof positive in the old metrical Romance of Horn-Child (Series the Third, No. 1, p. 192),* which although from the mention of Sarazens, &c., it must have been written at least after the first crusade in 1096, yet, from its Anglo-Saxon language or idiom, can scarce be dated later than within a century after the Conquest. This, as appears from its very exordium, was intended to be sung to a popular audience, whether it was composed by, or for a Gleeman or Minstrel.

But it carries all the internal marks of being the production of such a composer. It appears of genuine English growth; for, after a careful examination, I cannot discover any allusion to French or Norman customs, manners, composition, or phraseology: no quotation, "As the Romance sayth:" not a name or local reference, which was likely to occur to a French Rimeur. The proper names the son of Allaf (i. e. Olaf or Olave), king of Sudenne (I suppose Sweden), by his Queen Godylde or Godylt. Athulf and Eylkenyld are the names of subjects. Eylmer or Aylmere is king of Westnesse (a part of Ireland), Ryme-nyld is his daughter; as Erminyld is of an-

other king Thurstan; whose sons are Athyld and Beryld. Athelrus is steward of king Aylmer, &c., &c. All these savour only of a Northern origin, and the whole piece is exactly such a performance as one would expect from a Gleeman or Minstrel of the North of England, who had derived his art and his ideas from his Scaldic predecessors there. So that this probably is the original from which was translated the old French fragment of Dan Horn, in the Harleian MS. 527, mentioned by Tyrwhitt (Chaucer iv. 68), and by T. Warton (Hist. i. 38), whose extract from Horn-Child is extremely incorrect.

Compare the style of Child-Horn with the Anglo-Saxon specimens in short verses and rhyme, which are assigned to the century succeeding the Conquest, in Hickes's Thesaurus, tom. i. cap. 24, p. 224 and 231.

(T) "The different production of the sedentary composer and the rumbling Minstrel."] Among the old motrical romances, a very few are addressed to readers, or intention reading; these appear to have been composed by writers at their desk, and exhibit marks of more elaborate structure and invention. Such is Eylamour of Arlas (Series the Third, No. 20, p. 194), of which I find in a MS. copy in the Cotton Library, A 2, folio 3, the II Fitte thus concludes:

"... thus ferr have I red."

Such is Ipomydon (Series the Third, No. 23, p. 195), of which one of the divisions (Sign. E. ii. b. in pr. copy) ends thus,

"Let hym go, God hym spede, Tyll efte-soone we of hym reed" [i. e. read].

So in Amys and Amylion* (Series the Third, No. 31, p. 195), in sta. 3d we have,

"In Geste as we rede ;"

  • It ought to have been observed in its proper place in Series the Third, No. 31, p. 165, that Amys and Amylion were no otherwise "Brothers" than as being fastfriends: as was suggested by the learned Dr. Samuel Pegge, who was so obliging as to favour the Essayist formerly with a curious transcript of this poem accompanied with valuable illustrations, &c.; and that it was this opinion that both the fragment of the "Lady Bellesnt," mentioned in the same No. 31, and also the mutilated Tale, No 37 (p. 87), were only imperfect copies of the above romance of "Amys and Amyllon," which contains the two lines quoted in No. 37.

Page 48

xxxvi

NOTES ON THE FORMER ESSAY.

and similar phrases occur in stanzas 34, 125,

140, 196, &c.

These are all studied compositions, in which

the story is invented with more skill and

ingenuity, and the style and colouring are

of superior cast to such as can with sufficient

probability be attributed to the minstrels

themselves.

Of this class, I conceive the romance of

Horn-Child (mentioned in the last note (S 2

and in Series the Third, No. 192, p. 2), which,

from the naked unadorned simplicity of the

story, I would attribute to such an origin.

But more evidently is such the Squire

of Low Degree (Series the Third, No. 24,

p. ), in which is no reference to any

French original, nothing like the phrase,

which so frequently occurs in others, "As the

romance sayth,"* or like. And it is just

such a rambling performance as one would

expect from an itinerant Bard. And

Such also is A Lytell Geste of Robyn Hode,

&c., in 8 Fyttes, of which are extant two

editions, 4to., in black-letter, described more

fully in page 80 of this work. This is not

only of undoubted English growth, but, from

the constant satire aimed at abbots and their

convents, &c., could not possibly have been

composed by any monk in his cell.

Other instances might be produced; but

especially of the former kind is Syr Launful

(Series the Third, No. 2, p. 315), the 121st

of which has

"In romances as we rede."

This is one of the best invented stories of

that kind, and I believe the only one in which

is inserted the name of the author.

  • Wherever the word romance occurs in these metrical

narratives, it hath been thought to afford decisive proof of

a translation from the romance or French language. Ac-

cordingly it is so urged by T. Warton (l. 140, note) from

two passages in the pr. copy of "Sir Eglamour," viz., Sign.

E. 1.

In romaunce as we rede.

Again in fol. ult.

In romaunce this cronycle is.

But in the Cotton MS. of the original the first passage is

As I herde a Clorke rede.

And the other thus,

In Rome this Gest cronycled ys.

So that I believe ireferences to "the Romaunce," or the like,

were often mere expletive phrases inserted by the oral

reciters; one of whom I conceive had altered or corrupted

the old "Syr Eglamour," in the manner that the copy was

printed.

(T 2) "Royer or Raherus the King's Min-

strel."] He is recorded by Leland under

both these names, in his Collectanea, vol. 1, p. 61.

"Hospitale S. Bartholomei in West Smith-

felde in London.

"Royer Mimvs Regis fundator."

"Hosp. Sti. Barthol. Londini.

"Raherus Mimvs Regis H. 1, primus funda-

tor, an. 1102, 3 H. 1, qui fundavit etiam

Priorat. Sti. Barthol." Ibid. page 90.

That Mimvs is properly a Minstrel in the

sense affixed to the word in this essay, one

extract from the accounts [Lat. Computis]

of the Priory of Maxtock, near Coventry, in

1441, will sufficiently show.—Scil. "Dat. Sex.

Mimvs Dni. Clyntion cantantibus, citharisant-

ibus, ludenti bus, &c., iiiiis. (T. Warton, ii.

106, note q.) The same year, the prior gave

to a doctor prædicants, for a sermon preached

to them, only 6d.

In the Monasticon, tom. ii. p. 166, 167, is

a curious history of the founder of this

priory, and the cause of its erection; which

seems exactly such a composition as one of

those which were manufactured by Dr. Stone,

the famous legend-maker, in 1380 (see T.

Warton's curious account of him, in vol. ii.

p. 190, note); who required no materials to

assist him in composing his Narratives, &c.,

for in this legend are no particulars given

of the founder, but a recital of miraculous

visions exciting him to this pious work, of its

having been before revealed to King Edward

the Confessor, and predicted by three Gre-

cians, &c. Even his minstrel profession is

not mentioned, whether from ignorance or

design, as the profession was, perhaps, falling

into discredit when this legend was written.

There is only a general indistinct account

that he frequented royal and noble houses,

where he ingratiated himself suavitate jocu-

lari. (This last is the only word that seems

to have any appropriated meaning.) This

will account for the indistinct incoherent

account given by Stow. "Rahere, a pleasant-

witted gentleman, and therefore, in his time,

called the King's Minstrel."—Survey of Lond.

Ed. 1598, p. 308.

(U) "In the early times, every harper

was expected to sing." See on this subject

King Alfred's version of Cædmon, above in

note (H), page xxviii.

Page 49

NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY.

xxxvii

So in Horn-Child, King Allof orders his steward Athelbru to

"—— teache him of harpe and of song."

In the Squire of Lowe Degree, the king offers to his daughter,

"Ye shall have harpe, sautry,* and song."

And Chaucer, in his description of the Limitour or Mendicant Friar, speakes of harping as inseparable from singing (i. p. 11, ver. 263).

"—— in his harping, whan that he hadde songe."

(U 2) "As the most accomplished," &c.] See Hovedon, p. 103, in tho following passage, which had erroneously been applied to King Richard himself, till Mr. Tyrwhitt (Chaucer, iv. p. 62) showed it to belong to his Chancellor. "Hic ad augmentum et famam sui nominis, emendicata carmina, et rhythmos adularios comparabat; et de regno Franco-rum Cantores et Joculatores muneribus allex erat, ut de illo canerent in plateis et jum dicebatur ubique, quod non erat talis in orbe." For other particulars relating to this Chancallor, see T. Warton's Hist. vol. ii. Addit. to p. 113 of vol. i.

(U 3) "Both the Norman and English languages would be heard at the houses of the great."] A remarkable proof of this is, that the most diligent inquirers after ancient English rhymes find the earliest they can discover in the mouths of the Norman nobles. Such as that of Robert, Earl of Leicester, and his Flemings in 1173, temp. Hen. II. (little more than a century after the Conquest) recorded by Lambarde in his Diction-ary of England, p. 36.

"Hoppe Wyliken, hoppe Wyliken Ingland is thine and myne, &c.

  • The Harp (Lat. Cithara) differed from the Sauntry, or Psaltry (Lat. Psalterium) in that the former was a stringed instrument, and the latter was mounted with wire; there was also some difference in the construction of the bellies, &c. See "Bartholomæus de proprietatibus rerum," as Englishod by Trevisa and Eatman, ed. 1582, in Sir J. Hawkins' Hist. ii. p. 285.

And that noted boast of Hugh Bigot, Earl of Norfolik, in the same reign of King Henry II., vid Camdeui Britannia (art. Suffolk), 1607, folio.

"Were I in my castle of Bungay Upon the riuer of Waueney I would ne care for the king of Cokeney.

Indeed, many of our old metrical romances, whether originally English, or translated from the French to be sung to an English audience, are addressed to persons of high rank, as appears from their beginning thus—"Listen, lordings," and the like.——These were prior to the time of Chaucer, as appears from vol. iii. p. 190, et seqq. And yet to his time our Norman nobles are supposed to have adhered to their French language.

(V) "That intercommunity, &c., between the French and English minstrels," &c.] This might perhaps, in a great mensure, be referred owen to the Norman Conquest, when the victors brought with them all their original opinions and fables; which could not fail to be adopted by the English Minstrels and others who solicited their favour. This interchange, &c., between the Minstrels of the two nations would be afterwards promoted by the great intercourse produced among all the nations of Christendom in the general crusades, and by that spirit of chivalry which led knights, and their attendants, the heralds, and minstrels, &c., to ramble about continually from one court to another, in order to be present at solemn tournaments, and other feats of arms.

(V 2) "Is not the only instance," &c.] The constant admission granted to minstrels was so established a privilege, that it became a ready expedient to writers of fiction. Thus, in the old romance of Horn-Child, the Princess Rymenyld being confined in an inaccessible castle, the prince, her lover, and some assistant knights, with concealed arms, assume the minstrel character, and approaching the castle with their "Gleyinge" or Minstrelsy, are heard by the lord of it, who being informed they were "harpairs, jogelers, and fythelers,"* has them admitted, when

  • Jogeler (Lat. Joculator) was a very ancient name for a Minstrel. Of what nature the performance of the Jocu-

Page 50

xxxviii

NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY.

Horn sette him abenche [i. e. on a bench;]

Is [i. e. his] harpe he gan elenche

He made Rymenild a lay.

This sets the princess a weeping, and lends

to the catastrophe; for he immediately advances to "the borde," or table, kills the

ravisher, and releases the lady.

(V 3) . . "assumed the dress and character of a harper, &c."] We have this curious

historiette in the records of Lacock Nunnery,

in Wiltshire, which had been founded by

this Countess of Salisbury. See Vincent's Discovery of Errors in Brooke's Catalogue of

Nobility, &c., folio, page 445-6, &c. Take

the following extract (and see Dugdale's Baron, i. p. 175).

"Ela uxor Gulielmi Longespee primi,

nata fuit apud Ambresbiriams, patre et matre

Normannis.

"Pater itaque ejus defunctus sonio migravit

ad Christum, A. D. 1196. Mater ejus ante

bionnium obiit. . . . . Intendens Dominica

rissima clam per cognatos adducta fuit in

Normanniam, et ibidem sub tuthâ et arctâ

custodiâ nutrita. Eodem tempore in Angliam

fuit quidam miles nomine Gnilhelmus Talbot,

qui induit se habitum Peregrini [Anglice, a

pilgrim] in Normanniam transfretavit et moratus per duos annos, huc atque illuc vagans,

ad explorandam dominum Elam Sarum. Et

illâ inventâ exuit habitum Peregrini, et induit

se quasi Cytharisanor et curiam ubi morabatur intravit. Et ut erat homo Jocosis, in

Gestis Antiquorum valde peritus, ibidem gratantur fuit acceptus quasi familiaris. Et

quando tempus aptum invenit, in Angliam

repatriavit, habens secum istam venerabilem

dominam Elam et hæredam comitatu Su-

rum; et eam Regi Ricardo presentavit. Ac

ille lætissime cam suscepit, et Fratri suo

Guillelmo Longespee maritavit. . . .

lutor was, we may learn from the Register of St. Swithins

Priory at Winchester (T. Warton, i. 69). "Et cantabat

Joculator quidam nomine Herebertus Cantleum Colbrondi,

necnon Gestum Emme regine a judicio ignis liberato, in

aula Prioris." His instrument was somtimes the Fydelle,

or Fidule, Lat. Fidicula: which occurs in the Anglo-Saxon

Lexicon. On this subject we have a curious passage from

a MS. of the Lives of the Saints in metre, supposed to be

earlier than the year 1200 (T. Warton's Hist. i. n. 17), viz.,

Christofre him served longe

The kynge loved melodye much of fithele and of songe:

So that his Jogeler on a day beforen him gon to plye faste,

And in a tyme he namped in his song the devil at laste.

"A. D. 1226, Domnius (Cuill. Longe-speo

primus nomas Martii obiit. Eit vero uxor

ejus 7 annis supervixit. . . . . . . . Uina die duo

monasteria lundavit primo mane xvi Kal.

Maii, A. D. 12:9, apud Laveok, in qua sancta

degunt Canonissæ. . . . . Et Henton post mo-

nam, anno vero statis suæ xlv, &c."

(W) For the preceding acrount, Dugdale

refers to Monast. Angl. i. [r. ii.] p. 185, but

gives it as enlarged by D. Powel, in his Hist.

of Cambria, p. 106, who is known to have

followed ancient Welsh MSS. The words in

the Monasticon are—"Qui accersitis Suloribus Cestriæ et Histrionibus, festinanter cum

exercitu suo venit domino suo facere succursum. Walenses vero videntes multitudinem

magnam venientem, relictâ obsidione fuge-

runt . . . Et propter hoc dedit comes antedic-

tus . . . Constabulario dominationem Satorum

et Histrionum. Constabularius vero retinuit

sibi et hæredibus suis dominationem Saturo-

rum; et histrionum dedit vero Seneschallo."

(So the passage shuald apparently be pointed;

but aither ot or vero seems redunlant.)

We shall see helow in noto (Z) tho proper

import of the word Histriones: but it is

very remarkable that this is not the word

used in the grant of the Constable to lacoy

to Dutton, but "Magisterium omnium Læc-

catorum et Meretriciæ totius Cestrshire,

sicnt liberins illum [sic] Magisterium tenco

de Comite." (Vid. Blount's Ancient Tenures,

p. 156.) Now, as under this grant tho heirs

of Dutton confessedly held for many ages a

magisterial jurisdiction over all the Minstrels

and Musicians of that County, and as it could

not be conveyed by the word Merctricis, tho

natural inference is that the Minstrels wore

exprossed by the term Lecctores. It is true,

Du Cange, viz, compiling his Glossary, could only

find in the writers he consulted this word

used in the abusive sonse, often applied to

every synonyme of tho sportive and dissolute

Minstrel, viz. Scurrra, vaniloqus, parasitus,

epulo, &c. (This I conceive to be the proper

arrangement of these explanations, which

only express the character given to the Min-

strel elsewhere: see Du Cange passim and

notos (C), (E), (F), (I). But he quotes an an-

cient MS. in French metre, wherein the Lec-

cour (Lat. Leccator) and tho Minstrel aro

joined together, as receiving from Charle-

magne a grant of territory of Provence, and

Page 51

NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY.

xxxix

from whom the Provencal Troubadours were

derived, &c. See the passage above in noto

(C) page xxvi.

The exception in favour of the family of

Dutton is thus expressed in the Statute Anno

39 Eliz. chap. iv., entitled, "An Act for pun-

ishment of Rogues, Vagabonds, and Sturdy

Beggars."

"§ II. . . . . All Fencers, Bearwards, Com-

mon Players of Enterludes, and Minstrels,

wandering abroad, (other than Players of

Enterludes belonging to any Baron of this

Realm, or any other honourable Personage

of greater degree) to be authorised to play

under the hand and seal of arms of such Ba-

ron or Personage:) all Juglers, Tinkers, Ped-

lers, &c. . . . shall be adjudged and deemed

Rogues, Vagabonds, and Sturdy Beggars, &c.

"§ X. Provided alwayes that this Act, or

any thing herein contained, or any authority

therby given, shall not in any wise extend

to disinherıt, prejudice, or hinder John Dut-

quire, his heirs or assigns, (for, touching or

concerning any liherty, prelıminence, autho-

rity, jurisdiction, or iııheritauce, which the

said John Dutton now lawfully useth, or hath,

or lawfully may or anight to use within the

County-Palatine of Chester, or the County

of the City of Chester, or either of them, by

reason of any ancient Charters of any Kings

of this Land, or by reason of any prescription,

usage, or title whatsoever."

The same clauses are renewed in the last

Act on this subject, passed in the present

Reign of Geo. III.

(X) "Edward I. . . . . at the knighting of

his son," &c.] See Nic. Triveti Annales,

Oxon. 1719, 8vo. p. 342.

"In festo Pentecostes Rex filium suum ar-

mis militaribus cinxit, et cum eo Comites

Warennix et Arundeliæ, aliosque, quorum

numerus ducentos et quadraginti dicitur ex-

cessisse. Eodem die cum sedisset Rex in

mensa, novis militibus circumdatus, ingressa

Ministrellorum Multitudo, portantiun multi-

plici ornatu amictum, ut milites præcipue

novos invitareut, et inducerent, ad vovendum

factum armorum aliquod coram signo."

(Y) "By an express regulation, &c." See

in Hearne's Append. ad Lelandi Collectan.

vol. vi. p. 36. "A Dietarie, Writtes published

after the Ordinance of Earles and Barons,

Anno Dom. 1315."

"Edward by the grace of God, &c., to She-

riffes, &c., greeting. Forasmuch as . . . .

many idle porsons, under colour of Mynstrel-

sie, and going in messagos, and other faigned

busines, have ben and yet be receaved in

other mens houses to meate and drynke, and

be not therwith contented yf they be not

largely consydered with gyftes of the Lordes

of the houses: &c. . . . We wyllyng to rastrayne

suche outragcous enterprises and idleness, &c.

have ordeyned . . . . that to the houses of

Prelates, Earles, and Barons, none resort to

meate and drynke, unlese he be a Mynstrel,

and of these Minstrels that there come none

except it be three or four Minstrels of honour

at the most in one day, unlese he be desired

of the Lorde of the House. And to the houses

of menuer men that none come unlese he be

desircd, and that such as shall come so, holde

themselves contented with meate and drynke

and with such curtesie as the Maister of the

House wyl shewe unto them of his owne good

wylly, without their askyng of anythyng. And

yf any one do agaynst this Ordinauce, at the

firste tyme he to lose his Minstrolsie, and at

the secound tyme forswear his craft, and

never to be receaved for a Minstrel in any

house. . . . . Yoven at Langley the vi. day

of August in the ix. yere of our reigne."

These abuses arose again to as great a

height as ever in little more than a century

after, in consequence, I suppose, of the licen-

tiousness that crept in during the civil wars

of York and Lancaater. This appears from

the Charter 9 E. IV., referred to in p. xliii.

"Ex querulosâ insinuatione. . . Ministrallo-

rum nostrorum accepimus qualiter nonnulli

rudes agricolæ et artifices diversarum miste-

rarum regni nostri Angliæ, finxerunt se fore

Ministrallos, quorum aliqui Liberatam nos-

tram eis minime datam portarent, seipsos

etiam fingentes esse Minstrallos nostros pro-

prios, cujus quidem Liberatæ ac dictæ artis

sive occupationis Ministrallorum colore, in

diversis partibus regni nostri prædicti grandes

pecuniarum exactiones de ligeis nostris de-

ceptive colligunt, &c."

Abuses of this kind prevailed much later

in Wales, as appears from the famous Com-

mission issued out in 9 Eliz. (1567), for be-

stowing the Silver Harp on the best Minstrel,

Rythmer, or Bard, in the principality of

Page 52

xl

NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY.

North Wales; of which a fuller account will be given below in note (B b 3).

(Z) "It is thus related by Stow." See his Survey of London, &c., fol. 1633, p. 521. [Acc. of Westm. Hall.] Stow had this passage from Walsingham's Hist. Aug . . . "Intravit quædam mulier ornatu Histrionali habitu, equum bonum insidens Histrionaliter phaleratum, quæ mensas more Histrionum circuivit; et tandem ad Regis mensam per gradus ascendit, et quendam literatum coram rege posuit, et retracto firano (salutatis ubique discumbentibus) prout venerat ita recessit," &c. Anglic. Norm. Script. &c., Franc. 1603, fol. p. 169.

It may be observed here that Minstrels and others often rode on horseback up to the royal table, when the Kings were feasting in their great halls. See in this work, page 73.

The answer of the Portors (when they were afterwards blamed for admitting her) also deserves attention. "Non esse moris domus regiæ Histriones sub ingressa quomodo dolibet prohibere," &c. Walsingh.

That Stow rightly translated the Latin word Histrio here by Minstrel, meaning a musician that sung, whose subjects were stories of chivalry, admits of easy proof; for in the Gesta Romanorum, chap. exi., Mercury is represented as coming to Argus in the character of a Minstrel; when he incipit, more Histriōnico, fabulas dicere, et plerumque cantare." (T. Warton, iii. p. li.) And Muratori cites a passage in an old Italian chronicle, wherein mention is made of a stage erected at Milan—"Super quo Histriones cantabant, sicut modo cantatur de Rolando et Olivero." Antiq. Ital. li. p. 6. (Observ. on the Statutes, 4th edit. p. 362.)

See also (E) pag. xxvi. &c. (F) p. xxvii. &c.

(A a) "There should seem to have been women of this profession." This may be inferred from the variety of names appropriated to them in the middle ages, viz.: Anglo-Sax. Erlipmeþen, [Glee-maiden] &c. Eli-þrienþe-maþen, Irlipbyþenercna. (Vid. supra p. xxvii.) Fr. Jengleresse, Med. Lat. Joculatria, Ministrallissa, Fœmina Ministrerialis, &c. (Vid. Du Cange Gloss. and Suppl.)

See what is said in page xix. concerning the "sisters of the fraternity of Minstrels;"

see also a passage quoted by Dr. Burney (ii. 315), from Muratori, of the Chorms of Women singing through the streets accompanied with musical instruments in 1268.

Had the female described by Walsingham been a Tumblestere, or dancing-woman (see Tyrwhitt's Chancer, iv. 307, and v. Gloss.), that historian would probably have used the word Saltatrix. (See T. Warton, i. 240, note m.)

These Saltatrices were prohibited from exhibiting in churches and church-yards along with Joculatores, Histriones, with whom they were sometimes classed, especially by the rigid ecclesiastics, who censured, in the severest terms, all these sportive characters. (Vid. T. Warton, in loco citato, et vide supra not. (E) (F) &c.)

And here I would observe, that although Fauchet and other subsequent writers affect to arrange the several members of the minstrel profession, under the different classes of Troverres (or Trobadours) Chanterres, Conteours, and Jugleurs, &c. (vid. page xlviii.), as if they were distinct and separate orders of men, clearly distinguished from each other by those appropriato terms, we find no sufficient grounds for this in the oldest writers; but the general names in Latin, Histrio, Mimus, Joculator, Ministrallus, &c.; in French, Menestrier, Menestrel, Jongleur, &c.; and in English, Jogleour, Jugler, Minstrel, and the like, seem to be given them indiscriminately. And one or other of these names seems to have been sometimes applied to every species of men whose business it was to entertain or divert (joculari) whether with poesy, singing, music, or gesticulation, singly, or with a mixture of all these. Yet as all men of this sort were considered as belonging to one class, order, or community (many of the above arts being sometimes exercised by the same person), they had all of them doubtless the same privileges, and it equally throws light upon the general history of the profession, to show what favour or encouragement was given, at any particular period of time, to any one branch of it. I have not therefore thought it needful to inquire, whether, in the various passages quoted in these pages, the word Minstrel, &c., is always to be understood in its exact and proper meaning of a singer to the harp, &c.

That men of very different arts and talents were included under the common name of

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NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY.

xli

Minstrels, &c. appears from a variety of authorities. Thus we have Menestrels de Trompes, and Menestrels de Bouche, in the Suppl. to Du Cange, c. 1227, and it appears still more evident from an old French Rhymer, whom I shall quote at large.

"Le Quens* manda les Menestrels; *Le

Et si a fett crier entre els, Qui la meillor truffe ‡ sauroit † S Sornette,

Dire, ne faire, qu'il auroit [a gibe, a jest, Su robo d'escarlate nouve. [or flouting.]

L'uns Menestrels à l'autre reuve Pere son mestier, tel qu'id sot,

Li uns fet l'yvre, l'autre sot; Li uns chante, li autre note; Et li autres dit la riote; Et li autres la jenglerie § § Janglerie, ba-

Cil qui sevent de jonglerie Violent par devant le Comte; [billage, rail-

Aucuns ja qui fabliaus canto Il i ot dit mainte risée," &c. Fabliaux et Contes, 12mo. tom. ii. p. 161.

And what species of entertainment was afforded by the ancient Jugglears, we learn from the following citation from an old romance, written in 1230.

"Quand les tables ostees furent C'il juggleurs in pies esturent S'ont vjelles, et harpes prisees Chansons, sons, vers, et reprisal Et gestes, chantó nos ont."

Sir J. Hawkins, ii. 44, from Andr. Du Chene. See also Tyrwhitt's Chaucer, iv. p. 290.

All the before-mentioned sports went by the general name of Ministralcia, Ministellorum Ludicra, &c.—"Charta an. 1377, apud Rymer, vii. p. 160. 'Peracto autem prandio, ascendebat D. Rex in cameram suam cum Prælatis, Magnatibus, et Proceribus prædictis: et deinceps Magnates Milites, et Domini, alique Generosi diem illum, usque ad tempus coenæ, in Tripediis coreis et solempnihatis Ministral-ciis, præ gaudio solempnitatis illius continu-arunt.' " (Du Cange, Gloss. 773.) [This was at the Coronation of King Richard II.]

It was common for the minstrels to dance, as well as to harp and sing (see above, note (E), p. xxvi.) Thus, in the old romance of

Tirante el Blanco; Val. 1511, the 14th cap. lib. ii. begins thus, "Despuos que las mesas fueron alçadas vinieron los ministriles; y delante del Rey, y de la Reyna dançaron un rato : y despuos truxeron colacion."

They also probably, among their other feats, played tricks of sleight of hand, hence the word Jugler cameo to signify a performer of legerdemain: and it was sometimes used in this sense (to which it is now appropriated) even so early as the time of Chaucer, who in his Squire's Tale (ii. 108) speaks of the horse of brass, as

———— like

An apparence ymade by som magike, As Jogolours playen at thise festes grete.

See also the Freve's Tale, p. 279, v. 7049. (A a 2) "Females playing on the Harp."] Thus in the old Romance of "Syr Degoro (or Degree," Series the third, No. 22, p. 194), we have |Sign. D. i.]

The lady, that was so faire and bright, Upon hor bed she sato down ryght; She harped notes swete and fine. [Hor mayds filled a piece of winde.] * And Syr Degore salo him downe, For to hear the harpes sownc.

The 4th line being omitted in the pr. copy is supplied from the folio MS.

In the "Squyr of lowe Degree" (Series the Third, No. 24, p. 195), the king says to his daughter [Sign. D. i.]

Ye were wont to harpe and syng, And be the meryest in chamber comyng.

In the "Carle of Carlisle," (Series the Third, No. 193, p. 29) we have the following passage. [Folio MS. p. 451, v. 217.]

Downe came a lady faire and free, And sett her on the Carles knee : One whiles shee harped another whiles song, Both of paramours and louinge amonge.

And in the Romance of "Eger and Grime" (Series the Third, No 12, p. 194), we have [Ibid. p. 127, col. 2] in Part, I. v. 263.

The ladye fayre of hew and hyde Shee sate downe by the bed side

Page 54

xlii

NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY.

Sheo laid a souter [psaltry] upon her kneeo

Theron sheo plaid full lovesomelye.

. . . Aud her 2 maydens sweetlye sange.

A similar passage occurs in Part IV. v. 120,

(page 136.)--But these instances are suffi-

cient.

(B b) "A charter . . . to appoint a king

of the Minstrels." Entitled Carta le Roy de

Ministraulx (in Latin Histriones, vid. Plott,

p. 437). A copy of this charter is printed in

Monast. Anglic. i. 355, and in Blount's Law

Diction. 1717. (art. King.)

That this was a most respectable officer,

both here and on the Contineat, will appear

from the passages quoted below, and there-

fore it could only have been in modern times,

when the proper meaning of the original

tarns Ministraulz, and Histriones, was forgot,

that he was called King of the Fidlers; on

which subject see below, Note (E o 2).

Concerning the King of the Minstrels we

have the following curious passages collected

by Du Cauge, Gloss. iv. 773.

"Rex Ministellorum; supremus jutor Mi-

nistellos de cujus munere, potestato in ceteros

Ministellos agit Charta Henrici IV. Regis

Anglix in Monast. Anglicano, tom. i. pag.

355.----Charta originalis an. 1338. Jo

Robert Caveron Roy des Menestreuls du

Royaume de France. Ibid ann. 1357 et 1362.

Copin de Bequin Roy des Menestres du

Royaume de France. Computum de auxiliis

pro redemptione Regis Johannis, ann. 1367.

Pour une Couroune d'argent qu'il donna le

jour de la Tiphiane au Roy des Menestrels.

"Regestum Magnorum Dierum Treconensium

an. 1206. Super quod Johannes dictus Char-

millons Juglator, cui Dominus Rex par suas

literas tanquam Regem Juglatorum in civi-

tate Trecensi Magisterium Juglatorum, quem-

admodum sum placeret voluntati, concess-

serat." Gloss. c. 1587.

There is a very curious passage in Pas-

quier's "Recherches de la France," Paris,

1633, folio, liv. 7, ch. 5, p. 611, wherein he

appears to be at a loss how to account for the

title of Le Roy assumed by the old composers

of metrical Romances; in one of which the

author expressly declares himself to have

been a Minstrel. The solution of the diffi-

culty, that he had been Le Roy des Menestrels,

will be esteemed more probable than what

Pasquier here advances; for I have never

seen the title of Prince given to a Minstrel,

&c., seil.--"A nos vioux Poetey . . . comme

. . . fust qu'ils anssent certain jous de prix en

leurs Poesies, ils . . . honoroicut du nome,

tantot de luy, tantot de l'Prince, celuy qui

avoit le mieux fait comme nous voyons entre

les Archeirs, Arbalestiers, et Harquebusiers

estre fait le semblable. Ainsi l'Antheur du

Roman d'Ogier le Danois s'appelle Roy.

"Icy endroict est cil Livre fimez

Qui des enfans Ogier est appellez

Or rucille Diex qu'il soit parachovez

En tel maniere k'astre n'en puist blamez

Le Roy Adams [r. Adenes] ki il' est rimez.

"Et en celuy de Cleomades

"Ce Livre de Cleomades

Rimé jo le Roy Adenes

Monestre au bon Duc Henry.

"Mot do Roy, qui seroit très-mal approprié

a un Menestrier, si l'villaurs on ne la rappor-

toit à un jou du prix: Et de fuict il scauhle

que de nostre temps, il y en cust encoures

quelque remarques, en ce que le mot de Jon-

gleur s'ostant pur succession de temps

tourné on hultelage, nous avons veu en nostre

jeunesso les Jouming Jeurs se trouver à certain

jour tons les ans en la ville de Chaumy en Pi-

cardie, pour faire monstre de leur mestrie

devant le monde, à qui mieux. Et ce que j'on

dis icy n'est pas pour vilipender ces anciens

Rimeurs, ainsi pour monstrer qu'il n'y a choso

si belle qui ne s'abastisse avec le temps."

We see here that in the time of Pasquier

the poor Minstrel was sunk into as low esti-

mation in France, as he was then or after-

wards in England: but by his apology for

comparing the Joungleurs, who assembled

to exercise their faculty, in his youth, to the

ancient Rimeurs, it is plain they exerted their

skill in rhyme.

As for King Adenes, or Adenez (whose

name in the first passage above is corruptly

printed Adams), he is recorded in the "Bi-

bliotheques des Romans, Amst. 1735," 12mo.

vol. i. p. 232, to have composed the two Ro-

mances in verse above mentioned, and a third,

entitled Le Roman de Bertin: all three being

preserved in a MS. written about 1270. His

Bon Duc Henry I conceive to have been Henry

Duke of Brabant.

(B b 2) "King of the Minstrels," &c.]

See Antis's Register of the Order of the Gar-

Page 55

ter, ii. p. 303, who tells us "The President

or Governour of the Minstrels had the like

denomination of Roy in France and Burgundy :

and in England, John of Gaunt con-

stituted such an officer by a patent; and long

before his time payments were made by the

crown to [^1] King of the Minstrels by Edw.

  1. Regi Roberto Ministrallo sentitero ad arma

commoranti ad radia Regis anno 5to. [^2]Bill.

Cotton. Vespas. c. 16, f. 3^3]; as likewise [Li-

bro Garderob. 25 E. I.] Ministrallis in die

nuptiarum Comitissæ Holland filiæ Regis,

Regi Pago, Johanni Vidulatori, &c. Morello

Regi, &c. Druetto Montlhant, et Jacketto de

Scot. Regibus, cuilibet eorum xl s. Regi

Pagio de Hollandia, &c. Under Ed. II. we

likewise find other entries, Regi Roberto et

aliis Ministrallis facientibus Menstrallias

[Ministraleias qu.] suas coram Rege. [^2]Bill.

Cotton. Nero. c. 8, p. 84, b. Comp. Garderob.]

That king granted Willielmo de Morlee dicto

Roy de North, Ministrallio Regis, domos quæ

fuerunt Johannis le Botoler dicti Roy Brun-

hnd. [Pat. de terr. forisfact. 16 E. III.]"

He adds below (p. 304) a similar instance of

a Rex Juþlutornm, and that the "King of the

Minstrels," at length was styled in Franco

Roy de Violins, (Furetiere Dietion. Univers.)

as with us "King of the Fidlers;" on which

subject see below, note (F e 2).

(B b 3) The Statute 4 Hen. IV. (1402), c.

27, runs in these torms, "Item, par escheuir

plusieurs diseaces et mischiefs gont advenuz

devaunt ces heures en la terre de Gales par

plusieurs Westours, Rymours, Ministrâlx et

autres Vacabondes, ordengez est et etabliz

qe nul Westour, Rymour, Minstral ne Vaca-

bond soit aucunement sustenuz en la terre de

Gales pur faire kymorthas ou coillage sur la

commune poeple illoeques." This is among

the severe laws against the Welsh, passed

during the resentment occasioned by the out-

rages committed under Owen Glendour ; and

as the Welsh Bards had excited their country-

men to rebellion against the English Govern-

ment, it is not to be wondered, that the Act

is conceived in terms of the utmost indignâ-

tion and contempt against this class of men,

who are described as Rymours, Ministrâlx,

which are apparently here used as only

synonymous terms to express the Welsh

Bards with the usual exuberance of our Acts

of Parliament: for if their Ministrâlx had

been mere musicians, they would not have

required the vigilance of the English leg-

islature to suppress them. It was their

tion which produced "les diseaces et mischiefs

en la Terre de Gales."

It is also submitted to the reader, whether

the same application of the terms does not

still more clearly appear in the Commission

issued in 1567, and printed in Evan Evans's

Specimens of Welsh Poetry, 1764, 4to. p. v..

for bestowing the Silver Harp on "the chief

of that faculty." For after setting forth "that

vagrant and idle persons, naming themselves

Minstrels, Rythmurs, and Bards, had lately

grown into such intolerable multitude within

the Principality in North Wales, that not

only gentlemen and others by their shameless

disorders are oftentimes disquieted in their

habitations, but also expert Minstrels and Mu-

sicians in tonge and cunnyge therby much

discouraged, &c." and "hindred [of] livings

and preferment," &c. it appoints a time and

place, wherein all "persons that intend to

maintain their living by name or colour of

Minstrels, Rythmurs, or Burds," within five

shires of North Wales, "shall appear to show

their learnings accordingly," &c. And the

Commissioners are required to admit such as

shall be found worthy, into and under the de-

grees heretofore in use, so that they may

"use, exercise, and follow the sciences and

faculties of their professions in such decont

order as shall appertain to each of their de-

grees." And the rest are to return to some

honest labour, &c. upon pain to be taken as

sturdly and idle vagabonds, &c.

(B b 4) Holingshed translated this passage

from Tho. de Elmham's "Vita et Gesta Hen-

rici V," scil. "Soli Omnipotenti Deo se volie

victoriam imputari . . . . in tantum, quod

Citharistas vel alios quoscunque cantari penitus

prohibebat." [Edit. Hearnii, 1727, p. 72.]

As in his version Holingshed attributes the

making as well as singing ditties to Minstrels,

it is plain he knew that men of this profes-

sion had been accustomed to do both.

(C c) "The Household Book," &c.] See

Section V.

"Of the Numbre of all my lords Ser-

vants."

Page 56

xliv

NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY.

" Item, Mynstrals in Houshold iii. viz. A Taberet, a Luyte, and a Rebecke." [The Rebeck was a kind of Fiddle with three strings.]

Sect. XLVII. 3.

" Rewardes to his lordship's Servaunts, &c."

" Item, My lord usith ande accustomith to gyf yerly, when his lordschipp is at home, to his Minstrallis that be daily in his houschold, as his Tabret, Lute, and Reboke, upon New Yeresday in the mornynge when they do play at my lordis chamber dour for his Lordschip and my Lady, xx. s. Viz. xiii. s. iiij d. for my Lord; and vi. s. viii. d. for my Lady, as sce be at my lords fyndynge, and not at hir owne; and for playing at my lordis Sone and Heir's chamber dour, the lord Percy, ii. s. And for playinge at the chamber doures of my lords Yonger Sonnes, my yonge masters, after ziii. d. the peco for every of them.—xxiii. iiii. d"

Sect. XLIV. 2.

" Rewards to be geven to strangers, as Players, Mynstralls, or any other, &c."

" Furst, my lorde usith and accustomyth to gif to the Kings Jugler; . . . . when they custome to come unto bim yerly, vi. s. viii. d.

" Item, my lorde usith and accustomyth to gif yerely to the kings or quences Bearwarde, if they have onc, when they custom to come unto him yerly,—vi. s. viii. d.

" Item, my lorde usith and accustomyth to gyfe yerly to every Erlces Mynstrellis, when they custome to come to hym yerely, iii. s. iiii. d. And if they come to my lorde seldome, ones in ii or iii yeres, than vi. s. viii. d.

" Item, my lorde usith and accustomedeth to gife yerely to an Erles Mynstralls, if he be his speciall lorde, friende, or kynsman, if they come yerely to his lordschip . . . . And, if they come to my 'lord' seldome, ones in ii or iii years . . .' * * * * * *

" Item, my lorde usith and accustomyth to gyf yerely a Doukes or Erlis Trumpetts, if they come vi together to his lordschipp, viz. if they come yerly, vi. s. viii. d. And, if they come but in ii or iii yeres, than x. s.

" Item, my lorde usith and accustometh to gife yerly, when his lordschip is at home, to my lorde yorely, x. s." * * * * * *

I cannot conclude this note without observing, that in this enumeration the family Minstrels seem to have been Musicians only, and yet both the Earl's Trumpets and the King's Shawmes are evidently distinguished from the Earl's Minstrels, and the King's Jugler: Now we find Juglers still coupled with Pipers in Barklay's Egloges, circ. 1514. (Warton, ii. 254.)

(C c 2) The honours and rewards conferred on Minstrels, &c., in the middle ages were excessive, as will be seen by many instances in these volumes; v. notes (B), (F), &c. But more particularly with regard to English Minstrels, &c., see T. Warton's Hist. of Engl. Poetry, i. p. 89—92, 116, &c., ii. 105, 106, 254, &c. Dr. Burney's Hist. of Music, ii. p. 316 —319, 397—399, 427, 428.

On this head, it may be sufficient to add the following passage from the Fleta, lib. ii. c. 23. "Officium Elemosinarii est . . . Equos relictos, Robas, Pecuniam, et alia ad Elemosinam largiter recipere et fideliter distribuere; debet etiam Regem super Elemosinam largitione crebris summonitionibus stimulare et pracipue diebus Sanctormm, et rogare no Robas suns quæ magni sunt precij Histrionibus, Blanditoribus, Adulatoribus, Accusatoribus, vel Mimi.stral.ri.s, sed ad Elemosina sua in-cremumtm jubeat largiri." MS. in c. 72, " Ministralli, vel Adulatoris."

(P d) " A species of men who did not sing," &c.] It appears from the passage of Erasmus here referred to, that there still existed in England of that species of Jongleurs or Minstrels, whom the French called by the peculiar name of Conteurs, or Reciters in prose. It is in his Ecclesiastes, where he is speaking of suchpreachers as imitated the tone of Beggars or Mountebanks:—" Apud Anglos est similegenus hominum, quales apud Italos sunt Circulatores [Mountebanks] de quibus modo dictum est; qui irrumpunt in convivia Magnatum, aut in Cœuponas Vinarias; et ar-gumentum aliquod, quod edidicerunt, recitant; puta mortem omnibus dominari, aut laudem matrimonii. Sed quoniam ea lingua mo-nosyllabis fere constat, quemadmodum Ger-manica; atque illi [sc. this peculiar species of Reciters] studio vitant cantum, nobis (sc. Erasmus, who did not understand a word of English) latrare videntur rarius quam loqui." Opera, tom. v. c. 958. (Jortin, vol. ii. p. 193.)

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NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY.

xlv

As Erasmus was correcting the vice of pronencers, it was more to his point to bring an instance from the Moral Receiters of Prose than from Chanters of Rhyme; though the latter would probably be more popular, and therefore more common.

(E e) This character is supposed to have been suggested by descriptions of Minstrels in the romance of " Morte Arthur"; but none, it seems, have been found, which come nearer to it than the following, which I shall produce, not only that the reader may judge of the resemblance, but to shew how nearly the idea of the Minstrel character given in this Essay corresponds with that of our old writers.

Sir Lancelot, having been affronted by a threatening abusive letter, which Mark King of Cornwal had sent to Queen Guenever, wherein he " spake shame by her, and Sir Lancelot," is comforted by a knight named Sir Dinadan, who tells him "I will make a Lay for him, and when it is made, I shall make an Harper to sing it before him. So anon he went and made it, and taught it an Harper, that hight Eliot; and when hee could it, he taught it to many harpers. And so... the Harpers went straight unto Wales and Cornwailo to sing the Lay.... which was the worst Jay that ever Harper sung with harpe, or with any other instrument. And [at a] great feast that King Marke made for joy of [a] victorio which hee had,..... came Eliot the Harper; ... and because he was a curious Harper, men heard him sing the same Lay that Sir Dinadan had made, which spake the most vilania by King Marke of his treason, that ever man heard. When the Harper had sung his song to the end, King Marke was wonderous wroth with him, and said, 'Thon Harper, how durst thou be so bold to sing this song before me? Sir, said Eliot, wit you well I am a Minstrel, and I must doe as I am commanded of these Lords that I bear the armes of. And, Sir King, wit you well that Sir Dinadan a knight of the Round Table made this song, and he made me to sing it before you. Thou saiest well, said King Marke, I charge thee that thou lie thee fast out of my sight. So the Harper departed, &c." |Part II. c. 113, ed. 1634. See also Part III. c. 5.]

(E e 2) "This Act seems to have put an

end to the profession," &c.] Although I convince that the character ceased to exist, yet the appellation might be continued, and applied to Fidlers, or other common Musicians; which will account for the mistakes of Sir Petor Leicester, or other modern writers. (See his Historical Antiquities of Cheshire, 1673, p. 141.)

In this sense it is used in an Ordinance in the times of Cromwell, (1656,) wherein it is enacted, that if any of the "persons commonly called Fidlers or Minstrels shall at any time be taken playing, fidling, and making music in any Inn, Ale-house, or Tavern, or shall be taken proffiring themselves, or desiring, or intreating any... to hear them play or make music in any of the places aforesaid;" they are to be "adjudged and declared to be rogues, vagabonds, and sturdy beggars."

This will also account why John of Gaunt's "King of the Minstrels" at length came to be called, like Le Roy des Violons in France, v. noto (B b 2), "King of the Fidlers." See the common ballad ontitled "The Pedigree, Edvention, and Marriage of Robinhood with Clorinda, Queen of Tulbury Feast." which, though prefixed to the modern collection on that subject,* seems of much later date than most of the others; for the writer appears to be totally ignorant of all the old traditions concerning this celebrated outlaw, and has given him a very elegant bride instead of his old noted Lemman "Maid Marian"; who together with his chplain "Frier Tuck" were that account figured in the old Morice Dance, as may be seen by the engraving in Mr. Steevens's and Mr. Malone's Editions of Shak-speare: by whom she is mentioned, I Hen. IV., act iii. sc. 3. (See also Warton, i. 245, ii. 237.) Wheras, from this ballad's concluding with an exhortation to " pray for the King," and "that he may get children," &c.,

  • Of the twenty-four songs in what is now called "Robin Hood's Garlind," many are so modern as not to be found in Pepys' collection compiled only in 1700. In the folio MS. (described in p. ii) are ancient fragments of the following, viz; Robin Hood and the Beggar.--Robin Hood and the Butcher--Robin Hood and Feyer Turkao.--Robin Hood and the Pindar.--Robin Hood and Queen Catharine, In two parts.--Little John and the four Beggars, and "Robine Huode his death." This last, which is very curious, has no resemblance to any that have been published; and the others are extremely different from the printed copies: but they unfortunately are in the beginning of the MS., where half of every leaf hath been torn away.

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NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY.

it is evidently posterior to the reign of Queen Elizabeth, and can scarce be older than the reign of King Charles I.; for King James I. had no issue after his accession to the throne of England. It may even have been written since the Restoration, and only express the wishes of the nation for issue on the marriage of their favourite King Charles II., on his marriage with the Infanta of Portugal. I think it is not found in the Pepys collection.

(F f) "Historical Song or Ballad." The English word Ballad is evidently from the French Balade, as the latter is from the Italian Ballata; which the Crusca Dictionary defines, Canzone, che si canta Ballando, "A Song, which is sung during a Dance." So Dr. Burney [ii. 342], who refers to a collection of Ballette published by Gastaldi and printed at Antwerp in 1596. [iii. 226.]

But the word appears to have had an earlier origin: for in the decline of the Roman Empire those trivial songs were called Ballistæa and Salladiunculæ. Ballisteum, Salmasinius says, is properly Ballistæum. Gr. βαλλίστω... Βαλλίστα Saltatio.... Ballistium igitur est quod vulgo vocamus Ballet; nam inde deducta vox nostra." Salmas. Not. in Hist. Ang. Scriptores VI. p. 340.

In the life of the Emperor Aurelian by Fl. Vopiscus may be seen two of these Ballistæa, as sung by the boys skipping and dancing, on account of a great slaughter made by the Emperor with his own hand in the Sarmatic War. The first is,

"Mille, mille, mille decollavimus, Unus homo mille decollavimus, Mille vivat, qui mille occidit. Tantum vini habet nemo Quantum fudit sanguinis."

The other was

"Mille Sarmatas, mille Francos Semel et semel occidimus. Mille Persas quærimus."

Salmasius (in loc.) shows that the trivial Poets of that time were wont to form their metre of Trochaic Tetrametre Catalectics, divided into Distichs. [Ibid. p. 350.] This becoming the metre of the hymns in the Church Service, to which the Monks at length superadded rhyming terminations, was the origin of the common Trochaic Metre in the modern languages. This observation I owe to the learned author of Irish Antiquities, &c.

(F f 2) "Little Miscellanies nam'd Garlands, &c.| In the Pepysian and other libraries are presented a great number of these in black letter, 2mo., under the following quaint and affected titles, viz:

  1. A Crowne Garland of Goulden Roses, gathered out of England's Royal Garden, &c., by Richard Johnson, 1612. [In the Bodleian Library.] 2. The Golden Garland of Princedy Delight. 3. The Garland of Good-will, by T. D., 1631. 4. The Royal Garland of Love and Delight, by T. D. 5. The Garland of Delight, &c., by The. Delone. 6. The Garland of Love and Mirth, by Thomas Lanfier. 7. Cupid's Garland set round with Guilded Roses. 8. The Garland of Withered Roses, by Martin Parker, 1656. 9. The Shepherd's Garland of Love, Loyalty, &c. 10. The Country Garland. 11. The Golden Garland of Mirth and Merriment. 12. The Lover's Garland. 13. Neptune's fair Garland. 14. England's fair Garland. 15. Robin Hood's Garland. 16. The Maiden's Garland. 17. A Loyal Garland of Mirth and Pastime. 18. A Royal Garland of New Songs. 19. The Jovial Garland, 8th ed., 1691, &c., &c.

This sort of petty publications had anciently the name of "Penny-Merriments:" as little religious tracts of the same size were called "Peany Godlinesses." In the Pepysian Library are multitudes of both kinds.

(G g) "The term Minstrel was not confined to a mere Musician in this country any more than on the Continent." The discussion of the question, Whether the term Minstrel was applied in England to Singers and Composers of Songs, &c., or confined to the performers on musical instruments, was properly reserved for this place, because much light hath already been thrown upon the subject in the preceding Notes, to which it will be sufficient to refer the reader.

That on the Continent the Minstrel was understood not to be a mere Musician, but a Singer of Verses, hath been shown in Notes (B); (C), (R), (A a), &c.* And that he was

  • That the French Minstrel was a singer and composer, &c., appears from many passages translated by M. Le Grand,

Page 59

NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY.

xlvii

Also a maker of them is evident from the

passage in (C), p. xxv., where the most

noted Romances are said to be of the composition of these men. And in (B i), p. xlii.,

we have the titles of some of which a Minstrel was the author, who has himself left his

name upon record.

The old English names for one of this profession were Gleeman,* Jogelor,† and latterly

Minstrel ; not to mention Harper, &c. In

French he was called Jongleur or Jogleur,

Menestrel or Menestrier.‡ The writers of the

middle ages expressed the character in Latin

by the words Joculator, Mimus, Histrio, Minstrellus, &c. These terms, however modern

critics may endeavour to distinguish, and apply them to different classes, and although

they may be sometimes mentioned as if they

were distinct, I cannot find, after a very strict

research, to have had any settled appropriate

difference, but they appear to have been used

indiscriminately by the oldest writers, especially in England; where the most general

and comprehensive name was latterly Minstrel, Lat. Ministrellas, &c.

Thus Joculator (Éng. Jogelor or Juglar) is

used as synonymous to Citharista, Noto, (K),

p. xxxi., and to Cantor (p. xxxi.), and to

Minstrel (vid. infra p. x.). We have also

positive proof that the subjects of his songs

were Gestes and Romantio Tales. (V 2) note.

So Mimus is used as anonymous to Joculator, (M), p. xxxii. He was rewarded for his

singing, (N), p. xxxiii., and he both sang,

harped, and dealt in that sport (T 2) which

is elsewhere called Ars Joculatoria, (M) ubi

supra.

Again, Histrio is also proved to have been

a singer, (Z) p. xl., and to have gained

rewards by his Verba Joculatoria, (E) p. xxvi.

And Histriones is the term by which the

French word Ministraulx is most frequently

rendered into Latin, (W) p. xxxviii., (B b) p.

xlii., &c.

The fact therefore is sufficiently established

in “Fabliaux ou Contes,” &c., see tom. i. p. 37, 47.—II. 306,

313 et seqq.—iii. 205, &c. Yet this writer, like other French

critics, endeavours to reduce to distinct and separate classes

the men of this profession, under the precise names of

Fablier, Conteur, Menetrier, Menestrel, and Jongleur (tom.

i. pref. p. xcviii.), whereas his own Tales confute all these

nice distinctions, or prove at least that the title of Menetrier

or Minstrel was applied to them all.

  • See page xxix.

‡ See page xxxvii. Note.

† See page xxxvii.

7

that this order of men were in England, as

well as on the Continent, Singers ; so that it

only becomes a dispute about words, whether

here, under the more general name of Minstrels, they are described as having sung.

But in proof of this we have only to turn

to so common a book as T. Warton's History

of English Poetry; where we shall find extracted from Records the following instances:

Ex Registr. Priorat. S. Swithin Winton.

(sub anno 1374). “In festo Alwyni Epi . . .

Et durant pietancia in Aula Conventus sex

Ministralli, cum quatuor Citharisatoribus,

faciebant Ministralcias suas. Et post cenam,

in magna camera cruenta Dom. Prioris cantabant idem Gestem in qua Camera suspendebatur, ut moris est, magnum dorsuale Prioris

habens picturas trium Regum Colein. Veniebant autem dicti Joculatores a Castello

Domini Regis et ex familia Epi.” (Vol. ii. p.

174.) Here the Minstrels and Harpers are

expressly called Joculatores ; and as the

Harpers had Musical Instruments, the Singing must have been by the Minstrels, or by

both conjointly.

For that Minstrels sang we have undeniable proof in the following entry in the

Accompt Roll of the Priory of Bicester, in

Oxfordshire (under the year 1432). “ Dat

Sex Ministrallis de Bokeyngham cantantibus

in refectorio Martyrium Septem Dormientium

in Fasto Epiphanie, iv s.” (Vol. ii. p. 175.)

In like manner our old English writers

abound with passages wherein the Minstrel

is represented as singing. To mention only

a few :

In the old Romance of Emaré (Series the

Third, No. 15, p. 194), which from the obsoleteness of the style, the nakedness of the

story, the barrenness of incidents, and some

other particulars, I should judge to be next

in point of time to Horn-Child, we have

“I have herd Menestrelle syng yn sawe.”

Stanza 27.

In a poem of Adam Davie (who flourished

about 1312) we have this Distich,

“Merry it is in halle to here the harpe,

The Minstrelle synge, the Jogelours carpe.”

T. Warton, i. p. 225.

So William of Nasssyngton (circ. 1480) as

quoted by Mr. Tyrwhitt (Chaucer, iv. 319).

Page 60

xlviii

NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY.

"I will make no vain carpinge

Of dedes of armys ne of amours

As dus Minstrelles and Jostours [Joustours]

That makys carpinge in many a place

Of Octaviane and Isembraze,

And of many other Jestes [Gestes]

And namely whan they come to festes.*

See also the Description of þe Minstrel in

note (E e) from Morte Arthur, which appears

to have been compiled about the time of this

last writer. (See T. Warton, ii. 235.)

By proving that Minstrels were Singers of

the old Romantic Songs and Gestes, &c., we

have in effect proved them to have been the

makers at least of some of them. For the

names of their Authors being not preserved,

to whom can we so probably ascribe the com-

position of many of these old popular rhymes,

as to the men who devoted all their timo and

talents to the recitation of them, especially

as in the rhymes themselves Minstrels are

often represented as the makers or com-

posers?

Thus, in the oldest of all, Horn-Child, hav-

ing assumed the character of a Harper or Jo-

gelor, is in consequence said (fo. 92) to have

"made Rymenild [his mistress] a lay."

In the old Romance of Emaré, we have

this exhortation to Minstrels, as composers,

otherwise they could not have been at liberty

to choose their subjects. (st. 2.)

"Menstrelles that walken fer and wyde

Her and ther in every a syde

In mony a dyverse londe

Sholde ut her bygynnyng

Speke of that rightwes kyng

That made both see and londe," &c.

And in the old Song or Geste of Guy and

Colbrondo (Series the Third, No. 4, p. 193),

the Minstrel thus speaks of himself in the

first person :

"When meate and drinke is great plenty

Then lordes and ladyes still wil be

And sitt and solace lythe

  • The fondness of the English (even the most illiterate) to

hear tales and rhymes, is much dwelt on by Rob. de Brunne,

in 1300. (Warton, i. p. 59, 65, 75.) All rhymes were then

sung to the harp: even Troilus and Cresseida, though

almost as long as the Æneid, was to be "redde . . . . or else

song." l. ult. (Warton, i. 388.)

Then itt is time for men to speake

Of keene knigths and kempes grent

Such carping for to kythe."

We have seen already that the Welsh

Bards, who were undoubtedly composers of

the songs they chanted to the Harp, could not

be distinguished by our legislators from our

own Rimers, Minstrels. (Vid. (B b 3) p. xliii.)

And that the Provencal Troubadour of our

King Richard, who is called by M. Fauriel

Jongleur, and by M. Fauchet Menestrel, is by

the old English translator termed a Rimer or

Minstrel whon he is mentioning the fact of

his composing some verses. (p. xxxii.)

And lastly, that Tolinshod, translating the

prohibition of King Henry V., forbidding any

songs to be composed on his victory, or to be

sung by Harpers or others, roundly gives it,

he would not permit "any ditties to be made

and sung by Minstrels on his glorious Vic-

tory," &c. Vid. p. xviii. and nota (B b 4).

Now that this order of men, at first called

Gleomen, then Juglors, and afterwards more

generally Minstrels, existed here from the

Conquest, who ontortainod their hearers with

chanting to the harp or other instrumonts,

songs and tales of chivalry, or as they were

called Gests* and Romanees in verso in the

English language, is proved by the existonce

of the vary compositions they so chanted,

which are still preserved in great aboundance;

and exhibit a regular series from the timo

our language was almost Saxon, till after its

improvements in the age of Chaucer, who

cnumerates many of them. And as the

Norman French was in the timo of this Bard

still the courtly language, it shows that the

English was not thereby excluded from

affording entertainment to our nobility, who

are so often addressed therein by the title of

Lordings: and sometimes more positively

"Lordes and Ladies."

And though many of these were translated

from the French, others are evidently of

English origin,† which appear in their turns

  • Gests at length came to signify adventures or incidents

in general. So in a narrative of the journey into Scotland,

of Queen Margaret and her attendants, on her marriage

with King James IV. In 1503 [In Appendix to Leland.

Collect. iv. p. 205], we are promised an account "of their

Gestys and manners during the said voynge."

† The romance of "Richard Cœur de Lion," (No. 25), I

should judge to be of English origin from the names War-

drew and Eldrede, &c., vol. iii. p. 194, 195. As is also Eger

and Grime (No. 12), wherein a knight is named Sir Gray

Page 61

NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY.

xlix

to have afforded versions into that language; a sufficient proof of that intercommunity between the French and English Minstrels, which hath been mentioned in a preceding page. Even the abundance of such translations into English, being all adapted for popular recitation, sufficiently establishes the fact, that the English Minstrels had a great demand for such compositions, which they were glad to supply, whether from their own native stores, or from other languages.

We have seen above that the Joculator, Mimus, Histrio, whether these characters were the same, or had any real difference, were all called Minstrels; as was also the Harper,* when the term implied a singer, if not a composer, of songs, &c. By degrees the name of Minstrel was extended to vocal and instrumental musicians of every kind: and as in the establishment of royal and noble houses, the latter would necessarily be most numerous, so we are not to wonder that the band of music (entored under the general name of Minstrels) should consist of instrumental performers chiefly, if not altogether: for, as the composer or singer of heroic tales to the harp would necessarily be a solitary performer, we must not expect to find him in the band along with the trumpeters, fluters, &c.

However, as we sometimes find mention of "Minstrels of Music;"† so at other times we hear of "expert Minstrels and Musicians of Tongue and Cunning," (B b 3) p. xliii.,‡

Steel, and a lady who excels in surgery are called Losepaine or Lose-pain : these surely are not derived from France.

  • See the romance of "Sir Isembars" (vol. iii. No. 14, p 104), sign. a.

Harpers loved him in Hall With other Minstrels all.

† T. Warton, ii. 258, note (a) from Leland's Collect. (vol. iv. Append. edit. 1774, p. 267.)

‡ The curious author of the "Tour in Wales, 1773," 4to. p. 435, I find to have read these words "in toune and contray;" which I can scarce imagine to have been applicable to Wales at that time. Nor can I agree with him in the representation he has given (p. 367), concerning the Cymmorth or meeting, whereto the Bards exerted their powers to excite their countrymen to war; as if it were by a deduction of the particulers he enumeratos, and as it should seem in the way of harangue, &c. After which, "the band of Minstrels....... struck up; the harp, the crwth, and the pipe filled the measures of enthusiasm, which tho others had begun to inspire." Whereas it is well known, that the Bard chanted his enthusiastic effusions to the harp; and as for the term Minstrel, it was

meaning doubtless by the former, singers, and probably by the latter phrase, composers, of songs. Even "Minstrels Music" seems to be applied to the species of verse used by Minstrels in the passage quoted below.§

But although, from the predominancy of instrumental music, Minstrelsy was at length chiefly to be understood in this sense, yet it was still applied to the Poetry of Minstrels so late as the time of Queen Elizabeth, as appears in the following extract from Puttenham's "Arte of English Poesie," p. 9, who, speaking of the firstcomposers of Latin verses in rhyme, says, "all that they wrote to the favor or prayse of Princes, they did it in such manner of Minstralsie; and thought themselves no small fooles, when they could make their verses go all in ryme."

I shall conclude this subject with the following description of Minstrelsy given by John Lidgate at the beginning of the 15th century, as it shows what a variety of entertainments were then comprehended under this term, together with every kind of instrumental music then in use;

-—" Al maner Mynstraleye, That any man kan specifye. Ffor there were Rotys of Almayne And eke of Arragon, and Spayne: Songes, Stampes, and eke Daunces ; Divers plonte of plesaunces: And many unkouth notys new Of swiche folke as lovid treue.† And instrumentys that did excelle, Many moo than I kan telle. Harpys, Fythales, and eke Rotys Lutys, Ribibles, and Geternes, More for estatys, than tavernes: Orgay[n]s, Cytolis, Monacordys.— There were Trumpes, and Trumpettes, Lowde Shall[m]ys, and Doucettes."

T. Warton, ii. 225, note (*).

not, I conceive, at all used by the Welsh; and in English it comprehended both the bard and the musician.

§ "Your ordinary rymers use very much their measures in the odd, as nine and eleven, and the sharp accent upon the last syllable, whi[ch] therefore makes him go ill favouredly and like a Minstrels musika." (Puttenham's Arte of Eng. Poesie, 1589, p. 59) This must mean his vocal music, otherwise it appears not applicable to the subject.

† By this phrase I understand, New Tales or Narrative Rhymes composed by the Minstrels on the subject of true and faithful Lovers, &c.

THE END OF THE ESSAY.

Page 62

1

NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY.

    • The foregoing Essay on the Ancient Minstrels has been very much enlarged and improved since the first edition, with respect to the Anglo-Saxon Minstrels, in consequence of some objections proposed by the reverend and learned Mr. Pegge, which the reader may find in the second volume of the Archæologia, printed by the Antiquarian Society ; but which that gentleman has since rotracted in the most liberal and candid manner in the third volume of the Archæologial, No. xxxiv. p. 310.

And in consequence of similar objections respecting the English Minstrels after the Conquest, the subsequent part hath been much enlarged, and additional light thrown upon the subject; which, to prevent cavil, hath been extended to Minstrelsy in all its branches, as it was established in England, whether by natives or foreigners.

Page 63

Reliques

of

ANCIENT POETRY, ETC.

"I never heard the old song of Percie and Douglas, that I found not my heart moved

more than with a trumpet; and yet 'it' is sung but by somo blinde crowder, with no rougher

voice, than rude stylo: which becing so evill apparelled in the dust cobweb of that uncivill

age, what would it work, trimmed in the gorgeous eloquence of Pindare!"

Sir Philip Sydney's Defence of Poetry.

SERIES THE FIRST.

BOOK I.

I.

The Ancient Ballad of Chevy-Chase.

The fine heroie song of Chevy-Chase has

over been admired by competent judges.

Those genuine strokes of nature and artless

passion, which have endeared it to the most

simple readers, have recommended it to the

most refined; and it has equally been the

amusement of our childhood, and the favourite

of our riper years.

Mr. Addison has given an excellent cri-

tique* on this very popular ballad, but is mis-

taken with regard to the antiquity of the com-

mon-received copy ; for this, if one may judge

from the style, cannot be older than the time

of Elizabeth, and was probably written after

the eulogium of Sir Philip Sydney: perhaps

in consequence of it. I flatter myself, I have

here recovered the genuine antique poem; the

true original song, which appeared rude even

in the time of Sir Philip, and caused him to

lament that it was so evil apparelled in the

rugged garb of antiquity,

This curiosity is printed, from an old manu-

script, at the end of Hearne's preface to Gul.

Newbrigiensis Hist. 1719, 8vo. vol. i. To the

  • Spectator, No. 70, 74.

MS. copy is suljoined the name of the author,

Ryckard Sheale;* whom Hearne had so little

judgment as to suppose to be the same with a

R. Sheale, who was living in 1588. But who-

ever examines the gradation of language and

idiom in the following volumes, will be con-

vinced that this is the production of an earlier

poet. It is indeed expressly mentioned among

some very ancient songs in an old book enti-

tled, The Complaint of Scotland,† (fol. 42),

under the title of the Huntis of Chevet, where

the two following lines are also quoted:

The Perssee and the Mongumirye mette,‡

That day, that day, that gentil day :§

which, though not quite the same as they

stand in the ballad, yot differ not more than

might be owing to the author's quoting from

  • Subscribed, after the usual manner of our old poets,

explicirur [explicit] quorim Ricuardus Sbeale.

† One of the earliest productions of the Scotlish press,

now to be found. The title page was wanting in the copy

here quoted; but it is supposed to have been printed in

  1. See Ames.

‡ See Pt. 2, v. 23.

§ See Pt. 1, v. 104.

(51)

Page 64

1

NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY.

** The foregoing Essay on the Ancient Minstrels has been very much enlarged and improved since the first edition, with respect to the Anglo-Saxon Minstrels, in consequence of some objections proposed by the reverend and learned Mr. Pegge, which the reader may find in the second volume of the Archæologia, printed by the Antiquarian Society; but which that gentleman has since retracted in the most liberal and candid manner in the third volume of the Archæologia, No. xxxiv. p. 310.

And in consequence of similar objections respecting the English Minstrels after the Conquest, the subsequent part hath been much enlarged, and additional light thrown upon the subject; which, to prevent cavil, hath been extended to Minstrelsy in all its branches, as it was established in England, whether by natives or foreigners.

Page 65

Reliques

of

ANCIENT POETRY, ETC.

"I never heard the old song of Percie and Douglas, that I found not my heart moved

more than with a trumpet; and yet 'it' is sung but by some blinde crowder, with no rougher

voice, than rude style: which being so evil apparelled in the dust colureb of that uncivill

age, what would it work, trimmed in the gorgeous eloquence of Pindare!"

Sir Philip Sydneys Defence of Poetrie.

SERIES THE FIRST.

BOOK I.

I.

The Ancient Ballad of Chevy-Chase.

The fine heroie song of Chevy-Chase has over been admired by competent judges.

Those genuine strokes of nature and artless passion, which have endeared it to the most

simple readers, have recommended it to the most refined; and it has equally been the

amusement of our childhood, and the favourite of our riper years.

Mr. Addison has given an excellent critique* on this very popular ballad, but is mistaken

with regard to the antiquity of the common-received copy ; for this, if one may judge

from the style, cannot be older than the time of Elizabeth, and was probably written after

the eulogium of Sir Philip Sydney: perhaps in consequence of it. I flatter myself, I have

here recovered the genuine antique poem ; the true original song, which appeared rude even

in the time of Sir Philip, and caused him to lament that it was so evil apparelled in the

rugged garb of antiquity.

This curiosity is printed, from an old manuscript, at the end of Hearne's preface to Gul.

Newbrigensis Hist. 1719, 8vo. vol. i. To the

MS. copy is subjoined the name of the author,

Rychard Sheale;* whom Hearne had so little

judgment as to suppose to be the same with a

R. Sheale, who was living in 1588. But whoever examines the gradation of language and

idiom in the following volumes, will be convinced that this is the production of an earlier

poet. It is indeed expressly mentioned among some very ancient songs in an old book entitled,

The Complaint of Scotland,† (fol. 42),

under the title of the Huntis of Chevet, where

the two following lines are also quoted:

The Perssee and the Mongumrye mette,‡

That day, that day, that gentil day :§

which, though not quite the same as they stand in the ballad, yet differ not more than

might be owing to the author's quoting from

  • Subscribed, after the usual manner of our old poets,

explicitè [explicit] quoth Rychard Sheale.

† One of the earliest productions of the Scottish press,

now to be found. The title page was wanting in the copy

here quoted; but it is supposed to have been printed in

  1. See Ames.

‡ See Pt. 2, v. 23.

§ See Pt. 1, v. 104.

(51)

Page 66

THE ANCIENT BALLAD OF CHEVY CHASE.

ry. Indeed, whoever considers the style

orthography of this old poem will not be

red to place it lower than the time of

'y VI. : as on the other hand the mention

mes the Scottish King,* with one or two

lronisms, forbids us to assign it earlier

King James I. who was prisoner in

kingdom at the death of his father,† did

rear the crown of Scotland till the second

of our Henry VI.,‡ but before the end of

long reign a third James had mounted

hrone.§ A succession of two or three

ses, and the long detention of one of them

ngland, would render the name familiar

to English, and dispose a poet in those

times to give it to any Scottish king he

sened to mention.

much for the date of this old ballad :

regard to its subject, although it has no

tenance from history, there is room to

it had originally some foundation in

It was one of the Laws of the Marches

rently renewed between the two nations,

neither party should hunt in the other's

ers, without leave from the proprietors or

deputies.|| 'There had long been a-rival

between the two martial families of Percy

Douglas, which, heightened by the na-

l quarrel, must have produced frequent

lenges and struggles for superiority, petty

sions of their respective domains, and

p contests for the point of honour ; which

ld not always be recorded in history.

ething of this kind, we may suppose, gave

to the ancient ballad of the Hunting a'

hevait.¶ Percy Earl of Northumberland

rowed to hunt for three days in the Scot-

border, without condescending to ask

s from Earl Douglas, who was either lord

e soil, or lord warden of the marches.

glas would not fail to resent the insult,

endeavour to repel it by force :

this would naturally produce a sharp conflict

between the two parties ; something of which,

it is probable, did really happen, though not

attended with the tragical circumstances re-

corded in the ballad: for these are evidently

borrowed from the Battle of Otterbourn,*

very different event, but which aftertimes

would easily confound with it. That battle

might be owing to some such previous affront

as this of Chevy-Chase, though it has escaped

the notice of historians. Our poet has evident-

ly jumbled the two suljects together: if in-

deed the lines,† in which is made,

are not rather spurious, and the after-insertion

of some person, who did not distinguish be-

tween the two storics.

Hearne has printed this ballad without any

division of stanzas, in long lines, as he found

it in the old written copy: but it is usual to

find the distinction of stanzas neglected in

ancient MSS; where, to save room, two or

three verses are frequently given in one line

undivided. See flagrant instances in the Har-

leian Catalog, No. 2253, s. 20, 34, 61, 70, et

passim.

THE FIRST FIT.‡

The Persè owt of Northomberlande,

And a vowe to God mayd he,

That he wolde hunte in the mountayns

Off Chyriat within dayes thre,

In the mauger of doughtiè Dogles,

And all that ever with him be.

The fattiste hartes in all Cheviat

He sayd he wold kill, and cary them away'

Be my feth, sayd the doughti Douglas agayn,

I wyll let that hontyng yf that I may.

Then the Persè owt of Bamborowe cam,

With him a mygbyo meany;

With fifteene hondrith archares bold;

The wear chosen out of shyars thre.§

† Vid. P. 2, v. 167.

‡ Fit, see ver. 100.

§ By these “shyars thre” is probably meant three dis-

tricts in Northumberland, which still go by the name of

shires, and are all in the neighbourhood of Cheviot. These

are Islandshire, being the district so named from Holy-

Page 67

THE ANCIENT BALLAD OF CHEVY CHASE.

This began on a Monday at morn

In Cheviat the hillys so he;

The chyld may rue that ys un-born,

It was the mor pittè.

The dryvars thorowe the woodes went

For to reas the dear;

Bomen bickarte uppone the bent

With their browd aras cleare.

Then the wyld thorowe the woodes went

On every syde shear:

Grea-hondes thorowe the greves glent

For to kyll thear dear.

The begane in Chyviat the hyls above

Yerly on a monnyn duy;

Be that it drewe to the oware off none

A hondrith fat hartes ded ther lay.

The b'ewè a mort uppone the bent,

The samblyd on sydis shear;

To the quyrry then the Persè went

To se the bryttlynge of the deare.

He sayd, It was the Duglas promys

This day to meet me hear;

But I wysto he wold fayllè voramont:

A gret oth the Perse swear.

At the laste a squyar of Northombelonde

Lokyde at his hand full ny,

He was war ath the doughgetie Doglas com-

ynge:

With him a myghtè meany.

Both with spear, 'byll,' and brande;

Yt was a myghti sight to se,

Hardyar men both off hart nar hande

Were not in Christiantè.

The wear twenty hondrith spear-men good

Withouten any fayle;

The wear borna a-long be the watèr a Twyde,

Yth bowndes of Tividale.

Leave off the brytlyng of the dear, he sayde,

And to your bowys look ye tayk good heed;

For never sithe ye wear on your mothars borne

Had ye never so mickle need.

The doughèti Dogglas on a stede

He rude att his men beforne;

15

His armor glytteryd as dyd a glede;

A bolder barne was never born.

Tell me 'what' men ye ar, he says,

Or whos men that ye be:

Who gave yone leave to hunte in this

Chyviat chays in the spyt of me?

The first mane thatever him an answear mayd,

Yt was the good lord Persé :

We wyll not tell the 'what' men wo ar, he

says,

Nor whos men that wo be;

But we wyll hount hear in this chays

In the spyte of thyne, and of the.

The fattiste hartes in all Chyviat

We have kyld, and cast to carry them

a-way.

Be my troth, sayd the donghtè Dogglas agayn,

Thor-for the ton of us shall de this day.

Thon sayd the donghtè Doglas

Unto the lord Persé :

To kyll all thes giltiess men,

A-las ! it wear great pittè.

But, Persè, thowe art a lord of lande,

I am a yerle callyd within my contre;

Let all our men uppone a parti stande;

And do the battell off tho and of me.

Now Cristes cors on his crowne, sayd the lord

Persè,

Who-soèver ther-to says nay.

Be my troth, doughtè Doglas, he says,

Thow shalt never se that day;

Netharin Ynglonde, Skottlonde, nar France,

Nor for no man of a woman born,

But and fortunc be my chance,

I dar met him on man for on.

Then bespayke a squyar off Northombarlonde,

Ric. Wytharyntòn* was him nam ;

It shall never be told in Sothe-Ynglonde, he

says,

To kyng Herry the fourth for sham.

V. 59, whos, P. C. V. 65, whoys, P. C. V. 71, agay, P. C.

V. 81, sayd the. P. C. V. 88, on. l. e. mae.

  • This is probalby corrupted in the MS. for Reg Widdrington, who was at the head of the familly in the reign of K. Edw. III. There were several successively of the names of Roger and Ralph, but none of the name of Richard, as appears from the genealogies in the Herald's office.

Page 68

THE ANCIENT BALLAD OF CHEVY CHASE.

youe byn great lordes twawe,

m a poor squyar of lande ;

1 never se my captayne fyght on a

'ylde,

d stande my-selfe, and looke on,

whyll I may my wappone welde,

vyll not 'fayl' both harte and hande.

day, that day, that dredfull day :

e first fit* here I fynde.

'you wyll here any more athe hountyng

athe Chyviat,

at ys ther mor behynde.

THE SECOND FIT.

Yngglishe men hade ther bowys yebent,

her hartes were good yenoughe ;

first of arrows that the shoto off,

even skore spear-men the sloughe.

bydys the yerle Doglas upon the bent,

5

  • captayne good yenoughe,

1 that was sene verament,

'or he wrought hom both woo and wouche.

s Dogglas pertyd his ost in thre,

syk a cheffe cheften off pryde,

10

th suar speares off myghtte tre

Che cum in on every syde.

rughe our Yngglishe archery

Jave many a wounde full wyde;

uny a doughte the garde to dy,

15

Which ganyde them no pryde.

te Yngglyshe men let thear bowys be,

And pulde owt brandees that wer bright ;

was a hevy syght to se

Bryght swordes on basnites lyght.

20

torowe ryche male, and myne-ye-ple

Many sterne the stroke downe streight:

any a freyke, that was full free,

That undar foot dyd lyght.

t last the Duglas and the Persè met,

25

Lyk to captayns of myght and mayne ;

te swapte together tyll the both swat

With swordes, that wear off fyn myllàn.

Thes worthe freckys for to fyght

Ther-to the wear full fync,

30

Tyll the bloude owte off their basnetes sprente,

As ever dyd heal or rayne.

Holde tho, Persè, sayd the Doglas,

And i' feth I shall the brynge

Wher thowe shalte have a yerls wagis

35

Of Jamy our Scottish kynge.

Thonee shalte have thy ransom fre,

I hight the hear this thinge,

For the manfullyste man yet art thowe,

That ever I conqueryd in filde fightyng.

40

Nay 'then' sayd the lord Persè,

I tolde it the beforne,

That I wolde never yeldyde be

To no man of a woman born.

With that ther cam an arrowe hastely

45

Forthà off a mightie wane,*

Hit hathe strekené the yerle Duglas

In at the brest banc.

Thorowe lyvar and longs bathe

The sharp arrow ys gane,

50

That never after in all his lyffe days,

He spayke mo wordes but ane,

That was,† Fyghte ye, my merry men, whyllys

ye may,

For my lyff days ben gan.

55

The Persè leanyde on his brande,

And saw the Duglas de ;

He took the dedè man be the hande,

And sayd, Wo ys me for the !

To have sayved thy lyffe I wold have pertyd

with

My landes for years thre,

60

For a better man of hart, nare of hande

Was not in all the north countrè.

Off all that sa a Skottishe knyght,

Was callyd Sir Hewo the Mongon-byrry,

He saw the Duglas to the deth was dyght ;

65

He spendyd a spear a trusti tre :

a. first, i. e. flight. V. 5, byddys, P. C. V. 17, boys, P. C. V. 18, briggt. P. C. V. 21, thorowe, P. C. V. 22, done,

C. V. 26, to, i. e. two. Ibid, and of P. C.

V. 32, ran, P. C. V. 33, helde, P. C. V. 40, thorowe, P. C.

  • Wane, i. e. ane, one, sc. man, an arrow came from a mighty one; from a mighty man.

† whle scane to have hawn a filsea anded

Page 69

THE ANCIENT BALLAD OF CHEVY CHASE.

He rod uppon a corsiare

Throughe a hondrith archery:

He never styntyde, nar never blane,

Tyll he cam to the good lord Persè.

70

He set uppone the lord Persè

A dynt that was full soare;

With a suar spear of a myghtè tre

Clean thorow the body he the Persè bore,

Athe tothar sydo, that a man myght se,

75

A large cloth yard and mare;

Towe bettar captayns wear nat in Christiantè,

Then that day slain wear ther.

An archar off Northomberlondo

Say sleyn was the lord Persè,

80

He bar a bende-bow in his hande,

Was made off trusti tre:

An arow, that a cloth yarde was lang,

To th' hard stele haylde he;

85

A dynt, that was both sad and sorc,

He sat on Sir Hewe the Mongon-byrry.

The dynt yt was both sad and sar,

That he of Mongon-byrry sete;

The swane-fothars, that his arrowè bar,

With his hart blood tho woar weto.*

90

Ther was never a freake wone foot wolde flc,

But still in stour dyd stand,

Heawying on yche othar, whyll the myght dre,

With many a bal-ful brande.

This battell beganè in Chyviat

An ewar befor the none,

95

And when even song bell was rang

The battell was nat half done.

The tookè 'on' on ethar hand

Be the lyght off the mone;

100

Many hade no strenght for to stando,

In Chyviat the hylllys aboun.

Of fifteen hondrith archers of Ynglonde

Went away but fifti and thre;

Of twenty hondrith spear-men of Skot-londe,

105

But even five and fifti :

V. 74, bor. P. C. V. 80, Say, i.e. Sawe. V. 84, haylde,

P. C. V. 87, sar, P. C. V. 102, abou, P. C.

  • This incident is taken from the battle of Otterbourn

in which Sir Hugh Montgomery, knt. (son of John Lord

Montgomery) was slain with an arrow. Vid. Crawford's

Peerage.

But all wear slayne Cheviat within;

The hade no strengthe to stand on hrie;

The chylde may rue that ys un-borne,

It was the mor pité.

110

Thear was slayne with the lord Persè

Sir John of Agerstone,

Sir Rogè the linde Hartly,

Sir Wyllyam the bolde Hearone.

Sir Jorg the worthe Lovele

115

A knyght of great renowen,

Sir Raff the rych Rugbè

With dyntes wear beaten dowene.

For Wetharryngton my harto was wo,

That ever he slayne shulde be;

120

For when both his leggìs wear hewyne in to,

Yet he knyled and fought on hys kne.

Ther was slayne with the dougheti Douglas

Sir Hewe the Mongon-byrry,

Sir Davyo Lwdale, that worthè was,

125

His sistars son was he:

Sir Charles a Murrè, in that place,

That never a foot wolde fle;

Sir Howe Maxwell, a lordo he was,

With the Duglas dyd he dey.

130

So on the morrowe the mayde them byears

Off byrch, and hasell so 'gray';

Many wodous with wepyng tearn*

Cam to fach ther makys a-way.

Tivydale may carpe off care,

135

Northombarlond maylk grat mone,

For towe such captayns, as slayne wear thear,

On the march perti shall never be none.

Word ys commen to Edden burrowe,

To Jamy the Skottishe kyng,

140

That dougheti Duglas, lyff-tenant of the Mer-ches,

He lay slean Chyviot with-in.

V. 108, strenge . . . by, P. C. V. 115, Ioule, P. C. V. 121,

in to, i. e. in two. V. 122, kny, P. C. V. 132, gay, P. C.

V. 136, mon, P. C. V. 138, non, P. C.

  • A common pleonasm, see the next poem, Fit 2d, v.
  1. So Harding, in his Chronicle, chap. 140, fol. 143, de-

scribing the death of Richard I. says,

He shrove him thor unto Abbots thre

With great sobbyng . . . . and wepyng teares.

So likewyse Cavendish in his Life of Cardinal Wolsey,

chap. 12, p. 81, 4to. 'When the duke heard this, he re-

plied with weeping teares,' &c

Page 70

56 THE ANCIENT BALLAD OF THE BATTLE OF OTTERBOURNE.

His handdes did he weal and wryng,

He sayd, Alas, and wo ye me !

Such another captayn Skotland within,

He sayd, y-feth shud never be.

Worde ys commyn to lovely Londone

Till the fourth Harry our kyng,

That lord Persè, leyff-tentante of the Marchis,

He lay slayne Chyviat within.

God have mercè on his soll, sayd kyng Harry,

Good lord, yf thy will it be !

I have a hondrith captayns in Ynglonde, he sayd,

As good as ever was hee :

But Persè, and I brook my lyffe,

Thy deth well quyte shall be.

As our noble kyng made his a-vowe,

Lyke a noble prince of renowen,

For the deth of the lord Parsè,

He dyd the battel of Hombyll-down :

Wher syx and thritte Skottish knyghtes

On a day wear beaten down :

Glandale glytterydè on ther armor bryght,

Over castill, towar, and town.

This was the hontynge off the Cheviat;

That tear begane this spurne :

Old men that knowen the growndè well yenoughe,

Call it the Battell of Otterburn.

At Otterburn began this spurne

Uppòn a monnyn day :

Ther was the donghtè Doglas sloane,

The Persè never went away.

Ther was never a tym on the march partes

Sen the Doglas and the Persè met,

But yt was marvelè, and the redde blude

ronne not,

As the reane doys in the stret.

Jhesue Christ our balys bete,

And to the blys us bryngel

Thus was the hountynge of the Chevyat :

God send us all good ending !

*The style of this and the following ballad is uncommonly rugged and uncouth, owing to their being writ in the very coarsest and broadest northern dialect.

The battle of Hombyll-down or Humbledon, was fought Sept. 14, 1402 (anno 3 Hen. IV.), wherein the English, under the command of the Earl of Northumberland, and his son Hotspur, gained a complete victory over the Scots. The village of Humbledon is one mile north-west from Wooler, in Northumberland. The battle was fought in the field below the village, near the present turnpike road, in a spot called ever since Red-Riggs. -Humbleton is in Glendale Ward, a district so named in this county, and mentioned above in ver. 163.

II.

The Battle of Otterbourne.

The only battle, wherein an Earl of Douglas was slain fighting with a Percy, was that of Otterbourn, which is the subject of this ballad. It is here related with the allowable partiality of an English poet, and much in the same manner as it is recorded in the English Chronicles. The Scottish writers have, with a partiality at least as excusable, related it no less in their own favour. Luckily we have a very circumstantial narrative of the whole affair from Froissart, a French historian, who appears to be unbiassed.

Froissart's relation is prolix ; I shall therefore give it with a few corrections, as abridged by Carte, who has however had recourse to other authorities, and differs from Froissart in some things, which I shall note in the margin.

In the twelfth year of Richard II., 1388, "The Scots taking advantage of the confusions of this nation, and falling with a party into the Westmarches, ravaged the country about Carlisle, and carried off three hundred prisoners. It was with a much greater force

Page 71

THE ANCIENT BALLAD OF THE BATTLE OF OTTERBOURNE.

57

that, in the beginning of August,* they invaded Northumberland; and, having wasted

part of the county of Durham,† advanced to the gates of Newcastle; where, in a skirmish,

they took a ‘penon’ or colourst belonging to Henry Lord Percy, surnamed Hotspur, son

to the Earl of Northumberland. In their retreat home, they attacked a castle near Otter-

bourn; and, in the evening of Aug. 9 (as the English writers say; or rather, according

to Froissart, Aug. 15), after an unsuccessful assault, were surprised in their camp, which

was very strong, by Henry, who at the first onset put them into a good deal of confusion.

But James, Earl of Douglas, rallying his men, there ensued one of the best-fought

actions that happened in that age; both armies showing the utmost bravery;‡ the

Earl Douglas himself being slain on the spot;|| the Earl of Murray mortally wounded; and

Hotspur,§ with his brother Ralph Percy, taken prisoners. These disasters on both

sides have given occasion to the event of the engagement’s being disputed; Froissart (who

derives his relation from a Scotch knight, two gentlemen of the same country, and as

many of Foix)** affirming that the Scots remained masters of the field; and the English

writers insinuating the contrary. These last maintain that the English had the better of

the day: but night coming on, some of the northern lords, coming with the Bishop of

Durham to their assistance, killed many of them by mistake, supposing them to be Scots;

  • Froissart speaks of both parties (consisting in all of 40,000 men) as entering England at the same time; but the greater part by way of Carlisle.

† And, according to the ballad, that part of Northumberland called Bamboroughshire; a large tract of land so named from the town and castle of Bamborough, formerly

the residence of the Northumberland Kings.

‡ This circumstance is omitted in the ballad. Hotspur and Douglas were two young warriors much of the same age.

§ Froiseart says the English exceeded the Scots in number three to one, but that these had the advantage of ground, and were also fresh from sleep, while the English

were greatly fatigued*with their previous march.

|| By Henry L. Percy, according to this ballad, and our old English historians, as Stow, Speed, &c. but borne down by numbers, if we may believe Froissart.

¶ Hotspur (after a very sharp conflict) was taken prisoner by John Lord Montgomery, whose eldest son, Sir Hugh, was slain in the same action with an arrow, according

to Crawford’s Peerage (and seems also to be alluded to in the foregoing ballad but taken prisoner and exchanged for Hot-pur, according to this ballad.*

and the Earl of Dunbar, at the same time falling on another side upon Hotspur, took him and his brother prisoners, and carried

them off while both parties were fighting.

It is at least certain, that immediately after this battle the Scots engaged in it made the

best of their way home: and the same party was taken by the other corps about Carlisle.”

Such is the account collected by Carte, in which he seems not to be free from partiality:

for prejudice must own that Froissart’s circumstantial account carries a great appearance of truth, and he gives the victory to the

Scots. He however does justice to the courage of both parties; and represents their mutual generosity in such a light, that the pre-

sent age might edify by the example. “The Englysshmen on the one partye, and the

Scottes on the other party, are good men of warre, for whan they mete, there is a hard

fighte without sparynge. There is no loo* betwene them as long as speares, swerdes,

axes, or dager wyll endure; but lay on eulhe upon other; and whan they be well beaten,

tory, they than glorifye so in their dedes of armes, and are so joyfull, that suche as be

taken, they shall be ransomed or they go out of the feilde;† so that shortly eche of

them is so contente with other, that at their departynge curteously they will saye, God thanke

you. But in lyghtynge one with another there is no playe, nor sparynge.” Froissart’s

Chronycle (as translated by Sir Johan Bourchier Lord Berners), cap. xliij.

The following Ballad is (in this present edition) printed from an old MS. in the Cotton Library‡ (Cleopatra, c. iv.) and contains

many stanzas more than were in the former copy, which was transcribed from a MS. in

the Harleian Collection [No. 293, fol. 52.] In the Cotton MS. this poem has no title, but

in the Harleian copy it is thus inscribed,

“A songe made in R. 2 his tyme of the battele of Otterburne, betweene Lord Henry

Percye, Earle of Northomberlande, and the Earle Douglas of Scotlande, Anno 1388.”

  • So in Langham’s letter concerning Q. Elizabeth’s entertainment at Killingworth castle, 1575, 12mo. p. 61

† i. e. They scorn to take the advantage, or to keep them lingering in long captivity.

Page 72

58

THE ANCIENT BALLAD OF THE BATTLE OF OTTERBOURNE.

—But this title is c1ioncous, and added by

some ignoiant transe1ibon of 'nfter-times, for,

1 The battle was not fought by the Eail of

Northumberland, who was absent, but by his

son Sir Henry Percy, Knt suinamed Hot-

gur, (in those times they did not usunlly

give the title of lord to an eail's eldest son.)

2 Although the battle was fought in Richard

II.'s time, the song is evidently of later date,

as appeais from the poet's quoting the chion-

icles in Pt II. ver. 26, and speaking of Per-

cy in the last stanza as dead. It was how-

ever written in all likelihood as eaily as the

fulegoing song, if not ealier This perhaps

may be inferred from the minute ciccum-

st unces with which the stoly is 1elated, many

of which are 1ecoi'ded in no chronicle, and

weie probably pieserved in the memory of

old people It will be observed that the

authols of these two poems have some lines

in common, but which of them was the

original pioiietor must depend upon then

p1iority; and this the sigacity of the ieader

must detei mine.

Yr felle abowght the Lumasse tyde,

When husbands wynn ther haye,

The dowhtye Dowglass bowynd hym to yde,

In Yugland to take a playe;

The yerile of Fyffe,* withowghten styffe,

5 He bowynd hym over Sulway †

The grete wold ever together yde,

That race they may rue for aye.

Over 'Ottercap' hyll they‡ came in,

And so dowyn by Rodelyffe1iagge,

‡ 2 wns thel heare, IIarl MS. This is the North

umberland phrase to this day by which they always

express "getting in their hay"

  • Robert Stewart, second son of King Robert II

† I e "over Solway frith" This evidently refers to the

other division of the Scottish army, which came in by

way of Carlisle —— Bowyn'd, or Bownded him I c hied

him. Vid Gloss

‡ 'Ihey sc the Earl of Douglas and his party ——The

several stations here mentioned are well known places in

Northumberland Ottercap hill is in the parish of Kirk-

Whelpington, in Tynedale ward Rodeliff- (or, as it is

more usually proncunced, Rodeley) Cragge is a noted cliff

near Ro laley, a small village in the parish of Hartburn, in

Morpeth ward It lics south-east of Ottercap, and has,

within these few years, been distinguished by a small tower

erected by Sir Walter Blacket, Bart, whuch, in Armstrong's

map of Northumberland, is pompously called Rodeley-

castle Green Leyton is another small village in the same

parish of IIartburn, and is south-east of Rodeley ——Both

the original MSS read here corruptly, Huppertop and

Lyn'on

Upon Giene 'Leyton' they lyghted dowyn,

Styande many a stagge;

And boldely brent Northomberlonde,

And haryed many a towyn;

They dyd owy Ynglyssh men geto wrange,

To battell that were not bowyn.

16

Than spake a berne upon the bent,

Of comforte that was not colde,

And sayd, We have brente Northomberlond,

We have all welth in holde.

20

Now we have hayed all Bamboroweshyre,

All the welth in the woildo have wee;

I rede we rydc to Newe Castell,

So styll and stalwurthlye

Uppou the monowe, when it was daye,

25 The standards shone fulle bryght;

To the Newe Castelle the toke the waye,

And thether they cam fulle yght

Sir Henry Percy laye at the Newe Castellc,

I telle yow withoutten dede,

He had byn a mach-man* all hys dayes,

And kepte Buiwyke upon 'T'wede.

30

To the Newe Castell when they cam,

The Skottes they cryde on hyght,

Syı Harye Percy, and thow byste within,

Com to the fylde, and fyght.

For we have brente Northomberlondc,

Thy ertage good and yght;

And syne my logyng I have take,

With my biande dubbyd many a knyght.

Sir Harry Percy cam to the walles,

41 The Skottyssh oste for to se;

"And thow hast brente Northomberlond,

Full sore it rewyth me.

Yf thou hast haryed all Bambarowe shyre,

45 Thow hast done me grete envye;

For the trespasse thow hast me done,

The tone of us schall dye "

‡ 12, This line is corrupt in both the MSS viz, "Many

a stylande stage" —Stars have been killed within the pre-

sent century on some of the large wastes in Northumber

land V 39, syne seems here to mcan since

  • Marche-man, I e a scowier of the marches

Page 73

THE ANCIENT BALLAD OF THE BATTLE OF OTTERBOURNE.

Where schall I byde the? sayd the Dowglas,

Or where wylte thow come to me?

"At Otterborne in the hygh way,"

Ther maist thow well logeed be.

The roo full rekeles ther sche rinnes,

To make the game and glee :

The fawkon and the fesant both,

Among(e) on the holtes on 'hoe.'

Ther maist thow have thy welth at wyll,

Well loged ther maist be.

Yt schall not be long, or I com the tyll,"

Sayd Syr Harry Percy(e).

Ther schall I byde the, sayd the Dowglas,

By the fayth of my bodye.

Thether schall I com, sayd Syr Harry Percy;

My trowth I plyght to the.

A pype of wyne he gave them over the walles,

For soth, as I yow saye :

Ther he mayd the Douglas drynke,

And all hys oste that daye.

The Dowglas turnyd hym homewarde agayne,

For soth withowghten maye,

He took(e) his logeyng at Oterborne

Vpp(on) a Wedyns-day :

And ther(e) he pyght hys standerd dowyn,

Hys gettyng more and lesse,

And syne he warned hys men to goo

To chose ther geldyngs gresse.

A Skottysshe knyght h(ow)ed upon the bent,

A wache I dare well saye :

So was he ware on the noble Percy(e)

In the dawnynge of the daye.

He prycked to his pavyleon dore,

As faste as he myght roune,

Awaken, Dowglas, cryed the knyght,

For hys love, that syttes yn trone.

Awaken, Dowglas, cryed the knyght,

For thow maiste wake wyth wynne;

Yender have I spyed the prowd(e) Percy,

And seven standardes wyth hym.

Nay by my trowth, the Douglas sayd,

It ys but a fayned taylle :

He durst(e) not loke on my bred banner,

For all Ynglonde so haylle.

Was I not yester daye at the Newe Castell,

That stond(s) so fayre on Tyne?

For all the men the Percy hade,

He cowde not garre me oncs to dyne.

He stepped owt at hys pavelyon dore,

To loke and it were lesse;

Araye yow, lordyngs, onc and all,

For here bygynnes no peyss(e)

The yerle of Mentayne,* thow art my eme,

The forwarde I gyve to the :

The yerlle of Hyntlay cawte and kene,

Ho schall wyth the be.

The lorde of Bowghan† in armure bryght

On the oder hand(e) he schall be;

Lord Jhonstone and Lorde Maxwell,

They to schall be wyth me.

Swynton fayre fylde upon your pryde

To batell make yow bowen :

Syr Davy Scotte, Syr Walter Stewarde,

Syr Jhon of Agurstane.

A FYTTE.

The Perssy came byfore hys oste,

Wych was ever a gent(y)ll knyght,

Upon the Dowglas lowde can he crye,

I wyll holde that I have hyght :

For thow haste brente Northumberlond(e),

And done me grete envy(e);

For thys trespasse thou hast me done,

The tone of us schall dye.

The Dowglas answerde hym agayne

With grete wurds up on 'hee,'

And sayd, I have twenty agaynst 'thy' one(e)‡

Byholde and thow maiste see.

Wyth that the Percy(e) was grevyd sore,

For soth(e) as I yow saye :

V. 53. Roe-bucks were to be found upon the wastes not far from Hexham, in the reign of Geo. I. — Whitfield, Esq., of Whitfield, is said to have destroyed thelast of them. V. 56. hye, MSS. V. 77. upon the best bent, MS.

  • Otterbourn is near the old Wating-street road, in the parish of Elsdon. The Scots were encamped in a grassy plain near the river Reed. The place where the Scots and English fought is still called Battle Riga.

V. 1, 13. Percy(e), al. MS. V. 4. I will hold to what I have promised. V. 10, hye, MSS. V. 11, the one, MS.

  • The Earl of Mentieth. † The Lord Buchan. ‡ He probably magnifies his strength to induce him to surrender.

Page 74

60 THE ANCIENT BALLAD OF THE BATTLE OF OTTERBOURNE.

[* He lyghted dowyn upon his fote,

And schoote his horsse clone away.

Every man sawe that he dyd soo,

That ryall was ever in rowght;

Every man schoote hys horsse him froo,

And lyght hym rowynde abowght.

Thus Syr Hary Pereye toke the fylde,

For soth, as I yow saye:

Jesu Cryste in hevyn on hyght

Dyd helpe hym well that daye.

But nyne thowzand, ther was no moo ;

The cronykle wyll not layne:

Forty thowsande Skottes and fowre

That day fowght them agayne.

But when the batell hyganne to joyne,

In hast ther came a knyght,

' Then' letters fayre furth hath he tayne,

And thus he sayd full ryght:

My lorde, your father he gretes yow well,

Wyth many a noble knyght;

He desyres yow to byde

That he may see thys fyght.

The Baron of Grastoke ys com owt of the west,

With him a noble companye;

All they loge at your fathers thys nyght,

And the battell fayne wold they see.

For Jesu's love, sayd Syr Harye Percy,

That dyed for yow and me,

Wende to my lorde my father agayne,

And saye thou saw me not with yee :

My trowth ys plight to yonre Skottysh knyght,

It nedes me not to layne,

That I schulde byde hym upon thys bent,

And I have hys trowth agayne:

And if that I wende off thys grownd

For soth unfoughten awaye,

He wolde me call but a kowarde knyght

In hys londe another daye.

Yet had I lever to be ryrnde and rente,

By Mary that mykel maye;

Then ever my manhood schulde be reprovyd

Wyth a Skotte another daye.

  • All that follows, included in brackets, was not in the first edition.

15 Wherefore schote, archars, for my sake,

And let scharpe arrowes fle ;

Mynstrells, play up for your waryson,

And well quyte it schall be.

Every man thyuke on hys trewe love,

And marke hym to the Trenyte :

For to God I make myne avowe

Thys day wyll I not fle.

The blodye harte in the Dowglas armes,

Ilys standerde stode on hye;

That every man myght full well knowe:

By syde stode Starres thre :

The whyte Lyon on the Ynglysh parte,

Forsoth as I yow sayne ;

The Luccetts and the Cressawnts both:

The Skotts faught them agayne.*]

Uppou sent Andrewo lowde cane they crye,

And thryssse they schowte on hyght,

And syne marked them ono owr Ynglysshe

men,

As I have told yow ryght.

Sent George the bryght owr ladies knyght,

To name they† were full fayne,

Owr Ynglysshe men they cryde on hyght,

And thryssse the schowtte agayne.

Wyth that scharpe arrowes bygan to fle,

I tell yow in sortayne;

Men of armes byganne to joyne;

Many a dowghty man was ther slayne.

The Percy and the Dowglas mette,

That either of other was fayne :

They schapped together, wyll that the swette,

With swords of fyne Col layne;

Tyll the bloode from ther bassonnetts ranne,

As the roke doth in the rayne.

Yelde the to me, sayd the Dowglas,

Or els thow schalt be slayne:

  • The ancient Arms of Douglas are pretty accurately emblazoned in the former stanza, and if the readings were, the crowned harte, and Above stode starres thre, it would be minutely exact at this day.--As for the Percy familr, one of their ancient Badges or Cognizances was a white Lyon Statant, and the Silver Cresent continues to be used by them to this day: they also give three Luces Argent for one of their quarters.

† i. e. The Englishe.

Page 75

THE ANCIENT BALLAD OF THE BATTLE OF OTTERBOURNE.

For I see, by thy bryght bassonet,

Thow art sum man of myght,

And so I do by thy burnysshed brande,

Thow art an yarle, or ells a knyght.*

By my good faythe, sayd the noble Percy,

Now haste thou rede full rygt,

Yet wyll I never yelde me to the,

Whyll I may stounde and fyght.

Theyswapped together, whyll that they swette,

Wyth swordes scharpe and long;

Ych on other so faste they beatte,

Tyll ther helmes cam in peyses down.

The Percy was a man of strenghth,

I tell yow in thys stounde,

He smote the Dowglas at the swordes length,

That he felle to the growyndo.

The sworde was scharpe and sore can byte,

I tell yow in sertayne;

To the harto, he cowde hym smyte,

Thus was the Dowglas slayne.

The stonderds stode styll on eko sydo,

With many a grovous grone;

Ther the fowght the day, and all the nyght,

And many a dowghty man was 'slone'.

Ther was no freke, that ther woide flye,

But styfly in stowre can stond,

Ychone hewyng on other whyll they myght drye,

Wyth many a bayllefull bronde.

Ther was slayne upon the Skottes syde,

For soth and sertaynly,

Syr James a Dowglas ther was slayne,

That daye that he cowde dye.

The yerle Mentaye of he was slayne,

Grysely groned uppon the growynd;

Syr Davy Scotte, Syr Walter Steward,

Syr 'John' of Agurstonne.†

Syr Charles Morroy in that place,

That never a fote wold flye;

Sir Hughe Maxwellle, a lord he was,

With the Dowglas dyd he dye.

Ther was slayne upon the Skottes syde,

For soth as I yow saye,

Of fowre and fourty thowsande Scotts

Went but eyightene awaye.

Ther was slayne upon the Ynglysshe syde,

For soth and sertonlye,

A gentoll knyght, Sir John Fitz-hughe,

Yt was the more petye.

Syr James Harebotell thor was slayne,

For hym ther hartes were sore,

The gentyll 'Lovolle' ther was slayne,

That the Perceyes standerd bore.

Thor was slayno uppon the Ynglyssh perte,

For soth as I yow saye:

Of nyne thowsand Ynglyssh men

Fyve hondret cam awaye:

The other were slayne in the fylde,

Crysto kepe their sowles from wo,

Seying thor was so few fryndes

Agaynst so many a foo.

Then one the morne they mayd them bereres

Of byrch, and haysell graye;

Many a wydowe with wepyng teyres

Ther makes they fette awaye.

Thys fraye began at Otterborne,

Bytwene the nyghte and the day:

Ther the Dowglas lost hys lyfe,

And the Percy was lede awaye.*

Then was ther a Scottyshe prisoner tayne,

Syr Hughe Mongomery was hys name,

For soth as I yow saye,

He borowed the Percy home agayne.†

V. 116, slayne, MSS. V. 124, i. e. He died that day.

  • Being all in armour he could not know him.

† Our old minstrol repeats those names, as Homer and Virgil do those of their heroes :

"— fortemque Gyan, fortemque Cloanthum, &c, &c.

Both the MSS. read here, "Sir' James," but see above, pt. I. ver. 112.

V. 143, Covelle, MS.—For the names in this page see the Remarks at the end of this ballad. V. 162, one, i. e. on

  • so Captive.

† In the Cotton MS. is the following note on ver. 164, in an ancient hand :

"Syr Hewe Mongomory takyn prizonar, was delyvered for the restorynge of Persy."

Page 76

60

THE ANCIENT' BALLAD OF THE BATTLE OF OTTERBOURNE.

[* He lyghted dowyn upon his fote,

And schoote his horsse clone away.

Every man sawg that he dyd soo,

That ryall was ever in rowght;

Every man schoote hys horsse him froo,

And lyght hym rowynde abowght.

Thus Syr Hary Percy toke the fylde,

For soth, as I yow saye :

Jesu Cryste in hevyn on lyght

Dyd helpe hym well that daye.

But nyne thowzand, ther was no moo ;

The cronykle wyll not layne :

Forty thowsande Skottes and fowre

That day fowght them agayne.

But when the batell bygynne to joyne,

In hast ther came a knyght,

' Then' letters fayre furth hath he tayne,

And thus he sayd full bryght :

My lorde, your father he grettys yow well,

Wyth many a noble knyght;

He desyres yow to byde

That he may see thys fyght.

The Baron of Grastoke ys com owt of the west,

With him a noble companye;

All they loge at your fathers thys nyght,

And the batell fayne wold they see.

For Jesu's love, sayd Syr Harye Percy,

That dyed for yow and me,

Wende to my lorde my father agayne,

And saye thou saw me not with yee :

My trowth ys plight to yonre Skottysh knyght,

It nedes me not to layne,

That I schulde byde hym upon thys bent,

And I have hys trowth agayne :

And if that I wende off thys growrde

For soth unfowghten awaye,

He wolde me call but a kowarde knyght

In hys londe another daye.

Yet had I lever to be rynded and rente,

By Mary that mykel maye;

Then ever my manhood schulde be reprovyd

Wyth a Skotte another daye.

  • All that follows, includad in brackets, was not in the

first edition.

15 Wherefore schote, archars, for my sake,

And let scharpe arowes fle :

Mynstrolls, play up for your waryson,

And well quyt it schall be.

Every man thynke on hys trewe love,

And marke hym to the Trenyte :

For to God I make myne avowe

Thys day wyll I not fle.

The blodye harte in the Dowglas armes,

Hys standerde stode on hye;

That every man myght full well knowe :

By syde stode Starres thre :

The whyte Lyon on the Ynglysh parte,

Forsoth as I yow sayne;

Tho Lucetts and the Cressawnts both :

The Skotls faught them agayne.*]

Upppon sent Andrewe lowde cane they crye,

And thryssc thoy sclowte on hyglit,

And sync marked them one owr Ynglysshe

men,

As I have told yow ryght.

Sent Georgc the bryght owr ladies knyght,

To name they† were full fayne,

Owr Ynglysshe men they cryde on hyght,

And thryssc the schowtte agayne.

Wyth that scharpe arowes bygan to fle,

I tell yow in sertayne;

Men of armes bygynne to joyne;

Many a dowghty man was ther slayne.

The Percy and the Dowglas mette,

That ether of other was fayne :

They schapned together, whyll that the swette,

With swords of fyne Colayne;

Tyll the bloode from ther bassonnetts ranne,

As the roke doth in the rayne.

Yelde to the me, sayd the Dowglas,

Or els thow schalt be slayne :

  • The ancient Arms of Douglas are pretty accurately

emblazoned in the former stanza, and if the readings were,

The crowned harte, and Above stode starres thre, it would

be minutely exact at this day.—As for the Percy familÿ,

one of their ancient Badges or Cognizances was a white Lyon

Statant, and the Silver Crescent continues to be used by

them to this day : they also give three Luces Argent for one

of their quarters.

† i. e. The English.

Page 77

THE ANCIENT BALLAD OF THE BATTLE OF OTTERBOURNE.

61

For I see, by thy bryght bassonet,

Thow art sum man of myght,

And so I do by thy burnysshed brande,

Thow art an yerle, or ells a knyght.*

95

By my good faythe, sayd the noble Percy,

Now haste thou rode full ryght,

Yet wyll I never yelde me to the,

Whyll I may stonde and fyht.

100

Theyswapped together, whyll that they swette,

Wyth swordes scharpe and long;

Yeh on other so faste they bectto,

Tyll thor helmes cam in peyses dowyn.

The Percy was a man of strenghth,

105

I tell yow in thys stounde,

He smote the Dowglas at the swordes length,

That he felle to the growynde.

The sworde was soharpo and sore can byte,

110

I tell yow in sertayne;

To the harte, he cowde hym smyte,

Thus was the Dowglas slayno.

The stonderds stode styll on eke syde,

With many a grovous grone;

Ther the fowght the day, and all the

nyght,

115

And many a dowghty man was 'slone'.

Ther was no freke, that ther wolde flye,

But styfly in stowre can stond,

Yehone hewyng on other whyll they myght drye,

Wyth many a bayllefull bronde.

120

Ther was slayne upon the Skottes syde,

For soth and sertently,

Syr James a Dowglas ther was slayne,

That daye that he cowde dye.

The yerle Montaye of he was slayne,

125

Grysely groned upon the growynd;

Syr Davy Scotte, Syr Walter Steward,

Syr 'John' of Agurstonne†

V. 110, slayne, MSS. V. 124, i. e. He died that dey.

  • Being all in armour he could not know him.

† Our old minstrel repeats these names, as Homer and

Virgil do those of their herdes:

" - fortamque Gyam, fortenaque Cloanthum, &c., &c.

Both the MSS. read here, "Sir' James," but see above,

pt. I. ver. 112.

Syr Charlles Morrey in that place,

That never a fote wold flye;

130

Sir Hughe Maxwelle, a lord he was,

With the Dowglas dyd he dye.

Ther was slayne upon the Skottes syde,

For soth as I yow saye,

Of fowre and fourty thowsande Scotts

135

Went but eyghtene awaye.

Ther was slayne upon the Ynglysshe syde,

For soth and sertenlye,

A gentell knyght, Sir John Fitz-hughe,

Yt was the more petye.

140

Syr James Harebotell ther was slayne,

For hym thor hartes were sore,

The gentyll 'Lovell' ther was slayne,

That the Parcoyes standard bore.

Ther was slayne upon the Ynglyssh parte,

145

For soth as I yow saye:

Of nyne thowsand Yinglyssh men

Fyve hondret cam awaye:

The other were slayne in the fylde,

Cryste kepe their sowles from wo,

150

Seying ther was so few fryndes

Agaynst so many a foo.

Then one the morne they mayd them beares

Of byrch, and haysell graye;

Many a wydowe with wepyng teyres

155

Ther makes they fette awaye.

Thys fraye bygan at Otterborne,

Bytwene the nyghte and the day:

Ther the Dowglas lost hys lyfe,

And the Percy was lede awaye.*

160

Then was ther a Scottysshe prisoner tayne,

Syr Hughe Mongomery was hys name,

For soth as I yow saye,

He borowed the Percy home agayne.†

V. 143, Covello, MS.—For the names in this page see the

Remarks at the end of this ballad. V. 153, one, i. e. on.

  • se. Captive.

† In the Cotton MS. is the following note on ver. 164, in

an ancient hand :

"Syr Hew Mongomery takyn prizonar, was delyvered

for the restorynge of Persy."

Page 78

60

THE ANCIENT BALLAD OF THE BATTLE OF OTTERBOURNE.

[* He lyghted dowyn upon his fote,

And schoote his horsse clene away.

Every man sawe that he dyd soo,

That ryall was ever in rowght;

Every man schoote hys horsse him fro,

And lyght hym rowynde abowght.

Thus Syr Hary Percy toke the fylde,

For soth, as I yow saye:

Jesu Cryste in hevyn on lyght

Dyd helpe hym well that daye.

But nyne thowzand, thor was no moo;

The cronykle wyll not layne:

Forty thowsande Skottes and fowre

That day fowght them agayne.

But when the batell byganne to joyne,

In hast ther came a knyght,

'Then' letters fayre furth hath he tayne,

And thus he sayd full lyght:

My lorde, your father he gretes yow well,

Wyth many a noble knyght;

He desyres yow to byde

That he may see thys fyght.

The Baron of Grastoke ys com owt of the west,

With him a noble companye;

All they loge at your fathers thys nyght,

And the batell fayne wold they see.

For Jesu's love, sayd Syr Harye Percy,

That dyed for yow and me,

Wende to my lorde my father agayne,

And saya thou saw me not with yee;

My trowth ys plight to yonre Skottysh knyght,

It nedes me not to layne,

That I schulde byde hym upon thys bent,

And I have hys trowth agayne:

And if that I wende off thys growrde

For soth unfoughten awaye,

He wolde me call but a kowarde knyght

In hys londe another daye.

Yet had I lever to be rynde and rente,

By Mary that mykel maye;

Then ever my manhood schulde be reprovyd

Wyth a Skotte another daye.

  • All that follows, ineluded in brackets, was not in the

first edition.

15|Wherefore schote, archeys, for my sake,

And let scharpe arrowes fle :

Mynstrells, play up for your waryson,

And well quyt it schall be.

Every man thynke om hys trewe love,

And marke hym to the Trenyte :

For to God I make myne avowe

Thys day wyll I not fle.

The blodye harte in the Dowglas armes,

Hys standerde stode on hye;

That every man myght full well knowe:

By syde stode Starres thre :

The whyte Lyon on the Ynglysh parte,

Forsoth as I yow sayne;

The Lucetts and the Cressawnts both :

The Skotts faught them agayne.*]

Upppon sent Andrewe lowde cane they crye,

And thrysse they schowte on lyght,

And syne marked them one owr Ynglyssho

men,

As I have told yow ryght.

Sent George the bryght owr Ladys knyght,

To name they† were full fayne,

Owr Ynglysshe men they cryde on hyght,

And thrysse the schowtte agayne.

Wyth that scharpe arrowes bygan to fle,

I tell yow in sertayne;

Men of armes bygane to joyne;

Many a dowghty man was ther slayne.

The Percy and the Dowglas mette,

That ether of other was fayne:

They schapped together, whyll that the swette,

With swords of fyne Col layne;

Tyll the bloode from ther bassounetts ranne,

As the roke doth in the rayne.

Yelde the to me, sayd the Dowglàs,

Or els thow schalt be slayne:

  • The ancient Arms of Douglas are pretty accurately

emblazoned in the former stanza, and if the readings were,

The crowned harte, and Abone stode starres thre, it would

be minutely exact at this day.—As for the Percy famil'y,

one of their ancient Badges or Cognizances was a white Lyon

Statant, and the Siler Crescent continues to bo used by

them to this day : they also give three Lucos Argent for one

of their quarters.

† i. e. The English.

Page 79

THE ANCIENT BALLAD OF THE BATTLE OF OTTERBOURNE.

61

For I see, by thy bryght bassonet,

'Thow art sum man of myght,

And so I do by thy burnyshed brande,

'Thow art an yerle, or ells a knyght.*

95

By my good faythe, sayd the noble Percy,

Now haste thou rede full ryght,

Yet wyll I never yelde me to the,

Whyll I may stonde and fyght.

100

Theyswapped together, whyllthattheswette,

Wyth swordes scharpe and long;

Yeh on other so faste they beette,

Tyll ther helmes cam in peyses down.

The Percy was a man of strengthe,

105

I tell yow in thys stounde,

He smote the Dowglas at the swordos length,

That he felle to the growynde.

The sworde was soharpo and sore can byte,

110

I tell yow in sertynyo;

To the harte, he cowde hym smyte,

Thus was the Dowglas slayne.

The stonderds stode styll on oka syde,

With many a grovous grone;

Ther the fowght the day, and all the nyght,

115

And many a dowghty man was 'slone'.

Ther was no freke, that ther wolde flye,

But styfly in stowre can stond,

Yehone hewyng on other whyll they myght drye,

Wyth many a bayllefull bronde.

120

Ther was slayne upon the Skottes syde,

For soth and sertently,

Syr James a Dowglas ther was slayne,

That daye that he cowde dye.

The yerle Montaye of he was slayne,

125

Grysely groned uppon the growynd;

Syr Davy Scotte, Syr Walter Steward,

Syr 'John' of Agurstone.†

V. 116, slayne, MSS. V. 124, I. e. He died that day.

  • Being all in armour he could not know him.

† Our old minstrel repeats these names, as Homer and Virgil do those of their heroes:

"— fortemque Gyam, fortemque Cloanthum, &c, &c.

Both the MSS. read here, "Sir James," but see above, pt. I. ver. 112.

Syr Charlles Morrey in that place,

That never a fote wold flye;

130

Sir Hughe Maxwelle, a lord he was,

With the Dowglas dyd he dye.

Ther was slayne upon the Skottes syde,

For soth as I yow saye,

Of fowre and fourty thowsande Scotts

135

Went but eyghtene awaye.

Ther was slayne upon the Ynglysshe syde,

For soth and sertentlye,

A gentell knyght, Sir John Fitz-hughe,

Yt was the more petye.

140

Syr James Harebotell ther was slayne,

For lym ther hurts were sore,

The gentyll 'Lovelle' thor was slayne,

That the Percyoyes standerd bore.

Ther wasslayne uppon the Ynglyssh perte,

146

For soth as I yow saye :

Of nyno thowsand Ynglyssh men

Fyvo hondort cam awaye :

The other were slayne in the fylde,

Crysto kepe their sowles from wo,

150

Scying thor was so fow fryndes

Agaynyst so many a foo.

Then one the morne they mayd them beores

Of byroch, and haysell graye;

Many a wydowe with wepyng teyres

155

Ther makes they fette awaye.

Thys fraye bygan at Otterborne,

Bytwene the nyghte and the day :

Ther the Dowglas lost hys lyfe,

And the Percy was lede awaye.*

160

Then was ther a Scotysho prisoner tayne,

Syr Hughe Mongomery was hys name,

For soth as I yow saye,

He borowed the Percy home agayne.†'

V. 143, Covelle, MS.—For the names in this page see tho Remarks at the end of this ballad. V. 153, one, i. e. on.

  • so. Captiva.

† In the Cotton MS. is the following note on ver. 164, in an ancient hand :

"Syr Here Montgomery tukyn prizonar, was delyvered for the restorynge of Persy."

Page 80

62

THE ANCIENT BALLAD OF THE BATTLE OF OTTERBOURNE.

Now let us all for the Percy praye

To Jesu most of myght,

To bryng his sowle to the blysse of heven,

For he was a gentyl knight.

** Most of the names in the two preced-

ing ballads, are found to have belonged to

families of distinction in the North, as may

be made appear from authentic records.

Thus in

THE ANCIENT BALLAD OF CHEVY CHASE.

Ver. 112, Agerstone.] The family of HAG-

GERSTON of Haggerston, near Berwick, has

been seated there fur many centuries, and

still remains. Thomas Haggarston was

among the commissioners returned for North-

umberland in 12 Hen. VI., 1433. (Fuller's

Worthies, p. 310.) The head of this family

at present is Sir Thomas Haggerston, Bart.

of Haggerston above mentioned.

N. B. The name is spelt Agerstone, as in

the text, in Leland's Itinerary, vol. vii. p. 54.

Ver. 113, Hartly.] Hartley is a village near

the sea in the barony of Tynemouth, about 7

miles from North Shields. It probably gave

name to a family of note at that time.

Ver. 114, Hearone.] This family, one of

the most ancient, was long of great consider-

ation, in Northumberland. Haddedston,

Caput Baroniæ of Heron, was their ancient

residence. It descended, 25 Edw. I., to the

heir general Emiline Heron, afterwards Bar-

oness Darcy.—Ford, &c. and Bockenfield (in

com. eodum) went at the same time to Roger

Heron, the heir male; whose descendants

were summoned to Parliament : Sir William

Heron, of Ford Castle, being summoned 44

Edw. III. Ford Castle hath descended by

heirs general to the family of Delaval (men-

tioned in the next article.)—Robert Heron,

Esq., who died at Newark, in 1753 (father

of the Right Hon. Sir Richard Heron, Bart.),

was heir male of the Herons of Bockenfield,

a younger branch of this family.—Sir Thom-

as Heron Middleton, Bart., is heir male of the

Herons of Chip-chase, another branch of the

Herons of Ford Castle.

Ver. 115, Lovel.] Joh. de Lavale, miles,

was sheriff of Northumberland, 34 Hen. VII.

Joh. de Lavale, mil., in the 1 Edw. VI. and

165

afterwards. (Fuller, 313.) In Nicholson

this name is spelt Da Lovel, p. 305. This

seems to be the ancient family of Dulavel, of

Seaton Delaval, in Northumberland, whose

ancestor was one of the twenty-five barons

appointed to be guardians of Magna Charta.

Ver. 117, Rugbè.] The ancient family of

Rokeby, in Yorkshire, seems to be here in-

tended. In Thoresby's Ducat. I cod. p. 253.

fol. is a genealogy of this house, by which it

appears that the head of the family, about

the time when this ballad was written, was

Sir Ralph Rokeby, Knt. Ralph being a com-

mon name of the Rokebys.

Ver. 119, Wetharlington.] Rog. de Wid-

rington was sheriff of Northumberland in 36

of Edw. III. (Fuller, p. 311.) Joh. de Wid-

rington in 11 Hen. IV., and many others

of the same name afterwards. See also

Nichulson, p. 331. Of this family was the

late Lord Withrington.

Ver. 124, Mongomery.] Sir Hugh Mont-

gomery was son of John Lord Montgomery,

the lineal ancestor of the present Earl of Egl-

linton.

Ver. 125, Lwdale.] The ancient family of the

Liddells were originally from Scotland, where

they were Lords of Liddell Castle, and of the

barony of Buff. (Vid. Collins's Peerage.) The

head of this family is the present Lord Ra-

vensworth, of Ravensworth Castle, in the

county of Durham.

IN THE BATTLE OF OTTERBOURNE.

Ver. 101, Mentaye.] At the time of this

battle, the Earldom of Menteith was possess-

ed by Robert Stewart, Earl of Fife, third son

of King Robert II., who, according to Buch-

anan, commanded the Scots that entered by

Carlisle. But our minstrel had probably an

eye to the family of Graham, who had this

earldom when the ballad was written. See

Douglas's Peerage of Scotland, 1764, fol.

Ver. 103, Huntleye.] This shows this bal-

lad was not composed before 1449 ; for in

that year Alexander Lord of Gordon and

Huntley was created Earl of Huntley by

King James II.

Ver. 105, Bowhan.] The Earl of Buchan

at that time was Alexander Stewart, fourth

son of King Robert II.

Ver. 107. Jhonstone—Maxwell.] These

V. 165, Percy es, Harl. MS.

Page 81

two familios of Johnstune, Lord of Johnston, and Maxwell, Lord of Maxwell, were always very powerul on tho borders. Of the formar family was Johnston Marquis of Annandale; of the latter was Maxwell Earl of Nithsdale.

I cannot find that any chiof of this family was namod Sir Hugh; but Sir Herbert Maxwell was about this time much distinguished.

(See Doug.) This might have been originally written Sir H. Maxwell, and by transcribers converted into Sir Hugh. So above, in No I. v. 90, Richard is contracted into Ric.

Ver. 109, Swynton,] i. e. The Laird of Swintone ; a small village within the Scottish border, 3 miles from Norham. This family still subsists, and is vory ancient.

Ver. 111, Scotte.] The illustrious family of Scot, ancestors of the Duke of Buccleugh, always made a great figure on the borders.

Sir Walter Scot was at the head of this family when the battle was fought; but his grandson, Sir David Scot, was the hero of that house when the ballad was written.

Ilid. Stowardo.] The person here designed was probably Sir Walter Stowart, Lord of Dalswinton and Gairlies, who was ominent at that time. (See Doug.) From him is descended the present Earl of Galloway.

Ver. 112, Agurstoune.] Tho scant of this family was sometimes subject to the Kings of Scotland. Thus Richardus IIagerstoun, miles, is one of the Scottish knights who signed a treaty with the English in 1249, temp. Hen. III. (Nicholson, p. 2, note.) It was the fate of many parts of Northumberland often to change their masters, according as the Scot- tish or English arms prevailed.

Ver. 129, Morrey.] The person here meant was probably Sir Charles Murray of Cock- poolo, who flourished at that time, and was ancestor of the Murrays some time Earls of Annandale. See Doug. Peerage.

Ver. 139, Fitz-hughe.] Dugdale (in his Baron, vol. i. p. 403) informs us that John, son of Henry Lord Fitzhugh, was killed at the battle of Otterbourne. This was a North- umberland family. Vid. Dugd. p. 403, col. 1, and Nicholson, pp. 33, 60.

Ver. 141, Harebotell.] Harbottle is a village upon the rive Coquet, about 10 miles west of Rothbury. The family of Harbottle was once considerable in Northumberland.

(See Fuller, pp. 312, 313.) A daughter of Guischard Harbottle, Esq., married Sir Thomas Percy, knt., son of Henry, the fifth, and father of Thomas, the seventh, Earls of Northumberland.

III.

The 3ew's 3auglter.

A SCOTTISH BALLAD,

— Is founded upon the supposed practice of the Jews in crucifying or otherwise murdering Christian children, out of hatred to the religion of their parents ; a practice which hath been always alleged in excuse for the cruelties exercised upon that wretched people, but which probably never happened in a single instance.

For, if we consider, on the one hand, the ignorance and superstition of the times when such stories took their rise, the virulent prejudices of the monks who recorded them, and the eagerness with which they would be catched up by the barbarous popula- lace as a pretence for plunder ; on the other hand, the great danger incurred by the per- petrators, and the inadequate motives they could have to excite them to a crime of so much horror ; we may reasonably conclude the whole charge to be groundless and malicious.

The following ballad is probably built upon some Italian Legend, and bears a great resemblance to the Prioresse's Tale in Chaucer: the poet seems also to have had an eye to the known story of Hugh of Lincoln, a child said to have been there murdered by the Jews in the reign of Henry III. The conclusion of this ballad appears to be wanting: what it probably contained may be seen in Chaucer.

As for Mirryland Toun, it is pro- 9

Page 82

bably a corruption of Milan (called by the Dutch Meylandt) Town : the Pa is evidently the river Po, although the Adige, not the Po, runs through Milan.

Printed from a MS. copy sent from Scotland.

The rain rins doun through Mirry-land toune,

Sae dois it doune the Pa:

Sae dois the lads of Mirry-land toune,

Quhan they play at the ba'.

Than out and cam the Jewis dochter,

Said, Will ye cum in and dine?

" I winnae cum in, I cannae cum in,

Without my play-feres nine."

Seho powd an apple reid and white

To intice the zong thing in :

Seho powd an apple white and reid,

And that the sweit bairne did win.

And scho has taine out a little pen-knife,

And low down by her gair,

Scho has twin'd the zong thing and his life ;

A word he nevir spak mair.

And out and cam the thick thick bluid,

And out and cam the thin ;

And out and cam the bonny herts bluid :

Thair was nae life left in.

Scho laid him on a dressing borde,

And drest him like a swine,

And laughing said, Gae now and pley

With zour sweit play-feres nine.

Scho rowd him in a cake of lead,

Bade him lie stil and sloip.

Scho cast him in a deip draw-well,

Was fifty fadom deip.

Quhan bells wer rung, and mass was sung,

And every lady went hame :

Than ilka lady had her zong sonne,

Bot Lady Helen had nane.

Scho rowd hir mantil hir about,

And sair sair gan she weip :

And she ran into the Jewis castel,

Quhan they wer all asleip.

My bonny Sir Hew, my pretty Sir Hew.

I pray thee to me spik.

" O lady, rinn to the deip draw-well,

Gin ze zour sone wad seik."

Lady Helen ran to the deip draw-well,

And kneit upon her kne :

My bonny Sir Hew, and ze be here,

I pray thee speik to me.

" The lead is wondrous heavy, mither,

The well is wondrous deip,

A keen pen-knife sticks in my hart,

A word I dounae spick."

Gae hame, gae hame, my mither deir,

Fetch me my winding sheet,

And at the back o' Mirry-land toun

Its thair we twa sall meet."

IV.

Sir Cauline.

This old romantic tale was preserved in the Editor's folio MS., but in so very defective and mutilated a condition (not from any chasm in the MS., but from great omission in the transcript, probably copied from the faulty recitation of some illiterate minstrel), and the whole appeared so far short of the perfection it seemed to deserve, that the

Editor was tempted to add several stanzas in the first part, and still more in the second, to connect and complete the story in the manner which appeared to him most interesting and affecting.

There is something peculiar in the metre of this old ballad : it is not unusual to meet with redundant stanzas of six lines; but this

Page 83

occasional insertion of a double third or fourth line, as ver. 31, &c., is an irregularity I do not reucmber to have seen elsewhere.

It may be proper to inform the reader before he comes to Pt. 2, v. 110, 111, that the Round Table was not peculiar to the reign of King Arthur, but was common in all the ages of Chivalry. The proclaiming a great tournament (probably with some peculiar solemnities) was called "holding a Round Table." Dugdalo tells us that the great baron Roger de Mortimer "having procured the honour of knighthood to be conferred 'on his thre sons' by K. Edw. I., he, at his own costs, caused a tourncament to be held at Kenilworth; where he sumptiously entertained an hundred knights, and as many ladies, for three days; the like whereof was never before in England; and there began the Round Table (so called by reason that the place wherein they practised those feats was environed with a strong wall made in a round form:) And upon the fourth day, the golden lion, in sign of triumph, being yielded to him; he carried it (with all the company) to Warwick."-It may further be udded, that Matthew Paris frequently calls justs and tournamonts Hustiludia Mensæ Rotundæ.

As to what will be observed in this ballad of the art of healing being practised by a young princess; it is no more than what is usual in all the old romances, and was conformable to real manners: it being a practice derived from the earliest times among all the Gothic and Celtic nations, for women even of the highest rank, to exercise the art of surgery. In the Northern Chronicles we always find the young damsels stancking the wounds of their lovers, and the wives those of their husbands.* And even so late as the time of Quecn Elizabeth, it is mentioned among the accomplishments of the ladies of her court, that the "oldest of them are skilful in surgery." See Harrison's Description of England, prefixed to Hollingshed's Chronicle, &c.

THE FIRST PART.

In Ireland, ferr over the sea, There dwelleth a bonnye kinge; And with him a yong and comlye knight, Men call him Syr Cauline.

The kinge had a ladye to his daughter, In fashyon she hath no peere; And princely wightes that ladye wooed To be theyr wedded feore.

Syr Cauline loveth her best of all, But nothing durst he saye; Ne desceave his counsayl to no man, But deerlye he lovde this may.

Till on a daye it so beffell, Great dill to him was dight; The maydens love removde his mynd, To care-bedd went the knighte.

One while he spred his armes him fro, One while he spred them nyo: And ayo! but I winne that ladyes love, For dole now I mun die.

And whan our parish-masse was done, Our kinge was bowne to dyne: He sayes, Where is Syr Cauline, That is wont to serve the wyno?

Then aunswerde him a courteous knighte, And fast his handes gan wringe: Sir Cauline is sicke, and like to dye Without a good leechinge.

Fetehe me downe my daughter deore, She is a leeche fulle fine: Goe take him doughle, and the baken bread, And serve him with the wyne soe red; Lothe I were him to tine.

Fair Christabelle to his chaumber goes, Hier maydens followyng nye: O well, she sayth, how doth my lord? O sicke, thou fayr ladyè.

Now rys up wightlyc, man for shame, Never lye soe cowardlee; For it is told in my fathers halle, You dye for love of mee.

Fayre ladyè, it is for your love That all this dill I drye: For if you wold comfort me with a kisse, Then were I brought from bale to blisse, No lenger wold I lye.

Sir knightè, my father is a kingè, I am his onlye heire;

Page 84

66

SIR CAULINE.

Alas ! and well you knowre, syr knightc,

I never can be youre fore.

50

O ladye, thou art a linges daughter,

And I am not thy peere,

But let ine doe some dedes of armes

To be vour bachelecre.

Some dedes of armes if thou wilt doe,

55

My bachelecre to bee,

But ever and aye my heart wold rue,

Giff harm shold happe to thee,

Upon Elridge hill there groweth a thorne,

Upon the mores brodlinge;

60

And dare ye, syr knightc, wake there all

nighte

Untill the fayre mornge?

For the Eldridge knighto, so mickle of mightc,

Will examine you beforne :

65

And never man bare life awaye,

But he did him seath and scorne.

That knightc he is a fond paynim,

And large of limb and bone;

And but if heavcn may be thy speede,

70

Thy life it is but gone.

Nowe on the Eldridge hillcs Ile walke,*

For thy sake, faire ladie;

And Ile either bring you a ready token,

Or Ile never more you see.

The lady is gone to her own chambere,

75

Her maydens following brighte:

Syr Cauline lope from care-bed soone,

And to the Eldridge hillc is gone,

For to wake there all night.

Unto midnight, that the moone did rise,

80

He walked up and downe:

Then a lightsome bugle heard he blowe

Over the bents soe browne;

Quoth hee, If cryance come till my heart,

I am ffar from any good towne.

85

And soone he spyde on the mores so broad,

A furyous wight and fell;

A ladye bright his brydcle led,

Clad in a fayre kyrtecll;

And soo fast he called on Syr Caullno,

90

O man, I rede thee flye,

For 'but' if cryancee comcs till my heart,

I weene but thou mun dye.

He sayth, 'No' cryancee comcs till my heart,

Nor in fayth, I wyll not fle ;

95

For, cause thou minged not Christ beforc,

The less me dreadech thee.

The Eldridge knightc, he pricked his stced ;

Syr Cauline bold abode:

Then either shooke his trustye speare,

100

And the timber those two children* bare

Soe soone in sunder slode.

Then toolke they out theyr two good swordes,

And layden on full faste,

Till helme and havberke, mail and shoelde,

105

They all wore well-nye brast.

The Eldridge knight was mickle of might,

And stiffe in stower did stande,

But Syr Cauline with a 'bckward' stroke

He smote off his right hand ;

110

That soone he with paine and lacke of bloud

Fell downe on that lay-land.

Then up Syr Cauline lift his brando

All over his head so hye:

And here I swcire by the holy roode,

115

Nowe caytiffe, thou shalt dye.

Then up and came that ladye brighte,

Fast wringing of her hande:

For the maydens love, that most you love,

Withold that dedlye brande :

120

For the maydens love, that most you love,

Now smyte no more I praye ;

And aye whatcver thou wilt, my lord,

He shall thy hosts obaye.

124

Now swearc to mee, thou Eldridge knightc,

And here on this lay-land,

That thou wilt believe on Christ his laye,

And thereto plight thy hand :

And that thou never on Eldridge come

To sporte, gamon, or playe :

130

And that thou here give up thy armes

Until thy dying daye.

  • i. e. Knights. See the Preface to Child Waters.

V. 109, aulkeward, MS.

Page 85

The Eldridge knighte gave up his armes

With many a sorrowfulle sigho;

And sware to obey Syr Caulines hest,

Till the tyme that he sholde dye.

And he then up and the Eldridge knighte

Sett him in his saddle anone,

And the Eldridge knighte and his ladye

To theyr castle are they gone.

Then he tooke up the bloody hand,

That was so large of bone,

And on it he founde five ringes of gold

Of knightes that had be slone.

Then he tooke up the Eldridge sworde,

As hard as any flint :

And he tooke off those ringès five,

As bright as fyre and brent.

Home then pricked Syr Cauline

As light as leafe on tree:

I-wys he neither stint ne blanne,

Till he his lady see.

Then downe he knelt upon his kne

Beforo that lady guy :

O ladyo, I have hin on the Eldridge hills :

Those tokens I bring away.

Now welcome, welcome, Syr Cauline,

Thrice welcome unto mee,

For now I perceyve thou art a true knighte,

Of valour bolde and free.

O ladye, I am thy own true knighte,

Thy hests for to obaye :

And mought I hope to winne thy love !—

Ne more his tonge colde say.

The ladye blushed scarlette redde,

And fette a gentill sighe :

Alas ! syr knighte, how may this bee,

For my degre's soe highe?

But sith thou hast hight, thou comely youth,

To be my batahilere,

Ile promise if thee I may not wedde

I will have none other fere.

Then shee held forthe her lilly-white hand

Towards that knightete so free;

He gave to it one gentill kisse,

His heart was brought from bale to blisse,

The teares sterte from his ee.

But keep my counsayl, Syr Cauline,

No let no man it knowe ;

For and ever my futher sholde it ken,

I wot we wolde us sloc.

From that day forthe that ladye fayre

Lovde Syr Caulhe, the knighte:

From that day forthe he only joyde

Whan shee was in his sight.

Yea, and oftentimes they mette

Within a fayre arbdure,

Where they in love and sweet daliaunce

Past manye a pleasaunt houre.

†† In this conclusion of the First Part,

and at the begining of the Second, the reader

will observe a resemblaunce to the stury of

Sigismunda and Guiscard, as told by Boccace

and Dryden : see the latter's description of

the lovers meeting in the cave; and those

beautiful lines, which contain a reflection so

like this of our poet, "Livery white," &c. viz.

"But as extremes are short of ill and good,

And tides at highest mark regorge their

flood;

So fate, that could nomoreimprovetheir joy,

Took a malicious pleasure to destroy.

Tamered, who fondly loved, &c."

PART THE SECOND.

Everye white will have its blacke,

And everye sweete its sowre:

This founde the Ladye Christabelle

In an untimely howre.

For so it befelle, as Syr Cauline

Was with that ladye faire,

The kinge, her father, walked forthe

To take the evenyng aire:

And into the arboure as he went

To rest his wearye feet,

He founde his daughter and Syr Caullne

There sette in daliaunce sweet.

The kinge hee sterted forthe, i-wys,

And an angryè man was hee:

Nowe, traytoure, thou shalt hange or drawe,

And rowe shall thy ladle.

Then forthe Syr Cauline he was ledde,

And throwne in dungeon deepe :

Page 86

68

SIR CAULINE.

And the ladye into a towre so hye

There left to wayle and weepe.

The queene she was Syr Caulines friend,

And to the kinge sayd shee :

I praye you save Syr Caulines life,

And let him banisht bee.

Now, dame, that traitor shall be sent

Across the salt sea forme :

But here I will make thee a band,

If ever he come within this land,

A foule deathe is his doome.

All woe-begone was that gentil knight

To parte from his ladyè ;

And many a time he sighed sore,

And cast a wistfulle eye :

Faire Christabelle, from thoe to parte,

Farre lever had I dye.

Faire Christabelle, that lady bright,

Was had forthe of the towre ;

But ever shoo droopeth in her minde,

As nipt by an ungentle winde

Doth some faire lillye flowre.

And ever shoo doth lament and weepe

To tint her lover soe :

Syr Cauline, thou little think'st on mee,

But I will still be true.

Many a kinge, and manye a duke,

And lorde of high degree,

Did suc to that fayre ladye of love ;

But never shoo wold them nee.

When manye a daye was past and gone,

Ne comforte she colde finde,

The kynge proclaimed a tournement,

To cheere his daughters mind :

And there came lords, and there came knights,

Fro manye a farre countryè,

To break a spere for theyr ladyes love

Before that faire ladyè . .

And many a ladye there was sette

In purple and in pallie :

But faire Christabelle soe woe-begone

Was the fayrest of them all.

Then manye a knight was mickle of might

Before his ladye gaye :

But a strangor wight, whom no man knowe,

He wan the prize oche daye.

His acton it was all of blacke,

His hewberke, and his sheelde,

Ne noe man wist whene he did come,

Ne noe man knew where he did gone,

When they came from the feelde.

And now three days were prestlye past

In feates of chivalrye,

When he upon the fourthe morninge

A sorrowfulle sight they see.

A hugye giaunt stiffe and starke,

All foule of limbo and lere ;

Two goggling eyen like fire farden,

A mouthe from eare to eare.

Before him came a dwarffe full lowe,

That waited on his kne,

And at his backe five heads he bare,

All wan and pale of bloe.

Sir, quoth the dwarffe, and louted lowe,

Behold that hend Soldàin !

Behold these heads I beare with me !

They are kings which he hath slain.

The Eldridge knight is his own cousine,

Whom a knight of thino hath shont :

And hee is come to avenge his wrong,

And to thee, all thy knightes among,

Defiance here hath sent.

But yette he will appease his wrath

Thy daughters love to winne :

And but thou yeelde him that fayre mayd,

Thy halls and towers must brenne .

Thy head, syr kinge, must goe with mee ;

Or èlse thy daughter deere ;

Or else within these lists soe broad

Thou must finde him a peere.

The kinge he turned him round aboute,

And in his heart was woe :

Is there never a knighto of my round tablè,

This matter will undergoe ?

Is there never a knighte amongst yee all

Will fight for my daughter and mee ?

Whoever will fight yon grimme soldàn,

Right fair his neede shall bee.

Page 87

For hee shall have my broad lay-lands,

And of my crowne be heyre;

And he shall winne fayre Christabella

To be his wo:lded fere.

But every knighto of his round table

Did stand both still and pale:

For wheneuer they lookt on the grim soldan,

It made their hearts to quail.

All woe-begone was that fayre ladyè,

When she sawe no helpe was nye:

She cast her thought on her owne true-love,

And the tcarcs gusht from her eye.

Up then sterte the stranger knighte,

Sayd, ladyè, be not afrayd :

He fight for thee with his grimme soldàn,

Though he be unmacklye made.

And if thou wilt lend me the Eldridge swordo,

That yoth within thy bowre,

I trust in Christe for to slay this fienda

Though he be stiffe in stowre.

Goe fetch him downe the Eldridge sworde,

The king he cryde, with speede:

Nowe heavon assist thou, courtcous knighte;

My daughter is thy meede.

The gyaunt he stopped into the lists,

And sayd, A waye, awaye :

I sweare, as I am the hond soldàn,

Thou lettest me hero all daye.

Then forthe the stranger knight he came

In his blacke armourc dight ;

The ladyè sighed a geantlc sighe,

"That this were my true knighte!"

And nowe the gyaunt and knighte be mett

Within the lists see broad ;

And now with swordes soe sharpe of steele,

They gan to lay on load.

The soldan strucke the knighto a stroke,

That made him reele asyde ;

Then woe-begone was that fayre ladyè

And thrice shee deeplie sighde.

The soldan strucke a second stroke,

And made the bloude to flowe :

All pale and wan was that ladyè fayre,

And thrice she wept for woe.

The soldan struclie a third fell stroke,

Whieh brought the knighte on his knec :

Sad sorow pierced that ladyes heart,

And she shriek't loud shriekings threc.

The knighte he leapt upon his feete,

All ficklesse of the pain :

Quoth hee, But hearen be now my speede,

Or els I shall be slaine.

He grasped his sworde with mayne and

mighte,

And spying a secrete part,

He drave it into the soldan's syde,

And pierced him to the heart.

Then all the people gave a shoute,

When they sawc the soldan falle :

The ladyè wept, and thanked Christ,

That had reskewed her from thrall.

And nowe the kingc with all his barons

Rose uppe from offo his seate,

And downe he stepped into the listes,

That courteous knighte to greete.

But he for payne and lack of bloude

Was fallen into a swounde,

And there all waltering in his gore,

Lay lifelessc on the grounde.

Come downe, come downe, my daughter deare,

Thou art a lcrchc of skille ;

Farre lever had I lose halfe my landes,

Than this good knighte sholde spille.

Downe then steppeth that fayre ladyè

To helpe him if she maye ;

But when she did his beavero raisc,

It is my life, my lord, she sayes,

And shriek'te and swound awaye.

Sir Cauline juste lifte up his eyes

When he heard his ladyè crye,

O ladyè, I am thine owne true love ;

For thee I wisht to dye.

Then giving her one partinge looke,

He closed his eyes in death,

Ere Christabelle, that ladyè milde,

Begane to drawe her breathe.

But when she found her comelye knighte

Indeed was deade and gone,

She layde her pale old checke to his,

And thus she made her moane :

Page 88

70

EDWARD, EDWARD.

O staye, my deare and onlye lord,

For mee thy faithfull feere;

"Tis meot that I shold followe thee,

Who hast bought my love soe deare.

Then fayntinge in a dendylyo swomme,

And with a deepe-fetle sighe,

That burst her gentlo hearte in twayne

Fayre Christabelle did dye.

V.

A SCOTTISH BALLAD.

From a MS. copy transmltted from Scotland.

Quhy dois zour brand sae drop wi' bluid,

Edward, Edward?

Quhy dois zour brand sae drop wi' bluid?

And quhy sae sad gang zee, O?

O, I hae killed my hauke sae guid,

Mither, mither :

O, I hae killed my hauke sae guid :

And I had nae mair bot hee, O.

Zour haukis bluid was nevir sae reid,

Edward, Edward.

Zour haukis bluid was nevir sae reid,

My deir son I tell thee, O.

O, I hae killed my reid-roan steid,

Mither, mither :

O, I hae killed my reid-roan steid,

That erst was sae fair and free, O.

Zour steid was auld, and ze hae gat mair,

Edward, Edward :

Zour steid was auld, and ze hae gat mair,

Sum other dule ze drie, O.

O, I hae killed my fadir deir,

Mither, mither :

O, I hae killed my fadir deir,

Alas! and wae is mee, O !

And quhatten penance wul ze drie for that,

Edward, Edward ?

And quhatten penance will ze drie for that?

My deir son, now tell me, O.

Ile set my feit in zonder boat,

Mither, mither :

Ile set my feit in zonder boat,

And Ile fare ovir the sea, O.

And quhat wul ze doe,wi' zour towiers and

zour ha',

Edward, Edward?

Aud quhat wul ze doe wi' zour towiers and

zour ha',

That ware sae fair to see, O ?

Ile let thame stand til they down fa',

Mither, mither :

Ile let thame stand til they down fa',

For here novir mair man I hae, O.

And quhat wul ze leive to zour hairns and

zour wife,

Edward, Edward !

And quhat wul ze leive to zour hairns and

zour wife,

Quhatn ze gang ovir the sea, O ?

The warldis room, let thame beg throw

life,

Mither, mither :

The warldis room, let thame beg throw

life,

For thame novir mair wul I see, O.

And quhat wul ze leive to zour ain mither

deir,

Edward, Edward?

And quhat wul ze leive to zour ain mither

deir?

My deir son, now tell me, O.

The curse of hell frae me sall ze beir,

Mither, mither :

The curse of hell frae me sall ze beir,

Sic counsels ze gave to me, O.

This curious Song was transmltted to the

Editor by Sir David Dalrymple, Bart., late

Lord Hailes.

Page 89

KING ESTMERE.

71

VI.

King Estmere.

This old Romantic Legend (which is given from two copies, one of them in the Editor's folio MS., but which contained very great variations) bears marks of considerable antiquity, and perhaps ought to have taken place of any in this volume. It should seem to have been written while part of Spain was in the hands of the Saracens or Moors; whose empire there was not fully extinguished before the year 1491. The Mahometans are spoken of in ver. 49, &c., just in the same terms as in all other old Romances. The author of the ancient Legend of Sir Bevis represents his hero, upon all occasions, breathing out defiance against

"Mahound and Termagaunte;"*

and so full of zeal for his religion, as to return the following polite message to a Paynim king's fair daughter, who had fallen in love with him, and sent two Saracen knights to invite him to herbower :

"I wyll not ones stirre off this ground,

To speake with an heathen hounde.

Unchristen houndes, I rede you fle,

Or I your harte bloud shall so."†

Indeed they return the compliment by calling him elsewhere "A Christen hounde."‡

This was conformable to the real manners of the barbarous ages : perhaps the same excuse will hardly serve our bard; for that the Adland should be found lolling or leaning at his gate (ver. 35) may be thought perchance a little out of character. And yet the great painter of manners, Homer, did not think it inconsistent with decorum to represent a king of the Taphian leaning at the gate of Ulysses to inquire for that monarch, when he touched at Ithaca as he was taking a voyage with a ship's cargo of iron to dispose in traffic.§ So little ought we to judge of ancient manners by our own.

Before I conclude this article, I cannot help observing that the reader will see, in this ballad, the character of the old Minstrels (those successors of the bards) placed in a very respectable light;* here he will see one of them represented mounted on a fine horse, accompanied with an attendant to bear his harp after him, and to sing the poems of his composing. Here we will see him mixing in the company of kings without ceremony: no mean proof of the great antiquity of this poem. The further we carry our inquiries back, the greater respect we find paid to the professors of poetry and music among all the Celtic and Gothic nations. Their character was deemed so sacred, that under its sanction

our famous King Alfred (as we have already seen†) made no scruple to enter the Danish camp, and was at once admitted to the king's head-quarters.‡ Our poet has suggested the same expedient to the heroes of this ballad.

All the histories of the North are full of the great reverence paid to this order of men. Harold Harfagre, a celebrated king of Norway, was wont to send them at his table above all the officers of his court: and we find another Norwegian king placing five of them by his side in a day of battle, that they might be eye-witnesses of the great exploits they were to celebrate.§ As to Estmere's riding into the hall while the kings were at table, this was usual in the ages of chivalry; and even to this day we see a relic of this custom still kept up, in the champion's riding into Westminster-hall during the coronation dinner.||

Some liberties have been taken with this tale by the Editor, but none without notice to the reader, in that part which relates to the subject of the Harper and his attendant.

  • See Note subjoined to 1st Pt. of Beggar of Bednall, &c.

† See the Essay on the ancient Minstrels prefixed to this work.

‡ Even so late as the time of Froissart, we find Minstrels and Heralds mentioned together, as those who might securely go into an enemy's country. Cap. xli.

§ Bartholini Antiq. Dan. p. 173.—Northern Antiquities, &c., vol. i. pp. 388, 389, &c.

|| See also the account of Edward II., in the Essay on the Minstrels, and Note (X.)

  • See a short Memoir at the end of this Ballad, Note ††.

† Sign C ii. b.

‡ Slgn. C i. b.

§ Odyss. A. 105.

10

Page 90

72

KING EST'MERE.

Hearken to me, gentlemen,

Come and you shall heare;

Ile tell you of two of the boldest brethren

That ever borne y-were.

The tone of them was Adler younge,

The tother was Kyng Estmere;

The were as bolde men in their deeds,

As any were farr and neare.

As they were drinking ale and wine

Within Kyng Estmeres halle:

When will ye marry a wyfe, brothèr,

A wyfe to glad us all?

Then bespake him Kyng Estmere,

And answered him hastilie:

I know not that ladye in any land

That's able* to marrye with mee.

Kyng Adland hath a daughter, brother,

Men call her bright and sheene;

If I were kyng here in your stead,

That ladye shold be my queene.

Saies, Reade me, reade me, deare brother,

Throughout merry England,

Where we might find a messenger

Betwixt us towe to sende.

Saies, You shal ryde yourselfe, brother,

Ile beare you companye;

Many throughe fals messengers are deceived,

And I feare lest soe should wee.

Thus the renisht them to ryde

Of twoe good renisht steeds,

And when the came to King Adlands halle,

Of redd gold shone their weeds.

And when the came to Kyng Adlands hall

Before the goodlye gate,

There they found good Kyng Adlànd

Rearing himselfe theratt.

Now Christ thee save, good Kyng Adlànd;

Now Christ you save and see,

Said, You be welcome, King Estmere,

Right hartilye to mee.

You have a daughter, said Adler younge,

Men call her bright and sheene,

My brothèr wold marrye her to his wifè,

Of Englande to be queene.

Yestorday was att my deere daughter

Syr Bremor the Kyng of Spayne;

And then she nickèd him of naye,

And I dobt sheddo do you the same.

The Kyng of Spayne is a foule paynim,

And 'leeueth on Mahound;

And pitye it were that fyre ladyè

Shold marrye a heathen hound.

But grant to me, sayes Kyng Estmere,

For my love I you praye;

That I may see your daughter deere

Before I goe hence awaye.

Although itt is seven yeers and more

Since my daughter was in hallo,

She shall come once downe for your sake

To glad my gestès alle.

Downe then came that mayden fayre,

With ladyes luced in pall,

And halfe a hundred of bold knightes,

To bring hor from howre to hall;

And as many gentile squiers,

To tend upon them all.

The talants of golde were on her head sette,

Hanged low downe to her knec;

And everye ring on her small fingèr

Shone of the chrystall free.

Saies, God you save, my deere madàm;

Saies, God you save and see.

Said, You be welcome, Kyng Estmere,

Right welcome unto mee.

And if you love me, as you saye,

Soe well and hartilie,

All that ever you are comen about

Soone sped now itt shal bee.

Then bespake her father deare;

My daughter, I saye naye;

Remember well the Kyng of Spayne;

What he sayd yesterdaye.

He wold pull downe my halles and castles,

And reave me of my lyfe,

V. 3, brethor, fol. MS. V. 10, his brother's hall, fol. MS.

V. 14, hartilye, fol. MS.—V. 27, Many a man . . .is, fol. MS.

  • He means fit, suitable.

V. 46, The king his sonne of Spayn, fol. MS

Page 91

KING EST'MERE.

I cannot blame him if he doe,

If I reave him of his wyfe.

Your castle and your towres, father,

Are stronglye built aboute;

And therefore of the King of Spaine

Wee neede not stande in doubt.

Plight me your troth, nowe, Kyng Estmere,

By heaven and your righte hand,

That you will marrye me to your wyfe,

And make me quene of your land.

Then King Estmere he plight his troth

By heaven and his righte hand,

That he wolde marrye her to his wyfe,

And make her quene of his land.

And he tooko leave of that ladyo fayre,

To goo to his owne countree,

To fetche him dukes and lordes and knightes,

That marryed the might boe.

They had notridden sout a myle,

A myle forthe of the towne,

But in did come the Kyng of Spayne,

With kempès many one.

But in did come the Kyng of Spayne,

With manyo a bold barùne,

Tone day to marrye King Adlands daughter,

Tother daye to carrye her home.

Sheo sent one after Kyng Estmère

In all the spede might boe,

That he must either turne againe and fighte,

Or goe home and loose his ladyè.

One whyle then the page he went,

Another while he ranne;

Till he had oretaken King Estmere,

I wis, he never blanne.

Tydings, tydings, Kyng Estmere !

What tydinges nowe, my boye ?

O tydinges I can tell to you,

That will you sore annoyo.

You had not ridden scant a mile,

A mile out of the towne,

But in did come the Kyng of Spayne

With kempès many a one:

85|But in did come the Kyng of Spayne

With manye a bolld barùne,

Tone daye to marrye King Adlands daughter,

Tother daye to carrye her home.

My ladye fayre she greetes you well,

And ever-more well by mee;

You must either turne againe and fighte,

Or goe home and loose your ladyè.

Saies, Reade me, reade me, deore brothèr,

My reade shall ryde* at thec,

Whether it is better to turne and fighte,

Or goe home and loose my ladyè.

Now hearken to me sayes Adler yonge,

And your reade must riset† at me,

I quicklye will devise a waye

To sette thy lady free.

My mother was a westerne woman,

And learned in gramaryè.‡

And whon I learned at the schole,

Somthing sheo taught itt mee.

Therè growes an hearbe within this field,

And iff it were but knowne,

His color, which is whyte and redd,

It will make blacke and browne :

His color, which is browne and blacke,

Itt will make redd and whyte;

That sworde is not in all Englande,

Upon his coate will byte.

And you shal be a harper, brother,

Out of the north countryè;

And Ile be your boy, soc faine of fighte,

And beare your harpe by your knee.

And you shal be the best harpèr,

That ever tookè harpe in hand;

And I wil be the best singèr,

That ever sung in this lande.

Itt shal be written in our foreheads

All and in grammarè,

That we towe are the boldest men

That are in all Christentyè.

And thus they renisht them to ryde,

On towe good renish steedes;

v. 89. of the king his sonne of Spaine, fol. MS.

  • Sic MS. It should probably be ryse, i. e. my course shall ariso from thee. See ver. 140.

† Sic MS. ‡ See at the end of this ballad, note ‡.

Page 92

74

KING ESTMERE.

And when they came to King Adlands hall,

Of redd gold shone their woedes. 170

And whan the came to Kyng Adlands hall,

Untill the fayre hall yate,

There they found a proud porter

Rouring himselffe theratt.

Sayes, Christ thee save, thou proud porter ;

Sayes, Christ thee save and see.

Nowe you be welcome, sayd the porter,

Of what land suever ye bee.

Wee becone harpers, sayd Adler younge,

Come out of the northe countrye ; 180

Wee becone come hither untill this place,

This proud weddinge for to see.

Sayd, And your color were weite and redd,

As it is blacke and browne,

I would saye King Estmere and his brother

Were comen untill this towne. 186

Then they pulled out a ryng of gold,

Lyd itt on the porters arme :

And ever we will thee, proud porter,

Thow wilt saye us no harme. 190

Sure he looked on Kyng Estmère;

And sore he handled the ryng,

Then opened to them the fayre hall yates,

He lett for no kynd of thyng.

Kyng Estmere he stabled his steede 195

Soe fayre att the hall bord ;

The froth, that came from his brydle bitto,

Light in King Bremors beard.

Saies, Stable thy steed, thy proud harpèr,

Saies, stable him in the stalle; 200

It doth not beseeme a proud harpèr

To stable 'him' in a kyngs halle.

My ladde he is so lither, he said,

He will doe nought that's meete;

And is there any man in this hall

Were able him to beate ? 205

Thou speakest proud words, sayes the King of Spaine,

Thou harper, here to mee ;

There is a man within this halle

Will beate thy ladd and thee. 210

O let that man come downe, he said,

A sight of him would I see ;

And when hee hath beaten well my ladd,

Then he shall beate of mee.

Downe then came the kemperye man 215

And looked him in the eare;

For all the gold, that was under heaven,

He durst not neigh him neare.

And how nowe, kempe, said the Kyng of

Spaine,

And how what aildeth thee ? 220

He saies, It is writ in his forehead

All and in gramaryè,

That for all the gold that is under heaven

I dare not neigh him nye.

Then Kyng Estmere pulld forth his harpe,

And plaid a pretty thinge : 226

The ladye upstart from the bordè,

And would have gone from the king.

Stay thy harpe, thou proud harpèr,

For Gods love I pray thee, 230

For and thou playes as thou beginns,

Thou'lt tillx my bryde from mee.

He stroke upon his harpe againe,

And playd a protty thinge ;

The ladye lough a loud laughter,

As shee sate by the king. 235

Saies, Sell me thy harpe, thou proud harper,

And thy stringes all,

For as many gold nobles ' thou shalt have'

As heere bee ringes in the hall. 240

What wold yo doe with my harpe, 'he sayd,'

If I did sell it yee?

"To playe my wife and me a Fitt,†

When abed together wee bee." 244

Now sell me, quoth hee, thy bryde soe gay,

As shee sits by thy knee,

And as many gold nobles I will give,

As leaves been on a tree.

And what wold ye doe with my bryde soe

gay,

Iff I did sell her thee? 250

More seemelye it is for her fayre bodye

To lye by mee then thee.

  • i. e. entice. Vld. Gloss.

† i. e. a tune, or strain of music. See Gloss.

V. 202, To stable his steede, fol. MS.

Page 93

KING ESTMERE.

75

Hee played agayne both loud and shrille,

And Adler he did syng,

"O ladye, this is thy owne true love; 255

Nue harper, but a kyng."

'O ladye, this is thy owne true love,

As playnlye thou mayst see;

And Ile rid thee of that foule paynim,

Who partes thy love and thee." 260

The ladye looked, the ladye blushte,

And blushte and lookt aguyne,

While Adler he hath drawne his brande,

And hath the Sowdan slayne.

Up then rose the kemperye men, 265

And loud they gan to orye :

Ah! traytors, yee have slayne our kyng

And therfore yee shall dye.

Kyng Estmere throwe the harpe asyde,

And swith he drew his brand;

And Estmero he, and Adler yonge

Right stiffe in stour can stand. 270

And aye their swordes soo sore can byte,

Througho help of Gramarye,

That soone they have slayne the kempery

men,

Or forst them forth to fleo. 275

Kyng Estmere looke that fayre ladyè,

And marryed her to his wiffe,

And brought her home to merry England

With her to lede his life. 280

_ The word Gramarye, which occurs several times in the foregoing poem, is probably

a corruption of the French word Grimoire,

which signifies a conjuring book in the old

French romances, if not the art of necromancy itself.

†† Termagaunt (mentioned above), is the

name given in the old romances to the god of

the Saracens : in which he is constantly linked with Mahound, or Mahomet. Thus in the

legend of Syr Guy, the Soudan (Sultan) swears,

"So helpe me Mahowne of might,

And Termagaunt my God so bright."

Sign. p. iij. b.

Ver. 253, Some liberties have been taken in the following

stanzas; but wherever this Edition differs from the pre-eding, 't hath been brought nearer to the folio MS.

This word is derived by the very learned editor of Junius, from the Anglo-Saxon 'Tyn

very, and wagan mighty.—As this word had

so sublime a derivation, and was so applicable to the true God, how shall we account for

its being so degraded? Perhaps Tynmagan

or 'Termagant' had been a name originally

given to some Saxon idol, before our ancestors

were converted to Christianity; or had been

the peculiar attribute of one of their false deities; and therfore the first Christian missionaries rejected it as profane and improper

to be applicd to the true God. Afterwards,

when the irruptions of the Saracens into Europe, and the Crusades into the East, had

brought them acquainted with a new species

of unbelievers, our ignorant ancestors, who

thought all that did not receive the Christian

law were necessarily pagans and idolaters,

supposed the Mahometan creed was, in all

respects, the same with that of their pagan

forefathers, and therfore made no scruple to

give the ancient name of Termagant to the

God of the Saracens: just in the same manner as they afterwards used the name of Sarazen to express any kind of pagan or idolater.

In the ancient romance of Merline (in the

Editor's folio MS.) the Saxons themselres

that came over with Hengist, because they

were not Christians, are constantly called

Sarazens.

However that be, it is certain that, after

the times of the Crusadles, both Mahound

and Termagaunt made their frequent appearance in the pageants and religious interludes

of the barbarous ages; in which they were

exhibited with gestures so furious and frantic,

as to become proverbial. Thus Skelton speaks

of Wolsey :

"Like Mahound in a play,

No man dare him withsay."

Ed. 1736, p. 158.

In like manner Bale, describing the thrents

used by some papist magistrates to his wife,

speaks of them as "grennnyng upon her lyke

Termagauntes in a playe."—[Actes of Engl.

Votaryes, pt. 2, fo. 83, ed. 1550, 12mo.]

Accordingly, in a letter of Edward Alleyn,

the founder of Dulwich College, to his wife

or sister,* who, it seems, with all her fellows

(the players), had been "by my Lorde Maiors

officer [s] mad to rid in a cart," he expresses

his concern that she should "fall into the

  • See Lysons's "Environs of London, 4to. vol. i.

Page 94

lands of such Tarmagants." [So the orig. dated May 2, 1593, preserved by the care of the Rev. Thomas Jeyns Smith, Fellow of Dulw. Coll.]—Hence we may conceive the force of Hamlet's expression in Shakspcare, where, condemning a ranting player, he says, "I could have such a fellow whipt for ore-doing Termagant: it out-herods Herod." A. iii. sc. 3.—By degrees, the word came to be applied to an outrageous turbulent person, and especially to a violent brawling woman ; to whom alone it is now confined, and this the rather as, I suppose, the character of Termagant was auciently represented on the stage after the eastern mode, with long robes or petticoats.

Another frequent character in the old pa-geants or interludes of our ancestors, was the sowdan, or soldan, representing a grim eastern tyrant ; this appears from a curious passage in Stow's Annals [p. 458]. In a stage-play, "the people know right well, that he that plaicth the sowdain is percase a sowter [shoc-

maker] ; yet if one should cal him by his owne name, while he standeth in his majestie, one of his tormentors might hap to break his head." The sowdan or soldan, was a name given to the Sarazen king (being only a more rude pronumciation of the word sultan), as the soldan of Egypt, the soldan of Persia, the sowdan of Babylon, &c., who were generally represented as accompanied with grim Sarazons, whose businoss it was to punish and torment Christians. I cannot conclude this short memoir, without observing that the French romancers, who had borrowed the word termagant from us, and applied it as we in their old romances, corrupted it into Tervaguante : and from them La Fontaine took it up, and has used it more than once in his tales.—This may be added to the other proofs adduced in this volume, of the great intercourse that formerly subsisted between the old minstrels and legendary writers of both nations, and that they mutually borrowed each others' romances.

VII.

Sir 9patridk Spence,

A SCOTTISH BALLAD,

—is given from two MS. copies, transmitted from Scotland. In what age the hero of this ballad lived, or when this fatal expedition happened that proved so destructive to the Scots nobles, I have not been able to discover ; yet am of opinion, that their catastrophe is not altogether without foundation in history, though it has escaped my own researches. In the infancy of narigation, such as used the northern seas were very liable to shipwreck in the wintry months: hence a law was enacted in the reign of James III. (a law which was frequently repeated afterwards), "That there be na schip franched out of the realm, with any staple gudes, fra the feast of Simons-day and Jude, unto the feast of the purification of our lady called Candelmess." Jam. III. Parlt. 2, ch. 15. In some modern copies, instead of Patrick Spence bath been substituted the name of Sir Andrew Wood, a famous Scottish admiral

who flourished in the time of our Edw. IV., but whose story hath nothing in common with this of the ballad. As Wood was the most noted warrior of Scotland, it is probable that, like the Theban Hercules, he hath engrossed the renown of other heroes.

The king sits in Dumferling toune, Drinking the blude-reid wine : O quhar will I get guid sailòr, To sail this schip of mine ?

Up and spak an eldern knicht, Sat at the kings richt kne : Sir Patrick Spence is the best sailòr, That sails upon the so.

The king has written a braid letter,* And signd it wi' his hand;

  • A braid letter, i. e. open, or patent; in opposition to close Rolls.

Page 95

ROBIN HOOD AND GUY OF GISBORNE.

77

And sent it to Sir Patrick Spence,

Was walking on the sand.

The first line that Sir Patrick red,

A loud lauch launched he :

The next line that Sir Patrick red,

Tho teir blindod his ee.

O quha is this has don this deid,

This ill deid don to me;

To send me out this time o' the zeir,

To sail upon the se ?

Mak hast, mak haste, my mirry men all,

Our gaid schip sails the morne.

O say na sae, my master deir,

For I feir a deadlie storme.

Late late yestrein I saw the new moone

Wi' the auld moone in hir arme ;

And I feir, I feir, my deir master,

That we will com to harme.

O our Scots nobles wer richt laith

To weot their cork-heild schoone ;

Bot lang owre a' the play wer playd,

Thai'r hats they swam aboone.

O lang, lang, may thair ladies sit

Wi' thair fans into their hand,

Or eir they se Sir Patrick Spence

Cum sailing to the land.

O lang, lang, may the ladies stand

Wi' thair gold kems in their hair,

Waiting for thair ain deir lords,

For they'll se thame na mair.

Have owre, have owre to Aberdour,*

It's fiftie fadom deep :

And thair lies guid Sir Patrick Spence,

Wi' the Scots lords at his feit.†

VIII.

Robin Hood and Guy of Gisborne.

We have here a ballad of Robin Hood

(from the Editor's folio MS.) which was never

before printed, and carries marks of much

greater antiquity than any of the common

popular songs on this subject.

The sevority of those tyrannical forest-laws,

that were introduced by our Norman kings,

and the great temptation of breaking them

by such as lived near the royal forests, at a

time when the yeomanny of this kingdom

were every where trained up to the long-bow,

and excelled all other nations in the art of

shooting, must constantly have occasioned

great numbers of outlaws, and especially of

such as were the best marksmen. These

naturally fled to the woods for shelter; and

forming into troops, endeavoured by theirnum-

bers to protect themselves from the dreadful

penalties of their delinquency. The ancient

punishment for killing the king's deer was

loss of eyes and castration, a punishment far

worse than death. This will easily account

for the troops of banditti which formerly

lurked in the royal forests, and from their

superior skill in archery and knowledge of

all the recesses of those unfrequented soli-

tudes, found it no difficult matter to resist or

elude the civil power.

Among all those, none was ever more fa-

mous than the hero of this ballad, whose chief

residence was in Shirewood forest, in Not-

tinghamshire; and the heads of whose story,

as collected by Stow, are briefly these.

"In this time [about the year 1190, in the

reign of Richard I.] were many robbers and

outlawes, among which Robin Hood, and

Little John, rcnowed theevcs, continued in

woods, despoyling and robbing the goods of

the rich. They killed none but such as

would invade them, or by resistance for their

own defence.

"The saide Robert entertained an hundred

tall men and good archers with such spoiles

and thefts as he got, upon whom four hun-

dred (were they ever so strong) durst not give

  • A village lying upon the river Forth, the entrance to

which is sometimes denominated De morte marì.

† An ingenlous frlend thinks the Author of Haudyknaute

has borrowed several expressions and sentiments from the

foregoing, and other old Scottish songs in this collection.

Page 96

78

ROBIN HOOD AND GUY OF GISBORNE.

the onset. He suffered no woman to be op-

pressed, violated, or otherwisemolested; poore

mons goods he spared, abundantlie relieving

them with that which by theft he got from

abbeys and the houses of rich carles: whom

Maior (the historian) blameth for his rapine

and theft, but of all theoves he affirmeth him

to be the prince, and the most gentle theofe.'

Annals, p. 159.

The personal courage of this celebrated

outlaw, his skill in archery, his humanity,

and especially his levelling principle of taking

from the rich and giving to the poor, have in

all ages rendered him the favourite of the

common people, who, not content to celebrate

his memory by innumerable songs and stories,

have created him into the dignity of an earl.

Indeed, it is not impossible, but our hero, to

gain the more respect from his followers, or

they to derive the more credit to their profes-

sion, may have given rise to such a report

themselves: for we find it recorded in m. oupi-

taph, which, if genuine, must have been in-

scribed on his tombstone near the numnery

of Kirklees in Yorkshire; where (as the story

goes) he was bled to death by a trencherous

nun to whom he applied for phlebotomy:

  • Here lyndernead bis failett sttan

Iat? robert earl of huntingtun

nea arcir ber az ?la sac geud

an pypl hauld in Robir ?eud

sic utlaþ as ?hi an is men

bil ?ingland ulibirt si agen.

obijt 24 kal. Dekembris, 1247.

This Epitaph appears to me suspicious:

however, a late Antiquary has given a pedi-

gree of Robin Hood, which, if genuine, shows

that he had real pretensions to the Earldom

of Huntington, and that his true name was

Robert Fitz-ooth.† Yet the most ancient

poems on Robin Hood make no mention of

this Earldom. He is expressly asserted to

have been a yeoman‡ in a very old legend in

library at Cambridge,§ in eight fyttes or parts,

printed in black letter, quarto, thus inscribed:

"C Here begynneth a lytell geste of Robyn

hode and his meyne, and of the proude sher-

yfe of Notyngham." The first lines are,

  • See Thoresby's Ducat. Leod. p. 676, Biog. Brit. vi. 3933.

† Stukoley, in his Palæographia Britannica, No. II. 1746.

‡ See also the following ballad, v. 147. § Num. D. 5, 2.

"Lythe and lysten, gentylmen,

That be of ffree-bore blode:

I shall you tell of a good yeman,

His name was Robyn hode.

"Robyn was a prond out-lawe,

Whiles he walked on grounde;

So curteys an outlawe as he was one,

Was never none yfounde." &c.

The printer's colophon is, "E Explicit

King Edward and Robin Hode and Lyttel

Johan. Enprinted at London in Fletestrete

at the sygne of the sone by Wynkin de

Worde."—In Mr. Garrick's Collection* is

a different edition of the same poem "C The Im-

printed at London upon the thre Crane wharfe

by Wyllyam Copland," containing at the end

a little dramatic piece on the subject of Robin

Hood and the Friar, not found in the former

copy, cull'd, "A newe playe for to be playd

in Maye games very plesaunte and full of

pastym. C (.) D."

I shall conclude those preliminary remarks

with observing, that the hero of this ballad

was the favourite subject of popular songs

so early as the time of K. Edward III. In

the Visions of Pierce Plowman, written in

that reign, a monk says,

I can rimes of Roben Hod and Randal of

Chester,

But of our Lorde and our Lady, I lerne

nothygh at all. Fol. 26, Ed. 1550.

Soe also in Bp. Latimer's Sermonst a very

curious and characteristical story, which

shows what respect was shown to the mem-

ory of our archer in the time of that prelate.

The curious reader will find many other

particulars relating to this celebrated Outlaw,

in Sir John Hawkins's Hist. of Music, vol.

iii. p. 410, 4to.

For the catastrophe of Little John, who, it

seems, was executed for a robbery on Arbor-

hill, Dublin (with some curious particulars

relating to his skill in archery,) see Mr. J.

C. Walkor's ingenious "Memoir on the Ar-

mour and Weapons of the Irish," p. 129, an-

nexed to his "Historical Essay on the Dress

of the Ancient and Modern Irish." Dublin,

1783, 4to.

Some liberties were, by the Editor, taken

  • Old Plays, 4to. K. vol. x.

† Sur. 6th before K. Ed. Apr. 12, fol. 75, Gilpin's Life of

Lat. p. 122.

Page 97

with this ballad; which, in this Edition, hath

been brought nearer to the folio MS.

When shaws beene shoone, and shradls full fayre,

And leaves both large and longe,

Itt is merrye walking in the fayre forrèst

To heare the small birdes songe.

The woodweele sang, and wold not cease,

Sitting upon the spraie,

Soe lowde, he awakened Robin Hood,

In the greenewood where he lay.

Now by my fayre, sayd jollye Robin,

A sweaven I had this night;

I dreamt me of two wighty yemen,

That fast with mee can fight.

Methought they did mee beate and binde,

And toke my bow mee froe;

If I be Robin alive in this lande

Ile be wroken on them towe.

Sweavens are swift, master, quoth John

As the wind that blowes ore a hill;

For if itt be never so londe this night,

To-morrow it may be still.

Buske yee, bowne yee, my merry men all,

And John shall goe with mee,

For Ile goe seeke yon wight yoemen,

In greenewood where the bee.

Then the cast on their gownes of grene,

And tooke theyr bowes each one;

And they away to the greene forrèst

A shooting forth are gone.

Untill they come to the merry greenewood,

Where they had gladdest bee,

There were the ware of a wight yeomàn,

His body leaned to a tree.

A sword and a dagger he wore by his side,

Of manye a man the bane;

And he was clad in his cappull hyde

Topp and tayll and mayne.

Stand you still, master, quoth Little John,

Under this tree so grene;

And I will go to yond wight yeoman

To know what he doth meane.

Ah! John, by mee thou sottest noe store,

And that I farley finde;

How off send I my men beffere,

And tarry my selfe behindo?

It is no cunning a knave to ken,

And a man but heare him speake;

And itt were not for bursting of my bowe,

John, I thy head wold breake.

As often wordes they breeden bale,

Soe they parted Robin and John;

And John is gone to Barnesdale:

The gates* he knoweth eche one.

But when he came to Barnesdale,

Greatt heavinesse there hee hadd,

For he found tow of his owne followès

Were slaine both in a slade.

And Scarlette he was flyinge a-foote

Fast over stocke and stone,

For the sheriffe with seven score men

Fast after him is gone.

One shooteo now I will shoote, quoth John,

With Christ his might and mayne;

Ile make yond fellow that flyes soe fast,

To stopp he shall be fayne.

Then John bent up his long bende-bow,

And fettled him to shoote;

The bow was made of a tender boughe,

And fell downe to his foote.

Woe worth, woe worth thee, wicked wood,

That ere thou grew on a tree;

For now this day thou art my bale,

My boote when thou shold bee.

His shoote it was butt loosely shott,

Yet flewe not the arrow in vaine;

For itt mett one of the sherriffes men,

Good William a Trent was slaine.

It had bene better of William a Trent

To have bene abed with sorrowe,

Than to be that day in the greene wood slade

To meet with Little John's arrow.

But as it is said, when men be mett

Fyve can doe more than three,

The sheriffe hath taken Little John,

And bound him fast to a tree.

Ver. 1. For Shaws the MS. has shales: and shradls should

perhaps be swards: i. e. the surface of the ground: viz.

" when the fields were in their beauty :" or perhaps shades.

  • i. e. ways, passes, paths, ridings. Gate is a common

word in the North for way.

Page 98

80 ROBIN HOOD AND GUY OF GISBORNE.

Thou shalt be drawn by dale and downe, 85 And hangd hye on a hill.

But thou mayst fayle of thy purpose, quoth John, If itt be Christ his will.

Let us leave talking of Little John, And thinke of Robin Hood, 90 How he is gone to the wight yeomàn, Where under the leaves he stood.

Good morrowe, good fellowe, said Robin so fayre, "Good morrowe, good fellow," quoth he: Methinkes by this bowe thou beares in thy hande 95 A good archer thou sholdst bee.

I am wilfull of my waye, quo' the yeman, And of my morning tyde.

Ile lead thee through tho wood, sayd Robin ; Good fellow, Ile be thy guide. 100

I wecke an outlàwe, the straunger sayd, Men call him Robin Hood ; Rather Ild meet with that proud outlàwe Than fourty pound soc good.

Now come with me thou wightye yeman, 105 And Robin thou soonce shalt see :

But first let us some pastime find Under the greenwood tree.

First let us some masteryye make Among the woods so even, 110 Wee may chance to meet with Robin Hood Here att some un sett steven.

They cutt them downe two summer shroggs, That grew both under a breere, And sett them threecore rood in twaine 115 To shoot the prickes y-fere.

Lende on, good fellowe, quoth Robin Hood, Leade on, I doe bidd thee.

Nay by my faith, good fellow, hee sayd, My leader thou shalt bee. 120

The first time Robin shot at the pricke, He mist but an inch it froe :

The yeoman he was an archer good, But he cold never shote soe.

The second shote had the wightye yeman, He shote within the garlànde: 126

But Robin he shott far better than hee, For he clave the good pricke wande.

A blessing upon thy heart, he sayd ; Good fellow, thy shooting is goode ; 130 For an thy hart be as good as thy hand, Thou wert better than Robin Hoodde.

Now tell me thy name, good fellow, sayd he, Under the leaves of lyne.

Nay by my faith, quoth bolde Robìn, Till thou have told me thine.

I dwell by dale and downe, quoth hoe, And Robin to take Ime sworne ; And when I am called by my right name I am Guye of good Gisborne. 140

My dwelling is in this wood, sayes Robin, By thee I sett right nought :

I am Robìn Hood of Barnèsdale, Whom thou so long hast sought.

He that had neither beene kithe nor kin 145 Might have seene a fùll fayre sight, To see how together these yeomen went With blades both browne* and bright.

To see how these yeomen together they fòught Two howres of a summers day : 150 Yett neither Robìn Hood nor Sir Guy Them fòttled to flye away.

Robin was reachles on a roote, And stumbled att that tyde ; And Guy was quicko and nimble with-all, And hitt him on the left side. 156

Ah, deare lady, sayd Robìn Hood, 'thou That art both mother and may,' I think it was never mans destiny To dye before his day. 160

  • The common epithet for a sword or other offensive weapon, in tho old metrical romances, is brown. As "brown brand," or "brown sword, brown bill," &c.; and sometimes even "bright brown sword." Chaucer applies the word rustie in the same sense; thus he describes the reve:— "And by his side he bare a rusty blade." Prol. ver. 620.

And even thus the god Mars:— "And in his hand he had a rousty sword." Test of Cressid. 188.

Spenser has sometimes used the same epithet. See War- ton's Observ. vol. ii. p. 62. It should seem, from this par- ticularity, that our ancestors did not pique themselves upon keeping their weapons bright; perhaps they deemed it more honourable to carry them stained with the blood of their enemies.

Page 99

ROBIN HOOD AND GUY OF GISBORNE.

31

Robin thought on our lady deere,

And soone leapt up againe,

And strait he came with a 'backward' stroke,

And he Sir Guy hath slayne.

He took Sir Guy's head by the hayre,

And sticked itt on his bowes end :

Though hast beene a traytor all thy liffe,

Which thing must have an ende.

Robin pulled forth an Irish kniffe,

And nicked Sir Guy in the face,

That he was never on woman born,

Cold tell whose head it was.

Saies, Lye there, lye there, now Sir Guye,

And with me be not wrothe ;

If thou have had the worse strokes at my

hand,

Thou shalt have the better clothe.

Robin did off his gowne of greene,

And on Sir Guy did it throw,

And hee put on that capull hyde,

That cladd him topp to toe.

The bowe, the arrowes, and litlo horne,

Now with me I will beare ;

For I will away to Barnesdale,

To see how my men doe fare.

Robin Hood sett Guyes horne to his mouth,

And a loud blast in it did blow.

That beheard the sheriffe of Nottingham,

As he leaned under a lowe.

Hearken, hearken, sayd the sheriffe,

I heare nowe tydings good,

For yonder I heare Sir Guye's horne blowe,

And he hath slaine Robin Hoode.

Yonder I heare Sir Guye's horne blowe,

Itt blowes soe well in tyde,

And yonder comes that wightye yeoman

Cladd in his capull hyde.

Come hyther, come hyther, thou good Sir Guy,

Aske what thou wilt of mee.

O, I will none of thy gold, sayd Robin,

Nor I will none of thy fee :

But now I've slaine the master, he sayes,

Let me go strike the knave ;

Var. 163, awkwarde, MS.

This is all the rewarde I aske;

Nor noe other will I have.

Thou art a madman, said the sheriffe,

Thou sholdest have had a knight's fee :

But seaing thy asking hath beene soe bad,

Well granted itt shalbe.

When Litle John heard his master speako,

Well knew hee it was his staven :

Now shall I be loost, quoth Litle John,

With Christ his might in heaven.

Fast Robin hee hyed him to Litle John,

He thought to loose him belive;

The sheriffe and all his companye

Fast after him did drive.

Stand abacke, stand abacke, sayd Robin;

Why draw you noe soe neere ?

Itt was never the use in our countrye,

One's shrift another shold heere.

But Robin pulled forth an Iryish kniffe,

And loosed John hand and foote,

And gave him Sir Guyes bow into his hand

And bad it be his boote.

Then John he took Guye's bow in his hand,

His boltes and arrowes eche one :

When the sheriffe saw Litle John bend his

bow,

He fettled him to be gone.

Towards his house in Nottingham towne

He fled full fast away :

And soe did all his companye :

Not one behind wold stay.

But he cold neither runne soe fast,

Nor away soe fast cold ryde,

But Litle John with an arrowe so broad

He shott him into the 'backe'-syde.

** The title of Sir was not formerly pe-

culiar to Knights, it was given to Priests,

and sometimes to very inferior personages.

Dr. Johnson thinks this title was applied

to such as had taken the degree of A. B. in

the universities, who are still styled Domini,

"Sirs," to distinguish them from Undergrad-

uates, who have no prefix, and from Masters

of Arts, who are styled Magistri, "Masters."

Page 100

82 AN ELEGY ON HENRY FOURTH EARL OF NORTHUMBERLAND.

IX.

An Elegy on Henry fourth Earl of Northumberland.

The subject of this poem which was writ-

ten by Skelton, is the death of Henry Percy,

fourth Earl of Northumberland, who fell a

victim to the avarice of Henry VII. In 1489

the parliament had granted the king a subsi-

dy for carrying on the war in Bretagne. This

tax was found so heavy in the North that the

whole country was in a flame. The E. of

Northumberland, then lord lieutenant for

Yorkshire, wrote to inform the king of the

discontent, and praying an abatement. But

nothing is so unrelenting as avarice: the king

wrote back that not a penny should be abated.

This message being delivered by the earl

with too little caution, the populace rose, and,

supposing him to be the promoter of their

calamity, broke into his house, and murdered

him, with several of his attendants, who yet

are charged by Skelton with being backward

in their duty on this occasion. This melancholy event happened at the earl's seat at

Cocklodge, near Thirsk, in Yorkshire, April

28, 1489. See Lord Bacon, &c.

If the reader does not find much poetical

merit in this old poem (which yet is one of

Skelton's best), he will see a striking picture

of the state and magnificence kept up by our

ancient nobility during the feudal times.

This great earl is described here as having,

among his menial servants, knights, squires,

and even barons : see ver. 32, 183, &c., which,

however different from modern manners, was

formerly not unusual with our greater Barons,

whose castles had all the splendour and offices

of a royal court, before the laws against re-

tainers abridged and limited the number of

their attendants.

John Skelton, who commonly styled him-

self Poet Laureat, died June 21, 1529. The

following poem, which appears to have been

written soon after the event, is printed from

an ancient MS. copy preserved in the British

Museum, being much more correct than that

printed among Skelton's Poems, in bl. let.

12mo. 1568. It is addressed to Henry Percy,

fifth Earl of Northumberland, and is prefa-

ced, &c., in the following manner:

Poeta Skelton Laureatus libellum suum

metrice alloquitur.

Ad dominum properato meum mea pagina Percy,

Qui Northumbrorum jura paterna gerit,

Ad nutum celebris tu prona repone leonis,

Quæque suo patri tristia justa cano.

Ast ubi perlegit, dubiam sub mente volutet

Fortunam, cuncta quæ malo fida rotat.

Qui leo sit felix, et Nestoris occupet annos;

Ad libitum cujus ipse paratus ero.

Skelton Laureat upon the dolourous dethe

and much lamentable chaunce of the

moost honorable Erle of Northumber-

lande.

I wayle, I wepe, I sobbe, I sigh ful sore

The dedely fato, the dolefulle destenny

Of him that is gone, alas ! withoute restore,

Of the blode* royall descendynge nobelly;

Whos lordshepe doubtes was slayne la-

mentably

5

Thorow treson ageyn hym compassyd and wrought;

Trew to his prince, in word, in dede, and

thought.

Of hevenly poems, O Clyo enlde by name

In the college of musis goddesse hystoriall,

Adres the to me, whiche am both halt and

lame

10

In elect uterauce to make memoryall :

To the for soccour, to the for helpe I call

Myne homely rudnes and drighnes to expelle

With the freshe waters of Elyconys welle.

  • The mother of Henry, first Earl of Northumberland,

was Mary daughter to Henry Earl of Lancaster, whose

father Edmond was second son of King Henry III.—The

mother and wife of the second Earl of Northumberland

were both lineal descendants of King Edward III.—The

Percys also were linally descended from the Emperor

Charlemagne and the ancient Kings of France, by his

ancestor Josceline du Lorain (son of Godfrey Duke of

Brabant), who took the name of Percy on marryiug the

heiress of that house in the reign of Hen. II., Vld. Camden

Britan. Edmondson, &c.

Page 101

AN ELEGY ON HENRY FOURTH EARL OF NORTHUMBERLAND.

83

Of noble actes auncyently enrolde,

Of famous princis and lordes of astate,

By thy report ar wontc to extold,

Regestringe trewly every formare date:

Of thy bountie after the usuall rate,

Kyndle in me suche plenty of thy noblès,

Thes sorrowfulle dities that I may shew expres.

In sesons past who hathe harde or sene

Of formar writinge by any presidente

That vilane hastarddis in ther furious tene,

Fulfyld with malice of froward entente,

Confetderd togeder of commun concete,

Falsly to slo ther moste singular goode lorde?

It may be registrede of shamefull recorde.

So noble a man, so valiaunt lorde and knight,

Fulfilled with honor, as all the worlde dothe ken;

At his commaundement, whiche had both day and night

Knyghtis and squyers, at every season when

He calde upon them, as menyall houshold men

Were no thes commones uncurteis karlis of kynde

To slo their owne lorde? God was not in their minde.

And were not they to blame, I say also,

That were aboute hym, his owne servants of trust,

To suffre hym slayn of his mortall fo ?

Fled away from hym, let hym ly in the dust:

They bode not till the rekoning were discust.

What shuld I flatter? what shulde I glose or paynt?

Fy, fy for shame, their hearts wer to faint.

In Englande and Fraunce, whiche gretly was redouted;

Of whom both Flaunders and Scotland stode in drede;

To whome grete astatcs obeyde and lowttede :

A mayny of rude villayns made him for to blede :

Unkindly they slew him, that holp them oft at nede

He was their bulwark, their paves, and their wall,

Yet shamfully they slew hym; that shame mot them beful.

I say, ye commoners, why wer ye so stark mad?

What frantyk frensy fyll in youre brayne?

Where was your wit and reson, ye shuld have had ?

What willfull foly made yow to ryse agayne

Your naturall lord? alas! I can not fayne.

Ye armed you with will, and left your wit behynd;

Well may ye be called comunes most unkynde.

He was your chyfteyne, your shelde, your chef defence,

Redy to assyst you in every tyme of nede;

Your worship depended of his excellence:

Alas ! ye mad men, to far ye did excede :

Your hap was unhappy, to ill was your spede :

Whatmovyed you agayn hym to war or tofight?

What aylde you to sle your lord agyn all right?

The grounde of his quarel was for his sovereyn lord,

The welle concernyng of all the hole lande,

Demaundyng soche dutyes as nedis most acord

To the right of his prince whiche shuld not be withstand ;

For whos cause ye slew hym with your awne hande :

But had his nobill men done wel that day,

Ye had not been habile to have saide him nay.

But ther was fals packingc, or els I am begyldc;

How-be-it the matter was evident and playne,

For yf they had occupied ther spere and ther shelde,

This noble man doutles had not be slayne.

Bot men say they wer lynked with a double chayn,

And held with the communs under a cloke,

Whiche kindeled the wyld fyre that made all this smoke.

The communs renyed ther taxes to pay

Of them demaunded and asked by the kinge;

With one voice importune, they playnly said nay:

They buskt them on a bushment themself in baile to bringe :

Agayne the king's plesure to wrastle or to wringe,

Page 102

84 AN ELEGY ON HENRY FOURTH EARL OF NORTHUMBERLAND.

Bluntly as bestis withe beste and with cry

They saide, they forsede not, nor carode not to dy.

The noblenes of the northe this valiant lordo

and knyght,

As man that was innocent of trechery or trayne,

Presed forthe boldly to withstand the myght,

And lyke marciall Hector, he fauht them agayne,

Vigorously upon them with myght and with mayne,

Trustinge in noble men that wer with hym there:

Bot all they fled from hym for falshode or fere.

Barons, knights, squyers, one and alle,

Togeder with servaunts of his famuly,

Turnd their bakis, and let ther master fall,

Of whos [life] they counted not a flye;

Take up whos wolde for them, they let hym ly

Alas! his golde, his fee, his annuall rente

Upon suche a sort was ille bestowde and spent.

He was envyronde aboute on every syde

Withe his enemys, that were stark mad and wode;

Yet whils he stode he gave woundes wyde

Alas for routhe! what thouche his mynde were goode,

His corage manly, yet ther he shed his bloode!

All left alone, alas! he fawte in vayne!

For cruelly amonge them ther he was slayne.

Alas for pite! that Percy thus was spylt,

The famous erle of Northumberlande;

Of knightly prowès the sworde pomel and hylt,

The mighty lyoun* doutted by se and lande!

O dolorous chaunce of fortuns fraward hande!

What man remembring how shamfully he was slayne,

From bitter weepinge himself kan restrayne!

O cruell Mars, thou dedly god of war!

O dolorous Teusday, dedicate to thy name,

  • Alluding to his crest and supportors. Doutlod is contracfor redoubted.

When thou shoke thy sworde so noble a man to mar!

O groundlenmagracious, unhappye be thy fane,

Whiche wert ended with rede blode of the same!

Moste noble erle! O fowle mysuryd grounde

Whereon he gat his fynal dedely wounde!

O Atropos, of the fatall systers thre,

Goddess mooste cruell unto the lyf of man,

All merciles, in the ys no pité!

O homycide, whiche sleest all thon kan,

So forcibly upon this erle thow ran,

That with thy sworde enharpid of mortall drede,

Thou kit asonder his perfigt vitall threde!

My wordis unpullisht be nakide and playne,

Of aureat poens they want ellumyunge;

Bot by them to kunlege ye may attayne

Of this lordis dothe and of his murdrynge

Which whils he lyvyd had fuyson of every thing,

Of knightis, of .squyers, chef lord of tourne and toune,

Tyl fykkill fortune began on hym to frowne.

Paregall to dukis, with kings he myght compare,

Surmountinge in honor all erls he did excede,

To all cuntreis aboute hym reporto me I dare.

Lyke to Eneas beynge in worde and dede,

Valiaunt as Hector in every marciall nede,

Provydent, discrete, circumspect, and wyse,

Tyll the chaunce ran agayne him of fortunes duble dyse.

What nedethe me for to extoll his fame

With my rude pen enkankerd all with rust?

Whos noble actis shew worsheply his name,

Transcendyng far myne homely muse, that must

Yet sumwhat wrigth supprysid with hardly lust,

Truly reportinge his right noble astate,

Immortully whiche is immaculate.

His noble blode never disteynyd was,

Trew to his prince for to defende his right,

Doublenes hatinge, fals matters to compas,

Treytery and treson he bannesht out of syght,

With trowth to medlo was all his hole delyght,

Page 103

AN ELEGY ON HENRY FOURTH EARL OF NORTHUMBERLAND.

85

As all his kuntrey kan testefy the same :

To slo such a lord, alas, it was grete shame.

If the hole quore of the musis nyne

In me all onely wer sett and comprisydc,

Embrethed with the blast of influonce dyvyne,

As perfitly as could be thought or devy-

syd;

To me also allthouche it were promysyde

Of laureat Phebus holy the eloquence,

All were too litill for his magnificence.

O yonge lyon, bot tender yet of age,

Grow and encrese, remembre thyn astate,

God the assyst unto thyn herytage,

And gave the grace to be more fortunate,

Agayne rebellyouns ame to make debate.

And, as the lyoune, whiche is of bestis kingc,

Unto thy subjectis be kynteis and benyngne.

I pray God sende the prosperous lyf and long,

Stabylle thy mynde constant to be and fast,

Right to mayntcin, and to resist all wronge:

All flattringe faytors abhor and from the cast,

Of foule detraction God kepe the from the blast:

Let double delinge in the have no place,

And be not light of credence in no case.

Wythe hevy chere, with dolorous hart and mynd,

Eche man maysorow in his inward thought,

Thys lords death, whose pere is hard to fynd

Allgyf England and Fraunce were thorow saught.

All kings, all princes, all dukes, well they ought

Bothe temporall and spirituall for to com-

playne

This noble man, that crewelly was slayne.

More specially barons, and those knyghtes bold,

And all other gentilmen with hym enter-

taynd

In fee, as menyall men of his housold,

Whom he as lord worshipply manteynd :

To sorowfull weping they ought to be con-

stroyned,

As oft as thei call to ther remembraunce,

Of ther good lord the fate and dedly chaunce.

O perlese prince of hervn emperyalle,

That with one worde formed al thing of noughtc ;

Hevyn, hell, and erth obey unto thi kall ;

Which to thy resemblaunce wondersly hast wrought

All mankynd, whom thou full dere hast boght,

With thy blode precious our finaunce thou dyd pay,

And us redemed, from the fendys pray :

To the pray we, as prince incomperable,

As thou art of mercy and pite the well,

Thou bringe unto thy joy etermynable

The sowle of this lorde from all daunger of hell,

In endles blis with the to byde and dwell

In thy palace above the orient,

Where thou art lorde, and God omnipotent.

O quene of morey, O lady full of grace,

Maiden moste pure, and goddis moder dere,

Tosorowfullharts chef of comfort and solace,

Of all women O floure withouten pere,

Pray to thy son above the starryis clere,

He to vouchesaf by thy mediatioun

To pardon thy servant, and bringe to salva-

cion.

In joy tryumphant the havenly yerarchy,

With all the hole sorte of that glorious place,

His soule mot receyve into ther company

Thorowe bounte of hym that formed all

solace :

Well of pite, of mercy, and of grace,

The father, the son, and the holy gostc

In Trinitate one God of myghts moste.

†† I have placed the foregoing poem of Skelton's before the following extract from Hawes, not only because it was written first, but because I think Skelton is in general to be considered as the earlier poet ; many of his poems being written long before Hawes's Graunde Amour.

Page 104

86

THE TOWER OF DOCTRINE.

X.

The Tower of Doctrine.

The reader has here a specimen of the de-

scriptive powers of Stephen Hawes, a cele-

brated poet in the reign of Henry VII.,

though now little known. It is extracted

from an allegorical poem of his (written in

1505), entitled, "The Hist. of Graunde Am-

oure & La Belle Pucel, called the Palace of

Pleasure, &c." 4to, 1555. See more of Hawes

in Ath. Ox. v. 1, p. 6, and Warton's Observ.

v. 2, p. 105. He was also author of a book,

entitled, "The Temple of Glass. Wrote by

Stephen Hawes, gentleman of the bedchamber

to K. Henry VII." Pr. for Caxton, 4to., no

date.

The following Stanzas are taken from

Chap. III. and IV. of the Hist. above men-

tioned. "How fame departed from Graunde

Amour and left him with Governannce and

Grace, and howe he went to the Tower of

Doctrine, &c." As we are able to give no

small lyric piece of Hawes's, the reader will

excuse the insertion of this extract.

I loked about and saw a craggy roche,

Furre in the west neare to the element,

And as I dyd then unto it approche,

Upon the toppe I sawc refulgcnt

The royal tower of Morall Documcnt,

Made of fine coppur with turrettes fayre and

hye,

Which against Phebus shone soe marveylously.

That for the very perfect bryghtnes

What of the tower, and of the cleare sunne

I could nothyng beholde the goodlynes

Of that palauice, whereas Doctrine did wonne:

Tyll at the last, with mysty wyndes donne,

The radiant brightnes of golden Phebus

Auster gan cover with clowde tenebrus.

Then to the tower I drewe nere and nere,

And often mused of the great hyhynes

Of the craggy rocke which quadrant did ap-

peare :

But the fayre tower, (so much of ryches

Was all about,) sexangled doubtles ;

Gargyld with grayhoundes, and with many

lyouns,

Made of fyne golde; with divers sundry dra-

gons.*

The little turrets with ymages of golde

About was set, whiche with the wynd aye

moved

With propre vices, that I did well beholde

About the tower, in sundry wyse they

hoved

With goodly types, in their mouthes

itaned,

That with the wynd they piped a daunce

Ielipped Amour de la haull plesuuuce.

The touro was greal of marveylous wydnes,

To whiche ther was no way to passo hut

one,

Into the toure for to have an intres:

A grece ther was yehesylid all of stonc

Out of the rocke, on whiche men dyd gonc

Up to the toure, and in lykowysc dyd 1

With bothe the Grayhoundes in my com-

pany :†

Tyll that I came unto a ryall gate,

Where I sawe stondynge the goodly portres,

Whyche axed me, from whence I came a-late;

To whome I gan in every thynge expresse

All myne adventure, chaunce, and busy-

nesse,

And eke my name; I told her every dell :

Whan she herde this she lyked me right well.

Her name, she sayd, was called Countenaunce;

Into the 'base' courte she dyd me then

lede,

Where was a fountayne depured of plesance,

A noble sprynge, a ryall conduyte-hede,

Made of fyne golde enameled with reed;

And on the toppe four dragons blewe and

stoute

Thys dulcet water in four partes dyd spoute.

V. 25, towors, P. C. V. 44, besy courte, P. C. V. 49, par-

tyes, P. C.

  • Grayhounds, Lions, Dragons, were at that time the

royal supportors.

† This alludes to a former part of the Poem.

Page 105

THE CHILD OF ELLE.

87

Of wylche there flowed foure ryvers ryght clere,

Sweter than Nylus* or Ganges was ther odoure :

Tygres or Eufrates unto them no pere :

I dyd than taste the aromatykc lycoure,

Fragrant of fume, and swete as any floure;

And in my mouth it had a marveylous scent

Of divers spices, I knewe not what it ment.

Of golde was made a ryght crafty vyne ;

Instede of grapes the rubies there did shyne.

The flore was paved with berall clarifled,

With pillers made of stones precions,

Like a place of pleasure so gayoly glorified,

It myght be called a palaice glorious,

So muche delectable and solacions ;

The hall was hanged hyo and circuler

With cloth of arras in the rychest manor,

That treated well of a ful noble story,

Of the doubty wayo to the Tower Perilous ;*

Howe a noble knyght should wynne the victory

Of many a serpent foule and odious.

XI.

The Child of Elle,

—is given from a fragment in the Editor's foile MS. : which though extremely defective and mutilated, appeared to have so much merit, that it excited a strong desire to attempt the completion of the story. The reader will easily discover the supplemental stanzas by their inferiority, and at the same time be inclined to pardon it, when he considers how difficult it must be to imitate the affecting simplicity and artless beauties of the original.

Child was a title sometimes given to a knight. See Gloss.

On yonder hill a castle standes

With walles and towres bedlight,

And yonder lives the Child of Elle,

A younge and comely knightc.

The Child of Elle to his garden went,

And stood at his garden pale,

Whan, lo ! he beheld fair Emmelines page

Come trippinge downe the dale.

The Child of Elle he byed him thence

Y-wis he stoode not stille,

And soone he mette fair Emmalines page

Come climbing up the hille.

Nowe Christe thee save, thou litle foot-page,

Now Christe thee save and see !

Oh tell me how does thy lady gayc,

And what may thy tidings bee?

My lady she is all woe-begone,

And the teares they falle from her eyne ;

And aye she laments the deadlye feude

Betwene her house and thine.

And here shee sends thee a silken scarfe

Bedewde with many a teare,

And biddeth thee sometimes thinke on her,

Who loved thee so deare.

And here she sends thee a ring of golde

The last boone thou mayst have,

And biddeth thee weare it for her sake,

When she is layde in grave.

For, ah ! her gentile heart is broke,

And in grave soone must shee bee,

Sith her father hath chose her a new new love,

And forbidde her to think of thee.

12 † Nysus, P. C.

  • The story of the poem.

Page 106

THE CHILD OF ELLE.

Her father hath brought her a carlish knight,

Sir John of the north countrye,

And within three dayes shee must him wedde,

Or he vowes he will her slaye.

36

Now lyee thee backe, thou little foot-page,

And greet thy lady from mee,

And tell her that I her owne true love

Will dye, or sette her free.

40

Now lyee thee backe, thou little foot-page,

And let thy fair ladye know

This knight will I bee at her bowre windòwe,

Beside me weale or woe.

The boye he tripped, the boye he ranne,

He neither stint ne stayd

Untill he came to fair Emmelines bowre

Whan kneeling downe he sayd,

O ladye, I've been with thy own true love,

And he greets thee well by mee;

This night will he be at thy bowre-windòwe,

And dye or sette thee free.

Now daye was gone and night was come,

And all were fast asleepe,

All save the ladye Emmeline,

Who sate in her bowre to wepe:

And soone she heard her true loves voice

Lowe whispering at the walle,

Awake, awake, my deare ladyè,

Tis I thy true love call.

60

Ah ! well I wot, he never would rest,

Nor his meate shoulde doe him no goode,

Untill he had slayne thee, Child of Elle,

And seene thy deare hearts bloode.

80

O ladye wort thou in thy saddile sette,

And a little spaceo him fro,

I would not care for thy cruell fathèr,

Nor the worst that he could doe.

O ladye, wert thou in thy saddile sette,

And once without this walle,

I would not care for thy cruell fathèr,

Nor the worst that might befallè.

Faire Emmeline sighed, fair Emmeline wept,

And aye her heart was woe :

At length he seizd her lilly-white hand,

And downe the ladder he drowe :

And thrice he clasped her to his breste,

And kist her tenderlie :

The teares that fell from hor fair oyes

Ranne like the fountayne free.

95

Heo mounted himsellfo on his steede so talle,

And her on a fair palfràye,

And slung his bugle about his necke,

And roundlyo they rode awayè.

100

All this behelde her owne damsèlle,

In her bed wheras shee lay,

Quoth shee, My lord shall knowe of this,

Soe I shall have golde and fee.

Awake, awake, thou baron bolde !

Awake, my noble dame !

Your daughter is fledde with the Child of Elle

To doe the deede of shame.

The baron he woke, the baron he rose,

And called his merrye men all :

110

"And come thou forth, Sir John the knighte,

Thy ladye is carried to thrall."

Faire Emmeline scant had ridden a mile,

A mile forth of the towne,

When she was aware of her fathers men

Come galloping over the downe :

"My father he is a baron bolde,

Of lynage proude and hye;

And what would he saye if his daughtòr

Awaye with a knight should fly ?

75

And formost came the carlish knighte,

Sir John of the north countràye :

"Now stop, nowe stop, thou false traitoure,

Nor carry that ladye awayè.

120

Page 107

THE CHILD OF ELLE.

For she is come of hye linèage,

And was of a ladye borne,

And ill it bosecms thee a false churl's sonne

To carrye her hence to scorne."

Nowe loud thou lyest, Sir John the knight,

Nowe thou doest lye of mee;

A knight mee gott, and a ladye mee bore,

Soe never did none by thee.

But light nowe downe, my ladye faire,

Light downe, and hold my steed,

While I and this discourteous knyghte

Doe trye this arduous deede.

But light nowe downe, my deare ladye,

Light downe, and hold my horse;

While I and this discourteous knight

Doe trye our valour's force.

Fair Emmeline sighed, fair Emmeline wept,

And aye her heart was woo,

While twixt her love and the earlish knight

Past many a baleful blowe.

The Child of Elle hee fought soe well,

As his weapon he waved amaine,

That soone he had slain the earlish knight,

And layd him upon the plaine.

And nowe the baron and all his men

Full fast approached nye:

Ah! what may ladye Emmeline doe

Twere nowe no boote to flye.

Her lover he put his horne to his mouth,

And blew both loud and shrill,

And soone he saw his owne merry men

Come ryding over the hill.

"Nowe hold thy hand, thou bold baròn,

I pray thee hold thy hand,

Nor ruthless rend two gentle hearts

Fast knit in true love's band.

Thy daughter I have dearly loved

Full long and many a day;

But with such love as holy kirke

Hath freelye said wee may.

O give consent, shee may be mine,

And bless a faithfull paire:

My lands and livings are not small,

My house and lineage faire:

My mother she was an carl's daughtèr,

And a noblo knyght my sire —

The baron he frowned and turn'd away

With mickle dole and ire.

Fair Emmeline sighed, faire Emmeline wept,

And did all trembling stand:

At lengthe she sprang upon her knee,

And held his lifted hand.

Pardon, my lorde and father deare,

This faire yong knyght and mee:

Trust me, but for the carlish knyght,

I never had fled from thee.

Oft have you called your Emmeline

Your darling and your joye;

O let not then your harsh resolves

Your Emmeline destroye.

The baron he stroakt his dark-brown cheeke,

And turned his heade asyde

To whipe awaye the starting teare

He proudly strave to hyde.

In deepo revolving thought he stoode,

And mused a little space:

Then raised faire Emmeline from thegrounde,

With many a fond embrace.

Here take her, Child of Elle, he sayd,

And gave her lillye white hand;

Here take my deare and only child,

And with her half my land:

Thy father once mine honour wrongde

In dayes of youthfull pride;

Do thou the injurie repayre

In fondnesse for thy bride.

And as thou love her, and hold her deare,

Heaven prosper thee and thine:

And nowe my blessing wend wi' thee,

My lovelye Emmeline.


†† From the word kirke in ver. 129, this

hath been thought to be a Scottish Ballad, but

it must be acknowledged that the line referred

to is among the additions supplied by the

Editor: besides, in the Northern counties of

England, kirk is used in the common dialect

for church, as well as beyond the Tweed.

Page 108

90

EDOM O' GORDON.

XII.

Edom O' Gordon,

A SCOTTISH BALLAD,

— was printed at Glasglow, by Robert and Andrew Foulis, mdcelv. 8vo., 12 pages,

— We are indebted for its publication (with many other valuable things in these volumes) to Sir David Dalrymple, Bart., who gave it as it was preserved in the memory of a lady, that is now dead.

The reader will here find it improved, and enlarged with several fine stanzas, recovered from a fragment of the same ballad, in the Editor's folio MS. It is remarkable that the latter is entitled Captain Adam Carre, and is in the English idiom. But whether the author was English or Scotch, the difference originally was not great. The English Ballads are generally of the North of England, the Scottish are of the South of Scotland, and of consequence the country of Ballad-singors was sometimes subject to one crown, and sometimes to the other, and most frequently to neither. Most of the finest old Scotch songs have the scene laid within twenty miles of England, which is indeed all poetic ground, green hills, remains of woods, clear brooks. The pastoral scenes remain : of the rude chivalry of former ages happily nothing remains but the ruins of the castles, where the more daring and successful robbers resided. The House or Castle of the Rodes stood about a measured mile south from Duns, in Berwickshire: some of the ruins of it may be seen to this day. The Gordons were anciently seated in the same county : the two villages of East and West Gordon lie about ten miles from the castle of the Rodes.* The fiuct, however, on which the ballad is founded, happened in the North of Scotland, (see below), yet it is but too faithful a specimen of the violences practised in the feudal times in every part of this Island, and indeed all over Europe.

  • This Ballad is well known in that neighbourhood, where it is entitled Adam o'Gordon. It may be observed, that the famous freebooter, whom Edward I. fought with hand to hand, near Farnham, was named Adam Gordon.

From the different titles of this Ballad, it should seem that the old strolling bards or Minstrels (who gained a livelihood by reciting these poems) made no scruple of changing the names of the personages they introduced, to humour their hearers. For instance, if a Gordon's conduct was blame-worthy in the opinion of that age, the obsequious minstrel would, when among Gordons, change the name to Car, whose clan or sept lay further West, and vice versâ.—The foregoing observation, which I owed to Sir David Dalrymple, will appear the more perfectly well founded, if, as I have since been informed (from Craw-ford's Memoirs), the principal Commander of the expedition was a Gordon, and the immediate Agent a Car, or Ker ; for then the reciter might, upon good grounds, impute the barbarity here deplored, either to a Gordon or a Car, as best suited his purpose. In the third volume the reader will find a similar instance. See the song of Gil Morris, wherein the principal character introduced had different names given him, perhaps from the same cause.

It may be proper to mention, that in the folio MS. instead of the "Castle of the Rodes," it is the "Castle of Britton's-borrow," and also "Diactors" or "Draitours-borrow," (for it is very obscurely written,) and "Capt. Adam Carre" is called the "Lord of Wester-ton-town." Uniformity required that the Additional stanzas supplied from that copy should be clothed in the Scottish orthography and idiom : this has therefore been attempted, though perhaps imperfectly.

It fell about the Martinmas,

Quhen the wind blew shril and cauld,

Said Edom o' Gordon to his men,

We maun draw till a hauld.

An quhat a hauld sall we draw till,

My mirry men and me?

We wul gne to the house o' the Rodes,

To see that fair ladie.

5

Page 109

The lady stude on hir castle wa'

Beheld lath dalc and doun:

There she was ware of a host of men

Cum ryding towards the toun.

O see ze nat, my mirry men a’?

O see ze nat quhat I see?

Methinks I see a host of men :

I marveil quha they be.

She weend it had been hir luvèly lord,

As he cam ryding hame;

It was the traitor Edom o’ Gordon,

Quha reck’t nae sin nor shame.

She had nae sooner buskit hirsel,

And putten on hir goun,

But Edom o’ Gorden and his men

Were round about the toun.

They had nae sooner supper sett,

Nae sooner said the grace,

But Edom o’ Gurden and his men

Were light about the place.

The lady ran up to hir towir head,

Sa fast as she could hie,

To see if by hir faire speechès

She could wi’ him agree.

But quhan he see this lady saif,

And hir yates all locked fast,

He fell into a rage of wrath,

And his look was all aghast.

Cum doun to me, ze lady gay,

Cum doun, cum doun to me :

This night sall ye lig within mine armes,

To-morrow my bride sall be.

I winnae cum doun, ze fals Gordon,

I winnae cum doun to thee;

I winnae forsake my ain dear lord,

That is sac far frae me.

Give owre zour house, ze lady fair,

Give oure zour house to me,

Or I sall brenn yoursel therein,

Bot and zour babies three.

I winnae give owre, ze false Gordòn,

To nae sik traitor as zee :

And if ze brenn my ain dear babes,

My lord shall make ze drie.

But reuch my pistoll, Gland, my man,*

And charge ze weel my gun:*

For, but an I pierce that bluidy butcher,

My babes we been undone.

She stude upon hir castle wa’,

And let twa bullets flee:*

She mist that bluidy butchers hart,

And only raz’d his knee.

Set fire to the house, quo’ fals Gordòn,

All wood wi’ dule and ire :

Fals lady, ze sall rue this deid,

As ze bren in the fire.

Wae worth, wae worth ze, Jock my man,

I paid ze weil zour fee;

Quhy pu’ ze out the ground-wa’ stane,

Lets in the reek to me?

And oin wae worth ze, Jock my man,

I paid ze weil zour hire ;

Quhy pu’ ze out the ground-wa’ stane,

To me lets in the fire?

Ze paid me weil my hire, lady ;

Ze paid me weil my fee :

But now I’m Edom o’Gordons man,

Maun either doe or die.

O then bespàik hir little son,

Sate on the nurses knee ;

Sayes, Mither deare, gi’ owre this house,

For the reek it smothers me.

I wad gie a’ my gowd, my childe,

Sac wald I a’ my fee,

For ane blast o’ the western wind,

To blaw the reek frae thee.

O then bespàik hir dochter dear,

She was bath jimp and sma:

O row me in a pair of sheits,

And tow me owre the wa.

They rowd hir in a pair o’ sheits,

And towd hir owre the wa :

But on the point of Gordon’s spear

She gat a deadly fa.

O bonnie bonnie was hir mouth,

And cherry were hir cheiks,

  • These three lines are restored from Foulis’s edition,

and the fol. MS., which last reads “the bullets,” in v. 58.

Page 110

32

EDOM O’ GORDON.

And clear clear was hir zellow hair,

Whereon the reid bluid dreips.

Then wi’ his spear he turnd hir owre,

O gin hir face was wan !

He sayd, ‘Ze are the first that eir

I wist alive again.

He turnd hir owre and owre again,

O gin hir skin was whyte !

I might ha spared that bonnie face,

To hae been sum mans delyte.

Busk and boun, my merry men a’;

For ill dooms I doe guess :

I cannae luik in that bonnie face,

As it lyes on the grass.

Thame, luiks to freits, my master deir,

Then freits wil follow thame :

Let it neir be said brave Edom o’ Gordon

Was daunted by a dame.

But quhen the lady saw the fire

Cum flaming owre hir heid,

She wept and kist her children twain,

Sayd, Bairns, we been but dead.

The Gordon then his bougill blow,

And said, ‘Awa’, ‘awa’ ;

This house o’ the Rhodes is a’ in flame,

I hauld it time to ga’.

O then bespyed hir ain dear lord,

As hee cam owr the lee ;

He sieid his castie all in blaze

So far as he could see.

Then sair, O sair, his mind misgave,

And all his hart was wae ;

Put, on, put on, my wighty men,

So fast as ze can gae.

Put on, put on, my wighty men,

So fast as ze can drie ;

For he that is hindmost of the thrang

Sall neir get guid o’ me.

Than sum they rade, and some they rin,

Fou fast out-owr the bent ;

But air the foremoist could get up,

Baith lady and babe were brent.

He wrang his hands, he rent his hair,

And wept in teenuful muid :

O traitours, for this cruel deid

Ze sall weep teirs o’ bluid.

And after the Gordon he is gane,

Sa fast as he might drie ;

And soon i’ the Gordon’s foul hartis bluid

He’s wroken his dear ladie.

†† Since the foregoing ballad was first printed, the subject of it has been found recorded in Alb. Spottswood’s History of the Church of Scotland, p. 259 ; who informs us, that

“Anno 1571. In the north parts of Scotland, Adam Gordon (who was deputy for his brother the Earl of Huntley) did keep a great stir ; and, under colour of the queen’s authority, committed divers oppressions, especially upon the Forbes. . . . . Having killed Arthur Forbes, brother to the Lord Forbes. . . . Not long after he sent to summon the house of ‘Tavoy, pertaining to Alex-ander Forbes. The lady refusing to yield without direction from her husband, he put fire unto it, and burnt her therein, with children and servants, being twenty-seven persons in all.

“This inhuman and barbarous cruelty

made his name odious, and stained all his former doings ; otherwise he was held very active and fortunate in his enterprizes.”

This fact, which had escaped the Editor’s notice, was in the most obliging manner pointed out to him by an ingenious writer (Newcastle, May 9.) in the Gentleman’s Magazine for May, 1775, p. 219.

THE END OF THE FIRST BOOK.

Page 111

BALLADS THAT ILLUSTRATE SHAKSPEARE.

SERIES THE FIRST.

BOOK II.

I.

Ballads that Illustrate Shakspcare.

Our great dramatic poet having occa- sionally quoted many ancient ballads, and even taken the plot of one, if not more, of his plays from among them, it was judged pro- per to preserve as many of these as could be recovered, and that they might be the more easily found, to exhibit them in one collect- ive view. This second book is therefore set apart for the reception of such ballads as are quoted by Shakspeare, or contribute in any degree to illustrate his writings: this being the principal point in view, the candid reader will pardon the admission of some pieces that have no other kind of merit.

The design of this book being of a dramatic tendency, it may not be improperly intro- duced with a few observations on the origin of the English Stage, and on the conduct of our first Dramatic Poets; a subject which, though not unsuccessfully handled by several good writers already, ' will yet perhaps admit of some further illustration.

ON THE ORIGIN OF THE ENGLISH STAGE, ETC.

It is well known that dramatic poetry in this and most other nations of Europe owes its origin, or at least its revival, to those re- ligious shows, which in the dark ages were usually exhibited on the more solemn festi- vals. At those times they were wont to re- present in the churches the lives and miracles of the saints, or some of the more important stories of Scripture. And as the most myste- rious subjects were frequently chosen, such as the Incarnation, Passion, and Resurrection of Christ, &c., these exhibitions acquired the ge- neral name of Mysteries. At first they were

  • Bp. Warburton's Shakespeare, vol. v. p. 338.—Pref. to Dodsley's Old Plays.—Riccoboni's Acct. of Theat. of Europe, &v. &c. These were all the author had seen when he first drew up this Essay.

probaby a kind of dumb shows, intermingled, it may be, with a few short speeches; at length they grew into a regular series of connected dialogues, formally divided into acts and scenes. Specimens of these in their most improved state (being at best but poor artless compositions) may be seen among Dodsley's Old Plays and in Osborn's Harleian Miscel. How they were exhibited in their most sim- ple form, we may learn from an ancient novel, often quoted by our old dramatic Poets," entitled " a Merye Jest of a man that was called Howleglas,"† &c., being a trans- lution from the Dutch language, in which he is named Ulenspiegel. Howleglass, whose waggish tricks are the subject of this book, after many adventures comes to live with a priest, who makes him his parish-clerk. This priest is described as keeping a Leman or concubine, who had but one eye, to whom Howleglass owed a grudge for revealing his roguaries to his master. The story thus pro- ceeds: "And than in the meane season, while

  • See Ben Johnson's Poetaster, act iii. sec. 4, and his Masque of The Fortunate Isles. Whalley's edit. vol. ii. p. 49, vol. vi. p. 190.

† Howleglass is said in the profare to have died in mccccxl. At the end of the book, in mcccll.

Howleglas was parish clarke, at Easter they should play the Ressurrection of our Lorde : and for because than the men wer not learned, and could not read, the priest toke his leman, and put her in the grave for an Aungell : and this seing Howleglas, toke to him iij of the symplest persons that were in the towne, that played the iij Maries; and the Person [i. e. Parson or Rector] played Christe, with a baner in his hand. Than saide Howleglas to the symple persons, When the Aungell asketh you, whome you seke, you may saye, The parsons loman with one 'iye. Than it fortunat that the tyme was come that they

Page 112

94

ON THE ORIGIN OF THE ENGLISH STAGE.

must playe, and the Aungel asked them whom thay sought, and than sayd thay, as Howleglas had shewed and lerned them afore, and than answerd they, We seke the priestes leman with one iye. And than the priest might heare that he was mocked. And whan the priestes leman herd that, she arose out of the grave, and would have smyten with her fist Howleglas upon the cheke, but she missed him and smote one of the simple persons that played one of the thre Maries; and he gave her another ; and than toke she him by the heare [hair] ; and that seing his wyfe, came running hastely to smite the priestes leman ; and than the priest seeing this, caste down hys baner and went to helpe his woman, so that the one gave the other sore strokes, and made great noyce in the churche. And than Howleglas seyng them lyinge together by the eares in the bodi of the churche, went his way out of the village, and came no more there.

As the old Mysteries frequenty required the representation of some allegorical personage, such as Deatlh, Sin, Charity, Faith, and the like, by degrees the rude poets of those ulettered ages began to form complete dramatic pieces consisting entirely of such personifications. Those they entitled Moral Plays or Moralities. The Mysteries were very inartificial, representing the Scripture stories simply according to the letter. But the Moralities are not devoid of invention; they exhibit outlines of the dramatic art: they contain somethiug of a fable or plot, and even attempt to delineate characters and manners. I have now before me two that were printed early in the reign of Henry VIII; in which I think one may plainly discover the seeds of Tragedy and Comedy: for which reason I shall give a short analysis of them both.

One of them is entitled "Every Man."† The subject of this piece is the summoning of Man out of the world by Death ; and its moral that nothing will then avail him but a well-spent life and the comforts of religion. This subject and moral are opened in a monologue spoken by the Messenger (for that was the name generally given by our ancestors to the Prologue on their rude stage).

then God* is represented; who, after some general complaints on the degeneracy of mankind, calls for Death, and orders him to bring before his tribunal Every-man, for so is called the personage who represents the Human Race. Every-man appears, and receives the summons with all the marks of confusion and terror. When Death is withdrawn, Every-Man applies fur relief in this distress to Fellowship, Kindred, Goods, or Riches, but they successively renounce and forsake him. In this disconsolate state he betakes himself to Good Dedes, who after upbraiding him with his long neglect of her,† introduces him to her sister Knowledgè, and she leads him to the "holy man Confession," who appoints him penance: this he inflicts upon himself on the stage, and then withdraws to receive the sacraments of the priest. On his return he begins to wax faint, and, after Strength, Beauty, Discretion, and Five Wits (g) have taken their final leave of him, gradually expires on the stage; Good Dedes still accompanying him to the last. Then an Aungell descends to sing his Requiem ; and the Epilogue is spoken by a person, called Doctour, who recapitulates the whole, and delivers the moral :

" Tl. This memorial men may have in mynde, Ye horers, take it of worth old and yonge, And forsake Pryde, for he deceyveth you in thende, And remembre Beautè, Five Witts, Strength and Discretion, They all at last do Every Man forsake ; Save his Good Dedes there dothe he take ; But beware, for and they be small, Before God he hath no helpe at all," &c.

From this short analysis it may be observed, that "Every Man" is a grave solemn piece, not without some rude attempts to excite terror and pity, and therefore may not improperly be referred to the class of Tragedy. It is remarkable that in this old simple drama the fable is conducted upon the strictest model of the Greek tragedy. The action is simply

  • The second person of the Trinity seems to be meant.

  • † Imprinted by Wyllyam Copland: without date, 4to. bl. let. among Mr. Garrick's Old Plays, K. vol. X.

† This play has been reprinted by Mr. Hawkins in his 3 vols. of Old Plays, entitled, "The Origin of the English Drama" 19mo Novem 1773 See vol i n 27

† The before-mentioned are male characters.

‡ i. e. The Five Senses. Those are frequently exhibited as five distinct personages upon the Spanish stage (see Riccoboni, p. 98); but our moralist has represented them all in one character.

Page 113

one, the time of action is that of the perform-

ance, the scene is never changed, nor the

stage ever empty. Every-Man, the hero of

the piece, after his first appearance never

withdraws, except when he goes out to re-

ceive the sacraments, which could not well be

exhibited in public; and during his absence

Knowledge descants on the excellence and

power of the priesthood, somewhat after the

manner of the Greek chorus. And indeed,

except in the circumstance of Every-Man's

expiring on the stage, the Sampson Ago-

nistes of Milton is hardly formed on a severer

plan.*

The other play is entitled "Hick-Scorn-

er,"† and bears no distant resemblance to

Comedy : its chief aim seems to be to exhibit

characters and manners, its plot being much

less regular than the foregoing. The Pro-

logue is spoken by Pity, represented under

the character of an aged pilgrim; he is joined

by Contemplacyon and Perseverance, two

holy men, who, after lamenting the degen-

racy of the age, declare their resolution of

stemming the torrent. Pity then is left upon

the stage, and presently found by Frewyl,

representing a lewd debauchee, who, with his

dissolute companion Imaginacion, relate their

manner of life, and not without humour de-

scribe the stows and other places of base re-

sort. They are presently joined by Hick-

Scorner, who is drawn as a libertine returned

from travel, and agreeably to his name, scoffs

at religion. These three are described as ex-

tremely vicious, who glory in every act of

wickedness: at length two of them quarrel,

they fall upon him, put him in the stocks and

there leave him. Pity, thus imprisoned, des-

cants, in a kind of lyric measure, on the pro-

fligacy of the age, and in this situation is

found by Perseverance and Contemplacion,

who set him at liberty and advise him to go

in search of the delinquents. As soon as he

is gone, Frewill appears again; and, after re-

lating in a very comic manner some of his

roguaries and escapes from justice, is rebuked

by the two holy men, who, after a long alter-

cation, at length convert him and his libertine

companion Imaginacioun from their vicioun

course of life; and then the play ends with a

few verses from Persevorance by way of epi-

logue. This and every morality I have seen

conclude with a solemn prayer. They are

all of them in rhyme; in a kind of loose stanza,

intermixed with distichs.

It would be needless to point out the ab-

surdities in the plan and conduct of the fore-

going play: they are evidently great. It is

sufficient to observe, that, hating the moral

and religious reflection of Pity, &c., the piece

is of a comic cast, and contains a humorous

display of some of the vices of the age. In-

deed the author has generally been so little

attentive to the allegory, that we need only

substitute other names to his personages, and

we have real characters and living manners.

We see then that the writers of these mo-

ralities were upon the very threshold of real

tragedy and comedy; and therefore we are

not to wonder that tragedies and comedies

in form soon after took place, ospecially

as the revival of learning about this time

brought them acquainted with the Roman

and Grecian models.

II. At what period of time the moralities

had their rise here, it is difficult to discover.

But plays of miracles appear to have been

exhibited in England soon after the Conquest.

Matthew Paris tells us that Geoffrey, after-

wards Abbot of St. Albans, a Norman, who

had been sent for over by Abbot Richard to

take upon him the direction of the School of

that monastery, coming too late, went to Dun-

staple and taught in the abbey there; where

he caused to be acted (probably by his scho-

lars) a miracle play of St. Catherine, composed

by himself.* This was long before the

year 1119, and probably within the 11th cen-

tury. The above play of St. Catherine was,

for aught that appears, the first spectacle of

this sort that was exhibited in these king-

doms : an eminent French writer thinks

it was even the first attempt towards the re-

  • Apud Dunestapliam... quendam ludum de sancta

Katerina (quem miracula vulgariter appellamus) fecit. Ad

quæ decoranda, petiit a sacristâ sancti Albani, ut sibi Capas

Chorales accomodârentur, et obtinuit. Et fuit ludus ille de

sancta Katerina. Vide Abbat ad an. Hist. Mat. Paris, fol.

1639, p.56.--We see here that Plays of Miracles were become

common enough in the time of Mat. Paris, who flourished

about 1240. But that indeed appears from the more early

writings of Fitz-Stephens: quoted below.

  • See more of every man, in Serles the Second, Pref. to

B. ii., note.

† "Imprynted by me Wynkyn de Worde," no date; in

4to. bl.let. This play has also been reprinted by Mr. Haw-

kins in his "Origin of the English Drama," vol. i. p. 69.

Page 114

rival of Dramatic Entertainments in all Europe; being long before the Representations of Mysteries in France; for these did not begin till the year 1398.*

But whether they derived their origin from the above exhibition or not, it is certain that Holy Plays, representing the miracles and sufferings of the Saints, were become common in the reign of Henry II.; and a lighter sort of Interludes appear not to have been then unknown.† In the subsequent age of Chaucer, "Plays of Miracles" in Lent were the common resort of idle gossips.‡

They do not appear to have been so prevalent on the continent, for the learned historian of the council of Constance§ ascribes to the English the introduction of plays into Germany. He tells us that the Emperor, having been absent from the council for some time, was at his return received with great rejoicings, and that the English fathers in particular did, upon that occasion, cause a sacred comedy to be acted before him on Sunday, Jan. 31, 1417; the subjects of which were:- The Nativity of our Saviour; the arrival of the Eastern Magi; and the Massacre by Herod. Thence it appears, says this writer, that the Germans are obliged to the English for the invention of this sort of spectacles, unknown to them before that period.

The fondness of our ancestors for dramatic exhibitions of this kind, and some curious particulars relating to this subject, will appear from the Household Book of the fifth Earl of Northumberland, A. D. 1512:||

  • Vid. Abregé Chron. de IIIHist. de France, par M. D'Ault, à l'ann. 1179.

† See Fitz-Stephens's Description of London, preserved by Stow (and reprinted with notes, &c., by the Rev. Mr. Pegge, in 1774, 4to.), Londinia pro spectaculis theatralibus, ludos habet sacriores, representationes miraculorum, &c. He is thought to have written in the reign of Hen. II., and to have died in that of Richard I. It is true, at the end of this book we find mentioned Henricum regem tertium; but this is doubtless Henry the Second's son, who was crowned during the life of his father, in 1170, and is generally distinguished as Rex juvenis, Rex filius, and sometimes they were jointly named Reges Angliæ. From a passage in his Chap. De Religione, it should seem that the body of St. Thomas Becket was just then a new acquisition to the Church of Canterbury.

‡ See Prologue to Wife of Bath's Tale, v. 6137. Tyrwhitt's Ed.

§ M. L'Enfant. Vid. Hist. du Conc. de Constance, vol. ii. p. 440.

|| "The regulations and establishments of the household of Hen. Alg. Percy, fifth Earl of Northumb. Lon. 1770," 8vo. Whereof a small impression was printed by order of the late Duke and Duchess of Northumberland to bestow

whence I shall select a few extracts, which show that the exhibiting scripture dramas on the great festivals entered into the regular establishment, and formed part of the domestic regulations of our ancient nobility; and, what is more remarkable, that it was as much the business of the chaplain in those days to compose Plays for the family, as it is now for him to make sermons.

"My Lordes Chapleyns in Household vj. viz. The Almonar, and if he be a maker of Interludys, than he to have a servaunt to the intent for wrytynge of the Parts; and ells to have non. The maister of gramer, &c." Sect. V. p. 44.

"Item, my lorde usith and accustomyth to gyf yerely if is lordshyp kepe a chappell and be at home, them of his lordschipes chapell, if they doo play the play of the Nativite uppon cristynmes day in the mormynge in my lords chappell befor his lordship—xxs." Sect.XLIV. p. 343.

"Item, . . . to them of his lordship chapell and other his lordshipis servaunts that doith play the play befor his lordship uppon Shrof-Tewesday at night yerely in reward —xxs." Ibid. p. 345.

"Item, . . . to them . . . that playth the play of Resurrection uppon estur day in tho mormynge in my lordis 'chappell' befor his lordshipe—xxs." Ibid.

"Item, My lorde useth and accustomyth yerly to gyf hym whiche is ordynede to be the Master of the Revells yerly in my lordis hous in cristmas for the overseyinge and or-deringe of his lordschips playes, interludes and dresynge that is plaid befor his lordship in his hous in the xijth dayes of Cristenmas —xxs." Ibid. p. 346.

"Item, My lorde useth and accustomyth to gyf every of the iiij. Parsones that his lordschip admytted as his Players to com to his lordship yerly at Cristynmas and at all other such tymes as his lordship shall commande them for playing of playe and interludes affor his lordship in his lordshipis hous for every of thecir fees for an hole yere" . . . Ibid. p. 351.

"Item, to be payd . . . for rewards to Play-ers for playes playd at Cristynmas by strangers in presents to their friends.—Although begun in 1512, some of the Regulations were composed so late as 1525.

Page 115

geres in my house after xxd.* every play, by estimacion somme-xxiiijs, iiij.† Sect. 1, p. 22.

"Item, My Lorde usith, and accustometh to gif yereiy when his lordshipp is at home, to every erlis Players that comes to his lord- shipe betwixt Cristynmas ande Candelmmas, if he be his special lorde & frende & Kyns- man—xxs." Sect. XLIIII. p. 340.

"Item, My lorde usith and accustomyth to gyf yereiy, when his lordship is at home to every lordis Players, that comyth to his lord- shipe betwixt Crystynmas and Candilmas— xs." Ibid.

The reader will observe the great difference in the rewards here given to such Players as were retainers of noble personages, and such as are styled Strangers, or, as we may sup- pose, only strollers.

The profession of a common player was about this time held by some in low estima- tion. In an old satire, entitled "Cock Lor- reles Bote,"‡ the author enumerating the most common trades or callings, as "carpen- ters, coopers, joyners," &c., mentions

"Players, purse-cutters, money batterers, Golde-washers, tombiers, jogelers, Pardoners, &c." Sign. B. vj.

III. It hath been observed already, that plays of Miracles, or Mysteries, as they were called, led to the introduction of Moral Plays or Moralities, which prevailed so early, and became so common, that towards the latter end of King Henry VIIIth's reign, John Rus- tel, brother-in-law to Sir Thomas More, con- ceived a design of making them the vehicle of science and natural philosophy. With this view he published "A new Interlude and a Mery of the Nature of the Four Ele- ments declaryng many proper points of Phiilosophy Naturall, and of Dyvers Straunge Landys, &c. It is observable that the

  • This was not so small a sum then as it may now appear; for in another part of this MS. the price ordered to be given for a fat ox is but 13s. 4d., and for a lean one 8s.

† At this rate the number of plays acted must have been twenty.

‡ Pr. at the Sun in Fleet St. by W. de Worde, no date, b. i. 4to.

ON THE ORIGIN OF THE ENGLASII STAGE.

97

poet speaks of the discovery of America as then recent:

"Within this xx yero Westwarde be founde new landes That we never harde tell of before this," &c.

The West Indies were discovered by Colum- bus in 1492, which fixes the writing of this play to about 1510 (two years before the date of the above Household Book.) The play of "Hick Scorner" was probably somewhat more ancient, as he still more imperfectly al- ludes to the American discoveries, under the name of "the Newe founde Ilonde." (Sign. A. vij.)

It is observable that in the olden moralities, as in that last mentioned. Every-man, &c., is printed no kind of stage direction for the exits and entrances of the personages, no di- vision of acts and scenes. But in the moral interlude of "Lusty Juventas,"* written under Edward VI., the exits and entrances began to be noted in the margin:† at length in Queen Elizabeth's reign moralities appeared formally divided into acts and scenes, with a regular prologue, &c. One of these is reprinted by Dodsley.

Before we quit this subject of the very early printed plays, it may just be observed, that, although so few are now extant, it should seem many were printed before the reign of Queen Elizabeth, as at the begin- ning of her reign, her Injunctions in 1559 are particularly directed to the suppressing of "many pamphlets, playes, and ballads ; that no manner of person shall enterprize to print any such, &c." but under certain re- strictions. Vid. Sect. V.

In the time of Hen. VIII., one or two dra- matic pieces had been published under the

Afterwards follows a table of the matters handled in the interlude; among which are, "¶. Of certeyn conclusions prouvyngo the yerth must nedes be rounde, and that yt is in circumferance above xxi M. myle."———"¶. Of certeyne points of cosmographie—and of dyvers straunge regyons —and of the new founde landys, and the maner of the people." This part is extremely curious, as it shows what notions were entertained of the new American discoveries by our countrymen.

  • Described in Series the Second, preface to book ii.

The Dramatis Personæ of this piece are "¶. Messenger,

Page 116

98

ON THE ORIGIN OF THE ENGLISH STAGE.

classical names of comedy and tragedy,*

but they appear not to have been intended

for popular use: it was not till the religious

ferments had subsided that the public had

leisure to attend to dramatic poetry. In

the reign of Elizabeth, tragedies and comedies

began to appear in form, and, could the poets

have persevered, the first models were good.

"Gorboduc," a regular tragedy, was acted in

1561;† and Gascoigne, in 1566, exhibited

"Jocasta," a translation from Euripides, as

also "The Supposes," a regular comedy, from

Ariosto: near thirty years before any of

Shakspeare's were printed.

The people however still retained a relish

for their old mysteries and moralities,‡ and

the popular dramatic poets seem to have

made them their models. From the graver

sort of moralities our modern Tragedy ap-

pears to have derived its origin; as our Come-

dy evidently took its rise from the lighter in-

terludes of that kind. And as most of these

pieces contain an absurd mixture of religion

and buffoonery, an eminent critic§ has well

deduced from thence the origin of our unna-

tural Tragi-comedies. Even after the people

had been accustomed to tragedies and come-

dies, moralities still kept their ground; one

of them entitled "The New Custom"|| was

printed so late as 1573: at length they as-

sumed the name of masques,¶ and, with some

classical improvements, became in the two

following reigns the favourite entertainments

of the court.

  • Bishop Bale had applied the name of Tragedy to his

Mystery of "God's Promises," in 1538. In 1540 John Pals-

grave, B. D., had republished a Latin comedy, called "Acol-

astus," with an English version. Hollingshed tells us

(vol. iii. p. 850), that so early as 1520 the king had "a good

comedy of Plautus played" before him at Greenwich; but

this was in Latin, as Mr. Farmer informs us in his curious

"Essay on the Learning of Shakespeare," 8vo. p. 31.

† See Ames, p. 316.—This play appears to have been

first printed under the name of "Gorboduc;" then under

"Ferrex and Porrex," in 1569; and again under

"Gorboduc," 1590.—Ames calls the first edition quarto,

Langbaine, octavo, and Tanquer 12mo.

‡ The general reception the old Moralities had upon

the stage, will account for the fondness of all our first poets

for allegory. Subjects of this kind were familiar with

every one.

§ Bp. Warburt, Shakesp. vol. v.

|| Reprinted among Dodsley's Old Plays, vol. i.

¶ In some of these appeared characters full as extra-

ordinary as in any of the old Moralities. In Ben Jonson's

Masque of Christmas, 1616, one of the personages is Minced

Pye.

IV. The old mysteries, which ceased to be

acted after the reformation, appear to have

given birth to a third species of stage exhibi-

tion, which, though now confounded with

tragedy and comedy, were by our first dra-

matic writers considered as quite distinct

from them both: these were historical plays,

or histories, a species of dramatic writing

which resembled the old mysteries in represen-

ting a series of historical events simply in

order of time in which they happened, without

any regard to the three great unities. These

pieces seem to differ from tragedies, just as

much as historical poems do from epic: as

the Pharsalia does from the Æneid.

What might contribute to make dramatic

poetry take this form was, that soon after the

mysteries ceased to be exhibited, was pub-

lished a large collection of poetical narratives,

called "The Mirror for Magistrates,"*

wherein a great number of the most eminent

characters in English history are drawn re-

lating their own misfortunes. This book was

popular, and of a dramatic cast; and there-

fore, as an elegant writer† has well observed,

might have its influence in producing histori-

cal plays. These narratives probably fur-

nished the subjects, and the ancient mysteries

suggested the plan.

There appears indeed to have been one in-

stance of an attempt at an historical play

itself, which was perhaps as early as any

mystery on a religious subject; for such, I

think, we may pronounce the representation

of a memorable event in English history, that

was expressed in actions and rhymes. This

was the old Coventry play of "Hock Tues-

day,"‡ founded on the story of the massacre

of the Danes, as it happened on St. Brice's

night, November 13, 1002.§ The play in

Coventry, among the other shows and enter-

tainments at Kenilworth Castle, in July,

1575, prepared for Queen Elizabeth, and this

rather "because the matter mentioneth

  • The first part of which was printed in 1559.

† Catal. of Royal and Noble Authors, vol. p. 1067.

‡ This must not be confounded with the mysteries acted

on Corpus Christi day by the Franciscans at Coventry,

which were also called Coventry Plays, and of which an

account is given from T. Warton's Hist. of Eng. Poetry,

&c., in Malone's Shaks. vol. ii. part ii. pag. 13, 14.

§ Not 1012, as printed in Laneham's Letter, mentioned

below.

Page 117

ON THE ORIGIN OF THE ENGLISH STAGE.

99

how valiantly our English women, for the love of their country, behaved themselves."

The writer, whose words are here quoted,* hath given a short description of the performance; which seems on that occasion to have been without recitation or rhymes, and reduced to mere dumb show; consisting of violent skirmishes and encounters, first between Danish and English "lance-knights on horseback," armed with spear and shield; and afterwards between "hosts" of footmen; which at length ended in the Danes being "beaten down, overcome, and many led captive by our English women."†

This play, it seems, which was wont to be exhibited in their city yearly, and which had been of great antiquity and long continuance there,† had of late been suppressed, at the instance of some well meaning but precise preachers, of whose "sourness" herein the townsmen complain ; urging that their play was "without example of ill manners, pupistry, or any superstition:"‡ which shows it to have been entirely distinct from a religious mystery. But having been discontinued, and, as appears from the narrative, taken up of a sudden after the sports were begun, the players apparently had not been able to recover the old rhymes, or to procure new ones, to accompany the action; which if it originally represented "the outrage and importable insolency of the Danes, the grievous complaint of Huna, king Ethelred's chieftain in wars;"|| his counselling and contriving the plot to despatch them; concluding with the conflicts above mentioned, and their final suppression—"expressed in actions and

rhymes after their manner,"§ one can hardly conceive a more regular model of a complete drama ; and, if taken up soon after the event, it must have been the earliest of the kind in Europe.†

Whatever this old play, or "storial show,"‡ was at the time it was exhibited to Queen Elizabeth, it had probably our young Shakespeare for a spectator, who was then in his twelfth year, and doubtless attended with all the inhabitants of the surrounding country, at these "princely pleasures of Kenilworth,"§ whence Stratford is only a few miles distant.

And as the Queen was much diverted with the Coventry play, "whereat her majesty laughed well," and rewarded the performers with two "bucks and five marks in money: who, "what rejoicing upon their ample reward, and what triumphing upon the good acceptance, vaunted their play was never so dignified, nor ever any players before so heartified:"‡ but especially if our young bard afterwards gained admittance into the castle to see a play, which the same evening, after supper, was there "presented of a very good theme, but to set forth by the actors' well handling, that pleasure and mirth made it seem very short, though it lasted two good hours and more,"|| we may imagine what an impression was made on his infant mind. Indeed the dramatic cast of many parts of that superb entertainment, which continued nineteen days, and was the most splendid of the kind ever attempted in this kingdom; the addresses to the Queen in the personated characters of Sybille, a savage man, and Sylvia, as she approached or departed from the castle ; and, on the water, by Arion, a Triton, or the Lady of the Lake, must have had a very great effect on a young imagination, whose dramatic powers were hereafter to astonish the world.

But that the historical play was considered by our old writers, and by Shakespeare himself, as distinct from tragedy and comedy, will sufficiently appear from various passages

  • Ro. Laneham, whose Letter, containing a full description of the Shows, &c., is reprinted at large in Nichols's Progresses of Q. Elizabeth, &c., vol. i. 4to., 1788.—That writer's orthography, being peculiar and affected, is not here followed.

Laneham describes this play of Hock Tuesday, which was "presented in an historical cue by certain good-hearted men of Coventry" (p. 32), and which was "wont to be play'd in their citie yearly" (p. 33), as if it were peculiar to them, terming it "their old storial show"(p. 32).—And so it might be as represented and expressed by them "after their manner" (p. 33): although we are also told by Bevil Huggons, that St. Bride's Eve was still celebrated by the Northern English in commemoration of this massacre of the Danes, the women beating brass instruments, and singing old rhymes, in praise of their cruel ancestors. See his Short View of Eng. History, Svo., p. 17. (The Preface is dated 1734.)

† Laneham, p. 37. ‡ Ibid. p. 33. || Ibid. p. 32.

  • Laneham, p. 33.

† The Rhymes, &c., prove this play to have been in English, whereas Mr. Thos. Warton thinks the Mysteries composed before 1328 were in Latin. Malone's Shaksp. vol. ii. pt. ii. p. 9.

‡ Laneham, p. 32.

§ See Nichols's Progresses, vol. i. p. 57.

|| Laneham, p. 38, 39. This was on Sunday evening July 9.

Page 118

98

ON THE ORIGIN OF THE ENGLISH STAGE.

classical names of comedy and tragedy,*

but they appear not to have been intended

for popular use; it was not till the religious

forinents had subsidied that the public had

leisure to attend to dramatic poetry. In

the reign of Elizabeth, tragedies and comedies

began to appear in form, and, could the poets

have persevered, the first models were good.

"Corboduc," a regular tragedy, was acted in

1561;† and Gascoigne, in 1566, exhibited

"Jocasta," a translation from Euripides, as

also "The Supposes," a regular comedy, from

Ariosto: near thirty years before any of

Shakspeare's were printed.

The people however still retained a relish

for their old mysteries and moralities,‡ and

the popular dramatic poets seem to have

made them their models. From the graver

sort of moralities our modern Tragedy ap-

pears to have derived its origin; as our Como-

dy evidently took its rise from the lighter in-

terludes of that kind. And as most of these

pieces contain an absurd mixture of religion

and buffooncry, an eminent critic § has well

deduced from thence the origin of our unna-

tural Tragi-comedies. Even after the people

had been accustomed to tragedies and comedies,

moralities still kept their ground; one

of them entitled "The New Custom"|| was

printed so late as 1573: at length they as-

sumed the name of masques,§ and, with some

classical improvenents, became in the two

following reigns the favourite entertainments

of the court.

  • Bishop Bale had applied the name of Tragedy to his

Mystery of "God's Promises," in 1538. In 1540 John Pals-

grave, B. D., had republished a Latin comedy, called "Aco-

lastus," with an English version. Holingshed tells us

(vol. iii. p. 860) that so early as 1520 the king had "a good

comedia of Plautus played" before him at Greenwich; but

this was in Latin, as Mr. Farmer informs us in his curious

"Essay on the Learning of Shakespeare," 8vo. p. 31.

† See Ames, p. 316.—This play appears to have been

first printed under the name of "Gorboduc," then under

that of "Ferrer and Porrer," in 1569; and again under

"Gorboduc," 1590.—Ames calls the first edition quarto,

Langbaine, octavo, and Tanner 12mo.

‡ The general reception the old Moralities had upon

the stage, will account for the fondness of all our first poets

for allegory. Subjects of this kind were familiar with

every one.

§ Bp. Warburt. Shakesp. vol. v.

|| Reprinted among Dodsley's Old Plays, vol. i.

§ In some of these appeared characters full as extra-

ordinary as in any of the old Moralities. In Ben Jonson's

Masque of Christmas, 1616, one of the personages is Minced

Pye.

IV. The old mysteries, which ceased to be

acted after the reformation, appear to have

given birth to a third species of stage exhibi-

tion, which, though now confounded with

tragedy and comedy, were by our first dra-

matic writers considered as quite distinct

from them both; those were historical plays,

or histories, a species of dramatic writing

which resembled the old mysteries in represen-

ting a series of historical events simply in

the order of time in which they happened, without

any regard to the three great unities. These

pieces seem to differ from tragedies, just as

much as historical poems do from epic: as

the Pharsalia does from the Æneid.

What might contribute to make dramatic

poetry take this form was, that soon after the

mysteries ceased to be exhibited, was pub-

lished a large collection of poetical narratives,

called "The Mirror for Magistrates,"*

wherein a great number of the most eminent

characters in English history are drawn re-

lating their own misfortunes. This book was

popular, and of a dramatic cast; and there-

fore, as an elegant writer† has well observed,

might have its influence in producing histori-

cal plays. These narratives probably fur-

nished the subjects, and the ancient mysteries

suggested the plan.

There appears indeed to have been one in-

stance of an attempt at an historical play

itself, which was perhaps as early as any

mystery on a religious subject; for such, I

think, we may pronounce the representation

of a memorable event in English history, that

was expressed in actions and rhymes. This

was the old Coventry play of "Hock Tues-

day,"‡ founded on the story of the massacre

of the Danes, as it happened on St. Brico's

night, November 13, 1002.§ The play in

question was performed by çertain men of

Coventry, among the other shows and enter-

tainments at Kenilworth Castle, in July,

1575, prepared for Queen Elizabeth, and this

the rather "because the matter mentioneth

  • The first part of which was printed in 1559.

† Catal. of Royal and Noble Authors, vol. p. 1667.

‡ This must not be confounded with the mysteries acted

on Corpus Christie day by the Franciscans at Coventry,

which were also called Coventry Plays, and of which an

account is given from T. Warton's Hist. of Eng. Poetry,

&c., in Malone's Shaks. vol. ii. part ii. pag. 13. 14.

§ Not 1012, as printed in Lancham's Letter, mentioned

below.

Page 119

ON THE ORIGIN OF THE ENGLISH STAGE.

how valiantly our English women, for the love of their country, behaved themselves."

The writer, whose words are here quoted,* hath given a short description of the performance; which seems on that occasion to have been without recitation or rhymes, and reduced to mere dumb show; consisting of violent skirmishes and encounters, first between Danish and English "lance-knights on horseback," armed with spear and shield; and afterwards between "hosts" of footmen; which at length ended in the Danes being "beaten down, overcame, and many led captive by our English women."†

This play, it seems, which was wont to be exhibited in their city yearly, and which had been of great antiquity and long continuance there,‡ had of late been suppressed, at the instance of some well meaning but precise preachers, of whose "sourness" herein the townsmen complain; urging that their play was "without example of ill manners, papistry, or any superstition;"§ which shows it to have been entirely distinct from a religious mystery. But having been discontinued, and, as appears from the narrative, taken up of a sudden after the sports were begun, the players apparently had not been able to recover the old rhymes, or to procure new ones, to accompany the action; which if it originally represented "the outrage and importable insolency of the Danes, the grievous complaint of Huna, king Ethelred's chieftain in wars;"‖ his counselling and contriving the plot to despatch them; concluding with the conflicts above mentioned, and their final suppression—"expressed in actions and

rhymes after their manner,"§ one can hardly conceive a more regular model of a complete drama; and, if taken up soon after the event, it must have been the earliest of the kind in Europe.†

Whatever this old play, or "storial show,"‡ was at the time it was exhibited to Queen Elizabeth, it had probably our young Shakespeare for a spectator, who was then in his twelfth year, and doubtless attended with all the inhabitants of the surrounding country, at these "princely pleasures of Kenilworth,"§ whence Stratford is only a few miles distant. And as the Queen was much diverted with the Coventry play, "whereat her majesty laughed well," and rewarded the performers with two bucks and five marks in money: "what rejoicing upon their ample reward, and what triumphing upon the good acceptance, vaunted their play was never so dignified, nor ever any players before so heartified:"‖ but especially if our young hard afterwards gained admittance into the castle to see a play, which the same evening, after supper, was there "presented of a very good theme, but to set forth by the actors' well handling, that pleasure and mirth made it seem very short, though it lasted two good hours and more,"‖ we may imagine what an impression was made on his infant mind. Indeed the dramatic cast of many parts of that superb entertainment, which continued nineteen days, and was the most splendid of the kind ever attempted in this kingdom; the addresses to the Queen in the personated characters of Sybille, a savage man, and Sylvanus, as she approached or departed from the castle; and, on the water, by Arion, a Triton, or the Lady of the Lake, must have had a very great effect on a young imagination, whose dramatic powers were hereafter to astonish the world.

But that the historical play was considered by our old writers, and by Shakespeare himself, as distinct from tragedy and comedy, will sufficiently appear from various passages

  • Ro. Laneham, whose Letter, containing a full description of the Shows, &c., is reprinted at large in Nichols's Progresses of Q. Elizabeth, &c., vol. i, 4to., 1788.—That writer's orthography, being peculiar and affected, is not here followed.

Laneham describes this play of Hock Tuesday, which was "presented in an historical cue by certain good-hearted men of Coventry" (p. 32), and which "was wont to be play'd in their city yearly" (p. 33), as if it were peculiar to them, terming it "their old storial show"(p. 32).—And so it might be as represented and expressed by them "after their manner" (p. 33): although we are also told by Higgons, that St. Bride's Eve was still celebrated by the Northern English in commemoration of this massacre of the Danes, the women beating brass instruments, and singing old rhymes, in praise of their cruel ancestors. See his Short View of Eng. History, 8vo., p. 17. (The Preface is dated 1734.)

† Laneham, p. 37.

‡ Ibid.

§ Ibid. p. 33.

‖ Ibid. p. 32.

  • Laneham, p. 33.

† The Rhymes, &c., prove this play to have been in English, whereas Mr. Thos. Warton thinks the Mysteries composed before 1328 were in Latin. Malone's Shaksp. vol. ii. pt. ii. p. 9.

‡ Laneham, p. 32.

§ See Nichols's Progresses, vol. i. p. 57.

‖ Laneham, p. 38, 39. This was on Sunday evening, July 9.

Page 120

100

ON THE ORIGIN OF THE ENGLISH STAGE.

in their works. "Of late days," says Stow,

"in place of those stage plays" hath been

used comedies, tragedies, enterludes and his-

tories both true and fayned."†—Beaumont

and Fletcher, in the prologue to "The Cap-

tain," say,

"This is nor Comedy, nor Tragedy,

Nor History."—

Polonius in "Hamlet" commends the actors,

as the best in the world, "either for tragedie,

comedic, historic, pastorall," &c. And Shak-

speare's friends, Heminge and Condell, in the

first folio edition of his plays, in 1623,† have

not only entitled their book "Mr. William

Shakspeare's comedies, histories, and trage-

dies:" but in their tablo of contents have

arranged them under those three severul

heads ; placing in the class of histories, "K.

John, Richard II., Henry IV., 2 pts. Henry

V., Henry VI., 3 pts. Richard III., and Henry

VIII.;" to which they might have added such

of his other plays as have their subjeets taken

from the old Chronicles, or Plutarch's lives.

Although Shakspeare is found not to have

been the first who invented this species of

drama,‡ yet he cultivated it with such supe-

rior success, and threw upon this simple inar-

tificial tissue of scenes such a blaze of genius

that his histories maintain their ground in

defiance of Aristotle and all the critics of

the classic school, and will ever continue to

interest and instruct an English audience.

Before Shakspeare wrote, historical plays

do not appear to have attained this distinc-

tion, being not mentioned in Q. Elizabeth's

license in 1574|| to James Burbage and

others, who are only impowered "to use, ex-

ercyse, and occupie, the arte and facultye of

playenge comedies, tragedies, enterludes,

stage-playes, and such other like."—But when

Shakspeare's histories had become the orna-

ments of the stage, they were considered by

the public, and by himself, as a formul and ne-

cessary species, and are thenceforth so distin-

  • The Creation of the World, acted at Skinner's Well

in 1409.

† See Stow's Survey of London, 1603, 4to., p. 94, (said

in the title page to be "written in the year 1598.") See

also Warton's Observations on Spenser, vol. ii. p. 109.

‡ The same distinction is continued in the 2d and 3d

folios, &c

§ See Malone's Shaksp. vol. i. part ii. p. 31.

|| See Malone's Shaksp. vol. i. pt. ii. p. 37.

guished in public instruments. They are

particularly inserted in the license granted

by K. James I., in 1603,‡ to W. Shakspeare

himself, and the players his fellows ; who are

authorized "to use and exercise the arte and

facultye of playing comedies, tragedies, his-

tories, interludes, morals, pastorals, stage-

plaies, and such like."

The same merited distinction they con-

tinued to maintain after his death, till the

theatre itself was extinguished ; for they are

expressly mentioned in a warrant in 1622,

for licensing certain "late comedians of Q.

Anne deceased, to bring up children in the

qualitie and exercise of playing comedies, his-

tories, interludes, morals, pastorals, stage-

plaies, and such like."† The same appears

in an admonition issued in 1637‡ by Philip

Earl of Pembroke and Montgomery, then

Lord Chamberlain, to the master and war-

dens of the company of printers and station-

ers; wherein is set forth the complaint of his

Majesty's servants the players, that "diverse

of their books of comedyes and tragedyes,

chronicle-histories, and the like," had been

printed and published to their prejudice,.&c.

This distinction we see, prevailed for near

half a century; but after the Restoration,

when the stage revived for the entertainment

of a new race of auditors, many of whom

had been exiled in France, and formed their

taste from the French theatre, Shakspeare's

histories appear to have been no longer

relished; at least the distinction respecting

them is dropped in the patents that were im-

mediately granted after the king's return.

This appears not only from the allowance

to Mr. William Beeston in June 1660,¶ to

use the house in Salisbury-court "for a play-

house, wherein comedies, tragedies, tragi-

comedies pastoralls, and interludes, may be

acted," but also from the fuller grant (dated

August 21, 1660)|| to Thomas Killegrew,

Esq., and Sir William Davenant, knt., by which

  • See Malone's Shaksp. vol. i. pt. ii. p. 40.

† Ibid. p. 49. Here Histories, or Historical Plays, are

found totally to have excluded the mention of Tragedies ;

King's Comedians to attend K. Charles I. in his summer's

progress, 1630 (Ibid. p. 444), Historles are not particularly

mentioned; but so neither are tragedies : they being brifly

directed to "act playes, comedyes, and interludes, without

any lett," &c.

‡ Ibid, p. 139.

¶ This is believed to be the date by Mr. Malone, vol. ii.

pt. ii. p. 239.

|| Ibid. p. 244.

Page 121

they have authority to erect two companies

of players, and to fit up two theatres "for

the ropresentation of tragedies, comodyes,

playes, operas, and all other entertainments

of that nature."

But while Shakspcare was the favourite

dramatic poet, his historians had such superior

merit, that he might well claim to be the chief,

if not the only historic dramatist that kept

possession of the English stage; which gives

a strong support to the tradition mentioned

by Gildon,3 that, in a conversation with

Ben Jonson, our hard vindicated his historical

plays, by urging, that, as he had found "the

nation in general very ignorant of history, he

wrote them in order to instruct the people in

this particular." This is assigning not only

a good motive, but a very probable reason

for his preference of this species of composi-

tion ; since we cannot doubt but his illiterate

countrymen would not only want such instruc-

tion when he first began to write, notwith-

standing the obscure dramatic chroniclers

who preceded him; but also that they would

highly profit by his admirable lectures on

English history so long as he continued to

deliver them to his audience. And, as it

implies no claim to his being the first who

introduced our chronicles on the stage, I see

not why the tradition should be rejected.

Upon the whole, we have had abundant proof

that both Shakspcare and his contempora-

ries considered his histories, or historical

plays, as of a legitimate distinct species,

sufficiently separate from tragedy and comedy;

a distinction which deserves the particular

attention of his critics and commentators ;

who, by not adverting to it, deprive him of

his proper defence and best vindication for

his neglect of the Unities, and departure from

the classical dramatic forms. For, if it be

the first canon of sound criticism to examine

and work by whatever rule the author pro-

scribed by his own observance, then we ought

not to try Shakspcare's Histories by the

general laws of tragedy or comedy. Whether

the rule itself be vicious or not, is another

inquiry ; but certainly we ought to examine

a work only by those principles according to

which it was composed. This would save a

deal of impertinent criticism.

  • See Malone's Shaksp. vol. vi. p. 427. This ingenious

writer will, with his known liberality, excuse the difference

of opinion here entertained concerning the above tradition.

V. We have now brought the inquiry as

low as was intended, but cannot quit it,

without entering into a short description of

what may be called the Economy of the an-

cient English stage.

Such was the fondness of our forefathers for

dramatic entertainments, that not fewer than

nineteen play-houses had been opened before

the year 1633, when Prynne published his

Histriomastix.* From this writer it should

seem that "tobacco, wine and beer,"† were

in those days the usual accomodations in the

theatre, as within our memory at Sadler's

Wells.

With regard to the players themselves, the

several companies were (as hath been already

shown)‡ retainers, or menial servants to

particular noblemen,? who protected them

in the exercise of their profession ; and many

of them were occasionally Strollers, that

  • He speaks in p. 492, of the Play-houses in Blackfriars

street, and at Laughton Hill, which are not among the

seven teen enumerated in the Preface to Dodsley's Old Plays.

Nay, it appears from Rymer's MSS. that twenty-three Play-

houses had been at different periods open in London; and

even six of them at one time. See Malone's Shakes. vol.

  1. pl. ii. p. 48.

† So, I think, we may infer from the following passage,

"How many are there, who, according to that several

vathos, spend 2d., 3d., 4d., 6d., 12d., 18d., 2s. and somc-

tiines 4s. or 5s. at a play-houseday by day, (fcoach-hire), boat-

hire, taverne, tobaccon, whio. beere, and such like rainne expences,

which playea do usually occasion, be cast into the reckon-

ing?" Prynne's Histriom. p. 322.

But that tobaceo was smoked in the playhouses, appears

from Taylor the water-poet, in his proclamation for tobucco's

propagation. "Let play-houses, drinking-schools, taverns,

&c., be continually haunted with the contaminous vapours

of it; may (if it be possible) bring it into the Churches,

and there choak up their preachers." (Works, p. 253)

And this was really the case at Cambridge: James I. sent

a letter, in 1607, against "taking tobacco" in St. Mary's.

So I learn from my friend Dr. Farmer.

A gentleman has informed me, that once going into

church in Holland, he saw the male part of the audience

sitting with their hats on, smoking tobacco, while the

preacher was holding forth in his morning gown.

‡ See the extracts above, in p. 139, from the Earl of

Northumb. Household Book.

? See the Pref. to Dodsley's Old Plays.--The author of

an old invective against the Stage, called a third Blast of

Retraitt from Plaies, &c., 1580, 12mo., says, "Alas! that

private affection should so raigne in the nobilitie. that to

pleasure their servants, and to uphold them in their

vanitye, they should restraine the magistrates from exe-

cuting their office! . . . . They [the nobility] are thought to

be covetous by permitting their servants . . . to live at the

devotion or almes of other men, passing from countrie to

countrie, from one gentleman's house to another, offering

their service, which is a kind of beggerie. Who indeede,

to speake more truello, are become beggors for their sar-

vants. For comonlie the good-wil, men beare to their Lordes,

makes them draw the stringes of their purses to extend

their liberalitie." Vld. pag. 76, 76, &c.

Page 122

102

ON THE ORIGIN OF THE ENGLISH STAGE.

travelled from one gentlemen's house to another. Yet so much were they encouraged,

that, notwithstanding their multitude, some of them acquired large fortunes. Edward

Allen, master of the play-house called the Globe, who founded Dulwich College, is a

known instance. And an old writer speaks of the very inferior actors, whom he calls the hirelings, as living in a degree of splendour,

which was thought enormous in that frugal age.*

At the same time the ancient prices of admission were often very low. Some houses

had penny-benches.† The "two-penny gallery" is mentioned in the prologue to Beaumont and Fletcher's Woman-Hater,‡ and

seats of three-pence and a groat seem to be intended in the passage of Prynn above referred to. Yet different houses varied in

their prices: that play-house called the Hope had seats of five several rates from six-pence

to half-a-crown.§ But a shilling seems to

  • Staplton Gcoson, in his Schole of Abuse, 1579, 12mo. fo. 23, says thus of what he terms in his margin Players-men: " Over lashing in apparel is so common a fault, that the very hirelings of some of our Players, which stand at reversion of vi s. by the week, jet under gentlemen's noses in satin of silke, exercising themselves to prating on the stage, and common scoffing when they come abrode, where they look askance over the shoulder at every man, of whom the Sunday before they begged an almes. I speake not this, as though every one that professed the qualitie so abused himselfe, for it is well knowen, that some of them are sober, discreete, properly learned, honest householders and citizens, well-thought on among their neighbours at home [he seems to mean Edw. Allen above mentioned], " though the pryde of thear studawes (I meane those hange-byes, whom they succour with stipend) cause them to be somewhat lt-talked of abroad."

† So in MS. of Oldys, from Tom Nash, an old pamphlet-writer. And this is confirmed by Taylor the Water-poet, in his Praise of Hoggorie. p. 99.

" Yet have I seen a begger with his many, [so. tarmijn Come at a play-house, all in for one penny."

‡ So in the Belman's Night-walks by Dekker, 1616, 4to. "Pay thy two-pence to a player, in this gallery thou mayest sit by a harlot."

§ Induct to Ben Jonson's Bartholomew-fair. An ancient satirical piece, called "The Blacke Book, Lond. 1604, 4to."

have been the usual price* of what is now called the Pit, which probably had its name

from one of the play-houses having been a Cock-pit.†

The day originally set apart for theatrical exhibition appears to have been Sunday; probably because the first dramatic pieces were

of a religious cast. During a great part of Queen Elizabeth's reign, the playhouses were

only licensed to be opened on that day;‡

but before the end of her reign, or soon after, this abuse was probably removed.

The usual time of acting was early in the afternoon.§ Plays being generally performed

  • Shaksp. Prol. to Hen. VIII.—Beaum. and Fletch. Prol. to the Captain, and to the Mad-lover.

† This etymology hath been objected to by a very ingenious writer (see Malone's Shakspear vol. I. pt. II. p. 60) who thinks it questionable, because, in St. Mary's church at Cambridge, the area that is under the pulpit, and sur-rounded by the galleries, is (now) called the pit; which, he says, no one can suspect to have been a cock-pit, or that a playhouse phrase could have been applied to a church.—But who-ever has acquainted with the licentiounesse of boys, will not think it impossible that they should thus apply a name so peculiarly expressive of its situation; which from frequent use might at length prevail among the senior members of the university; especially when those young men became seniors themselves. The name of pit, so applied at Cambridge, must be deemed to have been a cant phrase, until it can be shown that the word in other churches was usually so called.

‡ So Stc. Gosson, in his Schoole of abuse, 1579, 12mo., speaking of the players, says, "These, because they are allowed to play every Sunday, make itif or v. Sundays at least every week, fol. 24.—So the author of a Second and Third Blast of Retrait from Plaies, 1580, 12mo. " Let the magistrate but repel them from the libertie of plaeing on the Sabboth-dale . . . To plaie on the Sabboth is but a privilge of sufferance, and might with ease be repelled, were it thoroughly followed," pag. 61, 62. So again, "Is not the Sabboth of all other dayes the most abused? . . . Wherefore abuse not so the Sabboth-dale, my brethren; leave not the temple of the Lord." . . . "Those unsavorie morsels of unseemelie satyres passing out of the mouth of a ruffenlie plaier, doth more content the hungrie humors of the rude multitude, and carrieth better relish to their monthes, than the bread of the worde," &c. Vid. pag. 63, 65, 69, &c. I do not recollect that execrations of this kindl occur in Prynn, whence I conclude that this enorinity no longer subsisted in his time.

It should also seem from the author of the Third Blast above quoted, that the churches still continued to be used

occasionally for theatres. Thus, in p. 77, he says, that the players (who, as hath been observed, were servants of the nobility), "under the title of their masters, or as retainers', are priviledged to ronve abroade, and permitted to publish their mamotrees in everio temple of God, and that through-out England, unto the horrible contempt of player."

§ "He entertaines us" (says Orerbury in his character of an Actor) "in the best leasure of our life, that is, be

Page 123

by daylight.* All female parts were performed by men, no English actress being ever seen on the public stage,† before the

Civil Wars.

Lastly, with regard to the playhouse furniture and ornaments, a writer of King Charles the Second's time,‡ who well remembered

the preceding age, assures us, that in general "they had no other scenes nor decorations of the stage, but only old tapestry,

and the stage strewed with rushes, with habits accordingly."§

Yet Coryate thought our theatrical exhibitions, &c., splendid when compared with what he saw abroad. Speaking of the theatre for

comedies at Venice, he says, "The house is very huggarly and base, in comparison of our stately playhouses in England: neyther can

their actors compare with ours for apparrell, shewes, and musique. Here I observed certaine things that I never saw before; for I saw

women act, a thing that I never saw before, though I have heard that it hath been sometimes used in London: and they performed it

with as good a grace, action, gesture, and whatsover convenient for a player, as ever

I saw any masculine actor."*

It ought, however, to be observed, that, amid such a multitude of playhouses as subsisted in the Metropolis before the Civil Wars,

there must have been a great difference between their sereral accommodations, ornaments, and prices; and that some would be

much more showy than others, though probably all were much inferior in splendour to the two great theatres after the Restaoration.

** The preceeding Essay, although some of the materials are new arranged, hath received no alteration deserving notice, from

what it was in the Second edition, 1707, except in Section iv., which in the present impression hath been much enlarged.

This is mentioned because since it was first published, the History of the English Stage hath been copiously handled by Mr. Thomas

Warton in his "History of English Poetry, 1774, &c." 3 vols. 4to. (wherein is inserted whatever in these volumes fell in with his

subject); and by Edmond Malone, Esq., who in his "Historical Account of the English Stage," (Shakspe. vol. i. pt. ii., 1790), hath

added greatly to our knowledge of the economy and usages of our ancient theatres.

  • Coryate's Crudities, 4to., 1611, p. 237.

14

Page 124

104

ADAM BELL, CLYM OF THE CLOUGH,

I.

Adam Bell, Clym of the Clough, and William of Cloudesly,

  • were three noted outlaws, whose skill

in archery rendered them formerly as famous

in the North of England, as Robin Hood and

his fellows were in the midland counties.

Their place of residence was in the forest of

Englewood, not far from Carlisle, (called cor-

ruptly in the ballad English-wood, whereas

Engle- or Ingle-wood signifies wood for firing.)

At what time they lived does not appear.

The author of the common ballad on "The

pedigree, education, and marriage, of Robin

Hood," makes them contemporary with Robin

Hood's father, in order to give him the honour

of beating them : viz.

The father of Robin a forester was,

And he shot in a lusty long-bow

Two north-country miles and an inch at a

shot,

As the Pindar of Wakefield does know :

For he brought Adam Bell, and Clim of the

Clough,

And William a Cloudeslee

To shoot with our Forester beat them all three.

Collect. of Old Ballads, 1727, 1 vol. p. 67.

This seems to prove that they were common-

ly thought to have lived before the popular

hero of Sherwood.

Our northern archers were not unknown

to their southern countrymen: their excellence

at the long-bow is often alluded to by our an-

cient poots. Shakspere, in his comedy of

"Much adoe about nothing," act 1, makes

Benedicke confirm his resolves of not yielding

to love by this protestation, "If I do, hang me

in a bottle like a cat,* and shoot at me,

and he that hits me, let him be clapt on the

shoulder, and called Adam :" meaning Adam

Bell, as Theobald rightly observes, who refers

  • Bottles formerly were of leather; though perhaps a wooden bottle might be here meant. It is still a diversion in Scotland to hang up a cat in a small cask, or firkin, half filled with soot; and then a parcel of clowns on horseback try to beat out the ends of it, in order to show their dexterity in escaping before the contents fall upon them.

to one or two other passages in our old poets

wherein he is mentioned. The Oxford editor

has also well conjectured, that "Abraham

Cupid," in Romeo and Juliet, act ii. sc. i,

should be "Adam Cupid," in allusion to our

archer. Ben Jonson has mentioned Clym o'

the Clough in his Alchemist, act i. sc. 2.

And Sir William Davenant, in a mock poem

of his, called "The Long Vacation in Lon-

don," describes the attorneys and proctors,

as making matches to meet in Finsbury fields.

"With loynes in canvass bow-case tyde:*

Where arrowes stick with mickle pride;...

Like ghosts of Adam Bell and Clymme,

Sol sets for feur they'l shoot at him.

Works, 1673, fol. p. 291.

I have only to add farther concerning the

principal hero of this ballad, that the Bells

were noted rogues in the north so late as the

time of Queen Elizabeth. See in Rymer's

Foedera, a letter from Lord William Howard

to some of the officers of state, wherein he

mentions them.

As for the following stanzas, which will be

judged from the style, orthography, and

numbers, to be of considerable antiquity,

they were here given (corrected in some

places by a MS. copy in the Editor's old folio)

from a black-letter 4to. Imprinted at London

in Lothbury by Wm. Copland (no date).

That old quarto edition seems to be exactly

followed in "Pieces of Ancient Popular

Poetry, &c. Lond. 1791," 8vo., the variations

from which, that occur in the following copy,

are selected from many others in the folio

MS. above mentioned, and when distinguished

by the usual inverted 'comma' have been as-

sisted by conjecture.

In the same MS. this ballad is followed by

another, entitled Younge Cloudeslee, being a

continuation of the present story, and reciting

the adventures of William of Cloudesly's son :

but greatly inferior to this both in merit and

antiquity.

  • i. e. Each with a canvass bow-case tied round his loins.

Page 125

AND WILLIAM OF CLOUDESLY.

PART THE FIRST.

Mear it was in the grene forest

Among the levès grene,

Whereas men hunt east and west

Wyth bowes and arrowes kene;

To raise the dere out of theyr dene;

Suche sightes hath ofte bene sene;

As by thre yemen of the north countrèy,

By them it is I meane.

The one of them hight Adam Bel,

The other Clym of the Clough,*

The thyrd was William of Cloudesly,

An archer good ynough.

They were outlawed for venyson,

These yemen everychone;

They swore them brethren upon a day

To Englyshe wood for to gone.

Now lith and lysten, gentylmen,

That of myrthos loveth to here:

Two of them were single men,

The third had a waddel fore.

Wyllyam was the waddel man,

Muche more than was hys care:

He sayde to hys brethren upon a day,

To Carleile he would fare,

For to speke with fuyre Alyce his wife,

And with his chyldren thre.

By my trouthe, sayde Adam Bel,

Not by the counsoll of me:

For if ye go to Carlile, brother,

And from thys wylde wode wende,

If that the justice may you take,

Your lyfe were at an ende.

If that I come not to-morrowe, brother,

By pryme to you agayne,

Truste you then that I am 'taken,'

Or else that I am slayne.

He toke hys leave of hys brethren two,

And to Carlile he is gon :

There he knocked at his owne wundowe

Shortlye and anone.

V. 24, Cuerdel, in P. C. passim. V. 35, take, P. C. tane, MS.

  • Clym of the Clough means Clem. [Clomont] of the Cliff :

for so Clough signifies in the North.

Wher be you, fayre Alyce, he sayd,

My wife and chyldren thre?

Iyhaly ly in thyne owne husbàndes,

Wyllyam of Cloudeslee.

Alas! then sayde fayre Alyce,

And syghed wonderous sore,

Thys place hath ben beset for you

Thys halfe a yere and more.

Now am I here, sayde Cloudeslee,

I would that in I were.

Now fetche us meate and drynke ynoughe,

And let us make good chere.

She fetched hym meate and drynke plentye,

Lyke a true wedded wyfe;

And plesed hym with that she had,

Whome she loved as her lyfe.

There lay an old wyfe in that place,

A lytle besyde the fyre,

Whyche Wyllyam had found of charytyd

More than seven yere.

Up she rose, and forth she goes,

Evill mote she speede therfore;

For she had sett no foote on ground

In seven yere before.

She went unto the justice hall,

As fust as she could hye;

Thys nyght, she sayd, is come to town

Wyllyam of Cloudeslyè.

Thereof the justice was full fayne,

And so was the shirife also :

Thou shalt not trauaile hither, dame, for nought,

Thy meed thou shalt have ere thou go.

They gave to her a ryght good goune,

Of scarlate, 'and of graine:'

She toke the gyft, and home she wente,

And couched her doune agayne.

They raysed the towne of mery Carleile

In all the haste they can ;

And came thronging to Wyllyames house,

As fast as they might gone.

There they beset that good yemàn

Round about on every syde:

Wyllyam heard great noyso of folkes,

That thither-ward fast hyed.

Page 126

106

ADAM BELL, CLYM OF THE CLOUDHIL,

Alyce opened a backe wyndowe,

And loked all aboute,

She was ware of the justice and shirife bothe,

Wyth a full great route.

Alas! treason, cryed Alyce,

Ever we may then be,

Goe into my chamber, my husband, she sayd,

Swete Wyllyam of Cloudeslee.

He toke hys swerd and hys buckler,

Hys bow and hys chyldren thre,

And wente into hys strongest chamber,

Where he thought surest to be.

Fayre Alyce, like a lover true,

Took a pollaxe in her hande:

Said, The shall dye that cometh in

Thys dore, whyle I may stand.

Cloudesloe lente a right good bowe,

That was of a trusty tre,

He smot the justice on the brest,

That hys arowes barst in thre.

' A' curse on his harte, saide William,

Thys day thy cote dyd on!

If it had ben no better then myne,

It had gone nere thy bone.

Yelde the Clondeslè, said the justise,

And thy bowe and thy arrowes fro.

' A' curse on hys hart, sayd fayre Alyce,

That my husband councelleth so.

Set fyre on the house, saide the sherife,

Syth it wyll no better be,

And brenna we therin William, he saide,

Hys wife and chyldren thre.

They fyred the house in many a place

The fyre flew up on hye;

Alas! then cryed fayre Alìce,

I se we here shall die.

William openyd a backe wyndow,

That was in hys chamber hye,

And there with sheetes he did let downe

His wife and children three.

Have you here my treasure, sayde William,

My wyfe and my chyldren thre:

For Christès love do them no harme,

But wreke you all on me.

V. 85, sic. MS. shop window, P. C.

Wyllyam shot so wonderous well,

Tyll hys arrowes were all agoe,

And the fyre so fast upon hym fell,

That hys bowstryng brent in two.

The sparkles brent and full upon

Good Wyllyam of Cloudeslè :

Than was he a woefull man, and sayde,

Thys is a cowardes denth to me.

Lever had I, sayd Wyllyam,

With my sworde in the ronte to renne,

Then here among my enemyes wode

Thus cruelly to bren.

He toke hys swerd and hys buckler,

And among them all he ran,

Where the people were most in prece,

He smote downe many a man.

There myght no man abyde hys strokles,

So fersly on them he ran :

Then thoy threw wyndowes and dores on him,

And so toke that good yemàn.

There they hym bounde both hand and fote,

And in a depe dungeon hym cast :

Now, Cloudeslè, sayd the justlice,

Thou shalt be hangèd in hast.

' A payre of new gallowes, sayd the sherife,

Now shal I for thec make;

And the gates of Carlel shal be shutte :

No man shal come in theràt.

Then shall not helpe Clym of the Cloughe,

Nor yet shall Adam Bell,

Though they came with a thousand mo,

Nor all the devylls in hell.

Early in the mornynge the justice uprose,

To the gates first can he gone,

And commaunded to be shut full close

Lightlè everychone.

Then went he to the markett place,

As fast as he coulde hye;

There a payre of new gallowes he set up

Besyde the pyllorye.

A lytle boy 'among them asked,'

What meaned that gullow-tre ?

They sayde to hange a good yemàn,

Called Wyllyam of Cloudeslè.

V. 151, sic. MS. hye Justice, P. C. V. 153, 4, are contracted

from the fol. MS. and P. C.

Page 127

AND WILLIAM OF CLOUDESLY.

107

That lytle boye was the towne swyne-heard,

And kept fayre Alyce swyne;

Of he had seene William in the wodde,

And geun hym there to dyue.

Then bespake hym Clym of the Clough,

Wyth a wyle we wyl us in bryng;

Let us saye we be messengers,

Streyght come nowe from our king.

He went out att a crevis of the wall,

And lyghtly to the wood dyde gone;

There met he with these wightye yemen

Shortly and anone.

Adam said, I have a letter written,

Now let us wysely werke,

We wyll saye we have the kynges scale;

I holde the porter no clerke.

Alas! then sayd the lytle boye,

Ye tary here all too longe;

Cloudeslee is taken, and dampned to death,

And readye for to honge.

Then Adam Bell hete on the gates

With strokes great and stronge:

The porter marveiled, who was therat,

And to the gates he thronge.

Alas! then sayd good Adam Bell,

That ever we saw thys daye!

He had better have tarryed with us,

So ofte as we dyd hym praye.

Who is there now, sayde the porter,

What maketh all thys knockingo?

We be tow messengers, quoth Clym of the

Clough,

Be come ryght from our kyng.

The myght have dwelt in greene forðste,

Under the shadowes grene,

And have kept both hym and us att reste,

Out of all trouble and teene.

We have a letter, sayd Adam Bel,

To the justice we muste it bryng;

Let us in our message to do,

That we were agayne to the kyng.

Adam bente a ryght good bow,

A great hart some hee blynd slayne;

Take that, chyld, he sayde, to thy dynner,

And bring me myne arrowe agayne.

Here commeth none in, sayd the porter,

By hym that dyed on a tre,

Tyll a false thefe be hanged,

Called Wyllyam of Cloudeslè.

Now gow we hence, sayed those wightye yeo-

men,

Tarrye we no longer here;

We shall hym borowe by God his grace,

Though we buy it full dere.

Then spake the good yeman Clym of the

Clough,

And swore by Mary fre,

And if that we stande long wythout,

Lyko a thefe hanged shalt thou be.

To Caorleil wente these bold yemen,

All in a mornyng of maye.

Here is a fyt* of Cloudeslye,

And another is for to saye.

PART THE SECOND.

Lo! here we have the kynges seale:

What, Lurden, art thou wode?

And when they came to mery Carleile,

All in 'the' mornyng tyde,

They founde the gates shut them untyll

About on every syde.

The porter went* it had been so,

And lyghtly dyd off hys hode.

Alas! then sayd good Adam Bell,

That ever we were made men !

Those gates be shut so wonderous fast,

We may not come therein.

Welcom is my lordes seale, he saide

For that ye shall come in.

He opend the gate full shortlye:

An euyl openyng for him.

Now are we in, sayde Adam Bell,

Wherof we are full fayne;

But Christ he knowes, that harowed hell,

How we shall com out agayne.

V. 33, Lordeyne, P. C

V. 179, yonge men, P. C. V. 190, slc MS. shadowes sheene,

P. C. V. 197, jolly yeomen, MS. wight yong men, P. C.

  • See Gloss.

  • i. e. weened, thought, (which last is the reading of the

folio MS.)—Calnis, or Roven, was taken from the English

by shewing the governor, who could not read, a letter with

the king's seal, which was all he looked at.

Page 128

108

ADAM BELL, CLYM OF THE CLOUGH,

Had we the keys, said Clim of the Clough,

Ryght wel then shoulde we spede,

Then might we come out wel ynough

When we se tyme and nede.

They called the porter to counsell,

And wrang his necke in two,

And caste hym in a depe dungeon,

And toke hys keys hym fro.

50

Now am I porter, said Adam Bel,

Se brother the keys are here,

The worst porter to merry Carleile

That 'the' had thys hundred yere.

And now wyll we our bows bend,

Into the towne wyll we go,

For to delyuer our dere brothèr,

That lyeth in care and wo.

Then they bent theyr good ewo bowes,

And loked theyr stringes were round,*

The markett place in mery Carleile

They beset that stound.

And, as they loked them besyde,

A paire of new galowes 'they' see,

And the justyce with a quest of squyers,

That judged William hanged to be.

And Cloudeslè lay ready there in a cart,

Fast bound both fote and hand;

And a stronge rop about hys necke,

All readye for to hange.

The justyce called to hym a ladde,

Cloudeslees clothes he shold have,

To take the measure of that yemàn,

Therafter to make hys grave.

55

60

65

70

75

80

I have sene as great meruaile, said Cloudesle,

As betweyne thys and pryme,

He that maketh a grave for mee,

Hymselfe may lye therin.

Thou speakest proudlye, said the justyce,

I will thee hange with my hande.

Full wel herd this hys brethren two,

There styll as they dyd stande.

  • So Ascham in his Toxophylus gives a precept: "The

stringe must be rounde;" (p. 149, ed. 1761;) otherwise, we

may conclude from mechanical principles, the arrow will

not fly true.

Then Cloudeslè cast his eyen asyde,

And saw hys brethren traine

At a corner of the market place,

Redy the justyce for to slaine.

I se comfort, sayd Cloudeslè,

Yet hope I well to fare,

If I might have my handes at wyll

Rygt lytle wolde I care.

Then spake good Adam Bell

To Clym of the Clough so free,

Brother, se you make the justyce wel,

Lo ! yonder you may him se :

And at the shyrife shote I wyll

Strongly wyth an arrowe kene;

A better shote in mery Carleile

Thys seven yere was not sene.

Thoy loused their arrowes both at once,

Of no man had they drede;

The one hyt the justyce, the other the shoryfe,

That bothe theyr sydes gan blode.

All men voyded; that them stode nye,

When the justyce fell to the grounde,

And the sherifè nye him by;

Eyther had hys deathes wounde.

90

95

100

All the citesens fast gan flye,

They durst no longer abyde:

There lyghtly they losed Cloudeslee,

Where he with ropes lay tyde.

Wyllyam start to an offycer of the towne,

Hys axe 'from' hys hand he wronge,

On eche syde he smote them downe,

Hee thought he taryed to long.

Wyllyam sayde to his brethren two,

Thys daye let us lyve and dye,

If ever you have nede, as I have now,

The same shall you fynde by me.

They shot so well in that tyde,

Theyr stringes wer of silke ful sure,

That they kept the stretè on every side

That hataylè did long endurè.

They fought together as brethren true,

Lyke hardy men and bolde,

Many a man to the ground they threw

And many a herte made colde.

105

110

115

120

125

130

V. 105, lowsed thre, P. C. Ver. 103, can blod, MS.

Page 129

AND WILLIAM OF CLOUDESLY.

109

But when their arrowes were all gon,

Men proced to them fall fast,

They drew theyr swordes them anone,

And theyr bowes from them cast.

They went lyghtlye on theyr way,

Wyth swordes and bucklers round;

By that it was mydd of the day,

They made many a wound.

140

There was an out-horne* in Carleile blowen,

And the belles backward dyd ryng,

Many a woman sayde, Alas!

And many theyr handes dyd wryng.

The mayre of Carleile forth com was,

Wyth hym a ful great route:

These yemen dred hym full sore,

Of theyr lyves they stode in great doute.

145

The mayre came armed in full great pace,

With a pollaxe in hys hande;

Many a strong man wyth hym was,

There in that stowre to stande.

The mayre smot at Cloudeslee with his bil,

Ity's bucler he brast in two,

Fall many a yeman with great evyll,

Alas! Treason they cryed for wo.

150

Kepe well the gates fast, they had,

That these traytours therout not ga.

But al for nought was that they wrought,

For so fast they downe were layde,

Tyll they all thre, that so manfulli fought,

Were gotten without, abrayde.

155

Have here your keys, sayd Adam Bel,

Myne office I here forsake,

And yf you do by my counsell

A new porter do ye make.

He threw theyr keys at theyr hands,

And had them well to thrryve,†

And all that lettoth any good yeman

To come and comfort his wyfe.

160

Thus be these good yeman gon to the wod,

As lyghtly as lefe on lynde;

The lough and be mery in theyr mode,

Theyr enemyes were ferr behynd.

When they came to Englyshe wade,

Under the trusty tre,

There they found bowes full good,

And arrowes full great plentyo.

175

So God me help, sayd Adam Bell,

And Clym of the Clough so fre

I would we were in mery Carleile,

Before that fayre meynye.

They set them downe, and made good chere,

And ete and drunke full well.

A second fyt of the wightye yeomen:

Another I wyll you tell.

180

PART THE THIRD.

As they sat in Englyshe wood,

Under the green-wood tre,

They thought they herd a woman wepe,

But her they mought not se.

Sone then syghed the fayre Alyce:

'That ever I sawe thys day!'

For nowe is my dere husband slayne.

5

Alas! and wel-a-way!

Myght I have spoken wyth hys dere brethren,

Or with eyther of them twayne,

'To shew them what hym befell,

My hart were out of payne.'

10

Cloudeslè walked a lytle besyde,

He looked under the grene wood lynd,

He was ware of hys wyfe, and chyldren thre,

Full wo in harte and mynd.

Welycome, wyfe, then sayde Wyllyam,

Under 'this' trusti tre:

I had wende yesterlay, by swete saynt John,

'Thou sholdest me never 'have' se.'

15

'Now well is me that ye be here,

My harte is out of wo.'

Dame, he sayde, be mery and glad,

And thanke my brethren two.

Herof to speake, sayd Adam Bell,

I-wis it is no bote:

20

The meate, that we must supp withall,

It runneth yet fast on fote.

  • Outhorne is an old term signifying the calling forth

of subiects to arms by the sound of a horn. See Cole's

Lat. Dict. Bailey, &c.

† This is spoken ironically.

V. 143, For of, MS.

V. 175. mery green wood, MS. V. 185, see part i. v. 197

V. 20, never had se, P. C. and MS.

Page 130

110

ADAM BELL, CLYM OF THE CLOUGH,

Then went they downe into a launde,

These noble archers all thre;

Eche of them slew a hart of greece,

The best that they cold se.

Have here the best, Alyce, my wife,

Sayde Wyllyam of Cloudeslye;

By cause ye so boulldly stode by me

When I was slayne full nye.

Then went they to suppre

Wyth such meate as they had;

And thanked God of ther fortune :

They were both mery and glad.

And when they had supped well,

Certayne withouten lease,

Cloudeslè sayd, Wè wyll to our kyng,

To get us a charter of peace.

Alyce shal be at our sojourn yng

In a nunnery here besyde;

My tow sonnes shal wyth her go,

And there they shall abyde.

Myne eldest son shall go wyth me;

For hym have 'you' no care:

And he shall bring you wordo agayn,

How that we do fare.

Thus be these yemen to London gone,

As fast as they myght 'ho,*

Tyll they camo to the kynges pallàce,

Where they wouldo needles be.

And whan they came to the kynges courte,

Unto the pallace gate,

Of no man wold they aske no leave,

But boldly went in theràt.

They proced prestly into the hall,

Of no man had they drede:

The porter came after, and dyd them call,

And with them began to ebyde.

The usher sayde, Yèmen, what wold ye have?

I pray you tell to me :

You myght thus make offycers shent:

Good syrs, of whence be ye?

Syr, we be out-lawes of the forest

Certayne withouten lease;

And hether we be come to the kyng,

To get us a charter of peace.

30

35

30

40

45

50

55

60

66

70

V. 50, have I no care, P. C.

  • i. e. hie, hasten.

And whan they camo before the kyng,

As it was the lawe of the lande,

The kneled down without lett yng,

And eche held up his hand.

The sayd, Lord, we besechè the here,

That ye wyll graunt us grace;

For we have slayne your fat fallow dere

In many a sundry place.

What be your names, then said our king,

Anone that you tell me?

They sayd, Adam Bell, Clim of the Clough,

And Wyllyam of Cloudéslè.

Be ye those theves, then sayd our kyng,

That men have tolde of to me?

Here to God I make an awoe,

Ye shal be hanged al thre.

Ye shal be dead without mercy,

As I am kynge of this lande.

He commaunded his offycers overichone,

Fast on them to lay hande.

Then they toke these good yemen,

And arostd them al thre:

So may I thryve, sayd Adam Bell,

Thys game lykelh not me.

But, good lorde, we besechè you now,

That ye graunt us grace,

Insomuchè as 'froly' we be to you come,

'As frely' we may fro you passe,

With such weapons, as we have here,

Tyll we be out of your place;

And yf we lyve this hundreth yere,

We wyll aske you no grace.

Ye speake proudly, sayd the kynge;

Ye shall be hanged all thre.

That were great pitye, then sayd the quene,

If any grace myght be.

My lorde, whan I came fyrst into this lande

To be your wedded wyfe,

The fyrst boone that I wold aske,

Ye would graunt it me belyfe:

And I asked you never none tyll now;

Therefore, good lorde, graunt it me.

Now aske it, madam, sayd the kynge,

And graunted it shal be.

75

80

85

90

95

100

105

110

115

V. 111, 119, &c. MS. bowne, P. C.

Page 131

AND WILLIAM OF CLOUDESLY.

111

Then, good my lord, I you beseeche,

These yemen graunt ye me.

Madame, yo myght have asked a boone, 119

That shuld have been worth them all thre.

Yo myght have asked towarres, and townes,

Parkes and forestes plentè.

None soe pleasant to my pay, shee sayd;

Nor none so lefe to me.

Madame, sith it is your desyre,

Your.askyng graunted shal be;

But I had lever have given you

Good market townes thre.

The quene was a glad woman,

And sayde, Lord, gramarcy;

I dare undertake for them,

That true men shal they be.

But, good my lord, speke som mery word,

That comfort they may se.

I graunt you grace, thou sayd our king;

Wash, folos, and to mete go ye.

They had not setten but a whyle

Certayne without lesynge,

There came messengers out of the north

With lettors to our kyng. 140

And whan the came before tho kynge,

They knelt down on theyr kne;

And sayd, Lord, your officers grete you well,

Of Carleile in the north cuntrè.

How fareth my justice, sayd the kyng, 145

And my sheryfe also?

Syr, they be slayne without leasynge,

And many an officer mo.

Who hath them slayne? sayd the kyng;

Anone that thou tell me. "Adam Bell, and Clime of the Clough,

And Wylyam of Cloudeslè."

Alas, for rewtl ! then sayd our kynge:

My hart is wonderous sore;

I had lever than a thousande pounde, 155

I had knowne of thys before;

For I have graunted them grace,

And that forthynketh me:

But had I knowne all thys before,

They had been hanged all thre. 160

The kyng hie opened the letter anone,

Himselfe he red it thro,

And founde how these outlawes had slain

Thre hundred men and mo:

Fyrst the justice, and the sheryfe, 165

And the mayre of Carleile towne;

Of all the constables and catchipolles

Alyve were 'scant' left one:

The baylyes, and the bedyls both,

And the sergeauntes of the law, 170

And forty fosters of the fe,

These outlawes had yslaw :

And broke his parks, and slayne his dere;

Of all they chose the best;

So perelous out-lawes, as they were, 175

Walked not by easte nor west.

When the kynge this letter had red,

In hys harto he syghed sore :

Take up the tables anone he bad,

For I may eat no more. 180

The kyng called hys best archars

To the buttes wyth hym to go:

I wyll se these felowes shote, he sayd,

In the north have wrought this wo.

The kynges bowmen buske them blyve, 185

And the quenes archers also;

So dyd these thre wyghte yemen;

With them they thought to go.

There twyse, or thryse they shote about

For to assay theyr hande; 190

There was no shote these yemen shot,

That any prycke* myght stand.

Then spake Wyllyam of Cloudeslè;

By him that for me dyed,

I hold hym never no good archar, 195

That shoteth at buttes so wyde.

'At what a butte now wold ye shote?'

I pray thee tell to me.

At suche a but, syr, he sayd,

As men use in my countree. 200

Wylyam wente into a fyeld,

And 'with him' his two brethren:

There they set up two hasell roddes

Twenty score paces betwene.

V. 163, left but one, MS., not one, P. C. Ver. 185, bly the, MS. Ver. 202, 203, to, P. C. Ver. 204, i.e. 400 yards.

V. 130, God a mercyè, MD.

15

Page 132

112 ADAM BELL, CLYM OF THE CLOUGH, AND WILLIAM OF CLOUDESLY.

I hold him an archer, said Cloudeslè,

That yonder wande cleventh in two.

Here is none suche, sayd the kyng,

Nor no man can so do.

I shall assay, syr, sayd Cloudeslè,

Or that I farther go.

Cloudesly with a bearyng arowè

Clave the wand in two.

Thou art the best archer, then said the king,

Forsothe that ever I se.

And yet for your love, said Wyllyam,

I wyll do more maystery.

I have a sonne is seven yere olde,

He is to me full deare;

I wyll hym tye to a stake ;

All shall se, that he here ;

And lay an apple upon hys head,

And go syxe score paces hym fro,

And I my selfe with a broad arow

Shall cleve the apple in two.

Now haste the, then sayd the kyng,

By hym that dyed on a tre,

But yf thou do not, as thou hast sayde,

Hanged shalt thou be.

And thou touche his head or gowne,

In syght that men may se,

By all the sayntes that be in heaven,

I shall hange you all there.

That I have promised, said William,

That I wyll never forsake.

And there even before the kynge

In the earth he drove a stake :

And bound theret his eldest sonne,

And bad hym stand styll thereat;

And turned the childes face him fro,

Because he should not start.

An apple upon his head he set,

And then his bowe he bent:

Syxe score paces they were meaten,

And thether Cloudeslè went.

There he drew out a fayr brode arowè,

Hys bowe was great and longe,

He set that arowè in his bowe,

That was both styffe and stronge.

He prayed the people, that wer there,

That they 'all still wold' stand,

For he that shoteth for such a wager

Behoveth a stedfast hand.

Muche people prayed for Cloudeslè,

That his lyfe saved myght be,

And whan he made hym redy to shote,

There was many weeping e.

'But' Cloudeslè cleft the apple in two,

'His sonne he did not nee.'

Orer Gods forbode, sayde the kinge,

That thou shold shote at me.

I geve the eighteene pence a day,

And my love shalt thou bere,

And over all the north countrè

I make the chyfe rydrè.

And I thyrtène pence a day, said the quene,

By God, and by my fay ;

Come fetche thy paymènt whan thou wylt,

No man shall say the nay.

Wyllyam, make the a gentlèman

Of clothyng, and of fo:

And thy two brethren, yemen of my chambre,

For they are so semely to se.

Your sonne, for he is tendre of age,

Of my wyne-seller he shall be ;

And whan he commeth to mans estate,

Better avaunced shall he be.

And, Wyllyam, bring me your wife, said the quene,

Me longeth her sore to se :

She shall be my chefe gentlewoman,

To governe my nurseryè.

The yemen thanked them all curtcously.

To some byshop wyl we wend,

Of all the synnes, that we have done,

To be assoyld at his hand.

So forth he gone these good yemen,

As fast as they myght 'he' ;*

And after came and dwelled with the kynge,

And dye good men all thre.

Thus endeth the lyves of these good yemen ;

God send them eternall blysse ;

And all, that with a hand-bowe shoteth :

That of heyven may never mysse. Amen.

Ver 252, steedye, MS Ver 265, And I gave the xvij pence. P. C Ver 282, And say'd to some Bishopp wee will wend, MS.

  • he, i. e. hie, hasten. See the Glossary.

Page 133

THE AGED LOVER RENOUNCETH LOVE.

113

II.

The Aged Lover Renounceth Love.

The grave-digger's song in Hamlet, act v.,

is taken from three stanzas of the following

poem, though greatly altered and disguised,

as the same were corrupted by the ballad-

singers of Shakspere's time : or perhaps so

designed by the poet himself, the better to

suit the character of an illiterate clown.

The original is preserved among Surrey's Poems,

and is attributed to Lord Vaux, by George Gas-

coigne, who tells us, it " was thought by

some to be made upon his death-bed ;" a pop-

ular error which he laughs at. (See his

Epist, to Yong Gent. prefixed to his Posies,

1575, 4to.) It is also ascribed to Lord Vaux

in a manuscript copy preserved in the British

Museum.* This lord was remarkable for

his skill in drawing feigned manners, &c., for

so I understand an ancient writer. "The

Lord Vaux his commendation lyeth chiefly

in the facilitie of his metre, and the aptnesse

of his descriptions such as he taketh upon

him to make, namely in sundry of his songs,

wherein he sheweth the counterfeit action

very lively and pleasantly." Arte of Elog.

Poesie, 1589, p. 51. See another song by

this poet in Series the Second, No. VIII.

I Loath that I did love

In youth that I thought swete,

As time requires : for my behove

Me thinkes they are not mete.

My lustes they do me leve,

My fancies all are fled;

And tract of time begins to weve

Gray heares upon my hed.

For Age with steling steps

Hath clawde me with his crowch,

And lusty 'Youthe' away he leapes,

As there had been none such.

My muse doth not delight

Me, as she did before :

My hand and pen are not in plight,

As they have bene of yore.

For Reason me denies,

'All' youthly idle rime;

And day by day, to me she cries,

Leave off thees toyes in tyme.

The wrinkles in my brow,

The furrowes in my face

Say, Limping age will 'lodge' him now,

Where youth must geve him place.

The harbenger of death,

To me I se him ride,

The cough, the cold, the gasping breath,

Doth bid me to provide

A pikenax and a spade,

And oke a shrouding shete,

A house of clay for to be made

For such a guest most mete.

Me thinkes I heare the clarke,

That knoles the carefull knell;

And bids me leave my 'wearye' warke,

Ere nature me compell.

My kepers # knit the knot,

That youth doth laugh to scorne,

Of me that 'shall bee cleane' forgot,

As I had 'ne'er' bene borne.

Thus must I youth geve up,

Whose badge I long did weare :

To them I yeld the wanton cup,

That better may it beare.

Ver. 6, be, P. C. [printed copy in 1557.] V. 10, Crowch

perhaps should be clouch, clutch, grasp. Vor. 11, Life away

she, P. C.

  • Harl. MSS. num. 1703, § 26. The readings gathered

from that copy are distingulshed here by inverted commas.

The text is printed from the "Songs," &c., of the Earl of

Surrey and others, 1557, 4to.

V. 18, This, P. C. Ver. 23 So Ed. 1589; 'His hedge in Ed

1557, hath caught him, MS. V. 30, wyndynge-sheete. MS

V. 34, bell, MS. V. 35, wofull. P. C. V. 38, did, P. C V

39, clene shal be, P. C. V. 40, not, P. C.

  • Alluding perhaps to Eccles. xii. 3.

Page 134

114

JEPHTHAH JUDGE OF ISRAEL.

Lo here the bar'd skull ;

By whose bald signe I know,

That stouping age away shall pull

'What' youthfull yeres did sow.

For Beautie with her band,

Those croked cares had wrought.

45 And shipped me into the land,

From whence I first was brought.

And yo that hide behinde,

Have ye none other trust:

As ye of clay were cast by kinde,

50 So shall ye 'turne' to dust.

55

III.

Jepftljaj Judge of Jsrael.

In Shakspere's Hamlet, act ii., the hero

of the play takes occasion to banter Polonius

with some scraps of an old ballad, which has

never appeared yet in any collection : for

which reason, as it is but short, it will not

perhaps be unacceptable to the reader; who

will also be diverted with the pleasant ab-

surdities of the composition. It was retrieved

from utter oblivion by a lady, who wrote

it down from memory, as she had formerly

heard it sung by her father. I am indebted

for it to the friendship of Mr. Steevens.

It has been said, that the original ballad,

in blackletter, is among Anthony à Wood's

Collections in the Ashmolean Museum. But,

upon application lately made, the volume

which contained this Song was missing, so

that it can only now be given as in the former

edition.

The banter of Hamlet is as follows :

"Hamlet. 'O Jeptha, Judge of Israel,'

what a treasure hadst thou !

"Polonius. What a treasure had he, my

lord ?

"Ham. Why, 'One faire daughter, and no

more, The which he loved passing well.'

"Polon. Still on my daughter.

"Ham. Am not I i' th' right, old Jeptha ?

"Polon. If you call me Jeptha, my lord,

I have a daughter, that I love passing well.

"Ham. Nay, that follows not.

"Polon. What follows then, my lord ?

"Ham. Why, 'As by lot, God wot:' and

then you know, 'It came to passe, As most

V. 45, bare-hedde, MS., and some, P. CO. V. 48, Which,

P. C., That MS., What is conject.

like it was.' The first row of the pious chan-

son will show you more."

Edit. 1793, vol. xv. p. 133.

Have you not heard those many years ago,

Jephtha was judge of Israel ?

He had one only daughter and no mo,

The which he loved passing well :

And, as by lot,

5 God wot,

It so came to pass,

As Gods will was,

That great wars there should be,

10 And none should be chosen chief but he.

And when he was appointed judge,

And chieftain of the company,

A solemn vow to God he made ;

If he returned with victory,

15 At his return

To burn

The first live thing,


That should meet with him then,

Off his house, when he should return agen

It came to pass, the wars was oer,

21 And he returned with victory ;

His dear and only daughter first of all

Came to meet her father foremostly :

And all the way,

25 She did play

On tabret and pipe,

Full many a stripe,

With note so high,

For joy that her father is come so nigh.

30

V. 55, wast, P. C.

Page 135

A ROBYN JOLLY ROBYN.

115

But when he saw his daughter dear

Coming on most foremoſtly,

He wrung his hands, and tore his hair,

  •  And cryed out moſt piteouſly;
    

Oh ! it's thou, ſaid he,

That have brought me

Low,

And troubled me ſo,

That I know not what to do.

For I have made a vow, he ſed,

The which muſt be replenished :


" What thou haſt ſpoken

Do not revoke :

What thou haſt ſaid,

Be not afraid ;

Altho' it be I;

Keep promiſes to God on high.

But, dear father, grant me one requeſt,

That I may go to the wilderneſs,

Three months there with my friends to ſtay ;

There to bewail my virginity ;

And let there be,

Said ſhe,

Some two or three

Young maids with me."

So he ſent her away,

For to mourn, for to mourn, till her dying day.

IV.

A 3obpn 3olp 3obpn.

In his " Twelfth Night," Shakſpeare introduces the clown ſinging part of the two

firſt ſtanzas of the following ſong; which

has been recovered from an ancient MS. of

Dr. Harrington's at Bath, preſerved among

the many literary treaſures tranſmitted to

the ingenious and worthy poſſeſſor by a

long line of moſt reſpectable anceſtors. Of

theſe only a ſmall part hath been printed in

the " Nugæ Antiquæ," 3 vols. 12mo. ; a work

which the public impatiently wiſhes to ſee

continued.

The ſong is thus given by Shakſpeare, act

iv. sc. 2. (Malone's edit. iv. 93.)

Clown. " Hey Robin, jolly Robin." [ſinging.]

" Tell me how thy lady doſ.

Malvolio. Fool.—

Clown. " My lady is unkind, perdy.

Malvolio. Fool.—

Clown. " Alas, why is ſhe ſo ?"

Malvolio. Fool, I ſay.—

Clown. " She loves another."—Who calls,

ha?"

Dr. Farmer has conjectured that the ſong

ſhould begin thus:

" Hey, jolly Robin, tell to me

How does thy lady do ?

My lady is unkind perdy—

Alas, why is ſhe ſo ?"

But this ingenious emendation is now ſuperſeded by the proper readings of the old ſong

itſelf, which is here printed from what appears the moſt ancient of Dr. Harrington's

poetical MSS., and which has, therefore, been

marked No. I. (ſeeſl. p. 68). That volume

ſeems to have been written in the reign of

King Henry VIII., and as it contains many

of the poems of Sir Thomas Wyat, hath had

almoſt all the contents attributed to him by

marginal directions written with an old but

later hand, and not always rightly, as, I think,

might be made appear by other good authorities. Among the reſt, this ſong is there attributed to Sir Thomas Wyat alſo ; but the

diſcerning reader will probably judge it to

belong to a more obſolete writer.

In the old MS. to the 3d and 5th ſtanzas

is prefixed this title, Reſponce, and to the 4th

and 6th, Le Plaintif; but in the laſt inſtance

ſo evidently wrong, that it was thought better

to omit theſe titles, and to mark the changes

of the dialogue by inverted commas. In

other reſpects the MS. is ſtrictly followed,

except where noted in the margin—Yet the

firſt ſtanza appears to be defective, and it

ſhould ſeem that a line is wanting, unleſs the

four firſt words were lengthened in the tune.

Page 136

116

A SONG TO THE LUTE IN MUSICKE.

A Robyn,

Jolly Robyn,

Tell me how thy leman dooth,

And thou shalt knowe of myn.

"My lady is unkynd(e) per(de)."

Alas! why is she so ?

"She loveth another better than me :

And yet she will say no."

I fynde no such doublenes :

I fynde women true.

My lady loveth me dowtles,

And will change for no newe.

"Thou art happy while that dooth last;

But I say, as I fynde,

"That womens love is but a blast,

And torneth with the wynde."

Suche folkes can take no harme by love,

That can abide their torn.

"But I alas can no way prove

In love but lake and morn."

But if thou wilt avoyde thy harme

Lerne this lesson of me,

At others fieres thy selfe to warme,

And let them warme with thee.

V.

A Song to the Lute in Musicke.

This sonnet (which is ascribed to Richard

Edwards* in the "Paradise of Daintie Devises,"

fo. 31, b.) is by Shakspeare made the

subject of some pleasant ridicule in his "Romeo and Juliet," act iv. sc. 5, where he introduces Peter putting this question to the musicians.

"Peter. . . . why 'Silver Sound'? 'why

'Musicke with with her silver sound'? what

say you, Simon Catling ?

"1 Mus. Marry, sir, because silver hath

a sweet sound.

"Pet. Pretty! what say you, Hugh Re-

becke ?

"2 Mus. I say, silver sound, because mu-

sicians sound for silver.

"Pet. Pretty too! what say you, James

Soundpost ?

"3 Mus. Faith, I know not what to say.

"Pet. . . . I will say it for you: It is

'musicke with her silver sound,' because

musicians have no gold for sounding."

Edit. 1793, vol. xiv. p. 529.

This ridicule is not so much levelled at the

song itself (which for the time it was written

is not inelegant), as at those forced and unnatural explanations often given by us painfull editors and expusitors of ancient authors.

This copy is printed from an old quarto MS. in the Cotton Library (Vesp. A. 25), entitled, "Divors things of Hen. viij's time :"

with some corrections from The Paradise of Dainty Devises, 1596.

Where gripinge grefes the hart would wounde,

And dolefullo dumps the myndo oppresse,

There musicke with her silver sound

With spede is wont to send redresse;

Of trobled mynds, in every sore,

Swete musicke hath a salve in store.

In joye yt makis our mirthe abounde,

In woe yt chereth our hevy sprites;

Be strawghted heads relyef hath founde,

By musickes plesaunte swete delights:

Our senses all, what shall I say more ?

Are subjecte unto musicks lore.

The Gods by musicke have theire prayse;

The lyfe, the soul therein doth joye:

For, as the Romayne poet sayes,

In seas, whom pyrats would destroy,

A dolphin saved from death most sharpe

Arion playing on his harpe.

  • Concerning him, see Wood's Athen. Oxon. and Tanner's Biblioth.; also Sir John Hawkins's Hist. of Music, &c.

Ver. 4, shall, MS.

Page 137

KING COPHETUA AND THE BEGGAR-MAID.

117

O heavenly gyft, that rules the mynd,

Even as the sterne dothe rule the shippe !

O musicke, whom tho Gods assinde

19

To comforte manno, whom cares would nippe !

Since thow bothe man and beste doest move,

What beste ys he, wyll the disprove?

VI.

King Cophetua and the Beggar-Maid

—is a story often alluded to by our old dra-

matic writers. Shakspeare, in his Romeo

and Juliet, act ii. sc. 1, makes Mercutio say,

—“Her (Venus's) purblind son and heir,

Young Adam* Cupid, he that shot so true,

When King Cophetua loved the beggar-

maid.

As the 13th line of the following ballad

seems here particularly alluded to, it is not

improbable that Shakspeare wrote “shot

so trim,” which the players or printers, not

perceiving the allusion, might alter to “true.”

The former, as being the more humorous ex-

pression, seems most likely to have come from

the mouth of Mercutio.†

In the 2d part of Hen. IV., act v. sc. 3,

Falstaff is introduced affectedly saying to

Pistoll,

“O base Assyrian knight, what is thy news?

Let King Cophetua know the truth thereof.”

These lines, Dr. Warburton thinks, were taken

from an old bombast play of “King Cophe-

tua.” No such play is, I believe, now to be

found ; but it does not therefore follow that

it never existed. Many dramatic pieces are

referred to by old writers,‡ which are not

now extant, or even mentioned in any list.

In the infancy of the stage, plays were often

exhibited that were never printed.

It is probably in allusion to the same play

that Ben Jonson says, in his Comedy of

“Every Man in his Humour,” act iii. sc. 4,

  • See above, Preface to Song I. Book II. of vol. p. 158.

† Since this conjecture first occurred, it has been disco-

vered that “shot so trim” was the genuine reading. See

Shakspeare ed. 1793, xiv. 393.

‡ See Meres Wits Treas. f. 283. Arte of Eng. Poes. 1589,

p. 51, 111, 143, 169.

"I have not the heart to devour thee, an' I

might be made as rich as King Cophetua."

At least there is no mention of King Cophe-

tua's riches in the present ballad, which is

the oldest I have met with on the subject.

It is printed from Rich. Johnson's "Crown

Garland of Goulden Roses," 1612, 12mo.

(where it is entitled simply "A Song of a

Beggar and a King"); corrected by another

copy.

I read that once in Africa

A princely wight did mine,

Who had to name Cophetua,

As poets they did faine:

From natures lawes he did decline,

5

For sure he was not of my mind,

He cared not for women-kinde,

But did them all disdaine.

But marke, what hapned on a day,

As he out of his window lay,

10

He saw a beggar all in gray,

The which did cause his paine.

The blinded boy, that shootes so trim

From heaven downe did hie ;

He drew a dart and shot at him,

15

In place where he did lye:

Which soone did pierce him to the quicke,

And when he felt the arrow pricke,

Which in his tender heart did sticke

He looketh as he would dye.

20

What sudden chance is this, quoth he,

That I to love must subject be,

Which never thereto would agree,

But still did it defie ?

Then from the window he did come,

25

And laid him on his bed,

A thousand heapes of care did runne

Within his troubled head :

Page 138

118

KING COPHETUA AND THE BEGGAR-MALD.

For now he means to crave her love,

And now he seekes which way to proove

How he his fancie might remooue,

31

And not this beggar wed.

But Cupid had him so in snare,

That this poor beggar must prepare

A salve to cure him of his care,

35

Or els he would be dead.

And, as he musing thus dyd lye,

He thought for to devise

How he might have her companye,

That did so 'maze his eyes.

40

In thee, quoth he, doth rest my life :

For surely thou shalt be my wife,

Or else this hand with bloody knife

The Gods shall sure suffice.

45

Then from his bed he soon arose,

And to his pallace gate he goes ;

Full little then this begger knowes

When she the king espied.

The Gods preserve your majesty,

50

The beggers all gan cry :

Vouchsafe to give your charity

Our children fuod to buy.

The king to them his purse did cast,

55

And they to part it made great haste ;

This silly woman was the last

That after them did hye.

The king he cal'd her back againe,

And unto her he gave his chaine ;

60

And said, With us you shal remaine

Till such time as we dye :

For thou, quoth he, shalt be my wife,

And honoured for my queene ;

With thee I meane to lead my life,

65

As shortly shall be seene :

Our wedding shall appointed be,

And every thing in its degree:

Come on, quoth he, and follow me,

Thou shalt go shift thee cleane.

What is thy name, faire maid? quoth he.

Penclophon,* O king, quoth she :

70

With that she made a lowe courtsy ;

A trim one as I weene.

  • Shakspere (who alludes to this ballad in his "Love's

Labour lost," act. iv. sc. 1), gives the Beggar's name Zenelo-

phon, according to all the old editions ; but this seems to be

a blunder : for Penelophon, in the text, sounds more like

Thus hand in hand along they walke

Unto the king's pallace:

The king with courteous comly talke

75

This begger doth imbrace :

The begger blusht with scarlet rod,

And straight againe as pale as lead.

But not a word at all she said,

She was in such amaze.

80

At last she spake with trembling voyce,

And said, O king, I doe rejoyce

That you wil take me for your choyce,

And my degree's so base.

And when the wedding day was come,

85

The king commanded strait

The noblemen both all and some

Upon the queene to wait.

And she behaved herself that day,

As if she had never walkt the way :

90

She had forgot her gown of gray,

Which she did weare of late.

The proverb old is come to passe,

The priest, when he begins his masse,

Forgets that over clerke he was ;

95

He knowth not his estate.

Here you may read, Cophetua,

'Though long time fancie-fad,

Compelled by the blinded boy

The begger for to wed :

100

He that did lovers lookes disdaine,

To do the same was glad and faine,

Or els he would himselfe have slaine,

In storie, as we read.

105

Disdaine no whit, O lady deere,

But pitty now thy servant heere,

Least that it hap to thee this yeare,

As to that king it did.

And thus they led a quiet life

110

During their princely raigne :

And in a tombe were buried both,

As writers sheweth plaine.

The lords they tooke it grievously,

The ladies tooke it heavily,

115

The commons cryed pitiously,

Their death to them was paine,

Their fame did sound so passingly

That it did pierce the starry sky,

And throughout all the world did flye

To every princes realme.*

  • V. 90, i. e. tramped the streets. V. 106, Here the Poet

addresses himself to his mistress. V. 112, Sheweth was

anciently the plur. numb.

  • An ingenious friend thinks the two last stanzas should

Page 139

TAKE THY OLD CLOAK ABOUT THEE.

119

VII.

Take thy Old Cloak about thee.

—is supposed to have been originally a Scotch ballad. The reader here has an ancient copy

in the English idiom, with an additional stanza (the 2d) never before printed. This

curiosity is preserved in the Editor's folio MS., but not without corruptions, which are

here removed by the assistance of the Scottish Edition. Shakspeare, in his Othello, act ii., has

quoted one stanza, with some variations, which are here adopted: the old MS. readings of that stanza are however given in the

margin.

This winters weather itt waxeth cold,

And frost doth freese on every hill,

And Boreas blowes his blasts soe bold,

That all our cattell are like to spill;

Bell my wiffe, who loves noe strife,

Shee sayd unto me quietlyc,

Rise up, and save cow Cumbockes liffe,

Man, put thine old cloak about thee.

IIe.

O Bell, why dost thou flyte 'and scorne?'

Thou kenst my cloak is very thin:

Itt is soe bare and overworn

A cricke he therof cannot renn:

Then he no longer borrowc nor lend,

'For once Ile new appareld bee,

To-morrow Ile to towne and spend,'

For Ile have a new cloakc about mee.

She.

Cow Crumbocke is a very good cowe,

Shee ha beene alwayes true to the payle

Shee has helpt us to butter and cheese, I trow,

And other things shee will not faylo;

I wold be loth to see her pine,

Good husband, councell take of mee,

It is not for us to goe soe fine,

Man, take thine old cloak about thee.

He.

My cloakc it was a very good cloakc,

Itt hath been alwayes true to the weare,

But now it is not worth a groat;

I have had it four and forty yeere:

Sometime itt was of cloth in graine,

'Tis now but a sigh clout as you may see,

16

It will neither hold out winde nor raine; 31

And Ile have a new cloake about mee.

She.

It is four and fourty yeeres agoe

Since the one of us the other did ken,

And we have had betwixt us towe

Of children either nine or ten;

Wee have brought them up to women and

men;

In the feare of God I trow they bee;

And why wilt thou thyselfe misken?

Man, take thine old cloake about thee. 40

IIe.

O Bell my wiffe, why dost thou 'lloute!'

Now is nowe, and then was then:

Seeke now all the world throughout,

Thou konst not clownes from gentlemen.

They are cladd in blacke, greene, yellowe, or

gray,

Soe far above their owne degree:

Once in my life Ile 'doe as they,'

For Ile have a new cloake about mee.

She.

King Stephen was a worthy peere,

His breeches cost him but a crowne,

He held them sixpence all too deere;

Therefore he called the taylor Lowne.

He was a wight of high renowne,

And thou se but of a low degree:

Itt's pride that puts this countrye downe,

Man, take thine old cloake about thee.

He.

'Bell my wife she loves not strife,

Yet she will lead me if she can;

And oft, to live a quiet life,

I am forced to yield, though Ime good-

man;'

Itt's not for a man with a woman to threspe,

Unlesse he first gave oer the plea:

As wee began wee now will leave,

And Ile take mine old cloake about mee.

V. 41, flyte, MS. V. 49, King Harry . . a very good king,

them 12d. to deere, MS. V. 50, I trow his hose cost but, MS. V. 51, He thought

was king and ware the crowne, MS. V. 52, clowne, MS. V. 53, He

Page 140

120

WILLOW, WILLOW, WILLOW.

VIII.

WILLOW, WILLOW, WILLOW.

It is from the following stanzas that Shakespeare has taken his song of the "Willow,"

in his Othello, act iv. sc. 3, though somewhat varied and applied by him to a female character. He makes Desdemona introduce it

in this pathetic and affecting manner:

"My mother had a maid call'd Barbara:

She was in love; and he she lov'd prov'd mad,

And did forsake her. She had a song of — Willow.

An old thing 'twas, but it express'd her fortune,

And she died singing it."

Ed. 1793, vol. xv. p. 613.

This is given from a black-letter copy in

the Popys collection, thus entitled, "A Lover's Complaint, being forsakon of his Lovo." To

a pleasant tune.

A poore soule sat sighing under a sicamore tree;

O willow, willow, willow!

With his hand on his bosom, his head on his knee:

O willow, willow, willow!

O willow, willow, willow! 5

Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garland.

He sigh'd in his singing, and after each grone,

Come willow, &c.

I am dead to all pleasure, my true-love is gone;

O willow, &c.

Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garland. 10

My love she is turned; untrue she doth prove;

O willow, &c.

She renders me nothing but hate for my love.

O willow, &c. 15

Sing, O the greene willow, &c.

O pitty me, (cried he) ye lovers, each one;

O willow, &c.

Her heart's hard as marble ; she rues not my mone.

O willow, &c. 20

Sing, O the greene willow, &c.

The cold streams ran by him, his eyes wept apace;

O willow,&c.

The salt tears foll from him, which drowned his face:

O willow, &c. 25

Sing, O the greene willow, &c.

The mute birds sate by him, made tame by his mone;

O willow, &c.

The salt tears foll from him, which softened the stones.

O willow, &c. 30

Sing, O the greene willow, &c.

Let nobody blame me, her scornes I do prove;

O willow, &c.

She was borne to be faire ; I, to die for her love.

O willow, &c. 35

Sing, O the greene willow, &c.

O that beauty should harbour a heart that's so hard !

Sing willow, &c.

My true love rejecting without all regard. 40

O willow, &c.

Sing, O the greene willow, &c.

Let love no more boast him in palace or bower ;

O willow, &c.

For women are trothles, and flote in an houre.

O willow, &c. 45

Sing, O the greene willow, &c.

But what helps complaining? In vaine I complaine:

O willow, &c.

Page 141

WILLOW, WILLOW, WILLOW.

121

I must patiently suffer her scorue and disdaine.

O willow, &c.

Sing, O the greene willow, &c.

Come, all you forsaken, and sit down by me,

O willow, &c.

He that 'plaine of his false love, mine's falsor than she.

O willow, &c.

Sing, O the greene willow, &c.

The willow wreath weare I, since my love did fleet;

O willow, &c.

A garland for lovers forsaken most meete.

O willow, &c.

Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garland !

PART THE SECOND.

Lowe lay'd by my sorrow, begot by disdaine;

O willow, willow, willow !

Against her to cruell, still still I complaine,

O willow, willow, willow !

O willow, willow, willow !

5

Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garland !

O love too injurious, to wound my poore heart !

O willow, &c.

To suffer the triumph, and joy in my smart;

O willow, &c.

Sing, O the greene willow, &c.

O willow, willow, willow ! the willow garland,

O willow, &c.

A sign of her falsenesse before me doth stand :

O willow, &c.

Sing, O the greene willow, &c.

As here it doth bid to despaire and to dye,

O willow, &c.

So hang it, friends, ore me in grave where I lye:

O willow, &c.

20

Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garland.

In grave where I rest mee, hang this to the view,

O willow, &c.

Of all that doe knove her, to blaze her untrue.

O willow, &c.

Sing, O the greene willow, &c.

With these words engraven, as opitaph moct,

O willow, &c.

"Hero lyes one, drank poyson for potion most sweet."

O willow, &c.

Sing, O the greene willow, &c.

Though she thus unkindly hath scorned my love,

O willow, &c.

And carelesly smiles at the sorrowes I prove ;

O willow, &c.

35

Sing, O the greene willow, &c.

I cannot against her unkindly exclaim,

O willow, &c.

Caus once well I loved her, and honoured her name:

O willow, &c.

Sing, O the greene willow, &c.

The name of her sounded so sweete in mine eare,

O willow, &c.

It ray'd my heart lightly, the name of my deare;

O willow, &c.

45

Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garland.

As then 'twas my comfort, it now is my griefe ;

O willow, &c.

It now brings me anguish ; then brought me reliefe.

O willow, &c.

Sing, O the greene willow, &c.

Farewell, faire false hearted: plaints end with my breath !

O willow, willow, willow !

Thou dost loath me, I love thee, though cause of my death.

O willow, willow, willow !

O willow, willow, willow !

Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garland.

16

Page 142

122

SIR LANCELOT DU LAKE.

XI.

Sir Lancelot du Lake.

This ballad is quoted in Shakspcare's second part of Henry IV., act ii. The subject of it is taken from the ancient romance of King Arthur (commonly called Morte Arthur), being a poetical translation of chap. cviii., cix., cx., in part 1st, as they stand in ed. 1634, 4to. In the older editions the chapters are differently numbered.—This song is given from a printed copy, corrected in part by a fragment in the editor's folio MS.

In the same play of 2 Henry IV., Silence hums a scrap of one of the old ballads of Robin Hood. It is taken from the following stanza of "Robin Hood and the Pindar of Wakefield :"

All this beheard three mighty yeomen, 'Twas Robin Hood, Scarlet, and John : With that they espy'd the jolly Pindar As he sate under a throne.

That ballad may be found on overy stall, and therefore is not here reprinted.

When Arthur first in court began, And was approved king, By force of armes great victorys wanne, And conquest home did bring.

Then into England straight he came With fifty good and able Knights, that resorted unto him, And were of his round table :

And he had justs and turnaments, Wherto were many prest, Wherein some knights did far excell And eke surmount the rest.

But one Sir Lancelot du Lake, Who was approved well, He for his deeds and feats of armes All others did excell.

When he had rested him a while, In play, and game, and sportt,

V. 18, to sportt, MS.

He said he wold goe prove himselfe In some adventurous sort.

He armed rode in a forrest wide, And met a damsell faire, Who told him of adventures great, Wherto he gave great eare.

Such wold I find, quoth Lancelott: For that cause came I hither.

Thou seemst, quoth shee, a knight full good, And I will bring thee thither.

Whereas a mighty knight doth dwell, That now is of great fame :

Therfore tell me what wight thou art, And what may be thy name.

"My namo is Lancelot du Lake." Quoth she, it likes me thin : There dwells a knight who never was Yet matcht with any man :

Who has in prison threescore knights And four, that he did wound ; Knights of King Arthurs court they be, And of his table round.

She brought him to a river side, And also to a tree,

Whereon a copper bason hung, And many shields to see.

He struck soe hard, the bason broke ; And Tarquin soon he spyed :

Who drove a horse before him fast, Whereon a knight lay tyed.

Sir knight, then sayd Sir Lancelott, Bring me that horse-load hither,

And lay him downe, and let him rest; Weel try our force together :

For, as I understand, thou hast, Sue far as thou art able,

V. 29, Where is often read by our old writers for whereas; here it is just the contrary.

Page 143

Done great despite and shame unto

The knights of the Round Table.

If thou be of the Table Round,

Quoth Tarquin speedilye,

Both thee and all thy fellowship

I utterly defye.

That's over much, quoth Lancelott tho,

Defend thee by and by.

They sett their speares unto their steeds,

And eache att other flie.

They coucht theire speares (their horses ran,

As though there had beene thunder),

And strucke them each immidst their shields,

Wherewith they broke in'sunder.

Their horsses backes brake under them,

The knights were both astound :

To avoyd their horsses they made haste

And light upon the ground.

They tooke them to their shields full fast,

They swords they drew out than,

With mighty strokes most eagerlyc

Each at the other ran.

They wounded were, and bled full sore,

They both for breath did stand,

And leaning on their swords awhile,

Quoth Tarquine, Hold thy hand,

And tell to me what I shall aske,

Say on, quoth Lancelot tho.

Thou art, quoth Tarquine, the best knight

That ever I did know :

And like a knight that I did hate:

Soe that thou be not bee,

I will deliver all the rest,

And elke accord with thee.

That is well said, quoth Lancelott;

But sith it must be soe,

What knight is that thou hatest thus ?

I pray thee to me show.

His name is Launcelot du Lake,

He slew my brother deere ;

Him I suspect of all the rest:

I would I had him here.

Thy wish thou hast, but yet unknowne,

I am Lancelot du Lake,

Now knight of Arthurs Table Round;

King Hauds son of Schuwake ;

And I desire thee to do thy worst.

Ho, ho, quoth Tarqin tho,

One of us two shall end our lives

Before that we do go.

If thou be Lancelot du Lake,

Then welcome shalt thou beo :

Wherefore see thou thyself defend,

For now defye I thee.

They buckled then together so,

Like unto wild boares rashling:*

And with their swords and shiclds they ran

At onc another slashing:

The ground besprinkled was wyth blood :

Tarquin began to yield ;

For he gave backe for wearinesse,

And lowe did beare his shield.

This soone Sir Lancelot espyde,

He leapt upon him then,

He pull'd him downe upon his knec,

And rushing off his helm,

Forthwith he strucke his necke in two,

And, when he had soe done,

From prison threescore knights and four

Delivered everye one.

  • Rushing seems to be the old hunting term to express the stroke made by the wild-boar with his fangs. To rase has apparently a meaning something similar. See Mr. Steevens's Note on K. Lear, act. iii. sc. 7 (ed. 1793, vol. xlv. p. 193), where the quartos read,

"Nor thy fierce sister

In his anointed flesh rash boarish fangs."

In K. Richard III, act iii., sc. 2 (vol. x. p. 667, 683).

"He dreamt

To night the Boar had rased off his helm."

Page 144

124

GERNUTUS THE JEW OF VENICE.

X.

Corydon's Farewell to Phillis,

–is an attempt to paint a lover's irresolution,

but so poorly executed, that it would not

have been admitted into this collection, if it

had not been quoted in Shakspeare's Twelfth-

Night, act ii. sc. 3.—It is found in a little

ancient miscellany, entitled “The Golden

Garland of Princedy Delights,” 12mo. bl. let.

In the same scene of the Twelfth-Night,

Sir Toby sings a scrap of an old ballad,

which is preserved in the Pepys collection,

[vol. i. pp. 33, 496.]; but as it is not only a

poor dull performance, but also very long,

will be sufficient here to give the first stanza :

The Ballad of Constant Susanna.

There dwelt a man in Babylon

Of reputation great by fame;

He took to wile a faire woman,

Susanna she was callede by name:

A woman fair and vertuous;

Lady, lady :

Why should we not of her learn thus

To live godly ?

If this song of Corydon, &c., has not more

merit, it is at least an evil of less magnitude.

Farewell, dear love; since thou wilt needs

be gone,

Mine eyes do shew, my life is almost done.

Nay I will never die, so long as I can spie

There be many mo, though that she doe goe,

There be many mo, I fear not :

Why then let her goe, I care not.

Farewell, farewell; since this I find is true

I will not spend more time in wooing you :

But I will seek elsewhere, if I may find

love there :

Shall I bid her goe? what and if I doe ?

Shall I bid her goe and spare not? 11

O no, no, no, I dare not.

Ten thousand times farewell;—yet stay a

while :—

Sweet, kiss me once; sweet kisses time be-

guile :

I have no power to move. How now am I

in love? 15

Wilt thou needs be gone? Go then, all is one.

Wilt thou needs be gone? Oh, lie theel

Nay stay, and do no more deny me.

Once more adieu, I see louth to depart 19

Bids oft adieu to her, that holds my heart.

But seeing I must lose thy love, which I

did choose,

Goe thy way for me, since that may not be,

Goe thy ways for me. But whither?

Goe, oh, but whither I may come thither.

What shall I doe? my love is now departed.

She is fair, as she is cruel-hearted. 25

She would not be intreated, with prayers

oft repented,

If she come no more, shall I die therefore?

If she come no more, what care I?

Faith, let her goe, or come, or tarry. 30

XI.

Gernutus the Jew of Venice.

In the “Life of Pope Sixtus V., translated

from the Italian of Greg. Leti, by the Rev.

Mr. Farnworth, folio,” is a remarkable pas-

sage to the following effect.

“It was reported in Roma that Drake had

taken and plundered St. Domingo in Hispan-

iola, and carried off an immense booty. This

account came in a private letter to Paul Sec-

chi, a very considerable merchant in the city,

who had large concerns in those parts, which

Page 145

he had insured. Upon receiving this news,

he sent for the insurer Sampson Ceneda, a

Jew, and acquainted him with it. The Jew,

whose interest it was to have such a report

thought false, gave many reasons why it

could not possibly be true, and at last worked

himself into such a passion, that he said, I'll

lay you a pound of flesh it is a lye. Secchi,

who was of a fiery hot temper, replied, I'll

lay you a thousand crowns against a pound

of your flesh that it is true. The Jew ac-

cepted the wager, and articles were immedi-

ately executed betwixt them, that, if Secchi

won, he should himself cut the flesh with a

sharp knife from whatever part of the Jew's

body he pleased. The truth of the account

was soon confirmed; and the Jew was almost

distracted, when he was informed, that Secchi

had solemnly sworn he would compel him to

an exact performance of his contract. A re-

port of this transaction was brought to the

Pope, who sent for the parties, and, being in-

formed of the whole affair, said, "when con-

tracts are made, it is but just they should be

fulfilled, as this shall ; take a knife, therefore,

Secchi, and cut a pound of flesh from any

part you please of the Jew's body. We ad-

vise you, however, to be very careful; for, if

you cut but a scruple more or less than your

due, you shall certainly be hanged."

The editor of that book is of opinion, that

the scene between Shylock and Antonio in

the "Merchant of Venice" is taken from this

incident. But Mr. Warton, in his ingenious

"Observations on the Faerie Queen, vol. i.

page 128," has referred it to the following

ballad. Mr. Warton thinks this ballad was

written before Shakspeare's play, as being

not so circumstantial, and having more of the

nakedness of an original. Besides, it differs

from the play in many circumstances, which

a mere copyist, such as we may suppose the

ballad-maker to be, would hardly have given

himself the trouble to alter. Indeed he ex-

pressly informs us, that he had his story from

the Italian writers. See the "Connoisseur,"

vol. i. No 16.

After all, one would be glad to know what

authority "Leti" had for the foregoing fact,

or at least for connecting it with the taking

of St. Domingo by Drake; for this expedition

did not happen till 1585, and it is very cer-

tain that a play of the "Jew," representing

the greedinesse of worldly chusers, and

bloody minds of usurers," had been exhibit-

ed at the play-house called the "Bull," before

the year 1579, being mentioned in Steph.

Gosson's "Schoole of Abuse,"* which was

printed in that year.

As fur Shakspare's "Merchant of Ven-

ice," the earliest condition known of it is in

quarto, 1600 ; though it had been exhibited

in the year 1598, being mentioned, together

with eleven others of his plays, in Meres's

"Wits Treasury," &c. 1598, 12mo. fol. 282.

See Malone's Shaksp.

The following is printed from an ancient

black-letter copy in the Pepys collection,† en-

titled, "A new Song, shewing the crueltie of

'Gernutus, a Jewe,' who, lending to a mer-

chant an hundred crowns, would have a

pound of his fleshe, because he could not pay

him at the time appointed. To the tune of

Black and Yellow.'

THE FIRST PART.

In Venice towne not long agoe

A cruel Jew did dwell,

Which lived all on usurie

As Italian writers tell.

Gernutus called was the Jew,

Which never thought to dye,

Nor ever yet did any good

'To them in streets that lie.

'Tis life is like a barrow hogge,

'That liveth many a day,

Yet never once doth any good,

Until men will him slay.

Or like a filthy heap of dung,

That lyeth in a whoard;

Which never can do any good,

'Till it be spread abroad.

So fares it with the usurer,

He cannot sleep in rest,

For feare the thiefe will him pursue

To plucke him from his nest.

'Tis heart doth thinke on many a wile,

How to deceive the poore;

'Tis mouth is almost ful of mucke,

Yet still he gapes for more.

  • Warton, ubi supra.

† Compared with the Ashmole Copy.

Page 146

126

GERNUTUS THE JEW OF VENICE.

His wife must lend a stilling,

For every weeke a penny,

Yet bring a pledge, that is double worth,

If that you will have any.

And soe, likewise, you keepe your day,

Or else you loose it all:

This was the living of the wife,

Her cow she did it call.

Within that citie dwelt that time

A marchant of great fame,

Which being distressed in his need,

Unto Gernutus came :

Desiring him to stand his friend

For twelve month and a day,

To lend to him an hundred crownes :

And he for it would pay

Whatsoever he would demand of him,

And pledges he should have.

No, (quoth the Jew with fearing lookes,)

Sir, aske what you will have.

No penny for the loane of it

For one your you shall pay

You may doe me as good a turne,

Before my dying day.

But we will have a merry feast,

For to be talk'd long :

You shall make me a bond, quoth he,

That shall be large and strong :

And this shall be the forfeyture;

Of your owne fleshe a pound.

If you agree, make you the bond,

And here is a hundred crownes.

With right good will the marchant he says:

And so the bond was made.

When twelve month and a day drew on

That backe it should be payd.

The marchants ships were all at sea,

And money came not in ;

Which way to take, or what to doe

To thinke he doth begin :

V. 32, Cow, &c. seems to have suggested to Shakspeare

Shylock's argument for usury taken from Jacob's management of Laban's sheep, act i. to which Antonio replies:

"Was this inserted to make interest good?

Or are your gold and silver ewes and rams?

"Shy. I cannot tell. I make it breed as fast."

And to Gernutus strait he comes

With cap and bended knec,

And sayde to him, Of curtesie

I pray you heare with mee.

My day is come, and I have not

The money for to pay :

And little good the forfeyture

Will doe you, I dare say.

With all my heart, Gernutus sayd,

Commaund it to your minde:

In thinges of bigger waight then this

You shall me ready finde.

He goes his way; the day once past

Gernutus doth not slacke

To get a sergiant presently;

And clapt him on the backe :

And layd him into prison strong,

And sued his bond withall;

And when the judgement day was come,

For judgement he did call.

The marchants friends came thither fast

With many a weeping eye,

For other means they could not find,

But he that day must dye.

THE SECOND PART.

"Of the Jews crueltie ; setting foorth the

mercilfulnesse of the Judge towards the Marchant. To the tune of Blacke and Yellow."

Some offered for his hundred crownes

Five hundred for to pay;

And some a thousand, two or three,

Yet still he did denay.

And at the last ten thousand crownes

They offered, him to save.

Gernutus sayd, I will no gold :

My forfeite I will have.

A pound of flesh is my demand,

And that shall be my hire.

Then sayd the judge, Yet, gód my friend,

Let me of you desiro

To take the flesh from such a place,

As yet you let him live:

Do so, and lo ! an hundred crownes

To thee here will I give.

Page 147

GERNUTUS THE JEW OF VENICE.

No: no: quoth he; no: judgement here:

Either take your pound of flesh, quoth he,

For this it shall be tride,

Or cancell me your bond.

For I will have my pound of fleshe

O cruell judge, then quoth the Jew,

From under his right side.

That doth against me stand !

20

60

It grieved all the companie

And so with griping grieved mind

His crueltie to see,

He biddeth them fare-well.

For neither friend nor foe could helpe

'Then' all the people pray'd the Lord,

But he must spoyled bee.

That ever this heard tell.

The bloudie Jew now readly is

Good people, that doe heare this song,

With whetted blade in hand,*

For trueth I dare well say,

To spoyle the bloud of innocent,

That many a wretch as ill as hee

By forfeit of his bond.

Doth live now at this day ;

25

65

And as he was about to strike

That seeketh nothing but the spoyle

In him the deadly blow:

Of many a wealthy man,

Stay (quoth the judge) thy crueltie;

And for to trap the innocent

I charge thee to do so.

Deviseth what they can.

Sith needs thou wilt thy forfeit have,

From whome the Lord deliver me,

Which is of flesh a pound ?

And every Christian too,

See that thou shed no drop of bloud,

And send to them like sentence eke

Nor yet the man confound.

That meaneth so to do.

For if thou doe, like murderer

*Since the first odition of this book was

Thou here shalt hanged bee:

printed, the Editor hath had reason to believe

Likewise of flesh see that thou cut

that both Shakspeare and the Author of this

No more than longes to thee:

ballad are indebted for their story of the Jew

40

(however they came by it) to an Italian

For if thou take either more or lesse

Novel, which was first printed at Milan in

To the value of a mite,

the year 1554, in a book entitled, Il pecorone,

Thou shalt be hanged presently,

nel quale si contengono Cinquanta Novelle

As is both law and right.

antiche, &c., republished at Florence about

Gernutus now waxt franticke mad,

the year 1748, or 9.—The Author was Ser.

And wotes not what to say ;

Giovanni Fiorentino, who wrote in 1378;

Quoth he at last, Ten thousand crownes

thirty years after the time in which the scene

I will that he shall pay ;

of Boccace's Decameron is laid. (Vid. Manni

45

Istoria del Decameron di Giov. Boccac. 4to.

And so I graunt to set him free.

Fior. 1744.

The judge doth answere make;

That Shakspeare had his plot from the

You shall not have a penny given;

Novel itself, is evident from his having some

Your forfeyture now take.

incidents from it, which are not found in the

At the last he doth demand

ballad: and I think it will also be found that

But for to have his owne.

he borrowed from the ballad some hints that

No, quoth the judge, doe as you list,

were not suggested by the novel. (See above,

Thy judgement shall be showne.

pt. 2, ver. 25, &c., where, instead of that spi-

55

rited description of the whetted blade, &c., the

*The passage in Shakspeare bears so strong a resem-

Prose Narrative coldly says, "The Jew had

blance to this, as to render it probable that the one suggested

prepared a razor," &c. See also some other

the other. See act iv. sc. 2.

passages in the same piecc.) This however is

"Bass. Why dont thou whet thy knife so earnestly ? &c."

spoken with diffidence, as I have at present

17

before me only the abridgement of the novel

which Mr. Johnson has given us at the end

V. 61, griped, Ashmol. copy.

Page 148

of his commentary on Shakspeare's play.

The translation of the Italian story at large

is not easy to be met with, having I believe

never been published, though it was printed

some years ago with this title, "The Novel,

from which the Merchant of Venice, written

by Shakspeare, is taken, translated from the

Italian. To which is added, a translation

of a novel from the Decamerone of Boccacio,

London, Printed for M. Cooper, 1755, 8vo."

XII.

The Passionate Shepherd to his Love.

This beautiful sonnet is quoted in the Merry

Wives of Windsor, act iii. sc. 1, and hath

been usually ascribed (together with the re-

ply) to Shakspeare himself by the modern

editors of his smaller poems. A copy of this

madrigal, containing only four stanzas (the

4th and 6th being wanting), accompanied

with the first stanza of the answer, being

printed in "The Passionate Pilgrime, and

Sonnets to sundry Notes of Musicke, by Mr.

William Shakspeare, Lond. printed for W.

Jaggard, 1599." Thus was this sonnet, &c.,

published as Shakspeare's in his lifetime.

And yet there is good reason to believe

that (not Shakspeare, but) Christopher Mar-

low wrote the song, and Sir Walter Raleigh

the "Nymph's Reply:" for so we are posi-

tively assured by Isaac Walton, a writer of

some credit, who has inserted them both in

his Compleat Angler,* under the character

of "that smooth song, which was made by

Kit Marlow, now at least fifty years ago; and

. . . an Answer to it, which was made by

Sir Walter Raleigh in his younger days. . . .

Old fashioned poetry, but choicely good."—

It also passed for Marlow's in the opinion of

his contemporaries ; for in the old poetical

miscellany, entitled, "England's Helicon,"

it is printed with the name of Chr. Marlow

subjoined to it; and the reply is signed Ignoto,

which is known to have been a signature of

Sir Walter Raleigh. With the same signa-

ture Ignoto, in that collection, is an imitation

of Marlow's beginning thus :

"Come live with me, and be my dear,

And we will revel all the year,

In plains and groves," &c.

  • First printed in the year 1653, but probably written

some time before.

Upon the whole I am inclined to attribute

them to Marlow, and Ralcigh ; notwithstand-

ing the authority of Shakspeare's Book of

Sonnets. For it is well known that as he

took no care of his own compositions, so was

he utterly regardless what spurious things

were fathered upon him. Sir John Oldcastle,

the London Prodigal, and the Yorkshire

Tragedy, were printed with his name at full

length in the title-pages, while he was living,

which yet were afterwards rejected by his

first editors Heminge and Condell, who were

his intimate friends (as he mentions both in

his will), and therefore no doubt had good

authority for setting them aside.†

The following sonnet appears to have been

(as it deserved) a great favourite with our

earlier poets; for, besides the imitation above

mentioned, another is to be found among

Donne's Poems, entitled, "The Bait," begin-

ning thus :

"Come live with me, and be my love,

And we will some new pleasures prove

Of golden sands, &c."

As for Chr. Marlow, who was in high re-

pute for his dramatic writings, he lost his

life by a stab received in a brothel, before the

year 1593. See A. Wood, i. 138.

Come livo with me, and be my love,

And we wil all the pleasures prove

That hils and vallies, dale and field,

And all the craggy mountains yield.

  • Since the above was written, Mr. Malone, with his usual

discernment, hath rejected the stanzas in question from the

other sonnets, &c., of Shakspeare, in his correct edition

of the Passionate Pilgrim, &c. See his Shaksp. vol. x.

p. 340.

Page 149

TITUS ANDRONICUS'S COMPLAINT.

There will we sit upon the rocks,

And see the shepherds feed their flocks,

By shallow rivers, to whose falls

Melodious birds sing madrigals.

There will I make thee beds of roses

With a thousand fragrant posies,

A cap of flowers, and a kirtle

Imbrodered all with leaves of mirtle;

A gown made of the finest wool,

Which from our pretty lambs we pull;

Slippers lin'd choicely for the cold;

With buckles of the purest gold;

A belt of straw, and ivie buds,

With coral clasps and amber studs:

And if these pleasures may thee move,

Then live with me, and be my love.

The shepherd swains shall dance and sing

For thy delight each May morning;

If these delights thy mind may move.

Then live with me and be my love.

THE NYMPH'S REPLY.

If that the World and Love were young,

And truth in every shepherd's toung,

These protty pleasures might me move

To live with thee, and be thy love.

But time drives flocks from field to fold,

When rivers rage, and rocks grow cold,

And Philomel becometh dumb,

And all complain of cares to come.

The flowers do fade, and wanton fields

To wayward winter reckoning yield:

A honey tongue, a heart of gall,

Is fancies spring, but sorrows fall.

Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses,

Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies,

Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten,

In fully ripe, in reason rotten

Thy belt of straw, and ivie buds,

Thy coral clasps, and amber studs;

All these in me no means can move

To come to thee, and be thy love.

But could youth last, and love still breed,

Had joyes no date, nor age no need;

Then those delights my mind might move

To live with thee, and be my love.

XIII.

Titus AndrONICUS's Complaint.

The reader has here an ancient ballad on

the same subject as the play of "Titus Andro-

nicus," and it is probable that the one was

borrowed from the other: but which of them

was the original, it is not easy to decide.

And yet, if the argument offered above in

page 125, for the priority of the ballad of the

Jew of Venice may be admitted, somwhat

of the same kind may be urged here; for

this ballad differs from the play in several

particulars, which a simple ballad-writer

would be less likely to alter than an inven-

tive tragedian. Thus, in the ballad, is no

mention of the contest for the empire between

the two bróthers, the composing of which

makes the ungrateful treatment of Titus

afterwards the more flagrant: neither is there

any notice taken of his sacrificing one of

Tamora's sons, which the tragic poet has

assigned as the original cause of all her

cruelties. In the play, Titus loses twenty-

one of his sons in war, and kills another for

assisting Bassianus to carry off Lavinia; the

reader will find it different in the ballad. In

the play he is betrothed to the emperor's son.

In the tragedy,

only two of his sons fall into the pit, and the

third, being banished, returns to Rome with

a victorious army, to avenge the wrongs of

his house: in the ballad, all three are en-

trapped and suffer death. In the scene, the

emperor kills Titus, and is in return stabbed

Page 150

130

TITUS ANDRONICUS'S COMPLAINT.

by Titus's surviving son. Here Titus kills

the emperor, and afterwards himself.

Let the reader weigh the circumstances,

and some others, wherein he will find them

unlike, and then pronounce for himself.—

After all, there is reason to conclude that

this play was rather improved by Shakspeare,

with a few fine touches of his pen, than originally written by him; for, not to mention

that the style is less figurative than his others

generally are, this tragedy is mentioned with

"Bartholomew Fair, in 1614," as one that

had then been exhibited "five-and-twenty or

thirty years :"* which, if we take the lowest

number, throws it back to the year 1589, at

which time Shakspeare was but 25; an earlier

date than can be found for any other of his

pieces :† and if it does not clear him entirely

of it, shews at least it was a first attempt.†

The following is given from a copy in "The

Golden Garland," entitled as above; compared with three others, two of them in black

letter in the Pepys collection, entitled "The

Lamentable and Tragical History of Titus

Andronicus," &c. "to the Tune of Fortune,"

printed for E. Wright. Unluckily, none of

those have any dates.

You noble minds, and famous martiall wights,

That in defence of native country fights,

Give eare to me, that ten yeeres fought for

Rome,

Yet reapt disgrace at my returning home.

In Rome I lived in fame full threescore

yeeres,

My name belov'd was of all my peeres;

Fulle five-and-twenty valiant sonnes I had,

Whose forward vertues made their father

glad.

For when Romes focs their warlike forces

bent,

Agninst them stille my sonnes and I were

sent;

  • Mr. Malone thinks 1591 to be the æra when our author

commenced a writer for the stage. See in his Shaksp. the

ingenious "Attempt to ascertain the order in which the

plays of Shakspeare were written."

† Since the above was written, Shakspeare's memory

has been fully vindicated from the charge of writing the

above play by the best critics. See what has been urged

by Steevens and Malone in their excellent editions of

Shakspeare, &c.

Against the Goths full ten yeares weary warre

We spent, receiving many a bloody scarre.

Just two-and-twenty of my sonnes were slaine

Before we did returne to Rome againe:

Of five-and-twenty sonnes, I brought but three

Alive, the stately towers of Rome to see.

When wars were done, I conquest home did bring

And did present my prisoners to the king,

The queene of Goths, her sons, and eke a

Moore,

Which did such murders, like was nere before.

The emperour did make this queene his wife,

Which bred in Rome debate and deadly strife;

The Moore, with her two sonnes did grow soe proud,

That none like them in Rome might be allowd.

The Moore soe pleas'd this new-made empress'

eic,

That she consented to him secretlie

For to abuse her husbands mariage bed,

And soe in time a Blackamore she bred.

Then she, whose thoughts to murder were

inclin'de,

Consented with the Moore of bloody minde

Against my selfe, my kin, and all my frindes,

In cruell sort to bring them to their endes.

Soe when in age I thought to live in peace,

Both care and grief began then to increase:

Amongst my sonnes I had one daughter

bright,

Which joy'd, and pleas'd best my aged

sight;

My deare Lavinia was betrothed than

To Cesars sonne, a young and noble man:

Who, in a hunting by the emperours wife,

And her two sonnes, bereaved was of life.

He being slaine, was cast in cruel wise,

Into a darksome den from light of skies:

The cruell Moore did come that way as then

With my three sonnes, who fell into the den.

The Moore then fetcht the emperour with

speed,

For to accuse them of that murderous deed.

Page 151

TITUS ANDRONICUS'S COMPLAINT.

131

And when my sonnes within the den were found,

In wrongfull prison they were cast and bound.

But nowe, behold! what wounded most my

mind,

The empresse two sonnes of savage kind 50

My daughter ravished without remorse,

And took away her honour, quite perforce.

When they had tasted of soe sweete a flowre,

Fearing this sweete should shortly turne to sowre,

They cutt her tongue, whereby she could not tell

How that dishonoure unto her befell.

Then both her hands they basely cutt off

quite,

Whereby their wickednesse she could not

write;

Nor with her needle on her sampler sowe

The bloudye workers of her direfull woe.

My brother Marcus found her in the wood,

Staining the grassie ground with purple bloud,

That trickled from her stumps, and bloud-

lesse armes:

Noe tongue at all she had to tell her harmes.

But when I sawc her in that woefull case,

With teares of bloud I wet mine aged face :

For my Lavinia I lamented more

Then for my two-and-twenty sonnes before.

When as I sawc she could not write, nor

speake,

With grief mine aged heart began to breake;

We spred an heape of sand upon the ground,

Whereby those bloudy tyrants out we found.

For with a staffe, without the helpe of hand,

She writt these wordes upon the plat of sand:

"The lustfull sonnes of the proud emperesse

Are doers of this hatefull wickednèssc."

I tore the milk-white hairs from off mine head,

I curst the houre, wherein I first was bred,

I wisht this hand, that fought for countrie's

fame,

In cradle rockt, had first beene stricken lame.

The Moore delighting still in villainy

Did say, to sett my sonnes from prison free

I should unto the king my right hand give,

And then my three imprisoned sonnes should

live.

The Moore I caus'd to strike it off with speede,

Whereat I grieved not to see it bleed,

But for my sonnes would willingly impart,

And for their ransome send my bleeding heart.

But as my life did linger thus in paine,

They sent to me my bootlesse hand againe,

And therewithal the heades of my three

sonnes,

Which filled my dying heart with fresher

moanes.

Then past relicfe, I upp and downe did goe,

And with my teares writ in the dust my woe:

I shot my arrowes* towards heaven hie

And for revenge to hell did often crye.

The empresse then, thinking that I was mad,

Like Furies she and both her sonnes were

clad,

(She nam'd Revengo, and Rape and murder

they)

To undermine and heare what I would say.

I fed their foolish veinest† a certaine space,

Untill my friendes did find a secret place,

Where both her sonnes unto a post were

bound,

And just revenge in cruell sort was found.

I cut their throates, my daughter held the

pan

Betwixt her stumps, wherein the bloud it

ran;

And then I ground their bones to powder

small,

And made a paste for pyes streight there-

withall.

Then with their fleshe I made two mighty

pyes,

And at a banquet served in stately wise.

  • If the ballad was written before the play, I should suppose this to be only a metaphorical expression, taken from that in the Psalms, "They shoot out their arrows, even bitter words." Ps. 64, 3.

† i. e. encouraged them in their foolish humours, or fancies.

Page 152

by Titus's surviving son. Here Titus kills

the emperor, and afterwards himself.

Let the reader weigh these circumstances,

and some others, wherein he will find them

unlike, and then pronounce for himself.—

After all, there is reason to conclude that

this play was rather improved by Shakspeare,

with a few fine touches of his pen, than originally written by him; for, not to mention

that the style is less figurative than his others

generally are, this tragedy was mentioned with

"Bartholomew Fair, in 1614," as one that

had then been exhibited "five-and-twenty or

thirty years:" which, if we take the lowest

number, throws it back to the year 1589, at

which time Shakspeare was but 25; an earlier

date than can be found for any other of his

pieces :* and if it does not clear him entirely

of it, shows at least it was a first attempt.†

The following is given from a copy in "Tho

Golden Garland," entitled as above; com-

pared with three others, two of them in black

letter in the Pepys collection, entitled "Tho

Lamentable and Tragical History of Titus

Andronicus," &c. "to the Tune of Fortune,"

printed for E. Wright. Unluckily, none of

these have any dates.

You noble minds, and famous martiall wights,

That in defence of native country fights,

Give care to me, that ten yeeres fought for

Rome,

Yet reapt disgrace at my returning home.

In Rome I lived in fame full threescore

yeeres,

My name belov'd was of all my peeres;

Fulle five-and-twenty valiant sonnes I had,

Whose forward vertues made their father

glad.

For when Romes foes their warlike forces

bent,

Against them stille my sonnes and I were

sent;

  • Mr. Malone thinks 1591 to be the era when our author

commenced a writer for the stage. See in his Shakspe. the

ingenious "Attempt to ascertain the order in which the

plays of Shakspeare were written."

† Since the above was written, Shakspeare's memory

has been fully vindicated from the charge of writing the

above play by the best critics. See what has been urged

by Steevens and Malone in their excellent editions of

Shakspeare, &c.

Against the Goths full ten yeares weary warre

We spent, receiving many a bloody scarre.

Just two-and-twenty of my sonnes were slaine

Before we did returne to Rome againe:

Of five-and-twenty sonnes, I brought but

three

Alive, the stately towers of Rome to see.

When wars were done, I conquest home did

bring

And did present my prisoners to the king,

The queene of Goths, her sons, and eke a

Moore,

Which did such murders, like was nere before.

The emporour did make this queene his wife,

Which bred in Rome debate and deadly strife;

The Moore, with her two sonnes did growe

soo proud,

That none like them in Rome might be allowd.

The Moore soe pleas'd this new-made empress'

eie,

That she consented to him secretely

For to abuse her husbands mariage bed,

And soe in time a Blackamore she bred.

Then she, whoso thoughts to murder were

inclin'de,

Consented with the Moore of bloody minde

Against myselfe, my kin, and all my friendes,

In cruell sort to bring them to their endes.

Soe when in age I thought to live in peace,

Both care and griefe began then to increase:

Amongst my sonnes I had one daughter

brightie,

Which joy'd, and pleas'd best my aged

sight;

My deare Lavinia was betrothed than

To Cesars sonne, a young and noble man:

Who, in a hunting by the emperours wife,

And her two sonnes, bereaved was of life.

He being slaine, was cast in cruel wise,

Into a darksome den from light of skies:

The cruell Moore did come that way as then

With my three sonnes, who fell into the den.

The Moore then fetcht the emperour with

speed,

For to accuse them of that murderous deed.

Page 153

TITUS ANDRONICUS'S COMPLAINT.

131

And whon my sonnes within the den were found,

In wrongful prison they were cast and bound.

But nowe, behold! what wounded most my

mind,

The empresse two sonnes of savage kind

My daughter ravished without remorse,

And took away her honour, quite perforce.

When they had tasted soc swcete a flowre,

Fearing this swcete should shortly turne to sowre,

They cutt her tongue, whereby she could not

tell

How that dishonoure unto her befell.

Then both her hands they basely cutt off

quite,

Whereby their wickednesse she could not write;

Nor with her needle on her sampler sowe

The bloudye workers of her direfull woe.

My brother Marcus found her in the wood,

Staining the grassie ground with purple bloud,

That trickled from her stumpes, and bloud-

lesse armes:

Noe tongue at all she had to tell her harmes.

But when I sawc her in that woefull case,

With teares of bloud I wet mine aged face:

For my Lavinia I lamented more

Then for my two-and-twenty sonnes before.

When as I sawc she could not write nor speake,

With grief mine aged heart began to breake;

We spred an heape of sand upon the ground,

Whereby those bloudy tyrants out we found.

For with a staffe, without the helpe of hand,

She writt these wordes upon the plat of sand:

"The lustfull sonnes of the proud emperèsse

Are doers of this hateful wickednèsse."

I tore the milk-white hairs from off mine head,

I curst the houre, whercin I first was bred,

I wisht this hand, that fought for countric's fame,

In cradle rockt, had first been stroken lame.

The Moore delighting still in villainy

Did say, to sett my sonnes from prison free

I should unto the king my right hand give,

And then my three imprisoned sonnes should live.

The Moore I caus'd to strike it off with speede,

Wherat I griev'd not to see it bleed,

But for my sonnes would willingly impart,

And for their ransome send my bleeding heart.

But as my life did linger thus in paine,

They sent to me my bootlesse hand againe,

And therewithal the heades of my three

sonnes,

Which filled my dying heart with fresher

moanes.

Then past reliefc, I upp and downe did goe,

And with my tcars writ in the dust my woe:

I shot my arrowes* towards heaven lie

And for revenge to hell did often crye.

The empresse then, thinking that I was mad,

Like Furies she and both her sonnes were

clad,

(She nam'd Revenge, and Rape and murder

they)

To undermine and heare what I would say.

I fed their foolish veinest a certaine space,

Untill my friendes did find a secret place,

Where both her sonnes unto a post were bound,

And just revenge in cruell sort was found.

When as I sawc she could not write nor speake,

I cutt their throates, my daughter held the pan

Betwixt her stumpes, wherein the bloud it ran:

And then I ground their bones to powder small,

And made a paste for pyes streight there-

withall.

Then with their fleshe I made two mighty pyes,

And at a banquet served in stately wise.

  • If the ballad was written before the play, I should sup-

pose this to be only a metaphorical expression, taken from

that in the Psalms, "They shoot out their arrows, even

bitter words." Ps. 64, 3.

† i. e. encouraged them in their foolish humours, or

fancies.

Page 154

130

TITUS ANDRONICUS'S COMPLAINT.

by Titus's surviving son. Here Titus kills

the emperor, and afterwards himself.

Let the reader weigh these circumstances,

and some others, wherein he will find them

unlike, and then pronounce for himself.—

After all, there is reason to conclude that

this play was rather improved by Shakspeare,

with a few fine touches of his pen, than originally written by him; for, not to mention

that the style is less figurative than his others

generally are, this tragedy is mentioned with

discredit in the Induction to Ben Jonson's

"Bartholomew Fair, in 1614," as one that

had then been exhibited "five-and-twenty or

thirty years:" which, if we take the lowest

number, throws it back to the year 1589, at

which time Shakspeare was but 25; an earlier

date than can be found for any other of his

pieces:* and if it does not clear him entirely

of it, shows at least it was a first attempt.†

The following is given from a copy in "The

Golden Garland," entitled as above; compared with three others, two of them in black

letter in the Pepys collection, entitled "The

Lamentable and Tragical History of Titus

Andronicus," &c. to the Tune of Fortune,"

printed for E. Wright. Unluckily, none of

those have any dates.

You noble minds, and famous martiall wights,

That in defence of native country fights,

Give eare to me, that ten yeeres fought for

Rome,

Yet reapt disgrace at my returning home.

In Rome I lived in fame fullo threescore

yeeres,

My name beloved was of all my peeres;

Fulle five-and-twenty valiant sonnes I had,

Whose forwarde vertues made their father

glad.

For when Romes foes their warlike forces

bent,

Against them stille my sonnes and I were

sent;

Against the Goths full ten yeares weary warre

Wo spent, receaving many a bloudy scarre.

Just two-and-twenty of my sonnes were slaine

Before we did returne to Rome againe:

Of five-and-twenty sonnes, I brought but

three

Alive, the stately towers of Rome to see.

When wars were done, I conquest home did

bring

And did present my prisoners to the king,

The queene of Goths, her sons, and elke a

Moore,

Which did such murders, like was nere before.

The emperour did make this queene his wife,

Which bred in Rome debate and deadly strife;

The Moore, with her two sonnes did grow

soo proud,

That none like them in Rome might be allowd.

The Moore soe pleas'd this now-mado emprors'

eie,

That she consented to him seacretlye

For to abuse her husbands mariage bed,

And soe in time a Blackamore she bred.

Then she, whose thoughts to murdor were

inclide,

Consented with the Moore of bloody minde

Against myselfe, my kin, and all my friendes,

In cruell sort to bring them to their endes.

Soe when in age I thought to live in peace,

Both care and griefe began then to increase:

Amongst my sonnes I had one daughter

brighte,

Which joy'd, and pleased best my aged

sight;

My deare Lavinia was betrothed than

To Cesars sonne, a young and noble man:

Who, in a hunting by the emperours wife,

And her two sonnes, bereaved was of life.

He being slaine, was cast in cruell wise,

Into a darksome den from light of skies:

The cruell Moore did come that way as then

With my three sonnes, who fell into the den.

The Moore then fetcht the emperour with

speed,

Woo to accuse them of that murderous deed.

  • Mr. Malone thinks 1591 to be the æra when our author commenced a writer for the stage. See in his Shaksp. the ingenious "Attempt to ascertain the order in which the plays of Shakspeare were written."

† Since the above was written, Shakspeare's memory has been fully vindicated from the charge of writing the above play by the best critics. See what has been urged by Steevens and Malone in their excellent editions of

Page 155

TITUS ANDRONICUS'S COMPLAINT.

131

And when my sonnes within the den were found,

In wrongful prison they were cast and bound.

But nowe, behold! what wounded most my mind,

The empresses two sonnes of savage kind so

My daughter ravished without remorse,

And took away her honour, quite perforce.

When they had tasted of soe swcete a flowre,

Fearing this swcete should shortly turne to sowre,

They cutt her tongue, whereby she could not tell

How that dishonoure unto her befell.

Then both her hands they basely cutt off quite.

Whereby their wickednesse she could not write;

Nor with her needle on her sampler sowe

The bloudye workers of her direfull woe.

My brother Marcus found her in the wood,

Staining the grassie ground with purple bloud,

That trickled from her stumpes, and bloud-losse armes:

Noe tongue at all she had to tell her harmes.

But when I sawc her in that woefull case,

With teares of bloud I wet mine aged face :

For my Lavinia I lamented more

Then for my two-and-twenty sonnes before.

When as I sawc she could not write nor speake,

With grief mine aged heart began to breake;

We spred an heape of sand upon the ground,

Whereby those bloudy tyrants out we found.

For with a staffe, without the helpe of hand,

She writt these wordes upon the plat of sand:

"The lustfull sonnes of the proud emperesse

Are doers of this hateful wickednesse."

I tore the milk-white hairs from off mine head,

I curst the houre, wherein I first was bred,

I wisht this hand, that fought for countrie's

fame,

In cradle rookt, had first been stroken lame.

The Moore delighting still in villainy

Did sav. to sett my sonnes from prison free

I should unto the king my right hand give,

And then my threc imprisoned sonnes should live.

The Moore I caus'd to strike it off with speede,

Whereat I grieved not to see it bleed,

But for my sonnes would willingly impart,

And for their ransomc send my bleeding heart.

But as my life did linger thus in paine,

They sent to me my bootlesse hand againe,

And therewithal the heades of my three

sonnes,

Which filled my dying heart with fresher

moanes.

Then past reliefe, I upp and downe did goe,

And with my teares writ in the dust my woe:

I shot my arrowes* towards heaven lie

And for revenge to hell did often crye.

The empresse then, thinking that I was mad,

Like Furies she and both her sonnes were clad,

(She nam'd Revenge, and Rape and murder

they)

To undermine and heare what I would say.

I fed their foolish veinest a certaine space,

Untill my friendes did find a secret place,

Where both her souncs unto a post were bound,

And just revenge in cruell sort was found.

I cut their throates,

my daughter held the

pan

Betwixt her stumpes, wherein the bloud it

ran :

And then I ground their bones to powder

small,

And made a paste for pyes streight there-

withall.

Then with their fleshe I made two mighty

pyes,

And at a banquet served in stately wise.

  • If the ballad was written beforo the play, I should sup-

pose this to be only a metaphorical expression, taken from

that in the Psalms, "They shoot out their arrows, even

bitter words." Ps. 64, 3.

† i. e. encouraged them in their foolish humours, or

fancies.

Page 156

132

KING LEIR AND HIS THREE DAUGHTERS.

Before the empresse set this loathsome meat;

So of her sonnes own flesh she well did eat.

Myselfe bereav'd my daughter then of life,

The empresse then I slew with bloudy knife,

And stabb'd the emperour immediatlie,

And then myself: even so did Titus die.

Then this revengo against the Moore was formd,

Alive they sett him halfe in the ground,

Whereas he stood untill such time he stary'd.

And so God send all murderers may be serv'd.

120

XIV.

Take those Lips away.

The first stanza of this little sonnet, which

an eminent critic* justly admires for its ex-

treme sweetness, is found in Shakspere's

"Measure for Measure," act iv. sc. 1. Both

the stanzas are preserved in Beaumont and

Fletcher's "Bloody Brother," act v. sc. 2.

Sewel and Gildon have printed it among

Shakspeare's smaller poems: but they have

done the same by twenty other pieces that

were never writ by him, their book being a

wretched heap of inaccuracies and mistakes.

It is not found in Jaggard's old edition of

Shakspeare's "Passionate Pilgrim,† &c.

Take, oh take those lips away,

That so sweetlye were forsworne;

And those eyes, the breake of day,

Lights, that do misleade the morne:

But my kisses bring again,

Seales of love, but seal'd in vaine.

Hide, oh hide those hills of snowe,

Which thy frozen bosom heares,

On whose tops the pinkes that grow

Are of those that April weare;

But first set my poor heart free,

Bound in those icy chains by thee.

5

10

XV.

King Leir and his three Daughters.

The render has here an ancient ballad on

the subject of King Lear, which (as a sensi-

ble female critic has well observed)‡ bears so

exact an analogy to the argument of Shaks-

peare's play, that his having copied it could

not be doubted, if it were certain that it was

written before the tragedy. Here is found

the hint of Lear's madness, which the old

chronicles § do not mention, as also the ex-

travagant cruelty exercised on him by his

daughters. In the death of Lear they like-

wise very exactly coincide.—The misfortune

is, that there is nothing to assist us in ascer-

taining the date of the ballad but what little

evidence arises from within ; this the reader

must weigh, and judge for himself.

It may be proper to observe, that Shaks-

peare was not the first of our Dramatic Poets

who fitted the story of Leir to the stage. His

first 4to edition is dated 1608 ; but three years

before that had been printed a play entitled

"The true Chronicle History of Leir and his

three daughters Gonorill, Ragan, and Cordel-

la, as it hath been divers and sundry times

lately acted, 1605, 4to."—This is a very poor

  • Dr. Warburton in his Shakesp.

† Mr. Malone in his Improved edition of Shakespeare's

Sonnets, &c., hath substituted this instand of Marlow's

Madri:gal, printed above, for which he hath assigned reasons

which the reader may see in his vol. x. p. 340.

‡ Mrs. Lenox. Shakespeare Illustrated, vol. iii. p. 302.

§ See Jeffery of Monmouth, Holinshed, &c., who relate

Lear's history in many respects the same as the ballad.

Page 157

and dull performauce, but happily excited

Shakspeare to undertake the subject which

he has given with very different incidents.

It is remarkable, that neither the circum-

stances of Leir's madness, nor the affecting

deaths of Cordelia and Leir, are found in that

first dramatic piece ; in all which Shakspeare

concurs with this ballad.

But to form a true judgment of Shakspeare's

merit, the curious reader should cast his eye

over that previous sketch, which he will find

printed at the end of the twenty plays of

Shakspeare, republished from the quarto im-

pressions by George Steevens, Esq., with such

elegance and exactness as led us to expect

that fine edition of all the works of our great

Dramatic Poet, which he hath since pub-

lished.

The following ballad is given from an an-

cient copy in the “Golden Garland,” bl. let.

entitled, “ A lamentable Song of the Death

of King Lear and his Three Daughters. To

the tune of When flying Fame.”

King Leir once ruled in this land

With princely power and peace;

And had all things with hearts content,

That might his joys increase.

Amongst those things that nature gave,

Three daughters fair bad he,

So princely seeming beautifal,

As fairer could not be.

So on a time it pleas'd the king

A question thus to move,

Which of his daughters to his grace

Could shew the dearest love :

For to my age you bring content,

Quoth he, then let me hear,

Which of you three in plighted troth

The kindest will appear.

To whom the eldest thus began;

Dear father, mind, quoth she,

Before your face, to do you good,

My blood shall render'd be :

And for your sake my bleeding heart

Shall here be cut in twain,

Ere that I see your reverend age

The smallest grief sustain.

And so will I, the second said;

Dear father, for your sake,

The worst of all extremities

I'll gently undertake :

And serve your highness night and day

With diligence and love ;

That sweet content and quietness

Discomforts may remove.

In doing so, you glad my soul,

The aged king reply'd;

But what sayst thou, my youngest girl,

How is thy love ally'd?

My love (quoth young Cordelia then)

Which to your grace I owe,

Shall be the duty of a child,

And that is all I'll show.

And wilt thou shew no more, quoth he,

Than doth thy duty bind?

I well perceive thy love is small,

When as no more I find.

Henceforth I banish thee my court,

Thou art no child of mine;

Nor any part of this thy realm

By favour shall be thine.

Thy elder sisters loves are more

Than well I can demand,

To whom I equally bestow

My kingdome and my land,

My pompall state and all my goods,

That lovingly I may

With those thy sisters be maintain'd

Until my dying day.

Thus flattering speeches won renown,

By these two sisters here;

The third has causeless banishment,

Yet was her love more dear :

For poor Cordelia patiently

Went wandring up and down,

Unhelp'd, unpity'd, gentle maid,

Through many an English town :

Untill at last in famous France

She gentler fortunes found;

Though poor and bare, yet she was deem'd

The fairest on the ground :

Where when her virtues heard,

And this fair lady seen,

With full consent of all his court

He made his wife and queen.

Her father King Leir this while

With his two daughters staid :

Page 158

134 KING LEIR AND HIS THREE DAUGHTERS.

Forgetful of their promis'd loves, Full soon the same decay'd; And living in Queen Ragan's court, The eldest of the twain, She took from him his chiefest means, And most of all his train. For whereas twenty men were wont To wait with bended knee: She gave allowance but to ten, And after scarce to three; Nay, one she thought too much for him; So took she all away, In hope that in her court, good king, He would no longer stay.

Am I rewarded thus, quoth he, In giving all I have Unto my children, and to beg For what I lately gave ? I'll go unto my Gonorell : My second child, I know, Will be more kind and pitiful, And will relieve my woe. Full fast he hies then to her court; Where when she heard his moan Return'd him answer, That all his means were gone : But no way could relieve his wants; Yet if that he would stay Within her kitchen, he should have What scullions gave away.

When he had heard, with bitter tears, He made his answer then; In what I did let me be made Example to all men. I will return again, quoth he, Unto my Ragan's court ; She will not use me thus, I hope, But in a kinder sort. Where when he came, she gave command To drive him thence away: When he was well within her court (She said) he would not stay. Then back again to Gonorell The woeful king did hie, That in her kitchen he might have What scullion boys set by.

But there of that he was deny'd Which she had promis'd late: For once refusing, he should not Come after to her gate. Thus twixt his daughters for relief He wandered up and down; Being glad to feed on beggars food, That lately wore a crown. And calling to remembrance then His youngest daughters words, That said the duty of a child Was all that love affords : But doubting to repair to her, Whom he had banish'd so, Grew frantick mad; for in his mind He bore the wounds of woe:

Which made him rend his milk-white locks And tresses from his head, And all with blood bestain his cheeks, With age and honour spread. To hills and woods and watry founts He made his hourly moan, To hills and woods and senseless things, Did seem to sigh and groan. E'en thus possest with discontents, He passed o're to France, In hopes from fair Cordelia there, To find some gentler chance; Most virtuous dame ! which when she heard Of this her father's grief, As duty bound, she quickly sent Him comfort and relief:

And by a train of noble peers, In brave and gallant sort, She gave in charge he should be brought To Aganippus' court ; Whose royal king, with noble mind So freely gave consent, To muster up his knights at arms, To fame and courage bent. And so to England came with speed, To repossesse King Leir, And drive his daughters from their thrones By his Cordelia dear. Where she, true-hearted noble queen, Was in the battel slain ; Yet he the good king, in his old days, Possest his crown again.

But when he heard Cordelia's death, Who died indeed for love Of her dear father, in whose cause She did this battle move ;

Page 159

FROLICKSOME DUKE, OR THE TINKER'S GOOD FORTUNE.

135

He swooning fell upon her breast,

From whence he never parted:

But on her bosom left his life,

That was so truly hearted.

The lords and nobles when they saw

The end of these events,

The other sistas unto death

They doomed by consents;

And being dead, their crowns they left

Unto the next of kin:

Thus have you seen the fall of pride,

And disobedient sin.

XVI.

Youth and Age.

----is found in a little collection of Shak-speare's Sonnets, entitied the "Passionate Pilgrime,"* the greatest part of which seems

to relate to the amours of Venus and Adonis, being little effusions of fancy, probably written while he was composing his larger Poem

on that subject. The following seems intended for the mouth of Venus, weighing the comparative merits of youthful Adonis

and aged Vulcan. In the "Garland of Good Will" it is reprinted, with the addition of four more such stanzas, but evidently written

by a meaner pen.

Crabbed Age and Youth

Cannot live together;

Youth is full of pleasure,

Age is full of care;

Youth like summer morn,

Age like winter weather,

Youth like summer brave,

Age like winter bare:

Youth is full of sport,

Ages breath is short;

Youth is nimble, Age is lame;

Youth is hot and bold,

Age is weak and cold;

Youth is wild, and Age is tame.

Age, I do abhor thee,

Youth, I do adore thee;

O, my love, my love is young:

Age, I do defie thee;

Oh, sweet shepheard, hie thee,

For methinks thou stayst too long.

  • See Malone's Shaksp. vol. x., p. 325.

XVII.

The Frolicksome Duke, or the Tinker's Good Fortune.

The following ballad is upon the same subject as the Introduction to Shakspeare's Taming of the Shrew: whether it may be

thought to have suggested the hint to the Dramatic poet, or is not rather of later date, the reader must determine.

The story is told† of Philip the Good, Duke of Burgundy; and is thus related by an old

English writer: "The said duke, at the mariage of Eleonora, sister to the king of Portugal, at Bruges in Flanders, which was solemnised in the deeps of winter; when as by

reason of unseasonable weather he could neither hawke nor hunt, and was now tired with cards, dice, &c., and such other domestic

sports, or to see ladies dance; with some of his courtiers, he would in the evening walke disguised all about the towne. It so fortuned,

as he was walking late one night, he found a countryman fellow dead drunk, snorting on a

  • Mentioned above, song xl. b. 11.

† By Ludov. Vires in Epis. and by Pont. Heuter. Rerum Burgund. l. 4.

18

Page 160

136

FROLICKSOME DUKE; OR,

bulko; he caused his followers to bring him

to his palace, and there stripping him of his

old clothes, and attyring him after the court

fashion, when he wakened he and they were

all ready to attend upon his excellency, and

persuade him that he was some great duke.

The poor fellow admiring how he came there,

was served in state all day long: after supper

he saw them dance, heard musicke, and all

the rest of those court-like pleasures: but late

at night, when he was well tipled, and again

fast asleepe, they put on his old robes, and

so conveyed him to the place where they first

found him. Now the fellow had not made

them so good sport the day before, as he did

now, when he returned to himself: all the

jest was to see how he looked upon it. In

conclusion, after some little admiration, the

poore man told his friends he had seen a

vision: constantly belicved it; would not

otherwise be persuaded, and so the jest

ended." Burton's Anatomy of Melincholy,

pt. ii. sec. 2, memb. 4, 2d ed. 1624, fol.

This ballad is given from a black-letter

copy in the Pepys collection, which is anti-

tled as above "To the tune of Fond boy."

Now as fame does report a young duke keeps

a court,

One that plenses his fancy with frolicksome

sport:

But amongst all the rest, here is one I protest,

Which will make you to smile when you hear

the true jest:

A poor tinker he found, lying drunk on the

ground,

As secure in sleep as if laid in a swound.

The duke said to his men, William, Richard

and Ben,

Take him home to my palace, we'll sport

with him then.

O'er a horse he was laid, and with care soon

convey'd

To the palace, altho' he was poorly arrai'd:

Then they stript off his cloaths, both his

shirt, shoes and hose,

And they put him to bed for to take his re-

pose.

Having pull'd off his shirt, which was all

over durt,

They did give him clean holland, this was no

great hurt:

On a bed of soft down, like a lord of renown,

They did lay him to sleep the drink out of

his crown.

In tho morning when day, then admiring he

lay,

For to see the rich chamber, both gaudy and

gay.

Now he lay something late, in his rich bed

of state,

Till at last knights and squires they on him

did wait;

And the chamberlain bare, then did likewise

declare,

He desired to know what apparel he'd ware:

The poor tinker amaz'd, on the gentleman

gaz'd,

And admired how he to this honour was rais'd.

Tho' he seem'd something mute, yet he chose

a rich suit,

Which he struitways put on without longer

dispute:

With a star on his side, which the tinker oft

ey'd,

And it seem'd for to swell him 'no' little

with pride;

For he said to himself, Where is Joan my

sweet wife?

Sure she never did see me so fine in her life.

From a convenient place, the right duke his

good grace

Did observe his behaviour in every case.

To a garden of state, on the tinker they

wait,

Trumpets sounding before him: thought he,

this is great:

Where an hour or two, pleasant walks he did

view,

With commanders and squires in scarlet and

blew.

A fine dinner was drest, both for him and his

guests,

He was plac'd at the table above all the rest,

In a rich chair 'or bed,' lin'd with fine crim-

son red,

With a rich golden canopy over his head: 40

As he sat at his meat, the musick play'd

sweet,

With the choicest of singing his joys to com

pleat.

Page 161

THE FRIAR OF ORDERS GRAY.

137

While the tinker did dine, he had plenty of wine,

Rich canary with sherry and tent superfine.

Like a right honest soul, faith, he took off

his bowl,

45

Till at last he began for to tumble and roul

From his chair to the floor, where he sleeping did snore,

Being seven times drunker than ever before.

Then the duke did ordain, they should strip him amain,

And restore him his old leather garments

again :

50

'Twas a point next the worst, yet perform it they must,

And they carry'd him strait, where they found him at first;

Then he slept all the night, as indeed well he might;

But when he did waken, his joys took their flight.

For his glory 'to him' so pleasant did seem,

That he thought it to be but a meer golden dream;

56

Till at length he was brought to the duke, where he sought

For a pardon, as fearing he had set him at nought;

But his highness he said, Thou'rt a jolly bold blade,

59

Such a frolick before I think never was plaid.

Then his highness bespoke him a new suit

and cloak,

Which he gave for the sake of this frolick-

some joak;

Nay, and five-hundred pound, with ten acres of ground,

Thou shalt never, said he, range the coun-

tries round,

Crying old brass to mend, for I'll be thy good friend,

65

Nay, and Joan thy sweet wife shall my duchess attend.

Then the tinker reply'd, What! must Joan

my sweet bride

Be a lady in chariots of pleasure to ride?

Must we have gold and land ev'ry day at command ?

Then I shall be a squire I well understand:

Woll I thank your good grace, and your love

I embrace,

71

I was never before in so happy a case.

XVIII.

The friar of Orders Gray.

Dispersed through Shakespeare's plays are

innumerable little fragments of ancient ballads, the entire copies of which could not be

recovered. Many of those being of the most

beautiful and pathetic simplicity, the Editor

was tempted to select some of them, and with

a few supplemental stanzas to connect them

together, and form them into a little Tale,

which is here submitted to the reader's can-

dour.

One small fragment was taken from Beau-

mont and Fletcher.

It was a friar of orders gray

Walkt forth to tell his beads;

18

And he met with a lady faire

Clad in a pilgrime's weedles.

Now Christ thee save, thou reverend friar,

5

I pray thee tell to me,

If ever at yon holy shrine

My true love thou didst see.

And how should I know your true love

From many another one ?

10

O, by his cockle hat, and staff,

And by his sandal shoone.*

  • These are the distinguishing marks of a Pilgrim. The

chief places of devotion being beyond sea, the pilgrims

were wont to put cockle-shells in their hats to denote the

intention of performance of their devotion. Warb. Shakespe

vol. viii. p. 224.

Page 162

138

THE FRIAR OF ORDERS GRAY.

But chiefly by his face and mien,

That were so fair to view ;

His flaxen locks that sweetly curl'd,

And oyne of lovely blue.

O lady, he is dead and gone!

Lady, he's dead and gone!

And at his head a green grass turfe,

And at his hecls a stone.

Within these holy cloysters long

He languisht and he dyed,

Lamenting of a ladyes love,

And 'playning of her pride.

Here bore him barefac'd on his bier

Six proper youths and tall,

And many a tear bedew'd his grave

Withiu you kirk-yard wall.

And art thou dead, thou gentle youth !

And art thou dead and gone!

And didst thou dye for love of me !

Break, cruel heart of stone !

O weep not, lady, weep not soe:

Some ghostly comfort seek :

Let not vain sorrow rive thy heart,

Ne teares bedew thy cheek.

O do not, do not, holy friar,

My sorrows now reprove ;

For I have lost the sweetest youth,

That e'er wan ladyes love.

And nowe, alas! for thy sad losse,

I'll evermore weep and sigh :

For thee I only wisht to live,

For thee I wish to dye.

Weep no more, lady, weep no more,

Thy sorrowe is in vaine :

For violets pluckt the sweetest showers

Will ne'er make growe again.

Our joys as winged dreams doe flye,

Why then should sorrow last?

Since grief but aggravates thy losse,

Grieve not for what is past.

O say not soe, thou holy friar ;

I pray thee, say not soe :

For since my true-love dyed for mee,

'Tis meet my tears should flow.

And will he ne'or come again ?

Will he ne'or come again?

Ah! no, he is dead and laid in his grave,

For ever to remain.

His cheek was redder than the rose ;

The comliest youth was he !

But he is dead and laid in his grave;

Alas, and woe is me !

Sigh no more, lady, sigh no more,

Men were deceivers ever :

One foot on sea and one on land,

To one thing constant never.

Hadst thou been found, he had been false,

And left thee sad and heavy ;

For young men ever were fickle found,

Since summer trees were leafy.

Now see not so, thou holy friar,

I pray thee say not soe ;

My love he had the truest heart:

O he was over true !

And art thou dead, thou much-lov'd youth,

And didst thou dye for mee?

Then farewoll home ; for ever-more

A pilgrim I will bee.

But first upon my true-loves grave

My weary limbs I'll lay,

And thrice I'll kiss the green-grass turf,

That wraps his breathless clay.

Yet stay, fair lady : rest awhile

Beneath this cloyster wall:

See through the hawthorn blows the cold

wind,

And drizzly rain doth fall.

O stay me not, thou holy friar ;

O stay me not, I pray ;

No drizzly rain that falls on me,

Can wash my fault away.

Yet stay, fair lady, turn again,

And dry those pearly teares ;

For see beneath this gown of gray

Thy owne true-love appears.

Here forc'd by grief, and hopeless love,

These holy weeds I sought;

And here amid these lonely walls

To end my days I thought.

Page 163

THE MORE MODERN BALLAD OF CHEVY-CHASE.

But haply for my year of grace*

Is not yet past away,

Might I still hope to win thy love,

No longer would I stay.

Now farewell grief, and welcome joy

Once more unto my heart;

For since I have found thee, lovely youth,

We never more will part.

*As the foregoing song has been thought

*The year of probation, or novitiate.

to have suggested to our late excellent poet

Dr. Goldsmith, the plan of his beautiful ballad of "Edwin and Emma," (first printed in

his "Vicar of Wakefield,") it is but justice

to his memory to declare, that his poem was

written first, and that if there is any imitation

in the case, they will be found both to be indebted, to the beautiful old ballad "Gentle

Herdsman," &c., printed in this work, which

the doctor had much admired in manuscript,

and has finely improved. See Series the

Second, book i. song xiv. ver. 37, &c.

THE END OF THE SECOND BOOK.

SERIES THE FIRST.

BOOK III.

I.

The more Modern Ballad of Chevy-Chase.

At the beginning of this volume we gave

the old original Song of "Chevy-Chase."

The reader has here the more improved edition of that fine heroic ballad. It will afford

an agreeable entertainment to the curious to

compare them together, and to see how far

the latter bard has excelled his predecessor,

and where he has fallen short of him. For

though he has everywhere improved the versification, and generally the sentiment and

diction; yet some few passages retain more

dignity in the ancient copy; at least the ob-

solateness of the style serves as a veil to hide

whatever might appear too familiar or vulgar

in them. Thus, for instance, the catastrophe

of the gallant Witherington is in the modern

copy expressed in terms which never fail at

present to excite ridicule: whereas in the

original it is related with a plain and pathetic

simplicity, that is liable to no such unlucky

effect: See the stanzn in page 4, which, in

modern orthography, &c., would run thus:

"For Witherington my heart is woe,

That ever he slain should be:

For when his legs were hewn in two

He knelt and fought on his knee."

So again the stanzn which describes the

fall of Montgomery is somewhat more elevated in the ancient copy:

"The dint it was both sad and sore,

He on Montgomery set:

The swan-feathers his arrow bore

With his heart's blood were wet."

We might also add, that the circumstances

of the battle are more clearly conceived, and

the several incidents more distinctly marked

in the old original, than in the improved

copy. It is well known that the ancient

English weapon was the long-bow, and that

this nation was excelled all others in archery;

while the Scottish warriors chiefly depended

on the use of the spear: this characteristic

difference never escapes our ancient bard,

whose description of the first onset (p. 53)

is to the following effect:

"The proposal of the two gallant earls t

Page 164

140

THE MORE MODERN BALLAD OF CHEVY-CHASE.

determine the dispute by single combat being overruled; the English, says he, who stood with their bows ready bent, gave a general discharge of their arrows, which slew seven score spearmen of the enemy: but, notwithstanding so severe a loss, Douglas like a brave captain kept his ground. He had divided his forces into three columns, who, as soon as the English had discharged the first volley, bore down upon them with their spears, and breaking through their ranks reduced them to close fighting. The archers upon this dropped their bows, and had recourse to their swords, and there followed so sharp a conflict, that multitudes on both sides lost their lives." In the midst of this general engagement, at length the two great carls meet, and after a spirited rencounter agree to breathe; upon which a parley ensues, that would do honour to Homer himself.

Nothing can be more pleasingly distinct and circumstantial than this: whereas, the modern copy, though in general it has great merit, is here unluckily both confused and obscure. Indeed the original words seem here to have been totally misunderstood, "Yet hydes the yerl Douglas upon the Bent," evidently signifies, "Yet the earl Douglas abides in the Field:" Whereas the more modern bard seems to have understood by Bent, the inclination of his mind, and accordingly runs quite off from the subject.*

"To drive the deer with hound and horn Earl Douglas had the bent." v. 109.

One may also observe a generous impartiality in the old original bard, when in the conclusion of his tale he represents both nations as quitting the field, without any reproachful reflection on either: though he gives to his own countrymen the credit of being the smaller number.

"Of fifteen hundred archers of England Went away but fifty and three; Of twenty hundred spearmen of Scotland, But even five and fifty."

He attributes flight to neither party, as hath been done in the modern copies of this ballad, as well Scotch as English. For, to be even with our latter bard, who makes the Scots to flee, some reviser of North Britain has turned his own arms against him, and printed an edition at Glasgow, in which the lines are thus transposed :

"Of fifteen hundred Scotrish spiers Went hame but fifty-three: Of twenty hundred Englishmen Scarce fifty-five did flee."

And to countenance this change he has suppressed the two stanzas between ver. 240 and ver. 249.—From that edition I have here reformed the Scottish names, which in the modern English ballad appeared to be corrupted.

When I call the present admired ballad modern, I only mean that it is comparatively so ; for that it could not be writ much later than the time of Queen Elizabeth, I think may be made appear; nor yet does it seem to be older than the beginning of the last century.* Sir Philip Sidney, when he complains of the antiquated phrase of "Chevy-Chase," could never have seen this improved copy, the language of which is not more ancient than that he himself used. It is probable that the encomiums of so admired a writer excited some bard to revise the ballad, and to free it from those faults he had objected to it. That it could not be much later than that time, appears from the phrase "Doleful Dumps," which in that age carried no ill sound with it, but to the next generation became ridiculous. We have seen it pass uncensured in a sonnet that was at that time in request, and where it could not fail to have been taken notice of, had it been in the least exceptionable: see above, b. ii. song vi. ver.

  • A late writer has started a notion that the more modern copy "was written to be sung by a party of English, headed by a Douglas, in the year 1524; which is the true reason why, at the same time that it gives the advantage to the English soldiers above the Scotch, it gives yet so lovely and so manfully superior a character to the Scotch commander above the English." See Say's Essay on the Numbers of Paradise Lost, 4to. 1745. p. 107.

This appears to me a groundless conjecture; the language seems too modern for the date above mentioned: and had it been printed even so early as Queen Elizabeth's reign, I think I should have met with some copy wherein the first line would have been,

God prosper long our noble queen,

as was the case with the Blind Beggar of Bednal Green ; see Sterles the Second, No. x. ver. 23.

  • In the present edition, instead of the unmeaning lines here censured, an insertion is made of four stanzas modernized from the ancient copy.

Page 165

THE MORE MODERN BALLAD OF CHEVY-CHASE.

2: Yet, in about half a century after, it

was become burlesque. Vide Hudibras, pt.

i. c. 3, v. 95.

This much premised, the reader that would

see the general beauties of this ballad set in

a just and striking light, may consult the ex-

cellent criticism of Mr. Addison.* With re-

gard to its subject: it has already been con-

sidered in page 51. The conjectures there

offered will receive confirmation from a pas-

sage in the Memoirs of Carey Earl of Mon-

mouth, 8vo., 1759, p. 165; whence we learn

that it was an ancient custom with the bor-

derers of the two kingdoms, when they were

at peace, to send to the Lord Wardens of the

opposite Marches for leave to hunt within

their districts. If leave was granted, then

and hunt for several days together "with

their Greyhounds for Deer:" but if they took

this liberty unpermitted, then the Lord War-

den of the border so invaded, would not fail

to interrupt their sport and chastise their

boldness. He mentions a remarkable in-

stance that happened while he was Warden,

when some Scotch Gentlemen coming to hunt

in defiance of him, there must have ensued

such an action as this of Chevy-Chase, if the

intruders had been proportionably numerous

and well-armed : for, upon their being attack-

ed by his men at arms, he tells us, "some

hurt was done, tho' he had given especiall

order that they should shed as little blood as

possible." They were in effect overpowered

and taken prisoners, and only released on

their promise to abstain from such licentious

sporting for the future.

The following text is given from a copy in

the Editor's folio MS. compared with two or

three others printed in black-letter.—In the

second volume of Dryden's Miscellanics may

be found a translation of Chevy-Chase into

Latin Rhymes. The translator, Mr. Henry

Bold, of New College, undertook it at the

command of Dr. Compton, bishop of London ;

who thought it no derogation to his episcopal

character, to avow a fondness for this excel-

lent old ballad. See the preface to Bold's

Latin Songs, 1685, 8vo.

God prosper long our noble king,

Our lives and safetyes all ;

  • In the Spectator, No. 70, 74.

A woefull hunting once there did

In Chevy-Chace befall;

To drive the deare with hound and horne,

Erle Percy took his way,

The child may rue that is unborne,

The hunting of that day.

The stout Erle of Northumberland

A vow to God did make,

His pleasure in the Scottish woods

Three summers days to take;

The cheefest harts in Chevy-Chace

To kill and beare away.

These tydings to Erle Douglas came,

In Scottland where he lay :

Who sent Erle Percy present word,

He would prevent his sport.

The English Erle, not fearing that,

Did to the woods resort.

With fifteen hundred bow-men bold;

All chosen men of might,

Who knew full well in time of neede

To ayme their shafts aright.

The gallant greyhounds swiftly ran,

To chase the fallow deere :

On Munday they began to hunt,

Ere day-light did appeare;

And long before high noone they had

An hundred fat buckes slaine;

Then having dined, the drovyers went

To rouze the deare againe.

The bow-men mustered on the hills,

Well able to endure;

Theire backsides all, with speciall care,

That day were guarded sure.

The hounds ran swiftly through the woods,

The nimble deere to take,*

  • The Chiviot Hills and circumjacent Wastes are at pre-

sent vold of Deer, and almost stlipp'd of their woods; but

formerly they had cnough of both to justify the descrip-

tion attempted here and in the Ancient Ballad of CHevy-C

Leyland, in the reign of Hen. VIII., thus describes this

county: " In Northumberland. as I heare say, be no forests,

except Chivet Hills; where is much Brush-Wood, and

some Okke; Growde overgrown with Lingc, and some

with Morse. I have hard say that Chivet Hilis stretcheth

Ver. 36, That they were, fol. MS.

Page 166

142

THE MORE MODERN BALLAD OF CHEVY-CHASE.

That with their eyes the hills and dales

An ceas, thrill did make.

40

Lord Percy to the quarry went,

To view the slaughter'd deere;

Quoth he, Erle Douglas promised

This day to meet me heere :

45

But if I thought he wold not come,

Noe longer wold I stay.

With that, a brave younge gentleman

Thus to the Erle did say :

Loe, yonder doth Erle Douglas come,

50

His men in armour bright;

Full twenty hundred Scottish speres

All marching in our sight;

All men of pleasant Tivydale,

55

Fast by the river Twede :

O cease your sports, Erle Percy said,

And take your bowes with speede.

And now with me, my countrimen,

60

Your courage forth advance;

For there was never champion yett

In Scotland or in Franco,

That ever did on horsobacke come,

But if my hap it were,

I durst encounter man for man,

65

With him to break a spere.

Erie Douglas on his milke-white steede,

Most like a baron bold,

Rode foremost of his company,

Whose armour shone like gold.

70

Show me, sayd hee, whose men you bee,

That hunt soe boldly heere,

That, without my consent, doe chase

And kill my fallow-deere.

The first man that did answere make

75

Was noble Percy hee;

Who sayd, Wee list not to declare,

Nor shew whose men wee bee.

Yet wee will spend our dearest blood,

Thy cheefest harts to slay.

Then Douglas swore a solempne oathe

80

And thus in rage did say,

Ere thus I will out-braved bee,

One of us two shall dye :

I know thee well, an erle thou art;

85

Lord Percy, soe am I.

But trust me, Percy, pittie it were

And greatt offence to kill

Any of these our guiltlesse men,

For they have done no ill.

90

Let thou and I the battell trye,

And set our men aside.

Accurst bee he, Erle Percy sayd,

By whom this is denyed.

Then stept a gallant squior forth,

95

Witherington was his name,

Who said, I wold not have it told

To Henry our King for shame,

That ere my captaine fought on foote

And I stood looking on.

100

You hee two erles, sayd Witherinton

And I a squier alone :

Ile doe the best that doe I may,

While I have power to stand :

While I have power to weeld my sword,

Ile fight with hart and hand.

Our English archers bent their bowes,

105

Their harts were good and trew;

Att the first flight of arrowes sent,

Full four-score Scots they slew.

  • [Yet bides Earl Douglas on the bent,

110

As Chieftan stout and good.

As valiant Captain, all unmov'd

The shock he firmly stood.

His host he parted had in three,

As Leader ware and try'd,

115

And soon his spearmen on their foes

Bare down on every side.

  • The four stanzas here enclosed in brack-ets, which are borrow'd chiefly fram the an-xx miles. There is greatt Plantú of Redde-Deer, and Roo BuRks." Itln. vol. vii. p. 50.—This passage, which did not occur when pages 74, 75, were printed off, confirm the accounts there giv'n of the Stagge and the Roe.

folio MS.

Page 167

To drive the deere with hound and horne,

Douglas bade on the bent;

Two captaines moved with mickle might

Their speares to shivers went.

Throughout the English archery

They dealt full many a wound;

But still our valiant Englishmen

All firmly kept their ground:

And throwing strait their bows away,

They grasp'd their swords so bright:

And now sharp blows, a heavy shower,

On shields and helmets light.]

They closed full fast on everye side,

Noe slacknes there was found;

And many a gallant gentleman

Lay gasping on the ground.

O Christ! it was a grief to see,

And likewyse for to heare,

The cries of men lying in their gore,

And scattered here and there.

At last these two stout erles did meet,

Like captaines of great might:

Like lyons wood, they layd on lode,

And made a cruell fight:

They fought untill they both did sweat,

With swords of tempered steele;

Until the blood, like drops of rain,

They trickling downe did feele.

Yeeld thee, Lord Percy, Douglas sayd;

In faith I will thee bringe,

Where thou shalt high advanced bee

By James our Scottish king:

Thy ransome I will freely give,

And this report of thee,

Thou art the most courageous knight

That ever I did see.

Noe, Douglas, quoth Erle Percy then,

Thy proffer I doe scorne;

I will not yeelde to any Scott,

That ever yett was borne.

With that, there came an arrow keene

Out of an English bow,

Which struck Erle Douglas to the heart,

A deepe and deidlye blow:

Who never spake more words than these,

Fight on, my merry men all;

For why, my life is at an end;

Lord Percy sees my fall.

Then leaving liffe, Erle Percy tooke

The dead man by the hand;

And said, Erle Douglas, for thy life

Wold I had lost my land.

O Christ! my verry hert doth bleed

With sorrow for thy sake;

For sure, a more redoubted knight

Mischance cold never take.

A knight amongst the Scotts there was,

Which saw Erle Douglas dye,

Who streight in wrath did vow revenge

Upon the Lord Percy:

Sir Hugh Mountgomery was he call'd,

Who, with a speare most bright,

Well-mounted on a gallant steed,

Ran fiercely through the fight;

And past the English archers all,

Without all dread or feare;

And through Erle Percyes body then

He thrust his hatefull speare;

With such a vehement force and might

He did his body gore,

The staff ran through the other side

A large cloth-yard, and more.

So thus did both these nobles dye,

Whose courage none could staine:

An English archer then perceiv'd

The noble erle was slaine;

He had a bow bent in his hand,

Made of a trusty tree;

An arrow of a cloth-yard long

Up to the head drew hee:

Against Sir Hugh Mountgomerys

So right the shaft he sett,

The grey goose-wing that was thereon,

In his harts blood was wett.

This fight did last from break of day,

Till setting of the sun;

Page 168

144

THE MORE MODERN BALLAD OF CHEVY-CHASE.

For when they rung the evening-bell,*

The battle scarce was done.

With stout Erle Percy, there was slaine

Sir John of Egerton,†

Sir Robert Ratclift, and Sir John,

Sir James that bold barron :

And with Sir George and stout Sir James,

Both knights of good account,

Good Sir Ralph Raby there was slaine,

Whose prowesse did surmount.

For Witherington needs must I wayle

As one in doleful dumps;‡

For when his leggs were smitten off,

He fought upon his stumpes.

And with Erle Douglas, there was slaine

Sir Hugh Montgomerye,

Sir Charles Murray, that from the feeld

One foote wold never flee.

Sir Charles Murray, of Ratcliff, too.

His sisters sonne was he;

Sir David Lamb, so well esteem'd,

Yet saved cold not beet

And the Lord Maxwell im like case

Did with Erle Douglas dye :

Of twenty hundred Scottish speres

Scarce fifty-five did flye.

Of fifteon hundred Englishmen,

Went home but fifty-three ;

The rest were slaine in Chevy-Chase,

Under the greene woode tree.

Next day did many widowes come,

Their husbands to bewayle ;

They washt their wounds in brinish teares,

But all wold not prevayle.

Theyr bodyes, bathed in purple gore,

They bare with them away :

They kist them dead a thousand times,

Ere they were cladd in clay.

  • Sc. the Curfew bell, usually rung at eight o'clock; to

which the modernizer apparently alludes, instead of the

"Evonsong bell," or bell for vespers of the original author,

before the Reformation. Vide supra, pag. 57, v. 57.

† For the surmames, see the Notes at the end of the

Ballad.

‡ i. e. "I, as one in deep concern, must lament." The

construction here has generally been misunderstood. The

old MS. reads wofull dumpes.

200

The newes was brought to Eddenborrow,

Where Scotland's king did raigne,

That brave Erle Douglas suddonlye

Was with an arrow slaine :

O heavy newes, King James did say,

Scotland may witnesse bee,

I have not any captaine more

Of such account as hee.

Like tydings to King Henry came,

Within as short a space,

That Percy of Northumberland

Was slaine in Chevy-Chase :

Now God be with him, said our king,

Sith it will noe better bee ;

I trust I have within my realme,

Five hundred as good as he :

Yett shall not Scots nor Scotland say,

But I will vengeance take :

I'll be reveng'd on them all,

For brave Erle Pereyes sake.

This vow full well the king perform'd

After, at Humbledowne ;

In one day, fifty knights were slayne,

With lords of great renowne ;

And of the rest, of small account,

Did many thousands dye :

Thus endeth the hunting of Chevy-Chase,

Made by the Erle Percy.

God save our king and bless this land

With plentye, joy, and peace ;

And grant henceforth, that foule debate

"Twixt noblemen may cease.

240

245

250

255

260

265

  • Since the former impression of these

volumes hath been published, a new edition

of Collins's Peerage, 1779, &c., ix. vols. 8vo.,

which contains. in volume ii. p. 334, an historical passage, which may be thought to throw

considerable light on the subject of the preceding Ballad : viz.

"In this . . . year, 1436, according to

Hector Boethius, was fought the battle of

Pepperden, not far from the Cheviot Hills,

between the Earl of Northumberland [IId

Earl], son of Hotspur], and Earl William

Douglas, of Angus, with a small army of

about four thousand men each, in which the

Page 169

iatter had the advantage. As this seems to

have been a private conflict hetween these

two great Chieftains of the Borderers, rather

than a national war, it has been thought to

have given rise to the celebrated old ballad

of Chevy-Chase ; which, to render it more

pathetic and interesting, has been heightened

with tragical incidents wholly fictitious."

[See Ridpath's Border Hist. 4to., p. 401.]

'The surnames in the foregoing ballad are

altered, either by accident or design, from

the old original copy, and in common editions

extremely corrupted. They are here rectified,

as much as they could be. Thus,

Page 144.

Ver. 202. Egerton.] This name is restored

(instead of Egerton, com. ed.) from the Edi-

tor's folio MS. The pieces in that MS. appear

to have been collected, and many of them

composed (among which might be this ballad)

by an inhabitant of Cheshire: who was

willing to pay a compliment here to one of

his countrymen, of the eminent family De or

Of Egerton (so the name was first written)

ancestors of the present Duke of Bridgewater ;

and this he could do with the more propriety,

as the Percies had formerly great interest in

that county : At the fatal battle of Shrews-

bury, all the flower of the Cheshire gentle-

men lost their lives fighting in the cause of

Hotspur.

Ver. 203. Ratcliff.] This was a family much

distinguished in Northumberland. Edw.

Radcliffe, mil., was sheriff of that county in

17 of Hen. VII., and others of the same sur-

name afterwards. (See Fuller, p. 313.)

George Ratcliff, knt., was one of the commis-

sioners of inclosure in 1552, (See Nichol-

son, p. 330.) Of this family was the late

Earl of Derwentwater, who was beheaded in

  1. The Editor's folio MS., however, reads

here, Sir Robert Harcliffe and Sir William.

The Harcleys were an eminent family in

Cumberland. (See Fuller, p. 224.) Whether

this may be thought to be the same name, I

do not determine.

Ver. 204. Baron.] This is apparently al-

tered (not to say corrupted) from Hcarone,

in p. 55, ver. 114.

Ver. 207. Raby.] This might be intended

to celebrate one of the ancient possessors of

Raby Castle, in the county of Durham. Yet

it is written Robhye, in the fol. MS., and looks

like a corruption of Rugby or Rokeby, an

eminent family in Yorkshire. See p. 56, p.

  1. It will not be wondered that the Percies

should be thought to bring followers out of

that county, where they themselves were

originally seated, and had always such exten-

sive property and influence.

Ver. 215. Murray.] So the Scottish copy.

In the com. edit. it is Carrel or Currel ; and

Morrell in the fol. MS.

Ver. 217. Murray.] So the Scot. edit.—

The common copies read Murrel. The fol.

MS. gives the line in the following peculiar

manner,

"Sir Roger Heuer of Harecliffe too."

Ver. 219. Lamb.] The folio MS. has

"Sir David Lambwell, well esteemed."

This seems evidently corrupted from Lwdalln

or Liddeil, in the old copy, see pages 55, 62.

II.

DEATH'S FINAL CONQUEST.

These fine moral stanzas were originally

intended for a solemn funeral song, in a play

of James Shirley's, entitled, "The contention

of Ajax and Ulysses ;" no date, 8vo.—Shirley

flourished as a dramatic writer early in the

reign of Charles I; but he outlived the Re-

storation. His death happened October 29,

1666, æt. 72.

19

This little poem was written long after

many of those that follow, but is inserted

here as a kind of dirge to the foregoing piece.

It is said to have been a favourite song with

K. Charles II.

THE glories of our birth and state

Are shadows, not substantial things ;

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146

THE RISING IN THE NORTH.

There is no armour against fate:

Death lays his icy hands on kings:

Sceptre and crown

Must tumble down,

And in the dust be equal made

With the poor crooked scythe and spade.

Some men with swords may reap the field,

And plant fresh laurel where they kill,10

But their strong nerves at last must yield;

They tame but one another still.

Early or late

They stoop to fate,

And must give up their murmuring breath,

When they pale captives creep to death.

16

The garlands wither on your brow,

Then boast no more your mighty deeds:

Upon death's purple altar now

See where the victor victim bleeds:

20

All heads must come

To the cold tomb,

Only the actions of the just

Smell sweet, and blossom in the dust.

III.

The Rising in the North.

The subject of this ballad is the great Northern Insurrection in the 12th year of Elizabeth, 1569; which proved so fatal to Thomas Percy, the seventh Earl of Northumberland.

There had not long before been a secret negotiation entered into between some of the Scottish and English nobility, to bring about a marriage between Mary Queen of Scots, at that time a prisoner in England, and the Duke of Norfolk, a nobleman of excellent character, and firmly attached to the Protestant religion. This match was proposed to all the most considerable considerable of the English nobility, and among the rest to the Earls of Northumberland and Westmoreland, two noblemen very powerful in the north. As it seemed to promise a speedy and safe conclusion of the troubles in Scotland, with many advantages to the crown of England, they all consented to it, provided it should prove agreeable to Queen Elizabeth. The Earl of Leicester (Elizabeth's favourite) undertook to break the matter to her; but before he could find an opportunity, the affair had come to her ears by other hands, and she was thrown into a violent flame. The Duke of Norfolk, with several of his friends, was committed to the Tower, and summons were sent to the northern earls instantly to make their appearance at court. It is said that the Earl of Northumberland, who was a man of a mild and gentle nature, was deliberating with him-

self whether he should not obey the message, and rely upon the queen's candour and clemency, when he was forced into desperate measures by a sudden report at midnight,

Nov. 14, that a party of his enemies were come to seize on his person.* The earl was then at his house at Topeliffe in Yorkshire. When rising hastily out of bed, he withdrew to the Earl of Westmoreland, at Brancopeth, where the country came in to them, and pressed them to take arms in their own defence. They accordingly set up their standards, declaring their intent was to restore the ancient religion, to get the succession of the crown firmly settled, and to prevent the destruction of the ancient nobility, &c. Their common banner† (on which was displayed the cross, together with the five wounds of Christ), was borne by an ancient gentleman, Richard Norton, Esq., of Norton-conyers: who with his sons (among whom was Christopher, Marmaduke, and Thomas, are expressly named by Camden), distinguished himself on this occasion. Having entered Durham, they tore the Bible, &c., and caused mass to be said there: they then marched on to Clifford Moor near Wetherbye, where they mustered their men. Their intention was to have proceeded on to York; but, altering their minds, they fell :

  • This circumstance is overlooked in the ballad.

† Besides this, the ballad mentions the separate banners of the two noblemen.

Page 171

THE RISING IN THE NORTH.

upon Barnard's castle, which Sir George

Bowes held out against them for eleven days.

The two earls, who spent their large estates

in hospitality, and were extremely beloved on

that account, were masters of little ready

money, the Earl of Northumberland bringing

with him only 8000 crowns, and the Earl of

Westmoreland nothing at all for the subsist-

ence of their forces, they were not able to

march to London, as they had at first intended.

In these circumstances, Westmoreland began

so visibly to despond, that many of his men

slunk away, though Northumberland still

kept up his resolution, and was master of

the field till December 13, when the Earl of

Sussex, accompanied with Lord Hunsden and

others, having marched out of York at the

head of a large body of forces, and being fol-

lowed by a still larger army under the com-

mand of Ambrose Dudloy, Earl of Warwick,

the insurgents retreated northward towards

the borders, and there dismissing their fol-

lowers, made their escape into Scotland.

Though this insurrection had been suppress-

ed with so little bloodshed, the Earl of Sussex

and Sir George Bowes marshal of the army

put vast numbers to death by martial law,

without any regular trial. The former of

these caused at Durham sixty-three constables

to be hanged at once. And the latter made

his boast, that, for sixty miles in length, and

forty in breadth, betwixt Newcastle and

Wetherby, there was hardly a town or village

wherein he had not executed some of the in-

habitants. This exceeds the cruelties prac-

tised in the west after Monmouth's rebellion:

but that was not the age of tenderness and

humanity.

Such is the account collected from Stow,

Speed, Camden, Guthrie, Carte, and Rapin;

it agrees in most particulars with the follow-

ing ballad, which was apparently the produc-

tion of some northern minstrel, who was well

affected to the two noblemen. It is here

printed from two MS. copies, one of them in

the Editor's folio collection. They contained

considerable variations, out of which such

readings were chosen as seemed most poetical

and consonant to history.

LISTEN, lively lordings all,

Lithe and listen unto me,

And I will sing of a noble earle,

The noblest earle in the north countrie.

Earle Percy is into his garden gone,

And after him walkes his faire ladie:*

I heard a bird sing in mine eare,

That I must either fight, or flee.

Now heaven forefend, my dearest lord,

That ever such harm should hap to thee:

But goe to London to the court,

And faire fall truth and honestie.

Now nay, now nay, my ladye gay,

Alas! thy counsell suits not mee;

Mine enemies prevail so fast,

That at the court I may not bee.

O goe to the court yet, good my lord,

And take thy gallant men with thee:

If any dare to doe you wrong,

Then your warrant they may bee.

Now nay, now nay, thou lady faire,

The court is full of subtillie;

And if I goe to the court, lady,

Never more I may thee see.

Yet goe to the court, my lord, she sayes,

And I my selfe will ride wi' thee:

At court then for my dearest lord,

His faithfull borrowe I will bee.

Now nay, now nay, my lady deare;

For lever had I lose my life,

Than leave among my cruell foes

My love in jeopardy and strife.

But come thou hither my little foot-page,

Come thou hither unto mee,

To maister Norton thou must goe

In all the haste that ever may bee.

Commend me to that gentleman,

And beare this letter here fro mee;

And say that earnestly I praye,

He will ryde in my companle.

One while the little foot-page went,

And another while he ran;

Untill he came to his journeys end

The little foot-page never blan.

When to that gentleman he came,

Down he kneeled on his knee;

  • This lady was Anne, daughtur of Henry Somerset, Earl

of Worcester.

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148

THE RISING IN THE NORTH.

And tunke the lettor betwixt his hands,

And lett the gentleman it see.

And when the lettor it was redd

Affore that goodlye companye,

I wis, if you the truthe would know,

There was many a weepynge eye.

He sayd, Come thither, Christopher Norton,

A gallant youth thou seemst to bee;

What doest thou counsell me, my sonne,

Now that good erle's in jeopardly?

Father, my counselle's fair and free;

That erle he is a noble lord,

And whatsoever to him you hight,

I wold not have you breake your word.

Gramercy, Christopher, my sonne,

Thy counsell well it liketh mee,

And if we speed and scape with life,

Well advanced shalt thou bee.

Come you hither, mine nine good sonnes,

Gallant men I trow you be:

How many of you, my children deare,

Will stand by that good erle and me?

Eight of them did answer make,

Eight of them spake hastilie

O father, till the daye we dye

We'll stand by that good erle and thee.

Gramercy now, my children deare,

You showe yourselvs right bold and brave;

And whethersoe'er I live or dye,

A fathers blessing you shal have.

But what sayst thou, O Francis Norton,

That art mine oldest son and heire :

Somewhat lyes brooding in thy breast;

Whatev'r it bee, to mee declare.

Father, you are an aged man,

Your head is white, your bearde is gray;

It were a shame at these your yeures

For you to ryse in such a fray.

Now fye upon thee, coward Francis,

Thou never learnedst this of mee :

When thou wert yong and tender of age,

Why did I make soe much of thee?

And he that strikes against the crowne,

Evor an ill death may he dee.

Then rose that reverend gentleman,

And with him came a goodlye band

To join with the brave Erie Percy,

And all the flower o' Northumberland.

With them the noble Nevill came,

The erle of Westmorland was he :

At Wetherbye they mustred their host,

Thirteen thousand faire to see.

Lord Westmorland his ancyent raisde,

The Dun Bull he rays'd on hye,

And three Dogs with golden collars

Were there sett out most royallye.*

Erle Percy theroe his ancyent spred,

The Halfe-Moone shining all soe faire:†

The Nortons ancyent had the crosse,

And the five wounds our Lord did beare.

  • Ver. 102. Dun Bull, &c. The suppporters of the Nevilles

were Two Bulls Argent, ducally

collared gold, armed Or, &c. But I have not discovered

the device mentiond in the ballad, among the badges, &c.,

given by that house. This however is certain, that, among

those of the Nevilles, Lord Abergavenny (who were of the

same family), is a dun cow with a golden collar; and the

Nevilles of Chely in Yorkeshire (of the Westmorland

branch), gave for their crest, in 1513, a dog's (greyhound's)

head erased.--So that it is not improbable but Charles

Neville, the unhappye Earl of Westmoreland here men-

tiond, might on this occasion give the above device on his

banner.--After all, our old minstrel's verses here may have

undergone some corruption; for, in another ballad in the

same folio MS., and apparently written by the same hand,

containing the sequel of this Lord Westmoreland's history,

his banner is thus described, moro conformable to his known

bearings:

"Set me up my faire Dun Bull,

With Gilden Hornes, he beares all soe hye."

† Ver. 106. The Halfe-Moone, &c.] The Silver Crescent

is a well-known crest or badge of the Northumberland

family. It was probably brought home from some of the

crusades against the Saracens. In an ancient pedigree in

vellum, and written in the reign of Henry VII. (in possession of the family), we

have this fabulous account given of its original.--The

author begins with recounting for the name of Gernon or

Algarmon, often borne by the Percies; who, he says, were

......Gernons fyrst namod Brutys bloude of Troy:

Which vallantly fy3tynnge in the land of Persa [Persia]

At poynte terrible ayance the myscreants on nyght,

An heynly mysterie was schewyd hym, old bookys rehearse;

In hys schold did schyne a Moone veryfying her lyght,

Whych to all the coste gave a perfytta fy3t,

To vaynqnys his enemys, and to deth them persue:

And therfore the Persæs [Percies] the Crescont doth renew.

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NORTHUMBERLAND BETRAYED BY DOUGLAS.

Then Sir George Bowes he straitwaye rose,

After them some spoyles to make: 110

Those noble erles turn'd backe againe,

And aye they vowed that knight to take.

Shee caus'd thirty thousand men bernays'd

With horse and harneis faire to see; 130

That baron he to his castle fled

To Barnard castle then fled hee.

She caused thirty thousand men to be raised,

The uttermost walles were eathe to win, 115

To take the earles i' th' North countrie.

The earles have wonne them presentlie.

Wi' them the false Erle Warwick went,

The uttermost walles were lime and bricke;

Th' Erle Sussex and the Lord Hunsden;

But though they won them soon anone,

Untill they to Yorke castle came

Long e'er they wan the innermost walles,

I wiss, they never stint no blan.

For they were cut in rocke of stone. 120

Now spred thy ancyent, Westmorland,

Then newes unto leede London came

Thy dun bull faine would we spyo:

In all the speede that ever might bee,

And thou, the Erle o' Northumberland,

And word is brought to our royall queene

Now raysye thy half moone up on hye.

Of the rysing in the North countrie.

But the dun bulle is fled and gone,

Her grace she turned her round about,

And the halfe moone vanished away:

And like a royall queene shee swore,*

The Erles, though they were brave and bold,

I will ordayne them such a breakfast,

Against soe many could not stay.

As never was in the North before.

  • This is quute in character : her majesty would sometimes swear at her nobles, as well as box their ears.

Thee, Norton, wi' nine eight good sonnes,

They doom'd to dye, alas ! for ruth ! 146

Thy reverend lockes thee could not save,

Nor them their faire and blooming youthe.

Wi' them full many a gallant wight

They cruellye bereav'd of life: 150

And many a childe made fatherlesse,

And widowed many a tender wife.

IV.

Northumberland Betrayed by Douglas.

This ballad may be considered as the sequel of the preceding. After the unfortunate

Earl of Northumberland had seen himself forsaken of his followers, he endeavoured to

withdraw into Scotland, but falling into the hands of the thievish borderers, was stript

and otherwise ill-treated by them. At length he reached the house of Hector, of Harlaw,

an Armstrong, with whom he hoped to lie concealed : for Hector had engaged his honour to be true to him, and was under great

obligations to this unhappy nobleman. But this faithless wretch betrayed his guest for a sum of money to Murray the Regent of Scotland, who sent him to the castle of Lough-

levon, then belonging to William Douglas.—

All the writers of that time assure us, that Hector, who was rich before, fell shortly after

take Hector's cloak, grew into a proverb to express a man who betrays his friend. See Camden, Carleton, Holingshed, &c.

Lord Northumberland continued in the castle of Lough-leven till the year 1572; when James Douglas Earl of Morton being elected Regent, he was given up to the Lord Hunsden at Berwick, and being carried to York suffered death. As Morton's party depending on Elizabeth for protection, an elegant historian thinks "it was scarce possible for them to refuse putting into her hands a person who had taken up arms against her.

But as a sum of money was paid on that account, and shared between Morton and his kinsman Douglas, the former of whom, during his exile in England, had been much in-

Page 174

150

NORTHUMBERLAND BETRAYED BY DOUGLAS.

debting to Northumberland's friendship, the abandoning this unhappy nobleman to inevitable destruction, was deemed an ungrateful and mercenary act." Robertson's Hist.

So far History coincides with this ballad, which was apparently written by some northern bard soon after the event. The interposal of the " Witch-Lady " (v. 53,) is probably his own invention: yet, even this hath some countenance from history ; for, about twenty-five years before, the Lady Jane Douglas, Lady Glamis, sister of the Earl of Angus, and nearly related to Douglas of Lough-leven, had suffered death for the pretended crime of witchcraft ; who, it is presumed, is the Witch-lady alluded to in verse 133.

The following is selected (like the former) from two copies, which contained great variations ; one of them in the Editor's folio MS. In the other copy some of the stanzas at the beginning of this Ballad are nearly the same with what in that MS. are made to begin another Ballad on the escape of the Earl of Westmoreland, who got safe into Flanders, and is feigned in the ballad to have undergone a great variety of adventures.

How long shall fortune faile me nowe, And harrowe me with fear and dread ?

How long shall I in bale abide, In misery my life to lead ?

To fall from my bliss, alas the while ! It was my sore and hearye lott ;

And I must leave my native land, And I must live a man forgot.

One gentle Armstrong I doe ken, A Scot he is much bound to mee :

He dwelleth on the border side, To him I'll goe right privilie.

Thus did the noble Percy 'plaine, With a heary heart and wel away

When he with all his gallant men On Branham moor had lost the day.

But when he to the Armstrongs came, They dealt with him all treacherouslye ;

For they did strip that noble earle : And ever an ill death may they dye.

Who sent him to the Lough-lovèn, With William Douglas to abide.

And when he to the Donglas came, He halched him right courteouslie,

Say'd, Welcome, welcome, noble earle, Here thou shalt safelie bide with mee.

When he had in Lough-leven been Many a month and many a day :

To the regent* the lord warden† sent, That bannischt earle for to betray.

He offered him great store of gold, And wrote a letter fair to see :

Saying, Good my lord. grant me my boon, And yield that banisht man to mee.

Earle Percy at the supper sate With many a goodly gentleman :

The wylic Douglas then bespake, And thus to flyte with him began :

What makes you be so sad, my lord, And in your mind so sorrowfullè ?

To-morrow a shootinge will bee held Among the lords of the North countryè.

The butts are sett, the shooting's made, And there will bee great royaltye :

And I am sworne into my hille, Thither to bring my Lord Percyè.

I'll give thee my hand, thou gentle Douglas, And here by my true faith, quoth hee,

If thou wilt ryde to the worldes end I will ryde in thy companye.

And then bespake a lady faire, Mary à Douglas was her name :

You shall byde here, good English lord, My brother is a traiterous man.

He is a traitor stout and strong, As I tell you in privitie :

For he hath tane liverance of the earle,‡ Into England nowe to 'liver thee.

Now may, now may, thou goodly lady, The regent is a noble lord :

  • James Douglas, Earl of Morton, elected regent of Scot

Page 175

NORTHUMBERLAND BETRAYED BY DOUGLAS.

151

No for the gold in all England

The Douglas wold not break his word.

When the regent was a banisht man,

With me he did faire welcome find;

And whether weal or woe betide,

I still shall find him true and kind.

Betwixte England and Scotland it wold breake truce,

And friends againe they wold never bee,

If they shold 'liver a banisht erle

Was driven out of his own countrie.

Alas! alas! my lord, she sayes,

Nowe nickle is their traitorle;

Then lett my brother ryde his wayes,

And tell those English lords from thee,

How that you cannot with him ryde,

Becanse you are in an ile of the sea,*

Then ere my brother come againe

To Edenborow castle † He carry thee.

To the Lord Hume I will thee bring,

He is well knowne a truc Scots lord,

And he will lose both land and life,

Ere he with thee will break his word.

Much is my woe, Lord Percy sayd,

When I thinke on my own countrie,

When I thinke on the hearyo happe

My friends have suffered there for mee.

Much is my woe, Lord Percy sayd,

And sore those wars my minde distressc;

Where many a widow lost her mate,

And many a child was fathorlesse.

And now that I a banisht man

Shold bring such evil happe with mee,

To cause my faire and noble friends

To be suspect of treacherie:

This rives my heart with double woe;

And lever had I dye this day,

Than thinke a Douglas can be false,

Or ever he will his guest betray.

65

71

75

80

85

90

95

100

Yet step one moment here aside,

He showe you all your foes in field.

Lady, I never loved witchcraft,

Never dealt in privy wyle;

But evermore held the high-wayc

Of truth and honour, free from guile.

If you'll not come yourselfe, my lorde,

Yet send your chamberlaine with mee;

Let me but speak three words with him,

And he shall come againe to thee.

James Swynard with that lady went,

She showed him through the weme of her ring

How many English lords there were

Waiting for his master and him.

And who walkes yonder, my good lady,

So royallye on yonder greene?

O yonder is the Lord I Iunsden:*

Alas! he'll doe you drie and teene.

And who both yonder, thou gay ladye,

That walkes so proudly him beside?

That is Sir William Drury,† shee sayd,

A keene captàine hee is and tryde.

How many miles is itt, madàme,

Betwixt yond English lords and mee?

Marry it is thrice fifty miles,

To saile to them upon the sea.

I never was on English ground,

Ne never sawc it with mine eye,

But as my book it sheweth mee;

And through my ring I may descrye.

My mother shee was a witch lady,

And of her skille she learned mee;

She wold let me see out of Lough-leven

What they did in London citie.

But who is yond, thou ladye faire,

That looketh with sic an austerne face?

Yondor is Sir John Foster,‡ quoth shee,

Alas! he'll do ye sore disgrace.

105

111

115

120

125

130

135

140

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152

NORTHUMBERLAND BETRAYED BY DOUGLAS.

And he is gone to his noble lord,

Those sorrowful tidings him to show.

Now nay, now nay, good James Swynàrd,

I may not believe that witch ladie ;

The Douglasses were ever true,

And they can ne'er prove false to mee.

I have now in Lough-leven been

The most part of these years three,

Yett have I never had noe outrake,

Ne no good games that I cold see.

Therefore I'll to yond shooting wend,

As to the Douglas I have hight:

Betide me weale, betide me woe,

He ne'er shall find my promise light.

He writhe a gold ring from his finger,

And gave itt to that gay ladie :

Sayes, It was all that I cold save,

In Harley woods where I cold bee.

And wilt thou goe, thou noble lord,

Then farewell truth and honestie;

And farewell heart and farewell hand;

For never more I shall thee see.

The wind was faire, the boatmen call'd,

And all the saylors were on borde ;

Then William Douglas took to his boat,

And with him went that noble lord.

Then he cast up a silver wand,

Says, Gentle lady, fare thee well !

The lady fett a sigh so deep,

And in a dead swoone down shee fell.

Now let us goe back, Douglas, he sayd,

A sickness hath taken yond faire ladie;

If ought befell yond lady but good,

Then blamed for ever I shall bee.

Come on, come on, my lord, he sayes;

Come on, come on, and let her bee :

There's ladyes enow in Lough-leven

For to cheere that gay ladie.

If you'll not turne yourself, my lord,

Let me goe with my chamberlaine;

We will but comfort that faire lady,

And wee will return to you againe.

My sister is craftye, and wold beguile

A thousand such as you and mee.

When they had sayled* fifty myle,

Now fifty mile upon the sea;

Hee sent his man to ask the Douglas,

When they shold that shooting see.

Faire words, quoth he, they make fooles faine,

And that by thee and thy lord is seen:

You may hap to thinke itt soone enow,

Ere you that shooting reach, I ween.

Jamye his hatt pulled over his browc,

He thought his lord then was betray'd :

And he is to Erie Perey againc,

To tell him what the Douglas sayd.

Hold upp thy head, man, quoth his lord ;

Nor therfore lett thy courage fayle,

He did it but to prove thy heart,

To see if he cold make it quail.

When they had other fifty sayld,

Other fifty mile upon the sea,

Lord Perey called to Douglas himselffe,

Sayd, What wilt thou nowe doe with mee?

Looke that your brydle be wight, my lord,

And your horse goe swift as shipp att sea:

Looke that your spurres be bright and sharpe,

That you may pricke her while she'll away.

What needeth this, Douglas? he sayth ;

What needest thou to flyte with mee?

For I was counted horseman good

Before that ever I mett with thee.

A false Hector hath my horse,

Who dealt with mee so treacherouslie:

A false Armstrong hath my spurres,

And all the geere belongs to mee.

When they had sayled other fifty mile,

Other fifty mile upon the sea;

They landed low by Berwicke side,

A deput'd 'laird' landed Lord Percy.

Then he at Yorke was doomde to die,

It was, alas ! a sorrowful sight:

Thus they betrayed that noble earle,

Who ever was a gallant wight.

Page 177

MY MIND TO ME A KINGDOM IS.

153

V.

My Mind to me a Kingdom is.

This excellent philosophical song appears to have been famous in the sixteenth century. It is quoted by Ben Jonson in his play of "Every Man out of his Humour," first acted in 1599, act i. sc. 1, where an impatient person says,

"I am no such pil'd cynique to believe That beggery is the onely happines, Or, with a number of those patient fooles, To sing, 'My minde to me a kingdome is,' When the lanke hungrie belly barkes for foode."

It is here chiefly printed from a thin quarto Music book, entitled, "Psalmes, Sonets, and Songs of sadnes and pietic, made into Musicke of five parts: &c. By William Byrd, one of the Gent. of the Queenes Majestics honorable Chappell.—Printed by Thomas East, &c.," 4to. no date: but Ames in his Typog. has mentioned another edit. of the same book, dated 1588, which I take to have been later than this.

Some improvements, and an additional stanza (sc. the 5th) were had from two other ancient copies; one of them in black letter in the Pepys Collection, thus inscribed, "A sweet and pleasant sonet, intituled, 'My MInde to me a Kingdom is.' To the tune of In Crete, &c."

Some of the stanzas in this poem were printed by Byrd separate from the rest: they are here given in what seemed the most natural order.

My minde to me a kingdom is ;

Such perfect joy therein I finde

As farre exceeds all earthly blisse,

That God or Nature hath assignde :

Though much I want, that most would have,

Yet still my mind forbids to crave.

Content I live, this is my stay ;

I seek no more than may suffice:

Loe! thus I triumph like a king,

Content with that my mind doth bring.

I see how plentie surfets oft,

And hastie climbers soonest fall :

I see that such as sit aloft

Mishap doth threaten most of all ;

These get with toile, and keep with feare:

Such cares my mind could never beare.

No princely pompe, nor welthie store,

No force to winne the victorie,

No wylic wit to salve a sore,

No shape to winue a lovers eye ;

To none of these I yeeld as thrall,

For why my mind despiseth all.

Some have too much, yet still they crave,

I little have, yet seek no more:

They are but poore, tho much they have ;

And I am rich with little store:

They poore, I rich ; they beg, I give;

They lacke, I lend ; they pine, I live.

I laugh not at anothers losse,

I grudge not at anothers gaine ;

No worldly wave my mind can tosse,

I brooke that is anothers bane:

I feare no foe, nor fawne on friend ;

I lothe not life, nor dread mine end.

I joy not in no earthly blisse;

I weigh not Crcsus' welth with a straw;

For care, I care not what it is ;

I feare not fortunes fatall law :

My mind is such as may not more

For beautie bright or force of love.

I wish but what I have at will ;

I wander not to seeke for more;

I like the plaine, I clime no hill ;

In greatest stormes I sitte on shore,

And laugh at them that toile in vaine

To get what must be lost againe.

Page 178

152

NORTHUMBERLAND BETRAYED BY DOUGLAS.

And he is gone to his noble lord,

Those sorrowful tidings him to show.

Now nay, now nay, good James Swynàrd,

I may not believe that witch ladle ;

The Douglasses were ever true,

And they can ne'er prove false to mee.

I have now in Lough-leven been

The most part of these years three,

Yett have I never had noe outrake,

No no good games that I cold see.

Therefore I'll to yond shooting wend,

As to the Douglas I have hight:

Betide me weale, betide me woe,

He ne'er shall find my promise light.

He writhe a gold ring from his finger,

And gave itt to that gay ladle:

Sayes, It was all that I cold save,

In Harley woods where I cold bee.*

And wilt thou goe, thou noble lord,

Then farewell truth and honestie ;

And farewell heart and farewell hand;

For never more I shall thee see.

The wind was faire, the boatmen call'd,

And all the saylors were on borde ;

Then William Douglas took to his boat,

And with him went that noble lord.

Then he cast up a silver wand,

Says, Gentlo lady, fare thee well !

The lady fett a sigh soe deep,

And in a dead swoone down shee fell.

Now let us goe back, Douglas, he sayd,

A sickness hath taken yond faire ladle ;

If ought befall yond ladie but good,

Then blamed for ever I shall bee.

Come on, come on, my lord, he sayes ;

Come on, come on, and let her bee:

There's ladyes cnow in Lough-leven

For to cheere that gay ladle.

If you'll not turne yourself, my lord,

Let me goe with my chamberlaine;

We will but comfort that faire lady,

And wee will return to you againe.

Come on, come on, my lord, he sayes

Come on, come on, and let her bee:

My sister is craftye, and wold beguile

A thousand such as you and mee.

When they had sayled* fifty mylo,

Now fifty mile upon the sea ;

Hea sent his man to ask the Douglas,

When they shold that shooting see.

Faire words, quoth he, they make fooles faine,

And that by thee and thy lord is seen :

You may hap to thinke itt soone enough,

Ere you that shooting reach, I ween.

Jamye his hatt pulled over his browe,

He thought his lord then was betray'd ;

And he is to Erle Percy againc,

To tell him what the Douglas sayd.

Hold upp thy head, man, quoth his lord ;

Nor therfore lett thy courage fayle,

He did it but to prove thy heart,

To see if he cold make it quail.

When they had other fifty sayld,

Other fifty mile upon the sea,

Lord Percy called to Douglas himselfo,

Sayd, What wilt thou nowe doe with mee ?

Looke that your brydle be wight, my lord,

And your horse goe swift as shipp att sea:

Looke that your spurres be bright and sharpe,

That you may pricke her while she'll away.

What needeth this, Douglas? he sayth ;

What needest thou to flyte with mee ?

For I was counted a horseman good

Before that ever I mett with thee.

A false Hector hath my horse,

Who dealt with mee so treacherouslie :

A false Armstrong hath my spurres,

And all the geere belongs to mee.

When they had sayled other fifty mile,

Other fifty mile upon the sea ;

They landed low by Berwicke side,

A deputed 'laird' landed Lord Percy.

Then he at Yorke was doomde to die,

It was, alas ! a sorrowful sight :

Thus they betrayed that noble earle,

Who ever was a gallant wight.

  • i. e. Where I was. An ancient idiom.

  • There is no navigable stream between Lough-leven and

the sea; but a ballad-maker is not obliged to understand

geography.

Ver. 224, fol. MS. reads land, and has not the following

stanza.

Page 179

MY MIND TO ME A KINGDOM IS.

153

V.

My Mind to me a Kingdom is.

This excellent philosophical song appears to have been famous in the sixteenth century. It is quoted by Ben Jonson in his play of "Every Man out of his Humour," first acted in 1599, act i. sc. 1, where an impatient person says,

"I am no such pil'd cynique to believe That beggery is the onely happinesesse, Or, with a number of these patient fooles, To sing, 'My minde to me a kingdome is,' When the lanke hungrie belly barkes for foode."

It is here chiefly printed from a thin quarto Music book, entitled, "Psalmes, Soncts, and Songs of sadness and pietie, made into Musicke of five parts: &c. By William Byrd, one of the Gent. of the Queene's Majesties honorable Chappell.—Printed by Thomas East, &c.," 4to. no date : but Ames in his Typog. has mentioned another edit. of the same book, dated 1588, which I take to have been later than this.

Some improvements, and an additional stanza (sc. the 5th) were had from two other ancient copies; one of them in black letter in the Pepys Collection, thus inscribed, "A sweet and pleasant sonet, intitled, 'My Minde to me a Kingdom is.' To the tune of In Crete, &c."

Some of the stanzas in this poem were printed by Byrd separate from the rest: they are here given in what seemed the most natural order.

My minde to me a kingdom is ;

Such perfect joy therein I finde

As farre exceeds all earthly blisse,

That God or Nature hath assignde :

Though much I want, that most would have,

Yet still my mind forbids to crave.

6

Content I live, this is my stay ;

I seek no more than may suffice :

I presse to beare no haughtie sway ;

Look what I lack my mind supplies.

10

Loe ! thus I triumph like a king,

Content with that my mind doth bring.

I see how plentie surfets oft,

And hastie clymbers soonest fall :

I see that such as sit aloft

Mishap doth threaten most of all ;

These get with toile, and keep with feare :

Such cares my mind could never beare.

15

No princely pompe, nor welthie store,

No force to winne the victorie,

No wylic wit to salve a sore,

No shape to winne a lovers eye ;

To none of these I feeld as thrall,

For why my mind despiseth all.

20

Some have too much, yet still they crave,

I little have, yet seeke no more :

They are but poore, tho much they have ;

And I am rich with little store ;

They poor, I rich ; they beg, I give ;

They lacke, I lend; they pine, I live.

30

I laugh not at anothers losse,

I grudge not at anothers gaine ;

No worldly wave can my mind tosse,

I brooke that is anothers bane :

I feare no foe, nor fawne on friend ;

I lothe not life, nor dread mine end.

35

I joy not in no earthly blisse ;

I weigh not Cressus' welth a straw ;

For care, I care not what it is ;

I feare not fortunes fatall law :

My mind is such as may not more

For beautie bright or force of love.

40

I wish but what I have at will ;

I wander not to seeke for more ;

I like the plaine, I clime no hill ;

In greatest stormes I sitte on shore,

And laugh at them that toile in vaine

To get what must be lost againe.

45

I kisse not where I wish to kill ;

I feigne not love where most I hate ;

50

Page 180

154

THE PATIENT COUNTESS.

I breake no sleep to winne my will;

I wayte not at the mighties gate :

I scorue no poore, I feare no rich ;

I feele no want, nor have too much.

The court, ne cart, I like, no loath ;

Extremes are counted worst of all :

The golden meane betwixt them both

Doth surest sit, and feares no fall;

This is my choyce, for why I finde,

No wealth is like a quiet minde.

My welth is health, and perfect ease;

My conscience clere my chiefe defence:

I never seeke by bybes to please,

Nor by desert to give offence :

Thus do I live, thus will I die;

Would all did so as well as I !

VI.

The Patient Countess.

The subject of this tale is taken from that entertaining colloquy of Erasmus, entitled "Πτωχολογία, sive Conjugium." which has been agreeably modernized by the late Mr. Spence, in his little miscellaneous publication, entitled "Moralities, &c. by Sir Harry Beaumont," 1753, 8vo. pag. 42.

The following stanzas are extracted from an ancient poem entitled "Albion's England," written by W. Warner, a celebrated poet in the reign of Queen Elizabeth, though his name and works are now equally forgotten. The reader will find some account of him in Series the Second, book ii. song 24.

The following stanzas are printed from the author's improved edition of his work, printed in 1602, 4to. ; the third impression of which appeared so early as 1592, in 4to.—The edition in 1602 is in thirteen books ; and so it is reprinted in 1612, 4to. ; yet in 1606 was published "A continuance of Albion's England, by the first author, W. L. Lond. 4to.:" this contains books xiv., xv., xvi. In Ames's Typography is preserved the memory of another publication of this writer, entitled, "Warner's Poetry," printed in 1589, 12mo., and reprinted in 1602. There is also extant, under the name of Warner, "Syrinx, or seven fold Hist. pleasant and profitable, comical, and tragical," 4to.

It is proper to demiss that the following lines were not written by the author in Stan-zas, but in long Alexandrines of fourteen syllables : which the narrowness of our page made it here necessary to subdivide.

Impatience chaungeth smoke to flame,

But jelousie is hell ;

Some wives by patience have reduc'd

Ill husbands to live well :

As did the ladie of an earle,

Of whom I now shall tell.

An earle 'there was' had wedded, lov'd;

Was lov'd, and lived long

Full true to his fayre countesse ; yet

At last he did her wrong.

Once hunted he untill the chace,

Long fasting, and the heat

Did house him in a peakish grange

Within a forest great.

Where knownc and welcom'd (as the place

And persons might afforde)

Browne bread, whig, bacon, curds and milke

Were set him on the borde.

A cushion made of lists, a stoole

Halfe backed with a hoope

Were brought him, and he sitteth down

Besides a sorry coupe.

The poore old couple wisht their bread

Were wheat, their whig were perry,

Their bacon beefe, their milke and curds

Were creame, to make him merry.

Mean while (in russet neately clad,

With linen white as swanne,

Herselfe more white, save rosie where

The ruddy colour ranne :

Page 181

THE PATIENT COUNTESS.

155

Whome naked nature, not the aydes

Of arte made to excell)

The good man's daughter sturres to see

That all were feate and well ;

The earle did marke, and admire

Such beautie there to dwell.

35

Yet fals he to their homely fare,

And held him at a feast:

But as his hunger slaked, so

An amorous heat increast.

40

When this repast was past, and thanks,

And welcome too ; he sayd

Unto his host and hostesse, in

The hearing of the mayd :

Yee know, quoth he, that I am lord

Of this, and many townes !

I also know that you be poore,

And I can spare you pownes.

Soe will I, so yoe will consent,

That yonder lasse and I

May bargayne for her love ; at least,

Doe give me leave to trye.

Who needs to know it? may who dares

Into my doings pry ?

First they mislike, yet at the length

For lucre were misled ;

And then the gamesome earle did wowe

The damsell for his bed.

55

He took her in his armes, as yet

So coyish to be kist,

As mayds that know themselves belov'd,

And yielding ly resist.

In few, his offers were so large

She lastly did consent ;

With whom he lodged all that night,

And early home he went.

60

He tooke occasion oftentimes

In such a sort to hunt,

Whom when his lady often mist,

Contrary to his wont,

And lastly was informed of

His amorous haunt else where,

It greiv'd her not a little, though

She seem'd it well to beare.

70

And thus she reasons with herselfe,

Some fault perhaps in me ;

Somewhat is done, that soe he doth ;

Alas ! what may it bee ?

How may I winne him to my self ?

He is a man, and men

Have imperfections ; it behooves

Me pardon nature then.

To checke him were to make him checke*

Although hee now were chaste

A man controled of his wife,

To her makes lesser haste.

85

If duty then, or daliance may

Prevayle to alter him ;

I will be dutifull, and make

My selfe for daliance trim.

90

So was she, and so lovingly

Did entertaine her lord,

As fairer, or more faultles none

Could be for bed or bord.

Yet still he loves his leiman, and

Did still pursue that game,

Suspecting nothing less, than that

His lady knew the same :

Wherefore to make him know she know,

She this devise did frame :

100

When long she had been wrong'd and sought

The foresayde meanes in vaine,

She rideth to the simple graunge

But with a slender traine.

She lighteth, entreth, greets them well

And then did looke about her,

The guiltie houshold knowing her,

Did wish themselves without her ;

Yet, for she looked merily,

The lase they did misdoubt her.

105

When she had seen the beauteous wench

(Then blushing fairnes fairer)

Such beauty made the countesse hold

Them both excus'd the rather.

Who would not bite at such a bait ?

Thought she : and who (though loth)

110

  • To check is a term in falconry, applied when a hawk

stops and turns away from his proper pursuit: to check

also signifies to reprove or chide. It is in this verse used

in both senses.

Page 182

156

THE PATIENT COUNTESS.

So poore a wench, but gold might tempt?

Sweet errors lead them both.

Scarse one in twenty that had bragg'd

Of proffer'd gold denied,

Or of such yeelding beautie baulkt,

But, tenne to one, had lied.

Thus thought she: and she thus declares

Her cause of coming thether;

My lord, oft hunting in these partes,

Through travel, night or wether,

Hath often lodged in your house ;

I thanke you for the same;

For why ? it doth him jolly ease

To lie so neare his game.

But, for you have not furniture

Beseeming such a guest,

I bring his owne, and come my selfe

To see his lodging drest.

With that two sumpters were discharg'd,

In which were hangings brave,

Silke coverings, curtens, carpets, plate,

And al such turn should have.

When all was handsomly dispos'd,

She prayes them to have care

That nothing hap in their default,

That might his health impair:

And, damsell, quoth shee, for it seems

This houshold is but three,

And for thy parents age, that this

Shall chiefly rest on thee ;

Do me that good, else ' would to God

He hither come no more.

So tooke she horse, and cre she went

Bestowed gould good store.

Full little thought the countie that

His countesse had done so ;

120

Who now return'd from far affaires

Did to his sweet-heart go.

No sooner sat he foote within

The late deformed cote,

But that the formall change of things

His wondering eies did note.

But when he knew those goods to be

His propor goods; though late,

Scarce taking leave, he home returnes

The matter to debate.

The countesse was a-bed, and he

With her his lodging tooke;

Sir, welcome home (quoth shee); this night

For you I did not looke.

Then did he question her of such

His stuffe bestowed soe.

Forsooth, quoth she, because I did

Your love and lodging knowe:

Your love to be a proper wench,

Your lodging nothing lesse ;

I held it for your health, the house

More decently to dresse.

Well wat I, notwithstanding her,

Your lordship loveth me:

And greater hope to hold you such

By quiet, then brawles, 'you' see.

Then for my duty, your delight,

And to retaine your favour

All done I did, and paticntly

Expect your wanted 'haviour.

Her patience, with to and answer wronght

His gentle teares to fall:

When (kissing her a score of times)

Amend, sweet wife, I shall :

He said, and did it: 'so each wife

Her husband may' recall.

Page 183

DOWSABELL.

157

VII.

Dowsabell.

The following stanzas were written by Michael Drayton, a poet of some eminence in the reigns of Queen Elizabeth, James I., and Charles I.* They are inserted in one of his pastorals, the first edition of which bears this whimsical title. "Idea. The Shepheards Garland, fashioned in nine Eloges. Row-land's Sacrifice to the Nine Muses. London, 1593." 4to. They are inscribed with the author's name at length "To the noble and valcrous gentleman Master Robert Dud-ley, &c." It is very remarkable that when Drayton reprinted them in the first folio edit. of his works, 1619, he had given those ecolo-gues so thorough a revisal, that there is hardly a line to be found the same as in the old edition. This poem had received the fewest corrections, and therofure is chiefly given from the ancient copy, where it is thus introduced by one of his shepherds:

Listen to mee, my lovely shepheards joye, And thou shalt heare, with mirth and mickle glee, A protie tale, which when I was a boy, My toothles grandame oft hath tolde to me.

The author has professedly imitated the style and metre of some of the old metrical romances, particularly that of Sir Isenbras† (alluded to in v. 3), as the reader may judge from the following specimen:

Lordynges, lysten, and you shal here, &c.

Ye shal well heare of a knight, That was in warre full wyght And doughtye of his dede: His name was Syr Isenbras, Man nobler than he was Lyved none with breade. He was lyvely, large, and longe, With shoulders broude, and armes stronge, That myghtie was to se.

  • He was born in 1563, and died in 1631. Big. Brit. † As also Chaucer's Rhyme of Sir Topas, v. 6.

He was a hardye man, and hye, All men hym loved that hym se, For a gentyll knight was he: Harpers loved him in hall, With other minstrells all, For he gave them gold and foe, &c.

20

This ancient legend was printed in black-letter, 4to., by William Copland; no date. In the Cotton Library (Calig. A. 2) is a MS. copy of the same romance, containing the greatest variations. They are probably two different translations of some French original.

Farre in the countrey of Arden, There won'd a knight, hight Cassemen, As bold as Isenbras : Fell was ho, and eger bent, In battell and in tournanent, As was the good Sir Topas.

5

He had, as antique stories tell, A daughter cleaped Dowsabel, A mayden fayre and free : And for she was her fathers heire, Full well she was y-cond the leyre Of mickle courtesie.

10

The silke well couth she twist and twine, And make the fine march-pine, And with the needle werke : And she couth helpe the priest to say His mattins on a holy-day, And sing a psalme in kirke.

15

She ware a frocke of frolicke greene, Might well besceme a mayden queene, Which seemly was to see ; A hood to that so neat and fine, In colour like the columbine, Y-wrought full featously.

20

Her features all as fresh abore, As is the grasse that growes by Dove : And lyth as lasse of Kent.

25

Page 184

153

DOWSABELL.

Her skin as soft as Lemster wooll,

As white as snow on Peakish Hull,

Or swanne that swims in Trent.

This mayden in a morne betime

Wont forth when May was in her prime,

To get sweets eetywall,

The honey-suckle, the harlocke,

The lilly and the lady smocke,

To deck her summer hall.

Thus, as she wandred here and there,

Y-picking of the bloomed breere,

She chanced to espie

A shepheard sitting on a bancke

Like chanteclere he crowed crancke,

And pip'd full merrilie.

He taur'd his sheepe as he him list,

When he would whistle in his fist,

To feede about him round;

Whilst he full many a carrol sung,

Untill the fields and medowes rung,

And all the woods did sound.

In favour this same shepheards swayne

Was like the bedlam Tamburlayne,*

Which helde proud kings in awe:

But meeke he was as a lamb mought be;

An innocent of ill as he†

Whom his lewd brother slaw.

The shepheard ware a sheepe-gray cloke,

Which was of the finest loke,

That could be cut with sheere:

His mittens were of bauzens skinne,

His cockers were of cordiwin,

His hood of menivere.

His aule and lingell in a thong,

His tar-boxe on his broad belt hong,

His breoch of coyntrie blewre;

Full crispe and curled were his lockes,

His browes as white as Albion rockes:

So like a lover true.

And pyping still he spent the day.

So merry as the popingay;

Which liked Dowsabel:

That would she ought, or would she nought,

This lad would never from her thought;

71

She in love-longing fell.

  • Alluding to "Tamburlaine the Great, or the Scythian

Shepheard," 1503, 8vo., an old ranting play asertbed to

Marlowe.

† Sc. Abel.

At length she tuck'd up her frocke,

White as a lilly was her smocke,

She drew the shepheard nye:

But then the shepheard pyp'd a good,

That all his sheepe forsooke their foode,

To heare his melodye.

Thy sheepe, quoth she, cannot be leane,

That have a jolly shepheards swayne,

The which can pipe so well:

Yea but, sayth he, their shepheard may,

If pyping thus he pine away

In love of Dowsabel.

Of love, fond boy, take thou no keepe,

Quoth she; looke thou unto thy sheepe,

Lest they should hap to stray.

Quoth he, So I had done full well,

Had I not seen fayre Dowsabell

Come forth to gather maye.

With that shee gan to vaile her head,

Her cheoks were like the roses red,

But not a word she sayd:

With that the shepheard gan to frowne,

He throw his protie pypes adowne,

And on the ground him layd.

Sayth she, I may not stay till night,

And leave my summer-hall undight,

And all for long of thee.

My coate, sayth he, nor yet my foule

Shall neither sheepe nor shepheard hold,

Except thou favour mee.

Sayth she, Yet lever were I dead,

Then I should lose my mayden-head,

And all for love of men.

Sayth he, Yet are you too unkind,

If in your heart you cannot finde

To love as now and then.

And I to thee will be as kinde

As Colin was to Rosalinde,

Of curtesie the flower.

Then will I be as true, quoth she,

As ever mayden yet might be

Unto her paramour.

With that she bent her snow-white knee,

Down by the shepheard kneled shee,

And him she sweetly kist:

With that the shepheard whoop'd for joy,

Quoth he, There's never shepheards boy

That ever was so blist.

Page 185

ULYSSES AND THE SYREN.

159

VIII.

The Farewell to Love.

From Beaumont and Fletcher's play, enti-1tled The Lover's Progress, act iii. sc. 1.

Adieu, fond love, farewell you wanton powers;

I am free again.

Thou dull disease of bloud and idle hours,

Bewitching pain,

Fly to fools, that sigh away their time:

My nobler love to heaven doth climb,

And there behold beauty still young.

That time can ne'er corrupt, nor death destroy,

Immortal sweetness by fair angels sung,

And honoured by eternity and joy:

There lives my love, thither my hopes aspire,

Fond love declines, this heavenly love grows higher.

IX

Ulysses and the Syren.

—affords a pretty poetical contest between Pleasure and Honour. It is found at the end of "Hymen's Triumph: a pastoral tragi-comedie," written by Daniel, and printed among his works, 4to, 1623.*—Daniel, who was a contemporary of Drayton's, and is said to have been poet laureat to Queen Elizabeth, was born in 1562, and died in 1619. Anne Countess of Dorset, Pembroke, and Montgomery (to whom Daniel had been Tutor), has inserted a small portrait of him in a full-length picture of herself, preserved at Appleby Castle, in Cumberland.

This little poem is the rather selected for a specimen of Daniel's poetic powers, as it is omitted in the later edition of his works, 2 vols. 12mo. 1718.

Syren.

Come, worthy Greeke, Ulysses come,

Possesse these shores with me,

The windes and seas are troublesome,

And here we may be free.

Here may we sit and view their toyle

That travaile in the deepe,

Enjoy the day in mirth the while,

And spend the night in sleepe.

  • In this edition it is collated with a copy printed at the end of his "Tragedie of Cleopatra. London, 1607," 12mo.

21

Ulysses.

Faire nymph, if fame or honour were

To be attain'd with ease,

Then would I come and rest with thee,

And leave such toiles as these:

But here it dwels, and here must I

With danger seek it forth;

To spend the time luxuriously

Becomes not men of worth.

Syren.

Ulysses, O be not deceiv'd

With that unreall name:

This honour is a thing conceiv'd,

And rests on others' fame.

Begotten only to molest

Our peace, and to beguile

(The best thing of our life) our rest,

And give us up to toyle!

Ulysses.

Delicious nymph, suppose there were

Nor honor, nor report,

Yet manlinesse would scorne to weare

The time in idle sport:

For toyle doth give a better touch

To make us feele our joy;

30

Page 186

160

CUPID'S PASTIME.

And ease findes tediousnesse, as much

As labour yeelds annoy.

Syren.

Then pleasure likewise seemes the shore,

Whereto tendes all your toyle;

Which you forge to make it more,

And perish oft the while.

Who may disport them diversly,

Find never tedious day;

And ease may have variety,

As well as action may.

40

Ulyssis.

But natures of the noblest frame

These toyiles and dangers please;

And they take comfort in the same,

As much as you in ease :

And with the thought of actions past

Are recreated still :

When pleasure leavs a touch at last

To show that it was ill.

Syren.

That doth opinion onely cause,

That's out of custom bred;

50

Which makes us many other laws

Than ever nature did.

No widdowes waile for our delights,

Our sports are without blood;

The world we see by warlike wights

Receives more hurt than good.

55

Ulysses.

But yet the state of things require

These motions of unrest,

And these great spirits of high desire

Seem borne to turne them best :

To purgo the mischiefes, that increase

And all good order mar :

For oft we see a wicked peace

To be well chang'd for war.

60

Syren.

Well, well, Ulysses, then I see

I shall not have thee here;

And therefore I will come to thee,

And take my fortune there.

I must be women that cannot win,

Yet lost were I not wonne :

70

For beauty hath created bin

T' undoo or be undone.

X.

Cupid's Pastime.

This beautiful poem, which possesses a

classical elegance hardly to be expected in

the age of James I., is printed from the 4th

edition of Davison's Poems, &c., 1621. It is

also found in a later miscellany, entitled,

"Le Prince d'Amour," 1660, 8vo. Francis

Davison, editor of the poems above referred

to, was son of that unfortunate secretary of

state, who suffered so much from the affair

of Mary Queen of Scots. These poems, he

tells us in his preface, were written by

himself, by his brother [Walter], who was a

soldier in the wars of the Low Countries, and

by some dear friends "anonymoi." Among

them are found some pieces by Sir J. Davis,

the Countess of Pembroke, Sir Philip Sidney,

Spenser, and other wits of those times.

In the fourth vol. of Dryden's Miscellanies,

this poem is attributed to Sydney Godolphin,

Esq.; but erroneously, being probably writ-

ten before he was born. One edit. of Davison's

book was published in 1608. . Godolphin was

born in 1610, and died in 1642-3. Ath. Ox.

II. 23.

It chanc'd of late a shepherd swain,

That went to seek his straying sheep,

Within a thicket on a plain

Espied a dainty nymph asloep.

5

Her golden hair overspread her face;

Her careless arms abroad were cast;

Her quiver had her pillows place;

Her breast lay bare to every blast.

Page 187

THE CHARACTER OF A HAPPY LIFE.

161

The shepherd stood and gaz'd his fill ;

Neught durst he do; nought durst he say;

Whilst chance, or else perhaps his will,

Did guide the god of love that way.

11

The crafty boy that sees her sleep,

Whom if she wak'd he durst not see ;

Behind her closely seeks to creep;

Before her nap should ended be.

15

There come, he steals her shafts away,

And puts his own into their place ;

Nor dares he any longer stay,

But, ere she wakes, lies thence apace.

20

Scarce was he gone, but she awakes,

And spies the shepherd standing by :

Her bended bow in haste she takos,

And at the simple swain lets flye.

Her angry eyes were great withl tears,

She blames her hand, she blames her skill;

The bluntness of her shafts she fears,

And try them on herself she will.

35

Take heed, sweet nymph, trye not thy shaft,

Each little touch will pierce thy heart;

Alas ! thou know'st not Cupids craft;

Revenge is joy ; the end is smart.

40

Yet try she will, and pierce some bare ;

Her hands were glov'd but next to hand

Was that fair breast, that breast so rare,

That made the shepherd senseless stand.

That breast she pierc'd; and through that breast

Love found an entry to her heart:

At feeling of this new-come guest,

Lord ! how this gentle nymph did start !

45

Forth flew the shaft, and pierc'd his heart,

That to the ground he fell with pain :

Yet up again forthwith he start,

And to the nymph he ran amain.

26

Amazed to see so strange a sight,

She shot, and shot, but all in vain ;

The more his wounds, the more his might,

Love yielded strength amidst his pain.

30

She runs not now ; she shoots no more ;

Away she throws both shaft and bow :

She seeks for what she shunn'd before,

She thinks the shepherds haste too slow.

50

Though mountains meet not, lovers may :

What other lovers do, did they :

The god of love sate on a tree,

And laught that pleasant sight to see.

55

XI.

The Character of a Happy Life.

This little moral poem was writ by Sir

Henry Wotton, who died Provost of Eton

in 1639, Æt. 72. It is printed from a little

collection of his pieces, entitled, " Reliquiæ

Wottonianæ," 1651, 12mo.; compared with

one or two other copies.

How happy is he born or taught,

That serveth not anothers will :

Whose armour is his honest thought,

And simple truth his highest skill :

Whose passions not his masters are,

Whose soul is still prepar'd for death ;

Not ty'd unto the world with care

Of princes ear, or vulgar breath.

Who hath his life from rumours freed ;

Whose conscience is his strong retreat ;

Whose state can neither flatterers feed,

Nor ruine make oppressors great :

10

Who envies none, whom chance doth raise,

Or vice : Who never understood

How deepest wounds are given with praise ;

Nor rules of state, but rules of good :

16

Page 188

162

GILDEROY.

Who God doth late and early pray

More of his grace than gifts to lend;

And entertains the harmless day

With a well-chosen book or friend.

20

This man is freed from servile bands

Of hope to rise, or feare to fall;

Lord of himselfe, though not of lands;

And having nothing, yet hath all.

XII.

Gilderoy.

—was a famous robber, who lived about

the middle of the last century, if we may

credit the histories and story-books of high-

waymen, which relate many improbable feats

of him, as his robbing Cardinal Richelieu,

Oliver Cromwell, &c. But these stories have

probably no other authority, than the records

of Grub-street: At least the “Gilderoy,” who

is the hero of Scottish Songsters, seems to

have lived in an earlier age; for, in Thomas-

son's Orpheus Caledonius, vol. ii. 1733, 8vo.,

is a copy of this ballad, which, though cor-

rupt and interpolated, contains some lines

that appear to be of genuine antiquity: in

these he is represented as contemporary with

Mary Queen of Scots: ex. gr.

"The Queen of Scots possessed nought,

That my love let me want:

Foreow and e'er to me he brought,

And ein whan they were scant."

These lines perhaps might safely have been

inserted among the following stanzas, which

are given from a written copy, that appears

to have received some modern corrections.

Indeed the common popular ballad contained

come indecent luxuriances that required the

pruning-hook.

He never ware a Highland plaid,

But costly silken clothes;

He gained the luve of ladies gay,

Nane eir tull him was coy:

Ah! wac is mee! I mourn the day

15

For my dear Gilderoy.

My Gilderoy and I were born,

Baith in ane toun together,

We scant were seven years beforn,

We gan to luve each other:

20

Our daddies and our mammies thay,

Were fill'd wi' mickle joy,

To think upon the bridal day,

Twixt me and Gilderoy.

For Gilderoy that luve of mine,

25

Gude faith, I freely bought

A wedding sark of holland fine,

Wi' silken flowers wrought:

And he gied me a wedding ring,

Which I receiv'd wi' joy,

30

Nae lad nor lassie eir could sing,

Like me and Gilderoy.

Wi' mickle joy we spent our prime,

Till we were baith sixteen,

And aft we past the langsome time,

35

Among the leuves sae green;

Aft on the banks we'd sit us thair,

And sweetly kiss and toy,

Wi' garlands gay wad deck my hair

My handsome Gilderoy.

40

Gilderoy was a bonnie boy,

Had roses tull his shoone,

His stockings were of silkon soy,

Wi' garters hanging doune:

It was, I weene, a comelie sight

5

To see sae trim a boy;

He was my jo and hearts delight,

My handsome Gilderoy.

Oh! sike twa charming een he had,

A breath as sweet as rose,

10

Oh! that he still had been content,

Wi' me to lead his life;

But, ah! his manfu' heart was bent,

To stir in feats of strife:

And he in many a venturous deed,

45

His courage bauld wad try;

Page 189

And now this gars mine heart to bleed,

For my dear Gilderoy.

Wi' sorrow neir had wat my cheek,

For my dear Gilderoy.

And when of me his leave he tuik,

The tears they wat mine ee,

I gave tull him a parting luik,

"My benison gang wi' thee;

God speed thee weil, mine ain dear heart

For gane is all my joy;

My heart is rent sith we maun part,

My handsome Gilderoy."

My Gilderoy baith far and near,

Was fear'd in every toun,

And baudly bare away the gear,

Of many a lawland loun:

Nane eir durst meet him man to man,

He was sae brave a boy;

At length wi' numbers he was tane,

My winsome Gilderoy.

Wae worth the loun that made the laws,

To hang a man for gear,

To 'reave of live for ox or ass,

For sheep, or horse, or mare:

Had not their laws been made sae strick,

I neir had lost my joy,

Giff Gilderoy had done amisso,

He mought hac banisht been;

Ah ! what sair cruelty is this,

To hang sike handsome men :

To hang the flower o' Scottish land,

Sae sweet and fair a boy;

Nae lady had sae white a hand,

As thee my Gilderoy.

Of Gilderoy sae fraid they were,

They bound him mickle strong,

Tull Edenburrow they led him thair,

And on a gallows hung:

They hung him high aboon the rest,

He was sae trim a boy;

Thair dyed the youth whom I lued best

My handsome Gilderoy.

Thus having yielded up his breath,

I bare his corpse away,

Wi' tears, that trickled for his death,

I washt his comelye clay;

And sicker in a grave sae deep,

I laid the dear-lued boy,

And now for evir maun I weep,

My winsome Gilderoy.

XIII.

Winiftedn.

This beautiful address to conjugal love, a

subject too much neglected by the libertine

muses, was, I believe, first printed in a vol-

ume of "Miscellaneous Poems, by several

hands, published by D. [David] Lewis, 1726,

8vo."

It is there said, how truly I know not, to

be a translation "from the ancient British

language."

Away; let naught to love displeasing

My Winifreda, move your care;

Let naught delay the heavenly blessing,

Nor squeamish pride, nor gloomy fear.

What tho' no grants of royal donors

With pompous titles grace our blood :

We'll shine in more substantial honors,

And to be noble we'll be good.

Our name, while virtue thus we tender,

Will sweetly sound where-e'er 'tis spoke

And all the great ones, they shall wonder

How they respect such little folk.

What though from fortune's lavish bounty

No mighty treasures we possess;

We'll find within our pittance plenty,

And be content without excess.

Still shall each returning season

Sufficient for our wishes give;

For we will live a life of reason,

And that's the only life to live.

Page 190

164

THE WITCH OF WOKBY.

Through youth and age in love excelling,

We'll hand in hand together tread;

Sweet-smiling peace shall crown our dwelling,

And babes, sweet-smiling babes, our bed.

How should I love the pretty creatures,

While round my knees they fondly clung;

To see them look their mothers features,

To hear them lisp their mothers tongue.

And when with envy time transported,

Shall think to rob us of our joys,

You'll in your girls again be courted,

And I'll go a wooing in my boys.

XIV.

The Witch of Wokegy.

—was published in a small collection of

poems, entitled "Euthemia, or the Power of

Harmony; &c." 1756, written, in 1748, by

the ingenious Dr. Harrington, of Bath, who

never allowed them to be published, and with-

held his name till it could no longer be con-

cealed. The following copy was furnished by

the late Mr. Shenstone, with some variations

and corrections of his own, which he had

taken the liberty to propose, and for which

the Author's indulgence was intreated. In

this edition it was intended to reprint the

Author's own original copy; but, as that

may be seen correctly given in Pearch's Col-

lection, vol, i., 1783, p. 161, it was thought

the reader of taste would wish to have the

variations preserved; they are therefore still

retained here, which it is hoped the worthy

author will excuse with his wonted liberality.

Oft have I heard the fearfull tale

From Sue, and Roger of the vale,

On some long winter's night.

Deep in the dreary dismall cell,

Which seem'd and was yepeled hell,

This blear-ey'd hag did hide :

Nine wicked elves, as legends sayne,

She chose to form her guardian trayne

And kennel near her side.

Here screeching owls oft made their nest,

While wolves its craggy sides possest,

Night-howling thro' the rock :

No wholesome herb could here be found;

She blasted every plant around,

And blistor'd every flock.

Her haggard face was foull to see;

Her mouth unmeet a mouth to bee;

Her eyne of deadly lear,

She nought devis'd, but neighbour's ill;

She wreak'd on all her wayward will,

And marr'd all goodly chear.

All in her prime have poets sung,

No gaudy youth, gallant and young,

E'er blest her longing armes;

And hence arose her spight to vex,

And blast the youth of either sex,

By dint of hellish charms.

Wokey-hole is a noted cavern in Somerset-

shire, which has given birth to as many wild

fanciful stories as the Sybils Cave in Italy.

Through a very narrow entrance, it opens in-

to a very large vault, the roof whereof, either

on account of its height, or the thickness of

the gloom, cannot be discovered by the light

of torches. It goes winding a great way

under ground, is crossed by a stream of very

cold water, and is all horrid with broken

pieces of rock: many of these are evident

petrifactions: which, on account of their

singular forms, have given rise to the fables

alluded to in this poem.

In aunciente days tradition showes

A base and wicked elfe arose,

The Witch of Wokey hight:

From Glaston came a lerned wight,

Full bent to marr her fell despight,

And well he did I ween;

Sich mischief never had been known,

And, since his mickle lerninge shown,

Sich mischief ne'er has been.

Page 191

BRYAN AND PEREENE.

165

He chauntede out his godlie booke,

He crost the water, blest the brooke,

Then—pater noster dono,—

The ghastly hag he sprinkled o'er :

When lo ! where stood a hag before,

Now stood a ghastly stone.

40

Full well 'tis known adown the dale :

'Tho' passing strange indeed the tale,

And doubtfull may appear,

I'm bold to say, there's never a one,

That has not seen the witch in stone,

With all her household gear.

45

But tho' this lernede clerke did well;

With griev'd heart, alas ! I tell,

She left this curse behind :

That Wokey-nymphs forsaken quita,

Tho' sense and beauty both unite,

Should find no leman kind.

50

For lo ! even, as the fiend did say,

The sex have found it to this day,

That men are wondrous scant :

Here's beauty, wit, and sense combin'd,

With all that's good and virtuous join'd,

Yet hardly one gallant.

60

Shall then sich maids unpitied moane ?

They might as well, like her, be stone,

As thus forsaken dwell.

Since Glaston now can boast no clerks ;

Come down from Oxenford, ye sparks,

And, oh ! revoke the spell.

65

Yet stay—nor thus despond, ye fair :

Virtuo's the god's' peculiar care;

I hear the gracious voice :

Your sex shall soon be blest agen,

We only wait to find sich men,

As best deserve your choice.

70

XV.

is founded on a real fact, that happened

in the island of St. Christophers about the

beginning of the present reign. The Editor

owes the following stanzas to the friendship

of Dr. James Grainger,* who was an eminent

physician in that island when this tragical

incident happened, and died there much hon-

oured and lamented in 1767. To this ingeni-

ous gentleman the public are indebted for

the fine Ode on Solitude, printed in the 4th

vol. of Dodsley's Miscellany, p. 229, in which

are assembled some of the sublimest images

in nature. The reader will pardon the inser-

tion of the first stanza here, for the sake of

rectifying the two last lines, which were thus

given by the author :

O Solitude, romantic maid,

Whether by nodding towers you tread,

Or haunt the desert's trackless gloom,

Or hover o'er the yawning tomb,

Or climb the Andes' clifted side,

Or by the Nile's coy source abide,

  • Author of a poem on the "Culture of the Sugar-Cane,"

&c., published by Messrs. Wood and Dawkins.

Or starting from your half year's sleep

From Hecla view the thawing deep,

Or at the purple dawn of day

Tadmor's marble wastes survey, &c.

alluding to the account of Palmyra published

by some late ingenious travellers, and the

manner in which they were struck at the

first sight of those magnificent ruins by break

of day.*

The north-east wind did briskly blow,

The ship was safely moor'd;

Young Bryan thought the boat's-crew slow,

And so leapt over-board.

Pereene, the pride of Indian dames,

5

His heart long held in thrall;

And whose his impatience blames,

I wot, ne'er lov'd at all.

A long long year, one month and day,

He dwelt on English land,

10

Nor once in thought or deed would stray,

Tho' ladies sought his hand.

  • So in page 235, it should be, Turn'd her magic ray.

Page 192

For Bryan he was tall and strong,

Right blythsome roll'd his eon,

Sweet was his voice whon'e or he sung,

He scant had twonty seon.

But who the countless charms can draw,

That grac'd his mistress true;

Such charms the old world seldom saw,

Nor oft I ween the new.

Her raven hair plays round her neck,

Like tendrils of the vine;

Her cheeks red dewy rosebuds dock,

Her eyes like diamonds shine.

'Soon as his well-known ship she spied,

She cast her weeds away,

And to the palmy shore she hied,

All in her best array.

In sea-green silk so neatly clad

She there impatient stood;

The crew with wonder saw the lad

Repell the foaming flood.

Her hands a handkerchief display'd,

Which he at parting gave;

Well pleas'd the token he survey'd,

And manlier beat the wave.

Her fair companions one and all,

Rejoicing crowd the strand;

For now her lover swam in call,

And almost touch'd the land.

Then through the white surf did she haste,

To clasp her lovely swain;

When, ah! a shark bit through his waste:

His heart's blood dy'd the main!

He shriek'd! his half sprang from the wave,

Streaming with purple gore,

And soon it found a living grave,

And ah! was seen no more.

Now haste, now haste, ye maids, I pray,

Fetch water from the spring:

She falls, she swoons, she dies away,

And soon her knell they ring.

Now each May morning round her tomb,

Ye fair, fresh flowerets strew,

So may your lovers scape his doom,

Her hapless fate scape you.

XVI.

Gentle River Gentle River

TRANSLATED FROM THE SPANISH.

Although the English are remarkable for

the number and variety of their ancient bal-

lads, and retain, perhaps, a greater fondness

for these old simple rhapsodies of their an-

cestors than most other nations, they are not

the only people who have distinguished them-

selves by compositions of this kind. The

Spaniards have great multitudes of them,

many of which are of the highest merit.

They call them in their language Romances,

and have collected them into volumes under

the titles of El Romancero, El Cancionero,*

&c. Most of them relate to their conflicts

with the Moors, and display a spirit of gal-

lantry peculiar to that romantic people. But

of all the Spanish ballads, none exceed in

poetical merit those inserted in a little Span-

ish "History of the Civil Wars of Granada,"

describing the dissensions which raged in

that last seat of Moorish empire before it was

conquered in the reign of Ferdinand and Isa-

bella, in 1491. In this history (or perhaps ro-

mance) a great number of heroic songs are

inserted, and appealed to as authentic vouch-

ers for the truth of facts. In reality, the

prose narrative seems to be drawn up for no

other end, but to introduce and illustrate

those beautiful pieces.

The Spanish editor pretends—how truly I

know not—that they are translations from the

Page 193

Arabic or Morisco language. Indeed, from the plain unadorned nature of the verse, and the native simplicity of the language and sentiment, which runs through those poems, one would judge them to have been composed soon after the conquest of Granada above mentioned; as the prose narrative in which they are inserted was published about a century after. It should seem, at least, that they were written before the Castilians had formed themselves so generally, as they have done since, on the model of the Tuscan poets, or had imported from Italy that fondness for conceit and refinement, which has, for near two centuries past, so much infected the Spanish poetry, and rendered it so frequently affected and obscure.

As a specimen of the ancient Spanish manner, which very much resembles that of our old English bards and minstrels, the reader is desired candidly to accept the two following poems. They are given from a small collection of pieces of this kind, which the Editor some years ago translated for his amusement, when he was studying the Spanish language As the first is a pretty close translation, to gratify the curious it is accompanied with the original. The metre is the same in all these old Spanish ballads: it is of the most simple construction, and is still used by the common people in their extemporaneous songs, as we learn from Baret-

ti's Travels. It runs in short stanzas of four lines, of which the second and fourth alone correspond in their terminations; and in these it is only required that the vowels should be alike; the consonants may be altogether different, as

pone casu anatem arcos

noble cañas muere gamo

Yet has this kind of verse a sort of simple harmonious flow, which atones for the imperfect nature of the rhyme, and renders it not unpleasing to the ear. The same flow of numbers has been studied in the following versions. The first of them is given from two different originals, both of which are printed in the Hist. de las Civiles Guerras de Granada. Mad. 1694. One of them hath the rhymes ending in aa, the other in ia. It is the former of these that is here reprinted. They both of them begin with the same line;

Río verde, río verde,*

which could not be translated faithfully :

Verdant river, verdant river,

would have given an affected stiffness to the verse; the great merit of which is easy simplicity; and therfore a more simple epithet was adopted, though less poetical or expressive.

  • Literally, Green river, green river. Río Verde is said to be the name of a river in Spain: which ought to have been attended to by the translator had he known it.

"Río verde, río verde,

Quanto cuerpo en ti se baña

De Christianos y de Moros

Muertos por la dura espada !

"Y tus ondas cristalinas

De roxa sangre se esmaltan :

Entre moros y Christianos

Muy gran batalla se trava.

"Murieron Duques y Condes,

Grandes señores de salva :

Murio gente de valia

De la nobleza de España.

"En ti murio don Alonso,

Que de Aguilar se llamaba :

El valeroso Urdiales,

Con don Alonso acababa.

Page 194

168

GENTLE RIVER, GENTLE RIVER.

"Por un ladera arribn

El buen Sayavedra marcha;

Natural es de Sevilla,

De la gente mas granada.

20

"Tras el iba un Renegado,

Desta manera le lablaba ;

Date, date, Sayavedra,

No huyas de la batalla.

"Yo te conozco muy bien,

Gran tiempo estuve en tu casa ;

Y en la Plaça de Sevilla

Bien te vide jugar cañas.

"Conozco a tu padre y madre,

Y a tu muger doña Clara ;

Siete años fui tu cautivo,

Malamente me tratabas.

"Y aora lo seras mio,

Si Mahoma me ayudara ;

Y tambien te tratare,

Como a mi me tratabas.

"Sayavedra que lo oyera,

Al Moro bolvio la cara ;

Tirole el Moro una flecha,

Pero nunca lo acertaba.

"Hiriolo Sayavedra

De una herida muy mala:

Muerto cayo el Renegado

Sin poder hablar palabra.

"Sayavedra fue cercado

De mucha Mora canalla,

Y al cabo cayo alli muerto

De una muy mala lançada.

"Don Alonso en este tiempo

Bravamente peleava,

Y el cavallo le avian muerto,

Y le tiene por muralla."

"Mas cargaron tantos Moros

Que mal le hieren y tratan:

De la sangre, que perdia,

Don Alonso se desmaya.

"Al fin, al fin cayo muerto

Al pie de un peña alta,—

—Muerto queda don Alonso,

Eterna fama ganara."


60

Page 195

  • In the Spanish original of the foregoing ballad, follow a few more stanzas, but being

of inferior merit were not translated.

"Renegado" properly signifies an Apostate;

but it is sometimes used to express an Infidel in general; as it seems to do above in

ver. 21, &c.

The image of the "Lion" &c., in ver. 37,

is taken from the other Spanish copy, the

rhymes of which end in "ia" viz.

"Sayavedra, que lo oyera

Como un leon rebolbia.

XVII.

Alcanjor and Zaida,

A MOORISH TALE,

IMITATED FROM THE SPANISH.

The foregoing version was rendered as literal as the nature of the two languages would

admit. In the following a wider compass hath been taken. The Spanish poem that

was chiefly had in view, is preserved in the

same history of the civil wars of Granada,

f. 22, and begins with these lines:

"Por la calle de su dama

Passeando se anda, &c."

Softly blow the evening breezes,

Softly fall the dews of night;

Yonder walks the Moor Alcanzor,

Shunning every glare of light.

In yon palace lives fair Zaida,

Whom he loves with flame so pure:

Loveliest she of Moorish ladies;

He a young and noble Moor.

Waiting for the appointed minute,

Oft he paces to and fro;

Stopping now, now moving forwards,

Sometimes quick, and sometimes slow.

Hope and fear alternate seize him,

Oft he sighs with heart-felt care.

See, fond youth, to yonder window

Softly steps the timorous fair.

Lovely seems the moon's fair lustre

To the lost benighted swain,

When all silvery bright she rises,

Gilding mountain, grove, and plain.

Lovely seems the sun's full glory

To the fainting seaman's eyes,

When some horrid storm dispersing

O'er the wave his radiance flies.

But a thousand times more lovely

To her longing lover's sight,

Steals half soon the beauteous maiden

Thro' the glimmerings of the night.

Tip-toe stands the anxious lover,

Whispering forth a gentle sigh:

Alla* keep thee, lovely lady;

Tell me, am I doom'd to die?

Is it true the dreadful story,

Which thy damsel tells my page,

That seduc'd by sordid riches

Thou wilt sell thy bloom to age?

An old lord from Antiquera

Thy stern father brings along;

But canst thou, inconstant Zaida,

Thus consent my love to wrong?

If 'tis true now plainly tell me,

Nor thus trifle with my woes;

Hide not then from me the secret,

Which the world so clearly knows.

Deeply sigh'd the conscious maiden,

Whilst the pearly tears descend:

Ah! my lord, too true the story;

Here our tender loves must end.

Our fond friendship is discover'd,

Well are known our mutual vows:

All my friends are full of fury;

Storms of passion shake the house

  • Alla is the Mahometan name of God.

Page 196

170

ALCANZOR AND ZAIDA.

Throats, reproaches, fears surround me;

My stern father breaks my heart:

Alla knows how dear it costs me,

Generous youth, from thee to part.

Ancient wounds of hostile fury

Long have rent our house and thine;

Why then did thy shining merit

Win this tender heart of mine?

Well thou know'st how dear I lov'd thee

Spite of all their hateful pride,

Thou I fear'd my haughty father

Ne'er would let me be thy bride.

Well thou know'st what cruel chidings

Oft I've from my mother borne;

What I've suffer'd here to meet thee

Still at eve and early morn.

I no longer may resist them:

All, to force my hand combine;

And to-morrow to thy rival

This weak frame I must resign.

Yet think not thy faithful Zaida

Can survive so great a wrong;

Well my breaking heart assures me

That my woes will not be long.

Farewell then, my dear Alcanzor!

Farewell too my life with thee!

Take this scarf a parting token;

When thou wear'st it think on me.

Soon, lov'd youth, some worthier maiden

Shall reward thy generous truth:

Sometimes tell her how thy Zaida

Died for thee in prime of youth.

—To him all amaz'd, confounded,

Thus she did her woes impart:

Deep he sigh'd, then cry'd,—O Zaida!

Do not, do not break my heart.

Canst thou think I thus will lose thee?

Canst thou hold my love so small?

No! a thousand times I'll perish!—

My curst rival too shall fall.

Canst thou, wilt thou yield thus to them?

O break forth, and fly to me!

This fond heart shall bleed to save thee,

These fond arms shall shelter thee.

'Tis in vain, in vain, Alcanzor,

Spies surround me, bars secure:

Scarce I steal this last dear moment,

While my damsel keeps the door.

Hark, I hear my father storming!

Hark, I hear my mother chide!

I must go: farewell for ever!

Gracious Alla be thy guide!

THE END OF THE THIRD BOOK.

Page 197

RICHARD OF ALMAIGNE.

171

SERIES THE SECOND.

BOOK I.

Thongh some make slight of Libels, yet you may see by them how the wind sits : As,

take a straw and throw it up into the air, you may see by that which way the wind is, which

you shall not do by casting up a stone. More solid things do not shew the complexion of

the times so well as Ballads and Libels. Selden's Table-talk.

I.

Richard of Almaigne.

"A ballad made by one of the adherents to Simon de Montfort, Earl of Leicester, soon

after the battle of Lewes, which was fought May 14, 1264,"

-affords a curious specimen of ancient satire, and shews that the liberty, assumed

by the good people of this realm, of abusing their kings and princes at pleasure, is a pri-

vilege of very long standing.

To render this antique libel intelligible, the reader is to understand that just before

the battle of Lewes, which proved so fatal to the interests of Henry III., the barons had

offered his brother Richard King of the Romans 30,000l. to procure a peace upon such

terms as would have divested Henry of all his regal power, and therefore the treaty proved

abortive. The consequences of that battle are well known : the king, prince Edward his

son, his brother Richard, and many of his friends, fell into the hands of their enemies ;

while two great barons of the king's party, John Earl of Warren, and Hugh Bigot the

king's Justiciary, had been glad to escape into France.

In the 1st stanza the aforesaid sum of thirty thousand pounds is alluded to; but, with

the usual misrepresentation of party malerolence, is asserted to have been the ex-

orbitant demand of the king's brother.

With regard to the 2d stanza the reader is to note that Richard, along with the earldom

of Cornwall, had the honours of Wallingford and Eyrc confirmed to him on his marriage

with Sanchia, daughter of the Count of Pro-

vence, in 1243---Windsor Castle was the chief

which furnishes out the burthen of each stanza.

The 3d stanza alludes to a remarkable circumstance which happened on the day of the

battle of Lewes. After the battle was lost, Richard King of the Romans took refuge in

a windmill, which he barricadoed, and maintained for some time against the barons, but

in the evening was obliged to surrender. See

a very full account of this in the Chronicle of Mailros; Oxon. 1684, p. 229.

The 4th stanza is of obvious interpretation: Richard, who had been elected King of the

Romans in 1256, and had afterwards gone over to take possession of his dignity, was in

the year 1259 about to return into England, when the barons raised a popular clamour

that he was bringing with him foreigners to

overrun the kingdom: upon which he was forced to dismiss almost all his followers,

otherwise the barons would have opposed his landing.

In the 5th stanza the writer regrets the escape of the Earl of Warren ; and in the 6th

and 7th stanzas insinuates, that, if he and Sir Hugh Bigot once fell into the hands of their

adversaries they should never more return home; a circumstance which fixes the date

of this ballad; for in the year 1265, both those noblemen landed in South Wales, and

the royal party soon after gained the ascend-

ant. See Holinshed, Rapin, &c.

The following is copied from a very ancient MS. in the British Museum. [Harl. MSS.

2253, s. 23.] This MS. is judged, from the peculiarities of the writing, to be not later

Page 198

172

ON THE DEATH OF KING EDWARD THE FIRST.

is nointed after the Saxon manner, and the f

SireSimonddeMountfortathsmorebiyschyn

hath an oblique stroke over it.

Hevede ho nou here the Erl of Waryn,

Sitteth alle stille, ant herkneth to me;

Shuld he never more come to ys yn,

The Kyng of Alemaigne, bi mi leauté,

No witl shulde, ne with spere, ne with other gyn,

Thritti thousent pound askede he

To helpe of Wyndesore.

For te make the peces in the countre,

Richard, thah thou be ever trichard,

Ant so he dud more.

Tricthen shalt thou never more.

Sire Simond de Montfort hath suore bi ys cop

Richard of Alemaigne, whil that howes kyng,

Hevede ho nou here Sire Huc de Bigot:

He spende al is tresour opon swyyng,

Al he shulde grante here twelfmoneth scot

Hayeth he nout of Walyngford oferlyng,

Shulde he never more with his sot pot

Let him habbe, ase he brew, bale to dryng,

To helpe Wyndesore.

Maugre Wyndesore.

Richard, thah thou be ever, &c.

Be the lucf, be the liht, sire Edward,

The kyng of Alemaigne wende do ful wel

Thou shalt ride sporeless o thy lyard

He saisede the mulne for a castel,

Al the rihte way to Doverc-ward,

With hare sharpe swerdes he graunde the stel,

Shalt thou never more breke foreward;

He wende that the styles were mangonel

Ant that roweth sore

To helpe Wyndesore.

Edward, thou dudest as a shrewaard,

Richard, thah thou be ever, &c.

Forsake thyn cines lore

The kyng of Alemaigne gederde ys host,

Richard, &c.

Makede him a castel of a mulne post,

x This ballad will rise in its importance

Wende with is prude, ant is muchele bost,

with the reader, when he fiuds that it is even

Brohte from Alemayne mony sori gost

believed to have occasioned a law in our Sta-

To store Wyndesore.

tute Book, viz. "Against slanderous reports

Richard, thah thou be ever, &c.

or tales, to cause discord betwixt king and

By God, that is aboven ous, he dude muche synne,

people." (Westm. Priner, c. 34, anno 3.

That letie passen over see the Erl of Warynne:

Edw. I.) That it had this effect, is the opin-

He hath robbed England, the mores, ant th fenne,

ion of an eminent writer: See "Observations

upon the Statutes, &c," 4to., 2d edit. 1766, p.

The gold, ant the selver, and y-boren hennes,

For love of Wyndesore.

However, in the Harl. Collection may be

Richard, thah thou be ever, &c.

found other satirical and defamatory rhymes

Ver. 2, kyn, MS.

of the same age, that might have their share

in contributing to this first law against libels.

II.

Ver. 40, g'te here, MS., i. e. grant thelr. Vld. Gloss. V.

44, This stanza was omitted in the former editions.

On the Death of King Edward the First.

We have here an early attempt at elegy.

the writer dwells more upon his devotion

Edward I. died July 7, 1307. in the thirty-

than his skill in government; and pays less

fifth year of his reign, and sixty-ninth of his

attention to the martial and political abilities

age. This poem appears to have been com-

of this great monarch, in which he had no

posed soon after his death. According to the

equal, than to some little weaknesses of su-

modes of thinking peculiar to those times,

perstition, which he had in common with all

Page 199

ON THE DEATH OF KING EDWARD THE FIRST

173

his conltemporaries. The king had in the decline of life vowed an expedition to the

Byfore that ouro kyng was ded,

Holy Land; but finding his end approach, he dedicated the sum of 32,000l. to the mainton-

He spek ase mon that wes in care,

" Clerkes, knyhtes, barons, he sayde,

ance of a large body of knights (one hundred and fourty say historians, eighty says our

Y charge ou by oure sware,

poet), who were to carry his heart with them into Palestine. This dying command of the

That ye to Engelonde be trewe.

king was never performed. Our poet, with the honest prejudices of an Englishman, at-

Y deye, y ne may lyven na more ;

tributes this failure to the advice of the King of France, whose daughter Isabel, the young

Helpeth mi sone, ant crouneth him newe,

monarch who succeeded immediately married.

For he is nest to buen y-core.

But the truth is Edward and his destructive favourite Piers Gaveston spent the money

Ich biqueth myn herte arhyt,

upon their plensures.—To do the greater hon-

That hit be write at my derys,

ous to the memory of his hero, our poet puts his eloge in the mouth of the Pope, with the

Over the see that Hue* be diht

same poetic license, as a more modern bard would have introduced Britannia, or the Ge-

With fourscore knyhtes al of prys,

nius of Europe pouring forth his praises.

In werre that buen war ant wys,

This antique elegy is extracted from the same MS. volune as the preceding article ;

Azein the hethene for te fybte,

is found with the same peculiarities of writing and orthography ; and, though written at near

To wynne the croiz that lowe lys,

the distance of half a century, contains little or no variation of idiom : whereas the next

Myself yeholde zef that y myhte.'

following poem by Chaucer, which was probably written not more than fifty or sixty

Kyng of Fraunce, thou hevedest ' sinne,

years after this, exbibits almost a new lan-

That thou the counsail woldest fonde,

guage. This seems to countenance the opin-

To lutte the wille of ' Edward kyng'

ion of some antiquaries, that this great poet made considerable innovations in his mother

To wende to the holy londe :

tongue, and introduced many terms and new modes of speech from other languages.

That oure kyng hode take on honde

All Engelond to zeme ant wysse,

Alas, that booth of huerte trewe,

To wenden in to the holy londe

A stounde herkneth to my song

To wynnen us hevriche blisse.

Of duel, that Deth hath diht us newe,

The messager to the pope com,

That maketh me sykc, ant sorwe among :

And seyde that our kynge was ded:

Of a knyht, that wes so strong,

Ys oune hond the lettre he nom,

Of wham God hath don ys wille ;

Ywis his herte was full gret:

Me-thuncheth that deth hath don us wrong,

The Pope him self the lettre redde,

That he so sone shall ligge stille.

Ant spek a word of gret honour.

Al Englond ahte for te knowe

Alas! he seid, is Edward ded !

Of wham that song is, that y synge :

Of Christendome he ber the flour."

Of Edward kyng, that lith so lowe,

The Pope to is chaumbre wende,

Zent al this world is nome con springe :

For dol ne milite, he spoke na more ;

Trewest mon of alle thinge,

Ant after cardinals he sende,

Ant in werre war ant wys,

That muche couthen of Cristes lore ,

For him we ahte oure hounden wrynge

Bothe the lasse, ant eke the more,

Of Christendome he ber the prys.

Bed hem bothe rede ant synge :

Gret doel me myhte se thore,

  • The name of the person who was to preside over this business.

Mony mon is honde wrynge.

Ver. 33, sunne, MS. Ver. 35, Kyng Edward. MS. Ver.

The Pope of Peyters stod at is masse

43, ys is probably a contraction of in hys or yn his. Ver.

With ful gret solempnitè,

55, 60, Me, l. c. Men; so in Robert of Gloucester passim.

Ther me con the soule blessc :

" Kyng Edward honoured thou be:

Page 200

174

AN ORIGINAL BALLAD BY CHAUCER.

God love thi sone come after the,

Bringe to ende that thou hast bygonne,

The holy crois y-mad of tre,

So fain thou wouldest hit hav y-wonne.

Al Engelond for to wysso ant dyht;

Of gode knyhtos doth him nount fail.

Jerusalem, thou hast i-lore

The flour of al chivalrie

Now kyng Edward liveth na more :

Alas ! that he zet shulde deye !

He wolde ha rered up full heyze

Oure banners, that brueth broht to grounde;

Wel longe we mowe clepe and crie

Er we a such kyng han y-founde.'

Nou is Edward of Carnarvan .

King of Engelond al aplyt,

God lete him ner be worse man

Then his fader, ne lasse of myht,

To holden is pore men to ryht,

And understonde good counsail,

Thah mi tonge were mad of stel,

Ant min herte yate of bras,

The godness myht y never telle,

That with kyng Edward was :

Kyng, as thou art cloped conquerour,

In uch bataille thou hadest prys;

God bringe thi soule to the honour,

That ever thou wes, ant ever ys.

*Here follow in the original three lines

more, which, as seemingly redundant, we

choose to throw to the bottom of the page, viz.

That lasteth ay withouten endo,

Biddo we God ant oure Lady to thilke

blisse .

Jesus us sende. Amen.

III.

An Original Ballad by Chaucer.

This little sonnet, which hath escaped all

the editors of Chancer's works, is now printed

for the first time from an ancient MS. in the

Pepysian library, that contains many other

poems of its venerable author. The versifi-

cation is of that species, which the French

call Rondeau, very naturally Englished by

our honest countrymen Round O. Though

so early adopted by them, our ancestors had

not the honour of inventing it: Chaucer

among the neighbouring nations. A fond-

ness for laborious trifles hath always prevailed

in the dark ages of literature. The Greek

poets have had their wings and axes: the

great father of English poesy may therefore

be pardoned one poor solitary rondeau.—

Geofrey Chaucer died Oct. 25, 1400, aged 72.

Upon my trouth I sey yow feithfully,

That ye ben of my liffe and deth the quene,

For with my deth the trouth shal be sene.

Youre two eyn, &c.

II. 1.

So hath youre beauty fro your herte chased

Pitee, that me my' availoth not to pleyn;

For daunger hath your mercy in his cheyne.

Giltless my deth thus have yo purchased;

I sey yow soth, me nedeth not to fayn:

So hath your beaute fro your herte chased.

Alas, that nature hath in yow compassed

So grete beaute, that no man may atteyn

To mercy, though he sterve for the peyn.

So hath youre beaute, &c.

I. 1.

Youre two eyn will sle me sodenly,

1 may the beaute of them not sustene,

So wendeth it thorowout my herté kene.

And but your words will helen hastely

My hertis wound, while that it is grene,

Youre two eyn will sle me sodenly.

III. 1.

Syn I fro love escaped am so fat

I nere thinke to ben in his prison lene;

Syn I am fre, I counte him not a bene.

Page 201

THE TURNAMENT OF TOTTENHAM

175

He may answere, and sey this and that,

I do no fors, I speak ryght as I mene;

Syn I fro love escaped am so fat.

Love hath my name i-striko out of his selat,

And he is striko out of my bokos clene:

For ever mo 'thor* is non other mene.

Syn I fro love escaped, &c.

IV.

The Turnament of Tottenyham :

"OR THE WOODING, WINNING, AND WEDDING OF TIBBE, THE REEV'S DAUGHTER THERE."

It does honour to the good sense of this nation that while all Europe was captivated with the bewitching charms of Chivalry and Romance, two of our writers in the rudest times could see through the false glare that surrounded them, and discover whatever was absurd in them both. Chancer wrote his Rhyme of Sir Thopas in ridicule of the latter; and in the following poem we have a humorous burlesque of the former. Without pretending to decide whether the institution of chivalry was upon the whole useful or pernicious in the rude ages, a question that has lately employed many good writers,* it evidently encouraged a vindictive spirit, and gave such force to the custom of duelling, that there is little hope of its being abolished. This, together with the fatal consequences which often attended the diversion of the Turnament, was sufficient to render it obnoxious to the graver part of mankind. Accordingly the church early denounced its censures against it, and the state was often prevailed on to attempt its suppression. But fashion and opinion are superior to authority: and the proclamations against tilting were as little regarded in those times, as the laws against duelling are in these. This did not escape the discernment of our poet, who easily perceived that inveterate opinions must be attacked by other weapons, besides proclamations and censures; he accordingly made use of the keen one of Ridicule. With this view he has here introduced with admirable humour a parcel of clowns, imitating all the solemnities of the Tourney. Here we have the regular challenge—the appointed day—the lady for the prize—the formal preparations—the display of armour—the scutcheons and devices—the oaths taken on entering the lists—the various accidents of the encounter—the victor leading off the prize—and the magnificent feasting—with all the other solemn fopperies that usually attended the pompous Turnament. And how acutely the sharpness of the author's humour must have been felt in those days, we may learn from what we can perceive of its keenness now, when time has so much blunted the edge of his ridicule.

The Turnament of Tottenham was first printed from an ancient MS. in 1631, 4to., by the Rev. William Bedwell, rector of Tottenham, who was one of the translators of the Bible, and afterwards Bishop of Kilmore in Ireland, where he lived and died with the highest reputation of sanctity, in 1641. He tells us, it was written by Gilbert Pilkington, of the same parish, and author of another piece, entitled Passio Domini Jesu Christi. Bedwell, who was eminently skilled in the oriental and other languages, appears to have been but little conversant with the ancient writers in his own; and he so little entered into the spirit of the poem he was publishing, that he contends for its being a serious narrative of a real event, and thinks it must have been written before the time of Edward III., because Turnaments were prohibited in that

  • See [Mr. Hurd's] Letters on Chivalry, 8vo. 1762. Mémoires de la Chavalérie, par M. de la Curne des Palais, 1769, 2 tom. 12mo., &c.

23

  • This MS.

Page 202

reign. "I do verily believe," says he, "that this Turnament was acted before this proclamation of King Edward. For how durst any to attempt to do that, although in sport, which was so straightly forbidden, both by the civil and ecclesiastical power? For although they fought not with lances, yet, as our author sayth, 'It was no childrens game.' And what would have become of him, thinke you, which should have slayne another in this manner of geasting? Would he not, trow you, have been hang'd for it in earnest? yea, and have bene buried like a dogge?" It is, however, well known that Tournaments were in use down to the reign of Elizabeth.

In the first editions of this work, Bedwell's copy was reprinted here, with some few conjectural emendations; but as Bedwell seemed to have reduced the orthography at least, if not the phraseology, to the standard of his own time, it was with grent plensure that the Editor was informed of an ancient MS. copy preserved in the Museum [Harl. MSS. 5396], which appeared to have been transcribed in the reign of King Hen. VI. about 1456. This obliging information the Editor owed to the friendship of Thomas Tyrwhit, Esq., and he has chiefly followed that more authentic transcript, improved however by some readings from Bedwell's Book.

Of all thes kene conquerours to carpe it were kynde;

Of fele feyztyng folk ferly we fynde,

The Turnament of Totenham have we in mayde;

It were harme syche hardynes were holden byhynde,

In story as we rede

Of Hawkyn, of Herry,

Of Tomkyn, of Terry,

Of them that were dughty

And stalworth in dede.

It befel in Totenham on a dere day,

Ther was mad a shurtyng be the hy-way :

Theder com al the men of the contray,

Of Hyssylton, of Hy-gate, and of Hakenay,

And all the swete swynkers.

Ther hopped Hawkyn,

Ther daunced Dawkyn,

Ther trumped Tomkyn,

And all were trewe drynkers.

Tyl the day was gon and evyn-song past,

That thay schulde rekyn thor scot and thor couns cast;

Perkyn the potter into the press past,

And sayd Randol the refe, a dozter thou hast,

Tyb the dere:

Therfor faine wyt wold I,

Whych of all thys bachelerly

Were best worthy

To wed hur to hys fere.

Upstyrtthos gadelnygys wyth ther lang staves,

And sayd, Randol the refe, lo ! thys lad raves ;

Boldely anang us thy dozter he craves ;

We er rycher men than he, and more gode haves

Of cattell and corn ;

Then sayd Perkyn, 'To Tybbe I have hyzt

That I schal be alway redy in my ryzt,

If that it schulde be thys day sevenyzt,

Or elles zet to morn.

Then sayd Randolfo the refe, Ever be he waryd

That about thys carpyng lengere wold be taryd:

I wold not my dozter, that scho were miscaryd,

But at hur most worschiip I wold scho were maryd ;

Therfor a Turnament schal begynne

Thys day sevenyzt,—

Wyth a flyrl for to fyzt:

And 'he,' that is most of myght

Schal bruke hur wyth wynne.

Whoso barys hym best in the turnament,

Hym schal be granted the gre be the comon assent,

For to wynne my dozter wyth 'dughtynesse' of dent,

And 'coppell' my brode-henne 'that' was brozt out of Kent :

And my dunnyd kowe

For no spens wyl I spare,

For no cattell wyl I care,

He schall have my gray mare,

And my spottyd sowe.

Ver. 20, It is not very clear in the MS. whether it should be cont or conters. Ver. 48, dozty, MS. Ver. 49, coppied. We still use the phrase, "a copple-crowned hen."

Page 203

Ther was many 'a' bold lad ther bodyes to bede:

Than thay take thayr love, and homward they zede;

And all the weke afterward graythed ther wede,

Tyll it come to the day, that thay suld do ther dede.

They armed ham in matts ;

Thay set on ther nollys,

For to kepe ther pollys,

Gode blake bollys,

For batryng of bats.

Thay sowed them in schepeskynnes, for thay schulde not brest :

Ilk-on toke a blak hat, insted of a crest: 65

'A basket or a panyer before on ther brest,'

And a flayle in ther hande ; for to fyght prest,

Furth gon thay fare :

Ther was kyd mekyl forsa

Who schulde best fend hys cors: 70

He that had no gode hors,

He gat hym a mare.

Syche another gadryng have I not sene oft,

When all the gret company com rydand to the croft.

Tyb on a gray mare was set up on loft 75

On a sek ful of fedyrs, for scho schulde syt soft,

And led 'till the gap.'

For cryeng of the men

Forther wold not Tyb then,

Tyl solde had hur brode hen 80

Set in hur lap.

A gay gyrdyl Tyb had on, borowed for the nonys,

And a garland on hur hed ful of rounde bonys,

And a broche on hur brest ful of 'sapphyre' stonys;

Wyth the holy-rode tokenyng, was wrotyn for the nonys;

For no 'spendings' thay had spared.

Ver. 57, gayed, P. C. V. 66 is wanting in MS., and sup- plied from P. C. V. 72, He borrowed him, P. C. V. 76,

The MS. had once sedys, i. e. seeds, which appears to have been altered to fedyrs, or feithers. Bedwell's copy has Senvy, i. e. Mustard-seed. V. 77, And led hur to cap, MS.

V. 83, Bedwell's P. C. has "Rud-Bones." V. 84, safer siones, MS. V. 85, wrotyn, i. e. wrought; P. C. reads written. V. 86, No catel [perhaps chntel] thay had spared, MS.

When joly Gyb saw hur thare,

He gyrd so hys gray mare,

'That scho leto a forkin' fare 90

At the rerward.

I wow to God, quoth Herry, I schal not lefe belyndc,

May I mete wyth Bernard on Bayard the blyndc,

Ich man kepe hym out of my wyndc,

For whatsoever that he be, before me I fyndc,

I wot I schall hym greve. 95

Wele sayd, quoth Hawkyn.

And I wow, quoth Dawkyn,

May I mete wyth Tomkyn,

Hys flayle I schal hym reve.

I make a vow, quoth Hud, Tyb, son schal thou se, 100

Whyche of all thys bachelerly 'granted' is the gre :

I schal scomfet thaym all, for the love of the;

In what place so I come they schal have dout of me,

Myn armes ar so clere :

I here a reddyl, and a rake, 105

Poundred wyth a brenand drake,

And three cantells of a cake

In ycha cornere.

I vow to God, quoth Hawkyn, yf 'I' have the gowt,

Al that I fyndc in the felde 'thrustand hero aboute, 110

Have I twyes or thryes redyn thurgh the route.

In ycha stede ther thay me se, of me thay schal have doute.

When I begyn to play.

I make avowe that I ne schall,

But yf Tybhe wyl me call, 115

Or I be thryes don fall,

Ryzt onys com away.

Then sayd Terry, and he swore be hys crede ;

Saw thou never yong boy forther hys body bede, 119

For when thay fyzt fastest and most ar in drede,

I schall take Tyb by the hand, and hur away lede :

V. 89, Then . . . faucon, MS. V. 101, grant, MS. V. 109, yf he have, MS. V. 110, the MS. literally has thr. sand here.

Page 204

178

THE TURNAMENT OF TOTTENHAM

I am armed at the full;

In myn army I bere wole

A doz trugh, and a panell,

A sad yll wythout a panell,

Wyth a fles of woll.

125

I make a vow, quoth Dudman, and swore be the stra,

Whyls me ys loft my 'mare,' thou gets hurr not swa;

For scho ys wole schapen, and lizt as the rue,

Ther is no capul in thys myle befor hur schal ga;

Scho wul ne nozt begyle:

Sche wyl me bere, I dar say,

On a lang somerys day,

Fro Hyssylton to Hakenay,

Nozt other half myle.

135

I make a vow, quoth Perkyn, thow speks of cold rost,

I schal wyrchyth 'wyselvor' without any bost;

Five of the best capulys, that ar in thys ost,

I wot I schal thaym wynne, and bryng thaym to my cost,

And here I grant thaym Tybbe.

140

Wele boyes here ys he,

That wyl fyzt, and not fle,

For I am in my jolyate,

Wyth so forth, Gybbe.

When thay had ther vowes mada, furth can thay hie,

145

Wyth flayles, and hornes, and trumpes mad of tre :

Ther were all the bachelarys of that contre;

Thay were dyzt in aray, as thaymselfes wold be:

Thayr baners were ful bryzt

Of an old rotten fell ;

The cheveron of a plow-mell ;

And the schadov of a bell,

Poudred wyth the mone lyz t.

150

I wot yt 'was' ne chyldyr game, whan thay togedyr met,

When icha frke in the feld on hys feloj bet,

And layd on styfly, for nothyng wold thay let,

And foght ferly fast, tyll ther horses swet,

And few wordys spoken.

Ther were flayles al slatred,

Ther wer scheldys al flatred,

154

Ver. 128, merth, MS. V. 137, swyselior, MS. V. 140,

flayles, and harnyssa, P. C. V. 151, The Chiefe, P. O. V.

154, yt ys, MS.

Bolly s and dysche s al to schatred,

And many hedy s brokyn.

There was elynkymg of cart-sade lys, and elatteryng of eannes ;

Of fele frekys in the feld brokyn were their fannes ;

Of sum were the hedys brokyn, of sum the bray n-pannes,

And yll were thay besene, or thay went thann s,

166

Wyth swyppyn g swopyls:

Thay were so wery for-foght,

Thay myzt not fyzt mare oloft,

But creped about in the 'croft,'

170

As thay were croked crepyls.

Perkyn was so wery, that he began to loute;

Help, Hud, I am ded in thys ylk rowte:

An hors for fourty pens, a gode and a stoute!

That I may lyz tly come of my noye oute,

For no cost wyl I spare.

176

He styr t up as a snale,

And hont a capul be the tayle,

And 'reft' Dawkin hys flayle,

And wan there a mare.

180

Perkyn wan five, and Hud wan twa:

Glad and blythe thay ware, that they had don sa;

Thay wold have tham to Tyb, and present hur with tha :

The Capulls were so wory, that thay myzt not ga,

But styl gon thoy stond.

185

Alas! quoth Hudde, my joye I lese ;

Mee had lever then a ston of chese,

That dere Tyb had al these,

And wyst it were my sond.

Perkyn turnyd hym about in that yeh thrang wrang;

Among thos wery boyes he wrest and he

191

He threw tham doun to the orth, and thras t tham amang,

When he saw Tyrry away wyth Tyb fang,

And after hym ran ;

Off his horse he hym drog h,

195

And gaf hym of hys flayl inogh :

We te he! quoth Tyb, and lugh,

Ye er a daught y man.

Ver. 168, The boyes were, MS. V. 170, creped then about

in the croft, MS. V. 170, razt, MS. V. 185, stand. MS.

V. 189, saund, MS.

Page 205

FOR THE VICTORY AT AGINCOURT.

179

'Thus' thay tugged, and rugged, tyl yt was nere nyzt:

All the wyves of Tottenham came to se that syzst

200

Wyth wyspes, and kexis, and ryschys there lyzst,

To fetch hom ther husbande, that were tham trout plyzt;

And sum brozt gret harwos,

Ther husbande hom to fetch,

Sum on dores, and sum on hech,

205

Sum on hyrdylys, and som on crech,

And sum on whele-barows.

Thay gaderd Perky about, 'on' overych syde,

And grant hym ther 'the gre,' the more was hys pryde :

Tyb and he, wyth gret 'mirth' homward con thay ryde,

210

And were al nyzt togedyr, tyl the morn tyde;

And thay 'to church went'

So wele hys nedys he has sped,

That dere Tyb he 'hath' wed ;

The prayse-folk, that hur led,

215

Were of the Turnament.

To that ylk fest com many for the nones;

Some come hyphalle, and some trippand 'thither' on the stonys:

Sum a staf in hys hand, and sum two at onys;

Of sum where the hedes broken, of some the schulder bonys;

220

With sorrow come thay thedyr.

Wo was Hawkyn, wo was Herry,

Wo was Tomkyn, wo was Terry,

And so was all the bachealary,

When thay met togedyr.

225

*At that fest thay wer servyd with a ryche aray,

Evry fyve & fyve had a colenay;

And so thay sat in joyte al the lang day;

And at the last thay went to bed with ful gret doray:

Mekyl myrth was them among;

230

In every corner of the hous

Was melody delycyous

For to here preciys

Of six menys song.†

V.

for the victory at agincourt.

That our plain and martial ancestors could

wield their swords much better than their

pens, will appear from the following homely

rhymes, which were drawn up by some poet

laureat of those days to celebrate the immor-

tal victory gained at Agincourt, Oct. 25, 1415.

This song or hymn is given merely as a curi-

osity, and is printed from a MS. copy in

the Pepys collection, vol. I. folio.

Deo gratias Anglia reddo pro victoria !

Owre kyngo went forth to Normandy,

With grace and myzt of chivalry;

The God for hym wrouzt marvelously,

Wherefore Englonde may calle, and cry

5

Deo gratias :

Deo gratias Anglia reddo pro victoria.

Ver. 190, Thys, MS. V. 204, hom for to fetch, MS. V.

208, about everych side, MS. V. 209, the gre, is wanting

In MS. V. 210, mothe, MS. V. 212, And they itare assent,

MS. V. 214, had wed, MS. V. 215. The cheefemen, P. C.

He sette a sege, the sothe for to say,

To Harflue toune with ryal aray;

That toune he wan, and made a fray,

10

That Fraunce shall rywe tyl domes day.

Deo gratias : &c.

Then went owre kynge, with alle his oste,

Thorowe Fraunce for all the Frenshe boste;

He spared 'for' drede of leste, ne most,

Tyl he come to Agincourt coste.

15

Deo gratias, &c.

  • In the former impressions, this concluding stanza was

only given fiom Bedwell's printed edition; but it is here

copied from the old MS. wherein it has been since found

separated from the rest of the poem, by several pages of a

money-account, and other heterogeneous matter.

† Six-men's song-men, i. e. a song for six voices. So Shakspeare

uses Three-man song-men, in his Winter's Tale, A. III. sc.

3, to denote men that could sing catches composed for three

voices. Of this sort are Weelkes's Madrigals mentioned

below, Book II. Song 9. So again Shakspeare has Three-

men Beadle; i. e. a Beadle or Rummor worked by three men

2 Hen. IV, A. I. sc. 3.

Page 206

180

THE NOT-BROWNE MAYD.

Than for sothe that knyzt comoly

In Agincourt feld he fauzt manly,

Thorow grace of God most myzty

He had bothe the felde, and the victory.

Deo gratias, &c.

Thar dukys, and erlys, lorde and barone,

Were take, and slayne, and that wel sone,

And some were ledde in to Landone

With joye, and merthe, and grete renone.

Deo gratias, &c.

Now gracious God he save owre kynge,

His people, and all his wel wyllynge,

Gef him gode lyfe, and gode endynge,

That we with merthe mowe savoly synge

Deo gratias :

Anglia redde pro victoria.

VI.

The Not-Browne Mayd.

The sentimental beauties of this ancient

ballad have always recommended it to readers

of taste, notwithstanding the rust of antiquity

which obscures the style and expression.

Indeed, if it had no other merit than that

having afforded the ground-work to Prior's

" Henry and Emma," this ought to preserve

it from oblivion. That we are able to give it

in so correct a manner, is owing to the great

care and exactness of the accurate Editor of

the "Prolusions," 8vo., 1760; who has formed

the text from two copies found in two differ-

ent editions of Arnolde's Chronicle, a book

supposed to be first printed about 1521.

From the copy in the Prolusions the follow-

ing is printed, with a few additional improve-

ments gathered from another edition of Ar-

nolde's book* preserved in the Public Li-

brary at Cambridge. All the various read-

ings of this copy will be found here, either

received into the text, or noted in the margin.

The references to the Prolusions will show

where they occur. In our ancient folio MS.

described in the preface, is a very corrupt

and defective copy of this ballad, which yet

afforded a great improvement in one passage.

See v. 310.

It has been a much easier task to settle

the text of this poem, than to ascertain its

date. The ballad of the "Nutbrowne Mayd"

  • This (which my friend Mr. Farmer supposes to be the

first edition) is in folio: the folios are numbered at the

bottom of the leaf; the Song begins at folio 75. The poem

has since been collated with a very fine copy that was in

the collection of the late James West, Esq.; the readings

extracted thence are denoted thus; 'Mr. W.'

was first revived in "The Muses Mercury

for Juno, 1707," 4to., being profaced with a

little "Essay on the old English Poets and

Poetry;" in which this poem is concluded to

be "near 300 years old," upon reasons, which,

though they appear inconclusive to us now,

were sufficient to determine Prior ; who there

first met with it. However, this opinion had

the approbation of the learned Wanley, an

excellent judge of ancient books. For that

whatever related to the reprinting of this old

piece was referred to Wanley, appears from

two letters of Prior's preserved in the British

Museum. [Harl. MSS. No. 3777.] The Edi-

tor of the Prolusions thinks it cannot be older

than the year 1500, because, in Sir Thomas

More's Tale of "The Serjeant," &c., which

was written about that time, there appears

a sameness of rhythmus and orthography, and

a very near affinity of words and phrases,

with those of this ballad. But this reasoning

is not conclusive; for if Sir Thomas More

made this ballad his model, as is very likely,

that will account for the sameness of measure,

and in some respect for that of words and

phrases, even though this had been written

long before; and, as for the orthography, it

is well known that the old printers reduced

that of most books to the standard of their

own times. Indeed, it is hardly probable

that an antiquary like Arnolde would have

inserted it among his historical collections, if

it had been then a modern piece ; at least, he

would have been apt to have named its

author. But to show how little can be in-

Page 207

ferred from a resemblauce of rythmus or

stylc, the editor of thes volumes has in his

ancient folio MS. a poem on the victory of

Floddenfield, written in the same numbers,

with the same alliterations, and in orthogra-

phy, phraseology, and style nearly resembling

the Visions of Pierce Plowman, which are yet

known to have been composed above 160

years before that battle. As this poem is a

great curiosity, we shall give a few of the in-

troductory lines:

"Grant, gracious God, grant me this time,

That I may 'say, or I cease, thy selven to

please;

And Mary his mother, that maketh this world;

And all the seenlie saints, that sitten in

heaven;

I will carpe of kings, that conquered full

wide,

That dwelled in this land, that was alyes

noble;

Henry the seventh, that soveraign lord, &c.

With regard to the date of the following

ballad, we have taken a middle course,

neither placed it so high as Wunley and

Prior, nor quite so low as the editor of the

Prolusions: we should have followed the lat-

ter in dividing every other line into two, but

that the whole would then have taken up

more room than could be allowed it in this

volume.

Be it ryght, or wrong, these men among

On women do complayne;*

Affyrmynge this, how that it is

A labour spent in vayne,

To love them wele; for never a dele

They love a man agayne:

For late a man do what he can,

Theyr favour to attayne,

Yet, yf a newe do them persue,

Theyr first true lover than

Laboureth for nought: for from her thought

He is a banyshed man.

  • My frlend, Mr. Farme, proposes to read the first lines

thus, as a Latluisın:

Be it right or wrong, 'tis men among,

On woman to complayne.

I say nat nay, but that all day

It is bothe writ and sayd

That womans faith is, as who sayth,

All utterly decayd;

But, nerthelesse ryght good wytnesse

In this case might be layd,

That they love true, and contynue:

Recorde the Not-browne Mayde:

Which, when her love came, her to prove,

To her to make his mone,

Wolde nat depart; for in her hart

She loved but hym alone.

Than betwainc us late us dyscus

What was all the manere

Betwayne them two; we wyll also

Tell all the payne, and fere,

That she was in. Now I begyn

So that ye me answere;

Wherfore, all ye that present be

I pray you, gyve an ere

"I am the knyght; I come by nyght,

As secret as I can;

Sayinge, Alas! thus standeth the case,

I am a banyshed man."

sm.

And I your wyll for to fulfyll

In this wyll nat refuse;

Trustyng to shewe, in wordes fewe,

That men have an yll use

(To theyr own shame) women to blame,

And causelesse them accuse;

Therfore to you I answere nowe,

All women to excuse,—

Myne owne hart doth, with you what chere?

I pray you, tell alone;

For, in my mynde, of all mankynde

I love but you alone.

IIE.

It standeth so; a dede is do

Whereof grate harme shall growc:

My destiny is for to dy

A shamefull deth, I trowc;

Or elles to fle: the one must be.

None other way I knowe,

But to withdrawc as an outlawe,

And take me to my bowe.

Wherfore, adue, my owne hart true!

None other rede I can;

For I must to the grene wode go,

Alone, a banyshed man.

Page 208

182

THE NOT-BROWNE MAYD.

SHE.

O Lord, what is thys worldys blysse,

That changeth as the mone!

My somers day in lusty may

Is derked before the none.

I here you say, farewell : Nay, nay,

We depart nat sone.

Why say ye so ? whedyr wyll ye go ?

Alas ! what have ye done ?

All my welfàre to sorrow and care

Sholde chaunge, yf ye were gone;

For, in my mynde, of all mankynde

I lovo but you alone.

HE.

I can belove, it shall you grove,

And somwhat you dystrayne;

But, aftyrwàrde, your paynes harde

Within a day or twayne

Shall sone aslake; and ye shall take

Comfort to you ageyne;

Why sholde ye ought? for, to make thought,

Your labour were in vayne.

And thus I do ; and pray you to

As hartely, as can ;

For I must to the grene wode go,

Alone, a banyshed man.

SHE.

Now, syth that ye have shewed to me

The secret of your mynde,

I shall be playne to you ageyne,

Lyke as ye shall me fynde.

Syth it is so, that ye wyll go,

I wolde not leve behynde :

Shall never be sayd, the Not-browne Mayd

Was to her love unkyunde:

Make you redy, for so am I,

Allthough it were anone ;

For, in my mynde, of all mankynde

I love but you alone.

HE.

Yet I you rede to take good hede

What men wyll thynke, and say:

Of yonge, and olde it shall be tolde,

That ye be gone away,

Your wanton wyll for to fulfil,

In grene wode you to play ;

And that ye myght from your delyght

No longer make delay.

Rather than ye sholde thus for me

Be called an yll womàn,

Yet wolde I to the grene wode go

Alone, a banyshod man.

SHE.

Though it be songe of old and yonge,

That I sholde be to blame,

Theyrs be the charge, that speke so large

In hurtynge of my name :

For I wyll prove, that faythfülle love

It is devoyd of shame;

In your dystresse, and hevynesse,

To part with you, the same :

And sure all tho, that do not so,

True lovers are they none;

For, in my mynde, of all mankynde

I love but you alone.

HE.

I counceyle you, remember howe,

It is no maydens lawe,

Nothyrge to dout, but to renne out

To wode with an outláwe:

For ye must there in your hand bere

A bowe, redy to drawe;

And, as a thefe, thus must you lyve,

Ever in drede and awe;

Wherby to you grete harme myght growe :

Yet had I lever than,

That I had to the grene wode go,

Alone, a banyshed man.

SHE.

I thinke nat nay, but as ye say,

It is no maydens lore :

But love may make me for your sake,

As I have sayd before

To come on fote, to hunt, and shote

To gete us mete in store;

For so that I your company

May have, I aske no more :

From which to part, it maketh my hart

As colde as ony stone ;

For, in my mynde, of all mankynde

I love but you alone.

HE.

For an outlawe this is the lawe,

That men hym take and bynde;

Ver. 63, The somers, Prol. V. 91, Shall it never, Prol.

Ver. 117, To shewe all, Prol. and Mr. W. V. 133, I say nat, Prol. and Mr. W. V. 138, and store, Camb. copy.

Page 209

THE NOT-BROWNE MAYD.

183

Withont pyte, hanged to be,

And waver with the wynde,

If I had nedo, (as God forbede!)

What rescous coude ye fynde?

Forsoth, I trowè, ye and your bowe

For fere wolde drawe behynde:

And no mervayle; for lytell avayle

Were in your counceylè than :

Wherfore I wyll to the grene wode go,

Alone, a banyshed man.

SHE.

Ryght wole knowe ye, that women be

But feble for to fygt;

No womanhede it is indew

To be bolde as a knyght :

Yet, in such fere yf that ye were

With enemyes day or nyght,

I wolde withstande, with bowe in hande

To greve them as I myght,

And you to save ; as women have

From doth 'men' many one :

For, in my mynde, of all mankynde

I love but you alone.

HE.

Yet take good hede; for ever I drede

That ye coude nat sustayne

The thornie wayes, the deepe vallèys,

The snowe, the frost, the raynè,

The colde, the hete: for dry, or wete,

We must lodge on the playnè :

And, us above, none other rofe

But a brake bush, or swayne :

Which sone sholde greve you, I beleve;

And ye wolde gladly than

That I had to the grene wode go,

Alone, a banyshed man.

SHE.

Syth I have here bene partynère

With you of joy and blysse,

I must also parte of your wo

Endure, as reson is :

Yet am I sure of one plesùre

And, shortly, it is this :

That, where ye be, me semeth, pardè,

I coude nat fare amysse.

Without more speche, I you beseeche

That we were sone agone;

For, in my mynde, of all mankynde

I love but you alone.

HE.

If ye go thyder, ye must consyder,

Whan ye have lust to dyne,

There shall no mete be for you gete,

Nor drinke, bere, ale, ne wyne.

No schetés clenc, to lye betwene,

Made of threde and twyne;

None other house, but loves and bowes,

To cover your hed and myne.

O myne hertè sweté, this evyll dyéte

Sholde make you pale and wan;

Wherfore I wyll to the grene wode go,

Alone, a banyshed man.

SHE.

Amongè the wylde dere, such an archère,

As men say that ye be,

No may nat fayle of good vitayle,

Where is so grete plentè :

And water clere of the ryvére

Shall be full swete to me;

With which in helè I shall ryght wele

Endure, as ye shall see;

And, or we go, a beddo or two

I can provyde anone;

For, in my mynde, of all mankynde

I love but you alone.

HE.

Lo yet, before, ye must do more,

Yf ye wyll go with me:

As cut your here up by your ere,

Your kyrtel by the kne;

With bowe in handè, for to withstande

Your enemyes yf nede be:

And this same nyght before day-lyght,

To wode-warde wyll I fle.

Yf that ye wyll all this fulfyll,

Do it shortly as ye can:

Els wyll I to the grene wode go,

Alone, a banyshed man.

SHE.

I shall as nowe do more for you

Than longeth to womanhede;

To shote my here, a bowe to bere,

To shote in tyme of nede.

Ver. 150, socours, Prol. and Mr. W. V. 102, and night,

Camb. Copy. Y. 164, to helpe ye with my myght, Prol. and

Mr. W. V. 172, frost and raynè, Mr. W. V. 174, Ye must,

Prol. V. 190, shortly gonè, Prol. and Mr. W.

24

Ver. 190, Nyther berè, Prol. and Mr. W. V. 201, Do

myn, Mr. W. V. 207, May ye nat faylè, Prol. Ib. May nat

fayle, Mr. W. V. 219, above your erè, Prol. V. 220, above

the kne, Prol. and Mr. W. V. 223, the same, Prol. and

Mr. W.

Page 210

184

THE NOT-BROWNE MAYD.

O my swete mother, before all other

For you I have most duede:

But nowe, adue! I must ensue,

Where fortune doth me lede.

All this make ye: Now let us fle:

The day cometh fast upon ;

For, in my mynde, of all mankynde

I love but you alone.

IIE.

Nay, nay, nat so; ye shall nat go,

And I shall tell ye why,—

Your appetyght is to be lyght

Of love, I wele espy :

For, lyke as ye have sayd to me,

In lyke wyse hardely

Ye wolde answere whosoever it were,

In way of company.

It is sayd of olde, Sone hote, sone colde;

And so is a womàn.

Wherfore I to the wode wyll go,

Alone, a banyshed man.

SHE.

Yf ye take hede, it is no nede

Such wordes to say by me ;

For oft ye prayed, and longe assayed,

Or I you loved, pardè :

And though that I of auncestry

A barons daughter be,

Yet have you proved howe I you loved

A squyer of lowe degre ;

And ever shall, whatso befall;

To dy therfore* anone;

For, in my mynde, of all mankynde

I love but you alone.

HE.

A barons chylde to be begylded !

It were a cursed dede :

To be folàwe with an outlawe !

Almighty God forbedde !

Yet beter were, the pore squyère

Alone to forest yede,

Than ye sholde say another day,

That, by my cursed dede,

Ye were betray'd: Wherfore, good mayd,

The best rede that I can,

Is, that I to the grene wode go,

Alone, a banyshed man.

Ver. 251, For I must to the grene wode go, Prol. and Mr. W. V. 253, yet is, Camb. Copy.

dy with him. Editor's MS.

  • i. e. for this cause . . though I were to die for having loved you

SHE.

Whatever befall, I never shall

Of this thyng you upbrayd :

But yf ye go, and leve me so,

Then have ye me betrayd.

Remember you welle, howe that ye dele ;

For, yf ye, as ye sayd,

Be so unkynd to leve behynde

Your love, the Not-browne Mayd,

Trust me truly, that I shall dy

Sone after ye be gone;

For, in my mynde, of all mankynde

I love but you alone.

IIE.

Yf that ye went, ye sholde repent;

For in the forest nowe

I have purvayed me of a mayd,

Whom I love more than you ;

Another fayrère, than ever ye were,

I dare it were avowe;

And of ye bothe eche sholde be wrothe

With other, as I trowde :

It were mync cse, to lyve in pese;

So wyll I, yf I can;

Wherfore I to the wode wyll go,

Alone, a banyshed man.

SHE.

Though in the wode I undyrstode

Ye had a paramour,

All this may nought remove my thought,

But that I wyll be your :

And she shall fynd me soft, and kynde,

And courteys every hour ;

Glad to fulfyll all that she wyll

Commaunde me to my power :

For had ye, lo, an hundred mo,

'Of them I wolde be one ;'

For, in my mynde, of all mankynde

I love but you alone.

HE.

Myn owne dere love, I se the prove

That ye be kynde, and true :

Of mayde, and wyfe, in all my lyfe,

The best that ever I knew.

Ver. 278, outbrayd, Prol. and Mr. W. V. 282, ye be as, Prol. and Mr. W. V. 283, Ye were unkynde to lev me behynde, Prol. and Mr. W. V. 310, So the Editor's MS.

All the printed copies read :

Yet would I be that one.

Ver. 315, of all, Prol. and Mr. W.

Page 211

A BALET BY THE EARL RIVERS.

185

Be mery and glad, be no moro sad,

The case is chaunged nowe;

For it were ruthe, that, for your truthe,

Ye sholde have cause to rewe.

320

Be nat dismayed ; whatsoever I sayd

To you, whan I began ;

I wyll nat to the grene wode go,

I am no banyshed man.

SHE.

These tydings be more gladd to me,

Than to be made a quene,

Yf I were sure they sholde endure:

But it is often sene,

Whan men wyll breke promyse, they spake

The wordés on the splene.

330

Ye shape some wylo me to begyle,

And stole from me, I wene:

Than were the case worse than it was,

And I more wo-begone:

For, in my mynde, of all mankynde

335

I love but you alone.

HE.

Ye shall nat nede further to drede ;

I will nat dysparȝge

You, (God defend!) syth ye descend

Of so grete a lynȝge.

340

Nowe undyrstande; to Westmarlande,

Which is myne herytage,

I wyll you brynge; and with a rynge

By way of maryage

I wyll you take, and lady make,

345

As shortly as I can:

Thus have you won an erlys son

And not a banyshed man.

AUTIOR.

Here may ye se, that women be

In love, meke, kynde, and stable :

350

Late never man reprove them than,

Or call them variable;

But, rather, pray God, that we may

To them be confortable;

Which sometymes proveth such, as he loveth,

Yf they be charytable.

356

For syth men wolde that women sholde

Be meke to them each one,

Moche more ought they to God obey,

And serve but hym alone.

360

VII.

A Balet by the Earl Rivers.

The amiable light in which the character

of Anthony Widville the gallant Earl Rivers

has been placed by the elegant Author of the

Catalogue of Noble Writers, interests us in

whatever fell from his pen. It is presumed

therefore that the insertion of this little Son-

net will be pardoned, though it should not be

found to have much pootical merit. It is the

only original poem known of that nobleman's;

his more voluminous works being only transla-

tions. And if we consider that it was writ-

ten during his cruel confinement in Pomfret

castle a short time before his execution in

1483, it gives us a fine picture of the compo-

sure and steadiness with which this stout

Earl beheld his approaching fate.

This ballad we owe to Rouse, a contempo-

rary historian, who seems to have copied it

from the Earl's own handwriting: In tem-

porem-fractum editit unum Baletin anglicis,

ut mihi monstratum est, quod subsequitur sub

his verbis: Sum wrat Musing, &c. "Rossi

Hist. 8vo. 2 Edit. p. 213." In Rouse the 2d

Stanza, &c., is imperfect, but the defects are

here supplied from a more perfect copy

printed in "Ancient Songs from the time of

King Henry III. to the Revolution," p. 87.

This little piece, which perhaps ought ra-

ther to have been printed in stanzas of eight

short lines, is written in imitation of a poem

Ver. 340, grete lynyage, Prol. and Mr. W. V. 347, Then

V. 348, and no hanyshed, Prol. and Mr. W.

V. 352, This line wanting in Prol. and Mr. W. V. 355,

proved—loved, Prol. and Mr. W. Ib. as loveth, Camb. V.

357, Forsoth, Prol. and Mr. W.

Page 212

186

CUPID'S ASSAULT: BY LORD VAUX.

of Chaucer's, that will be found in Urry's

Edit. 1721, p. 555, beginning thus:

"Alone walkyng. In thought plainyng,

And sore sighyng, All desolate,

My remembryng Of my livyng

My death wishyng Bothe erly and late.

"Infortunate Is so my fate

That wote ye what, Out of mesure

My life I hate ; Thus desporate

In such pore estate, Doe I endure, &c."

Sumwhat musyng, And more mornyng,

In remembring The unstedfastnes ;

This world being Of such whelyng,

Me contraricng, What may I gesse?

I fere dowtles, Remedies,

Is now to sese My wofull chaunce,

[For unkyndness, Withouton loss,

And no redress, Me doth avaunce,

With displeasunce, To my grevaunce,

And no suraunce Of remedy.]

Lo in this traunce, Now in substaunce,

Such is my dawnece, Wyllyng to dye.

Me thynkys truly, Bowndyn am I,

And that gretly, 'To be content ;

Seyng playnly, Fortune doth wry

All contrary From myn entent.

My lyff was lent Me to on intent,

Hytt is ny spent. Welcome fortune !

But I no went Thus to be shent,

But sho hit mont; such is hur won.

VIII.

The reader will think that infant Poetry

grew apace between the times of Rivers and

Vaux, though nearly contemporaries; if the

following song is the composition of that Sir

Nicholas (afterwards Lord) Vaux, who was

the shining ornament of the court of Henry

VII., and died in the year 1523.

And yet to this Lord is attributed by Put-

tenham in his "Art of Eng. Poesie, 1589,

4to.," a writer commonly well informed : take

terfait Action] the Lord Nicholas Vaux, a

noble gentleman and much delighted in vul-

gar making, and a man otherwise of great

learning, but having herein a marvelous fa-

cilitie, made a dittie representing the Bat-

tayle and Assaulte of Cupide, so excellently

well, as for the gallant and propre applica-

tion of his fiction in every part I cannot

choose but set downe the greatest part of his

ditty, for in truth it cannot be amended.

When Cupid Sealed, &c." p. 200.—For a far-

ther accoumt of Nicholas Lord Vaux, see Mr.

Walpole's Noble Authors, Vol. I.

The following copy is printed from the

first Edit. of Surrey's Poems, 1557, 4to.—See

another Song of Lord Vaux's in the preced-

ing Vol. Book II. No. II.

CUPID'S ASSAULT: By LORD VAUX.

When Cupide scaled first the fort,

Wherein my hart lay wounded sore;

The batry was of such a sort,

That I must yelde or die therfore.

There sawc I Love upon the wall,

How he his banner did display ;

Alarme, alarme, he gan to call:

And bad his soldiours kepe aray.

The armes, the which that Cupide bare

Were pearced hartes with teares besprent,

In silver and sable to declare

The stedfast love, he alwayes ment.

There might you se his band all drest

In colours like to white and blacke,

With powder and with pelletes prest

To bring the fort to spoile and sacke.

Good-wyll, the maister of the shot,

Stode in the rampire brave and proude,

For spence of powder he spared not

Assault ! assaulte ! to crye aloude.

There might you heare the cannons rore;

Eche pece discharged a lovers loke ;

Which had the power to rent, and tore

In any place wheras they toke.

Var 15 That fortma Most What V 19 went i e weened.

Page 213

CUPID'S ASSAULT: BY LORD VAUX.

187

And even with the trumpettes sowne

The scaling ladders were up set,

And Beautic walked up and downe,

With bow in hand, and arrowes whet.

Then first Desire began to scale,

And shrouded him under his targe ;

As one the worthiest of them all,

And aptest for to geve the charge.

Then pushed souldiers with their pikes,

And halberdes with handy strokes;

The argabushâ in floshe it ligites,

And dans the ayre with misty smokes.

And, as it is the souldiers vse

When shot and powder gins to want,

I hanged up my flagge of truce,

And pleaded up for my liues grant.

When Fansy thus had molde her breche,

And Beauty entred with her hand.

With bagge and baggage, vse wretćh,

I yelded into Beautics hand.

Then Beautic had to blow retrete,

And every souldier to retire,

And mercy wyll'd with spede to fet

Me captive bound as prisoner.

Madame, quoth I, sith that this day

Hath served you at all assayes,

I yeld to you without delay

Here of the fortresse all the kayes.

And sith that I have ben the marke,

At whom you shot at with your eye;

Nedes must you with your handy warke

Or salve my sore, or let me die.

25

kings raigne [Henry VIII.] sprong up a new

company of courtly makers [poets], of whom

Sir Thomas Wyat th' elder, and Henry Earl

of Surrey, were the two chieftaines, who

having travailed into Italie, and there tasted

the sweet and stataly measures and stile of

the Italian poësie.. greatly polisht our rude

and homely maner of vulgar poësie . . In the

same time, or not long after, was the Lord

Nicholas Vaux, a man of much facilitie in

vulgar making."*—Webbe, in his Discourse

of English Poetrie, 1586, ranges them in the

following order, "The Earl of Surrey, the

Lord Vaux, Norton, Bristow." And Gas-

coigne, in the place quoted in the 1st vol. of

this work [B. II. No. II.] mentions Lord

Vaux after Surrey.—Again, the style and

measure of Lord Vaux's piecces seem too re-

fined and polished for the age of Henry VII.

and rather resemble the smoothness and har-

mony of Surrey and Wyat, than the rude

metre of Skelton and Hawes.—But what puts

the matter out of all doubt, in the British

Museum is a copy of his poem, I lothe that I

did love, [vid. vol. I. ubi supra] with this title,

"A dyttye or sonet made by the Lord Vaus,

in the time of the noble Quene Marye, repre-

senting the image of Death." Harl. MSS.

No. 1703, § 25.

It is evident then that Lord Vaux the poet

was not he that flourished in the reign of

Henry VII., but either his son, or grandson:

and yet according to Dugdale's Baronage,

the former was named Thomas, and the latter

William; but this difficulty is not great, for

none of the old writers mention the Christian

name of the poetic Lord Vaux,† except Put-

tenham ; and it is more likely that he might

be mistaken in that lord's name, than in the

time in which he lived, who was so nearly

his contemporary.

Thomas Lord Vaux, of Harrowden in North-

amptonshire, was summoned to parliament

in 1531. When he died does not appear ;

but he probably lived till the latter end of

Qucen Mary's reign, since his son. William

was not summoned to parliament till the

last year of that reign, in 1558. This Lord

died in 1595. See Dugdale, vol. ii. p. 304.

—Upon the whole I am inclined to believe

that Lord Thomas was the poet.

  • i. e. Compositions in English Devises, 1596, he is called

† In the Paradise of Dainty Devises, 1596, he is called

simply "Lord Vaux the elder."

v. 30, hor, Ed. 1557, so Ed. 1585.

Page 214

188

SIR ALDINGAR.

IX.

Sir Aldingar.

This old fabulous legend is given from the editor's folio MS. with conjectural emendations, and the insertion of some additional stanzas to supply and complete the story.

It has been suggested to the editor, that the author of this poem seems to have had in his eye the story of Gunkilda, who is sometimes called Eleanor, and was married to the emperor (here called King) Henry.

Our king he kept a false stewàrde,

Sir Aldingar they him call;

A falser stoward than he was one,

Servde not in bower nor hall.

He wolde have layne by our comelye queene,

Her deere worshippe to betraye :

Our queene she was a good womàn,

And evermore said him naye.

Sir Aldingar was wrothe in his mind,

With her hee was never content,

Till traiterous meanes he colde devyse,

In a fyer to have her brent.

There came a lazar to the kings gate,

A lazar both blinde and lame :

He tooko the lazar upon his backe,

Him on the queenes bedd has layne.

"Lye still, lazàr, wheras thou lyest,

Looke thou goe not hence away;

Ile make thee a whole man and a sound

In two howers of the day.'*"

Then went him forth Sir Aldingar,

And hyed him to our king:

"If I might have grace, as I have space

Sad tydings I could bring."

Say on, say on, sir Aldingar,

Saye on the soothe to mee,

"Our queene hath chosen a new new love,

And shee will have none of thee."

"If shee had chosene a right good knight,

The lese had beene her shàme;

But she hath chose her a lazar man,

A lazar both blinde and lame."

If this be true, thou Aldingar,

The tyding thou tellest to me,

Then will I make thee a rich rich knight

Rich both of golde and fee.

But if it be false, sir Aldingar,

As God nowe grant it bee!

Thy body, I sweare by the holy rood,

Shall hang on the gallows tree.

He brought our king to the queenes chambèr,

And opend to him the dore.

A lodlye love, king Harry saye,

For our queene dune Elinore!

If thou were a man, as thou art none,

Here on my sword thouost dye;

But a payre of new gallowes shall be built,

And there shalt thou hang on hye.

Forth then hyed our king, I wysse,

And an angry man was hee:

And soone he found queene Elinore,

That bride so bright of bloe.

Now God you save, our queene, madame,

And Christ you save and see;

Heere you have chosen a newe newe love,

And you will have none of mee.

If you had chosen a right good knight,

The lese had been your shame :

But you have chose you a lazer man,

A lazer both blinde and lame.

Therfore a fyer there shall be built,

And brent all shalt thou bee. ---

"Now out alack! said our comly queene,

Sir Aldingar's false to mee.

Now out alacke! sayd our comlye queene,

My heart with griefe will brast.

  • He probably insinuates that the king should heal him by his power of touching for the King's Evil.

Page 215

SIR ALDINGAR.

189

I had thought swovens had never been true;

I have proved them true at last.

I dreamt in my seven on thursday eve,

In my bed wheras I laye,

I dreamt a grype and a grimlie beast

Had carried my crowne awaye;

My gorgett and my kirtle of golde,

And all my faire head-geere;

And he wold worrye me with his tush

And to his nest y-bare:

Saving there came a little 'gray' hawke,

A merlin him they call,

Which untill the grounde did strike the gypo,

That dead he downe did fall.

Giffe I were a man, as now I am none,

A battell wold I prove,

To fight with that traitor Aldingar;

Att him I cast my glove.

But seeing Ime able noe battell to make,

My liege, grant me a knight

To fight with that traitor sir Aldingar,

To maintaine me in my right.

"Now forty dayes I will give thee

To seeke thee a knight therin:

If thou find not a knight in forty dayes

Thy bodye it must bronn."

Then shee sent east, and shee sent west,

By north and south bedecne:

But never a champion colde she find,

Wolde fight with that knight soe keene.

Now twenty dayes were spent and gone,

Noe helpe there might be had;

Many a teare shed our comelye queene

And aye her hart was sad.

Then came one of the queenes damselles,

And knelt upon her knee,

"Cheare up, cheare up, my gracious dame,

I trust yet helpe may be:

And here I will make mine avowe,

And with the same me binde;

That never will I return to thee,

Till I some helpe may finde."

Then forth she rode on a faire palfràye,

Oer hill and dale about:

But never a champion colde she finde

Wolde fighte with that knight so stout.

And nowe the daye drewe on a pace,

When our good queene must dye ;

All woe-begone was that faire damsèlle,

When she found no helpe was nye.

All woe-begone was that faire damsèlle,

And the salt teares fell from her eye :

When lo! as she rode by a rivers side,

She met with a tinye boye.

A tinye boye she motte, God wot,

All clad in mantle of golde;

He seemed noe more in mans likenesse,

Then a childe of four yeore olde.

Why grieve you, damselle faire, he sayd,

And what doth cause you moane?

The damselle scant wolde deigne a looke,

But fast she pricked on.

Yet turne againe, thou faire damsèlle,

And greete thy queene from mee :

When bale is att hyest, boote is nyest,

Nowe helpe enoughe may bee.

Bid her remember what she dreamt

In her bedd, wheras shee laye ;

How when the grype and the grimly beast

Wolde have carried her crowne awaye,

Even then there came the little gray hawke,

And saved her from his clawes :

Then bidd the queene be merry at hart,

For heaven will fende her cause.

Back then rode that faire damsèlle,

And her hart it lept for glee :

And when she told her gracious dame

A gladd woman then was shee.

But when the appointed day was come,

No helpe appeareed nye :

Then woeful, woeful was her hart,

And the teares stood in her eye.

And nowe a fyer was built of wood ;

And a stake was made of tree ;

And nowe Queene Elinor forth was led,

A sorrowful sight to see

Ver. 77, see below, ver. 137.

Page 216

190

SIR ALDINGAR.

Three times the herault he waved his hand,

And three times spake on hye :

Giff any good knight will fende this dame,

Come forth, or shee must dye.

156

No knight stood forth, no knight there came,

No helpe appeared nye :

And now the fyer was lighted up,

Queen Elinor she must dye.

160

And now the fyer was lighted up,

As hot as hot might bee ;

When riding upon a little white steed,

The tinye boye they see.

"Away with that stake, away with thoso

brands,

And loose our comelye queene :

I am come to fight with Sir Aldingar,

And prove him a traitor keene."

165

F orthe then stood Sir Aldingar,

But when he saw the chylde,

170

He laughed, and scoffed and turned his iack,

And weened he had been beguyld.

"Now turne, now turne thee, Aldingar,

And eyther fighte or flee ;

I trust that I shall avenge the wronge,

175

Though I am so small to see."

The boye pulld forth a well good sworde,

So gilt it dazzled thee ;

The first stroke stricken at Aldingar

Smote off his leggs by the knee.

180

"Stand up, stand up, thou false trait'r,

And fight upon thy feete,

Fur and thou thrive, as thou begin'st,

Of height wee shall be meete."

A priest, a priest, sayes Aldingàr

185

While I am a man alive.

A priest, a priest, sayes Aldingar,

Mo to houzlo and shrive.

I wolde have laine by our comlie queene,

Bot shee wolde never consent ;

190

Then I thought to betraye her unto our kinge,

In a fyer to have her brent.

There came a lazar to the kings gates,

A lazar both bluid and lame ;

I took the lazar upon my backe,

195

And on her bedd had him layne.

Then ranne I to our comlye king,

These tidings sore to tell.

But ever alacke ! sayes Aldingar,

Falsing never doth well.

200

Forgive, forgive me, queene, madame,

The short time I must live,

"Nowe Christ forgive thee, Aldingar,

As frely I forgive."

Here take thy queene, our King Harryè,

And love her as thy life,

208

For never had a king in Christentye,

A truer and fairer wife.

King Henrye ran to clasp his queene,

And loosed her full sone ;

210

Then turnd to look for the tinye boye ;

—The boya was vanisht and gone.

But first he had touchd the lazar man,

And stroakt him with his hand ;

The lazar under the gallowes tree

215

All whole and sounde did stand.

The lazar under the gallowes tree

Was comelye, straight and tall ;

King Honrye made him his head stewàrde

To wayte within his hall.

_

220

Page 217

THE GABERLUNZIE MAN.

191

X.

The Gaberlunzie Man.

A SCOTTISH SONG.

Tradition informs us that the author of this song was King James V. of Scotland.

This prince (whose character for wit and libertinism bears a great resemblance to that of his gay successor Charles II.) was noted for strolling about his dominions in disguise,* and for his frequent gallantries with country girls.

Two adventures of this kind he hath celebrated with his own pen, viz., in this ballad of "The Gaberlunzie Man;" and in another, entitled "The Jolly Beggar," beginning thus :

"Thair was a jollie beggar, and a begging he was boun,

And he tuik up his quarters into a land'art toun.

Fa, la, la, &c."

It seems to be the latter of these ballads (which was too licentious to be admitted into this collection) that is meant in the Catalogue of Royal and Noble Authors,† where the ingenious writer remarks, that there is something very ludicrous in the young woman's distress when she thought her first favour had been thrown away upon a beggar.

Bishop Tanner has attributed to James V. the celebrated ballad of "Christ's Kirk on the Green," which is ascribed to King James I. in Bannatyne's MS. written in 1568 : and notwithstanding that authority, the editor of this book is of opinion that Bishop Tanner was right.

King James V. died December 13th, 1542, aged 33.

The pauky auld Carlo came ovir the lea

Wi' mony good-eens and days to mee,

Saying, Goodwife, for zour courtesie,

Will ze lodge a silly poor man ?

The night was cauld, the carle was wat,

And down azout the ingle he sat,

My dochter's shoulders he gan to clap,

And cadgily ranted and sang.

  • sc. of a tinker, beggar, &c. Thus he used to visit a smith's daughter at Niddry. near Edinburgh.

† Vol. II. p. 203.

25

O wow ! quo he, were I as free,

As first when I saw this countrie,

How blyth and merry wad I bee !

And I wad nevir think lang.

He grew canty, and she grew fain ;

But little did her auld minny ken

What thir twa togither were say'n,

When wooing they were sa thrang.

And O ! quo he, and ze were as black,

As evir the crown of your dadyes hat,

'Tis I wad lay thee by my back,

And awa wi' me thou sould gang.

And O ! quoth she, and I were as white,

As evir the snaw lay on the dike,

Ild clead me braw, and lady-like,

And awa with thee Ild gang.

Between the twa was made a plot ;

They raise a wee before the cock,

And wylicly they shot the lock,

And fast to the bent are they gane.

Up the morn the auld wife raise,

And at her leísure put on her claiths,

Syne to the servants bed she gaes

To speir for the silly poor man.

She gaed to the bed, whair the beggar lay

The strae was cauld, he was away,

She clapt her hands, cryd, Dulefu' day !

For some of our geir will be gane.

Some ran to coffer, and some to kist,

But nought was stown that could be mist.

She dancid her lane, cryd, Praise be blest,

I have lodgd a leal poor man.

Since naithings awa, as we can learn,

The kirns to kirn, and milk to earn,

Gae butt the house, lass, and waken my bairn,

And bid her come quickly hen.

The servant gaed where the dochter lay,

The sheets was cauld, she was away,

And fast to her goodwife can say,

Shes aff with the gaberlunzie-man.

Ver. 20, The Carline. Other coples.

Page 218

192

ON THOMAS LORD CROMWELL.

O fy gur ride, and fy gur rin,

And hast ze, find these traitors agen;

For shoes he burnt, and hees be slein,

The wearyfou gaberlunzic-man.

Some rade upe horse, some ran a fit,

The wife was wood, and out o' her wit;

She could na gang, nor yet could she sit,

But ay did curse and did ban.

Mean time far hind out owre the lee,

For snug in a glen, where nane could see,

The twa, with kindlie sport and glee,

Cut frae a new cheese a whang.

The priving was gude, it pleas'd them baith,

To lo'e her for ay, he gae her his aith.

Quo she, to leave thee, I will be laith,

My winsome gaberlunzic-man.

O kend my minny l were wi' zow,

Illfardly wad she crook her mou,

Sic a poor man sheld nevir trow,

Aftir the gaberlunzic-mon.

My dear, quo he, ze're zet owre zonge;

And hae na learnt the beggars tonge,

To follow me frae toun to toun,

And carrie the gaberlunzic on.

Wi' kauk and keel, Ill win zour bread,

And spindles and whorles for them wha need,

Whilk is a gentil trade indeid

The gaberlunzic to carrie—o.

Ill bow my leg and crook my knee,

And draw a black clout owre my ee,

A cripple or blind they will ca' me:

While we sall sing and be merrie—o.

XI.

On Thomas Lord Cromwell.

It is ever the fate of a disgraced minister

to be forsaken by his friends, and insulted

by his enemies, always reckoning among the

latter the giddy inconstant multitude. We

have here a spurn at fallen greatness from

some angry partisan of declining Popery,

who could never forgive the downfall of their

Diana, and loss of their craft. The ballad

seems to have been composed between the

time of Cromwell's commitment to the Tower,

June 11, 1540, and that of his being beheaded

July 28, following. A short interval! but

Henry's passion for Catherine Howard would

admit of no delay. Notwithstanding our li-

baller, Cromwell had many excellent quali-

ties: his great fault was too much obsequi-

ousness to the arbitrary will of his master:

but let it be considered that this master had

raised him from obscurity, and that the high-

born nobility had shown him the way in

every kind of mean and servile compli-

ance.—The original copy printed at London in

1540, is entitled, "A newe ballade of

Thomas Crumwel, called Trolle on away."

To it is prefixed this distich by way of

burthen,

Trolle on away, trolle on awaye.

Synge heave and howe rombelowe trolle on

away.

BOTH man and chylde is glad to here tell

Of that false traytoure Thomas Crumwell,

Now that he is set to lerne to spell.

Synge trolle on away.

When fortune lokyd the in thy face,

Thou haddyst fayre tyme, but thou lackydst

grace;

Thy cofers with golde thou fyllydst a pace.

Synge, &c.

Both plate and chalys came to thy fyst,

Thou lackydst them vp where no man wyst,

Tyll in the kynges tresoure suche thinges

were myst.

Synge, &c.

Both crust and crumme came thorowe thy

handes,

Thy marchaundyse sayled over the sandes,

Therfore nowe thou art layde fast in bandes.

Synge, &c.

Fyrste when kynge Henry, God saue his

grace?

Perceyul myschefe kyndlyd in thy face,

Then it was tyme to purchase the a place.

Synge, &c.

Page 219

ON THOMAS LORD CROMWELL.

Hys grace was ouer of gentyll nature,

Mouyd with petye, and made hys soruy-tare;

But thou, as a wretche, suche thinges dyd

procure.

Synge, &c.

Thou dyd not remembre, false heretyke,

One God, one fayth, and one kynge catholyke,

For thou hast bene so long a scysmatyke.

Synge, &c.

Thou woldyst not learne to knowe these thre;

But ouer was full of iniquite:

Wherfure all this lande hathe ben troubled

with the.

Synge, &c.

All they, that were of the new trycke,

Agaynste the churche thou haddest them stycke;

Wherfure nowe thou hast touchyd the quycke.

Synge, &c.

Bothe sacramentes and sacramentalles

Thou woldyst not suffre within thy walles;

Nor let vs praye for all chrysten soules.

Synge, &c.

Of what generacyon thou were no tonge can tell,

Whyther of Chayme, or Syschemell,

Or else sent vs frome the deuill of hell.

Synge, &c.

Tho woldest neuer to vertue applye,

But coueryd ouer to clymme to lye,

And nowe haste thou trodden thy shoo awrye,

Synge, &c.

Who-so-euer dyd winno thou woldest not lose;

Wherfure all Englande doth hate the, as I

suppose

Bycause thou wast false to the rodolent rose.

Synge, &c.

Thou myghtest have lcarnd thy cloth to flocke

Upon thy gresy fullers stocke:

Wherfore lay downe thy heade vpon this blocke.

Synge, &c.

Yet sane that soule, that God hath bought,

And for thy carcas care thou nought,

Let it suffre payne, as it hath wrought.

Synge, &c.

God saue kyng Henry with all his power,

And prynce Edward that goodly flowre,

With all hys lordes of great honoure.

Synge trolle on awaye, syng trolle on awaye.

Hevye and how rombelowe trolle on awaye.

†† The foregoing Piece gave rise to a

poetic controversy, which was carried on

through a succession of seven or eight Bal-lads for and against Lord Cromwell.

These are all preserved in the archives of the

Antiquarian Society, in a large folio Collec-tion of Proclamations, &c., made in the reigns

of King Henry VIII., King Edward VI.,

Queen Mary, Queen Elizabeth, King James

I., &c.

v. 41, Cromwell's father is generally said to have been a

blacksmith at Putney; but the author of this Ballad would

insinuate that either he himself or some of his ancestors

were Fullers by trade.

Ver. 32, i. e. Cain or Ishmael.

Page 220

194

HARPALUS.

XII.

Harpalus.

AN ANCIENT ENGLISH PASTORAL.

This beautiful poem, which is perhaps the first attempt at pastoral writing in our language, is preserved among the "Songs and Sonnettes" of the Earl of Surrey, &c., 4to., in that part of the collection which consists of pieces by "Uncertain Auctours." These poems were first published in 1557, ten years after that accomplished nobleman fell a victim to the tyranny of Henry VIII., but it is presumed most of them were composed before the death of Sir Thomas Wyatt in 1541. See Surrey's poems, 4to., fol. 19, 40.

Though written perhaps near half a century before the "Shepherd's Calender,"* this will be found far superior to any of those Eclogues, in natural unaffected sentiments, in simplicity of style, in easy flow of versification, and all other beauties of pastoral poetry. Spenser ought to have profited more by so excellent a model.

Phylida was a faire mayde,

As fresh as any flowre;

Whom Harpalus the Herdman prayde

To be his paramour.

Harpalus, and eke Corin,

Were herdmen both yfere:

And Phylida could twist and spinne,

And thereto sing full clere.

But Phylida was all to coye,

For Harpalus to winne:

For Corin was her only joye,

Who forst her not a pinne.

How often would she flowers twine?

How often garlandes make

Of couslips and of columbine?

And al for Corin's sake.

But Corin, he had haukes to lure,

And forced more the field:

Of lovers lawe he toke no care;

For once he was begilde.

  • First published in 1579.

Harpalus prevailed nought,

His labour all was lost;

For he was fardest from her thought,

And yet he loved her most.

Therfore waxt he both pale and leane,

And drye as clot of clay:

His fleshe it was consumed cleane:

His colour gone away.

His beard it had not long be shave;

His heare long all unkempt:

A man most fit even for the grave,

Whom spightfull love had spent.

His eyes were red, and all 'forewacht'

His face besprent with teares:

It semde unhap had him long 'hatcht,'

In mids of his dispaires.

His clothes were blacke, and also bare;

As one forlorne was he;

Upon his head alwayes he ware

A wreath of wyllow tree.

His beastes he kept upon the hyll,

And he sate in the dale;

And thus with sighes and sorrowes shrill,

He gan to tell his tale.

Oh Harpalus! (thus would he say)

Unhappiest under sunne!

The cause of thine unhappy day,

By love was first beganne.

For thou wentest first by sute to seeke

A tigre to make tame,

That setteth not by thy love a leek;

But makes thy griefe her game.

As easy it were for to convert

The frost into 'a' flame;

As for to turne a frowarde hert,

Whom thou so faine wouldst frame.

Ver. 33, &c. The corrections are from Ed. 1674.

Page 221

ROBIN AND MAKYNE.

195

Corin he liveth carèlesse :

Ile leapes among the leaves :

Ile eates the frutes of thy redresse :

'Thou 'reapst,' he takes the sheaves.

60

My beastès, a whyle your foode refraine,

And harke your herdmanns sounde ;

Whom spitefull love, alás ! hath slaine,

Through-girt with many a wounde.

O happy be ye, beastès wilde,

That here your pasture takes :

I so that ye be not begilde

Of these your faithfull makes.

The hart he feedeth by the hinde :

The bucke harde by the do :

The turtle dove is not unkinde

To him that loves her so.

The ewe she hath by her the ramme ;

The young cow hath the bull :

The calfe with many a lusty lambe

Do fede their hunger full.

But, well-away ! that nature wrought

The, Phylida, so faire :

For I may say that I have bought

Thy beauty all to deare.

80

What reason is that crueltie

With beantic should have part ?

Or els that such great tyranuy

Should dwell in womans hart ?

I see therefore to shape my death

She cruelly is prest ;

To th' ende that I may want my breath :

My dayes been at the best.

O Cupide, graunt this my request,

And do not stoppe thine eares,

That she may feele within her brest

The paines of my dispaires :

90

Of Corin 'who' is carèlesse,

That she may crave her fee :

As I have done in great distresse,

That loved her faithfully.

But since that I shal die her slave ;

Her slave, and eke her thrall :

Write you, my frendes, upon my grave

This chaunce that is befall.

100

"Here lieth unhappy Harpalus

By cruell love now slaine :

Whom Phylida unjutstly thus

Hath murdred with disdaine."

XIII.

Robin and Makyne.

AN ANCIENT SCOTTISH PASTORAL.

The palm of pastoral poesy is here contested by a contemporary writer with the author of the foregoing. The critics will judge of their respective merits; but must make some allowance for the preceding ballad, which is given simply as it stands in the old editions : whereas this, which follows, has been revised and amended throughout by Allan Ramsay, from whose "Ever-Green," Vol. I., it is here chiefly printed. The curious reader may however compare it with the more original copy, printed among "Ancient Scottish Poems, from the MS. of George Bannatyne, 1568, Edinb. 1770, 12mo." Mr. Robert Henryson (to whom we are indebted for this poem) appears to so much advantage among the writers of eclogue, that we are sorry we can give little other account of him besides what is contained in the following eloge, written by W. Dunbar, a Scottish poet who lived about the middle of the 16th century :

"In Dumferling, he [Death] hath tane Browne,

With gude Mr. Robert Henryson."

Indeed some little further insight into the history of this Scottish bard is gained from

Page 222

the title prefixed to some of his poems preserved in the British Museum; viz., "The morall Fabillis of Esop compliit be Maister Robert Henrisoun, Scolmaister of Dumfermling, 1571." In Ramsay's " Ever-Green," Vol. I., whence the above distich is extracted, are preserved two other little Doric pieces by Henryson; the one entitled "The Lyon and the Mouse," the other "The Garment of Gude Ladyis." Some other of his poems may be seen in "Ancient Scottish Poems printed from Bannatyne's MS.," above referred to.

Robin sat on the gude grene hill, Keipand a flock of fie, Quhen mirry Makyne said him till, "O Robin, rew on me: I haif thow luuit baith land and still, Thir towmonds twa or thre ; My dule in dern bot gif thou dill, Doubtless but dreid I die."

Robin replieid, Now by the rude, Naithing of luve I knaw, But keip my sheip untilr you wod: Lo quhair they raik on raw. Quhat can have mart thee in thy mude, Thou Makyne to me schaw ; Or quhat is luve, or to be lude? Fain wald I leir that law.

"The law of luve gin thou wald leir, Tak thair an A, B, C; Be beynd, courtas, and fair of feir, Wyse, hardy, kind and trie, Sae that nae danger do the deir, Quhat dule in dern thou drie ; Press ay to pleis and blyth appeir, Be patient and privie."

Robin, he answert her againe, I wat not quhat is luve; But I haif marvol in certaine Quhat makes thee thus warrife. The wedder is fair, and I am fain ; My sheep gais hail abuve ; And sould we pley us on the plain. They wald us baith repruve.

Ver. 19, Bannatyne's MS. reads as above, heynd, not keynd, as in the Edinb. edit. 1770. V. 21, So that na danger.

"Robin, tak tent unto my tale, And wirk all as I raid ; And thou sall haif my heart all hale Lik and my maiden-heid: Sen God, he sendis bute for bale, And for murning remoid, I'dern with theo bot gif I dale, Doubtless I am but doid."

Makyn, to-morn be this ilk tyde, Gif ye will meit me heir, Maybe my sheip may gang besyde, Quhyle we have liggd full neir ; But maugre haif I, gif I byde, Frae thay begin to steir, Quhat lyes on heart I will nocht hyd, Then Makyne mak gude cheir.

"Robin, thou reivis me of my rest; I luve bot thee alane." Makyne, adieu ! the sun goes west, The day is neir-hand gane. "Robin, in dule I am so drost, That luve will be my bane." Makyne, gaa luve quhair-eir ye list, For leman I luid nane.

"Robin, I stand in sic a style, I sich and that full sair." Makyne, I have bene here this quyle; At hame I wish I were. "Robin, my hinmy, talk and smyle, Gif thou will do nae mair." Makyne, som other man beguyle, For hameward I will fare.

Syne Robin on his ways he went, As light as leif on tree : But Makyne murnt and made lament, Scho trow'd him neir to see. Robin he brayd attowre the bent: Then Makyne cried on hie, "Now may thou sing, for I am shent! Quhat ailis luve at me?"

Makyne went hame withouten fail, And weirylie could weip ; Then Robin in a fell fair dale Assemblit all his sheip. Be that som part of Makyne's ail, Out-thraw his heart could creip ; Hir fast he followt to assail, And till her tuk gude keip.

Page 223

GENTLE HERDSMAN.

197

Abyd, abyd, thou fair Makyne,

A word for ony thing;

For all my luve, it sall be thyne,

Withouten departing.

All hale thy heart for till have myne,

Is all my coveting;

My sheip to morn quhyle horis nyng,

Will need of nae keiping.

"Robin, thou hast heard sung and say,

In gests and storys auld,

The man that will not when he may,

Sall have nocht whon he wald.

I pray to heaven baith nicht and day,

Be eiked their caros sae cauld,

That prosses first with thoe to play,

Be forrest, firth, or fauld."

Makyne, the nicht is soft and dry,

The wether warm and fair,

And the grene wod richt neir-hand by,

To walk attowre all where :

There may nae janglers us espy,

That is in luve contrair ;

Therin, Makyne, baith you and I

Unseen may mak repair.

"Robin, that warld is now away,

And quyt brocht till an end:

And nevir again thereto, perfay,

Sall it be as thou wend;

For of my pain thou made but play ;

I words in vain did spend :

As thou hast done, sae sall I say,

Murn on, I think to mend."

Makyne, the hope of all my heil,

My heart on thee is set ;

I'll evermair to thee be leill,

Quhyle I may live but lett.

Nover to faill as uthors feill,

Quhat grace sae eir I get.

"Robin, with thoe I will not deill ;

Adieu, for this we met."

Makyne went hamward blyth cnough,

Outowre the holtis hair;

Pure Robin murnd, and Makyne leugh ;

Scho sang, and he sicht sair :

And sa loft him bayth wo and wreuch,

In dolor and in care,

Keipand his herd under a hench,

Amang the rushy gair.

XIV.

Gentle Herdsman, Tell to Me.

DIALOGUE BETWEEN A PILGRIM AND HERDSMAN.

The scene of this beautiful old ballad is laid near Walsingham, in Norfolk, where was unciently an image of the Virgin Mary, famous over all Europe for the numerous pilgrimages made to it, and the great riches it possessed. Erasmus has given a very exact and humorous description of the superstitions practised there in his time. (See his account of the "Virgo Parathalasia," in his colloquy entitled, "Peregrinatio Religionis Ergo.") He tells us, the rich offerings in silver, gold, and precious stones, that were there shown him, were incredible, there being scarce a person of any note in England, but what some time or other paid a visit or sent a present to "Our

Lady of Walsingham."* At the dissolution of the monasteries in 1538, this splendid image, with another from Ipswich, was carried to Chelsea, and there burnt in the presence of commissioners; who, we trust, did not burn the jewels and the finery.

This poem is printed from a copy in the editor's folio MS. which had greatly suffered by the hand of time; but vestiges of several of the lines remaining, some conjectural supplements have been attempted, which, for greater exactness, are in this one ballad distinguished by italics.

V. 117, Bannatyne's MS. reads as above feill, no faill, as in Ed. 1770.

  • See at the end of this Ballad an account of the annual offerings of the Earls of Northumberland.

Ver. 93, Bannatyne's MS. has woid, not woud, as in Ed. 1770.

Page 224

198

GENTLE HERDSMAN.

Gentle hoardsman, toll to me,

Of curtesy I thee pray,

Unto the towne of Walsingham

Which is the right and ready way.

"Unto the towne of Walsingham

The way is hard for to be gon :

And vary crooked are those pathes

For you to find out all alone."

Weere the miles doubled thrise,

And the way never so ill,

Itt were not enough for mine offence,

Itt is so grievous and so ill.

"Thy yearels are young, thy face is faire,

Thy witts are weake, thy thoughts are

greene;

Time hath not given thee leave, as yett,

For to committ so great a sinne."

Yes, heardsman, yes, soe woldest thou say,

If thou knewest soe much as I;

My witts, and thoughts, and all the rest,

Have well deserved for to dye.

I am not what I seeme to bee,

My clothes and sexe doe differ farr;

I am a woman, woe is me!

Born to greeffe and irksome care.

For my beloved, and well-beloved,

My wayward cruelty could kill:

And though my teares will nought avail,

Most dearely I bewail him still.

He was the flower of noble wights,

None ever more sincere colde bee;

Of comely mien and shape hee was,

And tenderlye hee loved mee.

When thus I saw he loved me well,

I grewe so proud his paine to see,

That I, who did not know my selfe,

Thought scorue of such a youth as hee.

  • And grew soe coy and nice to please,

As women's lookes are often soe,

He might not kisse, nor hand forsooth,

Unlesso I willed him soe to doe.

  • Three of the following stanzas have been finely paraphrased by Dr. Goldsmith, in his charming ballad of "Edwin and Emme;" the reader of taste will have a plensuro in comparing them with the original.

Thus being wearyed with delyes

To see I pittied not his greeffe,

Hee got him to a seerett place,

And there he dyed without releefee.

And for his sake these woeds I weare,

And sacrifico my tender age;

And every day Hee begg my bread,

To undergo this pilgrimage.

Thus every day I fast and pray

And ever will doe till I dye;

And gett me to some seerett place,

For soe did hee, and soe will I.

Now, gentle heardsman, aske no more,

But keepe my seerets I thee pray :

Unto the towne of Walsingham

Show me the right and readye way.

"Now goe thy wayes, and God beforl

For hee must ever guide thee still :

Turne downe that lade, the right hand path,

And soe, faire pilgrim, fare thee well!"

** To show what constant tribute was paid to "Our Lady of Walsingham," I shall give a few extracts from the "Household Book of Henry Algernon Perey, 5th Earl of Northumberland." Priuted 1770, 8vo.

Sect. XLIII., page 337, &c.

Item, My Lorde usith yerly to send afor Mi-chaclmas for his Lordschip's Offerynge to our Lady of Walsyngham.—iiij d.

Item, My Lorde usith ande accus-tumyth to sende yerly for the unholdynge of the Light of Wax which his Lordschip fyndith byrnynge yerly befor our Lady of Wal-syngham, contenynge xl lb. of Wax in it

'And' still I try'd each fickle art,

Importunate and vain;

And while his passion touch'd my heart,

I triumph'd in his pain.

'Till quite dejected with my scorn

Hee left mee to my pride;

And sought a solittude forlorn,

In secret, where he dy'd.

But mine the sorrow, mine the fault,

And well my lifo shall pay;

I'll seek the solittude I sought,

And stretch me where he lay.

And there forlorn despairing hid,

I'll lay me down and die:

'Twas so for me that Edwin did,

And so for him will I.

Page 225

after vij d. ob. for the fydynge of every

lb. redy wrought by a covenaunt maid with

the Channnon by great, for the hole yere,

for the fyndinge of the said Lyght byrn-

ing,—vi s. viiij d.

Item, My Lorde usith and accustomith to

syonde yereiy to the Channon that kepith

the Light before our Lady of Walsyngham,

for his reward for the hole yere, for kep-

ynge of the said Light, lightynge of it at

all service tymes dayly thorowt the yere,—

xiij d.

Item, My Lorde usith and accustomyth yereiy

to send to the Prest that kepith the Light,

lyghtynge of it at all servico tymes daily

thorowt the yere,—ijs. iiij d.

KING EDWARD IV. AND THE TANNER OF TAMWORTH.

193

XV.

King Edward IV. and the Tanner of Tamworth

Was a story of great fame among our an-

cestors. The author of the "Art of English

Poesie," 1589, 4to., seems to speak of it as a

real fact. Describing that vicious mode of

speech, which the Greeks called Acyron, i.e.

"When we use a dark and obscure word, ut-

terly repugnant to that we should express;"

he adds, "Such manner of uncouth speech

did the Tanner of Tamworth use to King Ed-

ward the Fourth; which Tanner, having a

great while mistaken him, and used very

broad talke with him, at length perceiving by

his traine that it was the king, was afraide he

should be punished for it, [and] said thus,

with a certain rude repentrance,

"I hope I shall be hanged to-morrow,"

for [I feare me] I shall be hanged; whereat

the king laughed a good,* not only to see the

Tanner's vaine feare, but also to heare his

illshapen terme: and gave him for recom-

pence of his good sport, the inheritance of

Plumpton-parke. 'I am afraid,' concludes

this sagacious writer, "the poets of our

times that speake more finely and correctedly,

will come too short of such a reward," p. 214.

The phrase here referred to, is not found in

this ballad at present,† but occurs with some

variation in another old poem, entitled, "John

the Reeve," described in the following vol-

ume (see the Preface to "The King and the

Miller"), viz.:

"Nay, sayd John, by Gods grace,

And Edward wer in this place,

  • Vid. Gloss.

† Nor in that of the Barker mentioned below.

26

Hee shold not touch this tonne:

He wold be wroth with John I hope,

Thereffure I beshrewe the soupe,

That in his mouth shold come."

Pt. 2, st. 24.

The following text is selected (with such

other corrections as occurred) from two copies

in black letter. The one in the Bodleyan

library, entitled, "A merrie, pleasant, and

delectable historie betwene King Edward the

Fourth, and a Tanner of Tamworth, &c.,

printed at London, by John Danter, 1596."

This copy, ancient as it now is, appears to

have been modernized and altered at the time

it was published; and many vestiges of the

more ancient readings were recovered from

another copy (though more recently printed)

in one sheet folio, without date, in the Pepys

collection.

But these are both very inferior in point

of antiquity to the old ballad of "The King

and the Barker," reprinted with other "Pieces

of Ancient Popular Poetry from Authentic

Manuscripts, and old Printed Copies, &c.,

London, 1791, 8vo." As that very antique

Poem had never occurred to the Editor of the

Reliques, till he saw it in the above collec-

tion, he now rofers the curious reader to it,

as an imperfect and incorrect copy of the old

original ballad.

In summer time, when leaves grow greene,

And blossoms bedecke the tree,

King Edward wolde a hunting ryde,

Some pastime for to see.

With hawke and hounde he made him bowne,

With horne, and eke with bowe;

Page 226

200

KING EDWARD IV. AND THE TANNER OF TAMWORTH.

To Drayton Basset he took his waye,

With all his lordes a rowe.

And he had ridden ore dale and downe

By eight of clocke in the day,

When he was ware of a bold tannèr,

Gome ryding along the waye.

A fayre russet cont the tanner had on

Fast buttoned under his chin,

And under him a good cow-hide,

And a mare of four shilling.*

Nowe stand you still, my good lordes all,

Under the grene wood spraye ;

And I will wend to yonder fellow,

To weet what he will saye.

God speeded, God speede thee, sayd our king.

Thou art welcome, sir, sayd hee.

"The rendyest waye to Drayton Basset

I praye thee to shewe to mee."

"To Drayton Basset woldst thou goe,

Fro the place where thou dost stand ?

The next payre of gallowes thou comest unto,

Turne in upon thy right hand."

That is an unready waye, sayd our king,

Thou doest but jest I see ;

Nowe shewe me out the nearest waye,

And I pray the wend with mee.

Awaye with a vengeance ! quoth the tanner:

I hold thee out of my witt:

All daye have I rydden on Brocke my mare,

And I am fasting yett.

"Go with me downe to Drayton Basset,

No daynties we will spare ;

All daye shalt thou eate and drinke of the best,

And I will paye thy fare."

Gramercye for nothing, the tanner replyde,

Thou payest no fare of mine :

I trowe I've more nobles in my purse,

Than thou hast pence in thine.

God give ther joy of them, sayd the king,

And send them well to priefte.

The tanner wolde faine have beene away,

For he woende he had beene a thiefe.

What art thou, bee sayde, thou fine felldwe,

Of thee I am in great feare.

For the cloathes, thon wearest upon thy backe,

Might beseme a lurd to weare.

I never stole them, quoth our king,

I tell you, sir, by the roode.

"Then thou playest, as many an anthrift doth,

And standest in midds of thy goode."*

What tydinges heare you, sayd the kynge,

As you ryde farre and neare ?

"I heare no tydinges, sir, by the masse,

But that cow-hides are deare."

"Cow-hides ! cow-hides ! what things are those ?

I maryell what they beo ?"

What art thou a foole ? the tanner reply'd ;

I carry one under mee.

What craftsman art thou, said the king,

I praye thee tell me trow.

"I am a barkier,† sir, by my trade ;

Nowe tell me what art thou ?"

I am a poore courtier, sir, quoth he,

That am forth of service worne ;

And faine I wolde thy prentise bee,

Thy crafteinge for to learne.

Marrye heaven forfend, the tanner replyde,

That thou my prentise were:

Thou woldst spend more good than I shold winne

By fourtye shilling a yere.

Yet one thing wolde I, sayd our king,

If thou wilt not seeme strange:

Thoughe my horse be better than thy mare,

Yet with thee I faine wolde change.

"Why if with me thou faine wilt change,

As change full well maye wee,

  • In the reign of Edward IV. Dame Cecilt, lady of Tor- boke, in her will dated March 7, A. D. 1466, among many other bequests, has this. "Also I will that my sonne Thomas of Torboke have 13s. 4d. to buy him an horse." Vid. Har- leian Catalog. 2176. 27.—Now if 13s. 4d. would purchase a horse, a tanner's horse might reasonably be valued at four or five shilling.

  • i. e. but no other wealth, but what thou carriest about thee.

† i. e. a dealer in bark.

Page 227

KING EDWARD IV. AND THE TANNER OF TAMWORTH.

By the faith of my bodye, thou proude fel-

lowe,

I will have some boote of thee."

That were against reason, sayd the king, 85

I sweare, so mote I thee;

My horse is better than thy mare,

And that thou well mayst see.

"Yea, sir, but Brocke is gentle and mild,

And softly she will fare:

Thy horse is unruly and wild, I wiss;

Aye skipping here and theare."

What boote wilt thou have? our king re-

ply'd ;

Now tell me in this stound.

"Noe pence, nor half-pence, by my faye,

But a noble in gold so round."

"Here's twenty groates of white moncyd,

Sitth thou wilt have it of mee."

I would have sworne now, quoth the tanner,

Thou hadst not had one pennie.

But since we two have made a change,

A change we must abide,

Although thou hast gotten Brocke my mare,

Thou gettest not my cow-hide.

I will not have it, sayd the kynge,

I sweare, so mought I thee;

Thy foule cow-hyde I wolde not beare,

If thou woldst give it to mee.

The tanner hee took his good cow-hyde,

"That of the cow was built;

And threwe it upon the king's sadelle,

That was soe fayrelye gilte.

"Now help me up, thou fine felowe,

'Tis time that I were gone:

When I come home to Gy'llian my wife,

Sheel say I am a gentilmon."

The king he took him up by the legge ;

The tanner a f * * let fall.

Nowe marrye, good felowe, sayd the kyng,

Thy courtesye is but small.

When the tanner was in the kinges salle,

And his foote in his stirrup was;

He marvilled greatlye in his minde,

Whether it were golde or brass.

But when his steedic saw the cows taile wagge,

And eke the blacke cow-horne:

He stampd, and star'd, and awaye he ranne,

As the devill had him borne.

The tanner he pulld, the tanner he sweat,

And held by the pummil fast:

At length the tanner came tumbling downe;

His necke he had well-nye brast.

Take thy horse again with a vengeance, he sayd,

"My horse wolde have borne thee well

enoughe,

But he knew not of thy cow-hyde."

"Yet if agayne thou fayne woldst change,

As change full well may wee,

By the faith of my bodye, thou jolly tanner,

I will have some boote of thee."

What boote wilt thou have, the tanner replyd,

Nowe tell me in this stounde?

"Noe pence nor halfpence, sir, by my faye,

But I will have twenty pound."

"Here's twenty groates out of my purse;

And twenty I have of thine:

And I have one more, which we will spend

Together at the wine."

The king set a bugle horne to his mouth,

And blew both loude and shrille:

And soone came lordes, and soone came

knights,

Fast ryding over the hille.

Nowe, out alas! the tanner he cryde,

"That ever I saw this daye!

Thou art a strong thiefe, yon come thy fel-

lowes

Will beare my cow-hyde away.

They are no thieves, the king replyde,

I sweare, soe mote I thee:

But they are the lordes of the north country,

Here come to hunt with mee.

And soone before our king they came,

And knelt downe on the grounde:

Then might the tanner have beene awaye,

And had lever than twenty pounde.

Page 228

202

AS YE CAME FROM THE HOLY LAND.

A coller, a coller, here: syd the king, 165

A coller he loud gan crye:

'Then wolde he lover then twentye pound,

He had not boone so nighte.

A coller, a coller, the tanner he sayd,

I trowe it will breed sorowe:

After a coller commeth a halter,

I trow I shall be hanged to-morrowe.

Be not afraied, taner, said our king;

I tell thee, so mought I thee,

Lo here I make thee the best esquire 175

'That is in the North countrie.*

For Plumpton-parke I will give thee,

With tenements fire besyde:

'Tis worth three hundred markes by the yeare,

To maintaine thy good cowe-hide. 180

Gramercye, my liege, the tanner replyde,

For the favour thou hast me showne;

If ever thou comest to merry Tamworth,

Neates leather shall clout thy shoen.

**

XVI.

As ye came from the Holy Land.

DIALOGUE BETWEEN A PILGRIM AND TRAVELLER.

The scene of this song is the same as in

Num. XIV. The pilgrimage to Walsingham

suggested the plan of many popular pieces.

In the Pepys collection, vol. I., p. 226, is a

kind of interlude in the old ballad style, of

which the first stanza alone is worth reprinting.

As I went to Walsingham,

To the shrine with speede,

Met I with a jolly palmer

In a pilgrimes weede.

Now God you save, you jolly palmer !

"Welcome, lady gay,

Oft have I sued to thee for love."

—Oft have I said you nay.

The pilgrimages undertaken on pretence of

religion, were often productive of affairs of

gallantry, and led the votaries to no other

shrine than that of Venus.*

The following ballad was once very popu-

lar ; it is quoted in Fletcher's "Knight of the

burning pestle," Act II., sc. ult., and in ano-

ther old play, called, "Hans Beer-pot, his

  • Even in the time of Langland, pilgrimages to Walsing-

ham were not unfavourable to the rites of Venus. Thus

in his Visions of Pierce Plowman, fo. I.

"Hermits on a heape, with hoked staves,

Wenten to Walsingham, and † wenches after."

† i. e. their.

invisible Comedy, &c." 4to. 1618: Act I.

The copy below was communicated to the

Editor by the late Mr. Shenstone as corrected

by him from an ancient copy, and supplied

with a concluding stanza.

We have placed this, and "Gentle Herds-

man," &c., thus early in the work, upon a

presumption that they must have been writ-

ten, if not before the dissolution of the

monasteries, yet whilst the remembrance of

them was fresh in the minds of the people.

As ye came from the holy land

Of blessed Walsingham,

O met you not with my true love

As by the way ye came ?

  • This stanza is restored from a quotation of this Ballad

in Selden's "Titles of Honour," who produces it as a good

authority to prove, that one mode of creating Esquires at

that time, was by the imposition of a collar. His words

are, "Nor is that old pamphlet of the Tanner of Tamworth

and King Edward the Fourth so contemptible, but that wee

may thence note also an observable passage, wherein the

use of making Esquires, by giving collars, is expressed."

(Sub Tit. Esquire; & vide in Spelmanni Glossar. Armiger.)

This form of creating Esquires actually exists at this day

among the Sergeants at Arms, who are invested with a

collar (which they wear on Collar Days) by the King

himself.

This information I owe to Samuel Pegge, Esq., to whom

the Public is indebted for that curious work, the "Curia"

alia," 4to.

Page 229

"How should I know your true love,

That have met many a one,

As I came from the holy land,

That have both come, and gone?"

My love is neither white,* nor browne,

But as the heavns faire;

There is none hath her form divine,

Either in earth, or ayre.

"Such an one did I meet, good sir,

With an angelicike face;

Who like a nymphe, a queene appeard

Both in her gait, her grace."

Yes: she hath cleane forsaken me,

And left me all alone;

Who some time loved me as her life,

And called me her owne.

"What is the cause she leaves thee thus,

And a new way doth take,

That some times loved thee as her life,

And thee her joy did make?"

I that loved her all my youth,

Grew old now as you see;

Love liketh not the falling fruite,

Nor yet the withered tree.

For love is like a carelesse chilide,

Forgetting promise past;

He is blind, or deaf, whencere he list;

His faith is never fast.

His fond desire is fickle found,

And yieldes a trustlesse joye;

Wonne with a world of toil and care,

And lost ev'n with a toye.

Such is the love of womankinde,

Or Loves faire name abusde,

Benethe which many vaine desires,

And follyes are excusde.

'But true love is a lasting fire,

Which viewless* vestals* tend,

That burnes for ever in the soule,

And knowes nor change, nor end.'

XVII.

Hardyknute.

A SCOTTISH FRAGMENT.

As this fine morsel of heroïc poctry hath

generally passed for ancient, it is here thrown

to the end of our earliest pieces ; that such as

doubt of its age, may the better compare it

with other pieces of genuine antiquity. For

after all, there is more than reason to suspect,

that it owes most of its beauties (if not its

whole existence) to the pen of a lady, within

the present century. The following particu-

lars may be depended on. Mrs. Wardlaw,

whose maiden name was Halket (aunt to the

late Sir Peter Halket, of Pitfirrane, in Scot-

land, who was killed in America, along with

General Braddock, in 1755), pretended she had

found this poem, written on shreds of paper,

employed for what is called the bottoms of

clues. A suspicion arose that it was her own

composition. Some able judges asserted it to

be modern. The lady did in a manner ac-

knowledge it to be so. Being desired to show

an additional stanza, as a proof of this, she

produced the two last, beginning with

"There's nae light," &c., which were not in

the copy that was first printed. The late

Lord President Forbes, and Sir Gilbert Elliot,

of Minto (late Lord Justice Clerk for Scot-

land), who had believed it ancient, contributed

to the expense of publishing the first Edition,

in folio, 1719. This account was transmitted

from Scotland by Sir David Dalrymple, the

late Lord Hailes, who yet was of opinion,

that part of the ballad may be ancient; but

retouched and much enlarged by the lady

above mentioned. Indeed he had been in-

Page 230

formed, that the late William Thompson, the Scotrish musician, who published the "Or- phens Caledonius," 1733, 2 vols. 8vo., de- clared he had heard Fragments of it repeated in his infancy, before Mrs. Wardlaw's copy was heard of.

The Poem is here printed from the original Edition, as it was prepared for the press with the additional improvements. (See below, page 208.)

I. Stately stopt he east the wa', And stately stept he west, Full seventy years he now had seen, Wi' scarce seven years of rest. He liv'd when Britons breach of faith Wrought Scotland mickle wae : 5 And ay his sword tauld to their cost, He was their deadlye fae

II. High on a hill his castle stood, With ha's and tow'rs a height And goodly chambers fair to se, Where he lodged mony a knight. His dame sae peerless anes and fair, For chast and beauty doem'd Nac marrow had in all the land, Save Elenor the queen.

III. Full thirteen sons to him she bare, All men of valour stout: In bloody fight with sword in hand Nine lost their lives bot doubt: Four yet remain, lang may they live To stand by liege and land ; High was their fame, high was their might, And high was their command.

IV. Great love they bare to Fairly fair Their sister saft and dear, Her girdle shaw'd her middle gimp, And gowden glist her hair. What waefu' was her beauty bred! Waefu' to young and auld, Waefu' I trow to kyth and kin, As story ever tauld.

V. The King of Norse in summer tyde, Puff'd up with pow'r and might,

Landed in fair Scotland the isle With mony a hardy knight. The tydings to our goud Scots king Came, as he sat at dine, With noble chiefs in brave aray, Drinking the blood-red wine. 40

VI. "To horse, to horse, my royal liege, Your focs stand on the strand, Full twenty thousand glittering spears The king of Norse commands." Bring me my steed Muge dapple gray, 45 Our good king rose and cry'd, A trustier beast in a' the land A Scots king nevir try'd.

VII. Go little page, tell Hardyknute, That lives on hill sae hie, To draw his sword, the dread of focs, And haste and follow me. The little page flew swift as dart Flung by his master's arm, "Come down, come down, lord Hardyknute, And rid your king frae harm." 55

VIII. Then red red grew his dark brown cheeks, Sae did his dark-brown brow; His looks grew keen as they were wont In dangers great to do; He's ta'en a horn as green as glass, And gi'en five sounds sae shill, That trees in green wood shook thereat, Sae loud rang ilka hill.

IX. His sons in manly sport and glee, Had past that summer's morn, When low down in a grassy dale, They heard their father's horn. That horn, quo' they, ne'er sounds in peace, We're other sport to bide. And soon they hy'd them up the hill, And soon were at his side.

X. "Late late the yestre'en I ween'd in peace To end my lengthened life, My age might well excuse my arm Frae manly feats of strife, But now that Norse do's proudly boast Fair Scotland to inthrall,

Page 231

It's ne'er be said of Hardyknute,

He fear'd to fight or fall.

xi.

"Robin of Rothsay, bend thy bow,

Thy arrows shoot sae leel,

That mony a comely countenance

They've turn'd to deadly pale.

Brave Thomas, take you but your lance,

You need nae weapons mair,

If you fight wi't as you did anes

'Gainst Westmorland's fierce heir.

xii.

"And Malcolm, light of foot as stag

That runs in forest wild,

Get me my thousands three of men

Well bred to sword and shield :

Bring me my horse and harnisine,

My blade of mettal clear.

If foes but ken'd the hand it bare,

They soon had fled for fear.

xiii.

"Farewell my dame sae peerless good,

(And took her by the hand),

Fairer to me in age you seem,

Than maids for beauty fam'd.

My youngest son shall here remain

To guard these stately towers,

And sh'ut the silver bolt that keeps

Sae fast your painted bowers."

xiv.

And first she wet her comely cheeks,

And then her boddice green,

Her silken cords of twirtle twist,

Well plett with silver sheen;

And apron set with mony a dice

Of needle-wark sae rare,

Wore by nae hand, as ye may guess,

Saye that of Fairly fair.

xv.

And he has ridden o'er muir and moss,

O'er hills and mony a glen,

When he came to a wounded knight

Making a heavy mane;

"Here maun I lye, here maun I dye,

By treacherie's false guiles :

Witless I was that e'er ga faith

To wicked woman's smiles."

80

xvi.

"Sir knight, gin you were in my bower,

To lean on silken seat,

My lady's kindly care you'd prore,

Who ne'er knew deadly hate.

Herself wou'd watch you a' the day,

Her maids a dead of night;

And Fairly fair your heart wou'd chear,

As she stands in your sight.

xvii.

"Arise, young knight, and mount your stead;

Full lowns the shynand day :

Choose frae my menzie whom ye please

To lead you on the way."

With smitcless look, and visage wan,

The wounded knight reply'd,

"Kind chieftain, your intent pursue,

For here I maun abyde.

xviii.

To me nae after day nor night

Can e'er be sweet or fair,

But soon beneath some draping tree,

Cauld death shall end my care."

With him nae pleading might prevail;

Brave Hardyknute to gain

With fairest words, and reason strong,

Strive courteously in vain.

xix.

Syne he has gane far hynd out o'er

Lord Chattau's land sae wide;

That lord a worthy wight was ay

When faes his courage sey'd :

Of Pictish race by mother's side,

When Picts rul'd Caledon,

Lord Chattau claim'd the princely maid,

When he saw'd Pictish crown.

xx.

Now with his fierce and stalwart train,

He reach'd a rising hight,

Quhair braid encampit on the dale,

Nor'ss menzie lay in sicht.

"Yonder my valiant sons and feirs

Our raging rivers wait

On the unconquert Scottish sward

To try with us their fate.

xxi.

Make orisons to him that sav'd

Our sauls upon the rude;

125

130

135

140

145

150

155

160

Page 232

206

HARDYKNUTE.

Syne bravely shaw your veins are fill'd

With Caledonian blude.

Thon furth he drew his trusty glave,

165

While thousands all around

Drawn frae their sheaths glance'd in the sun;

And loud the bougles sound.

XXII.

To joyn his king adoun the hill

In hast his merch he made,

170

While, playand pibrochs, minstrels meit

Afore him stately stride.

"Thrice welcome valiant stoup of weir,

Thy nations shield and pride;

Thy king nae reason has to fear

175

When thou art by his side."

XXIII.

When bows were bent and darts were thrown;

For thrang scarce could they flee;

The darts elore arrows as they met,

180

The arrows dart the tree.

Lang did they rage and fight fu' fierce,

With little skailh to mon,

But bloody bloody was the field,

Ere that lang day was done.

XXIV.

The King of Scots, that sindle brook'd

185

The war that look'd like play,

Drew his braid sword, and brake his bow,

Sin bows seem'd but delay.

Quoth noble Rothsay, "Mine I'll keep,

190

I wat it's bled a scare.

Haste up my merry men, cry'd the king

As he rode on before.

XXV.

The King of Norse he sought to find,

With him to mense the faught,

But on his forehead there did light

195

A sharp unsonsie shaft;

As he his hand put up to feel

The wound, an arrow keen,

O waefu' chance ! there pinn'd his hand

200

In midst between his een.

XXVI.

"Revenge, revenge, or'yd Rothsay's heir,

Your mail-coat sha' na bide

The strength and sharpness of my dart !"

Then sent it through his side.

Another arrow well he mark'd,

205

It pierced his neck in twa,

His hands then quat the silver reins,

He low as earth did fa'.

XXVII.

"Sair bleids my lige, sair, sair he bleids !"

210

Again wi' might he drew

And gesture dread his sturdie bow,

Fast the braid arrow flew :

Wae to the knight he ettled at;

Lament now Queen Elgred;

215

High dames too wail your darling's fall,

His youth and comely meed.

XXVIII.

"Take aff, take aff his costly jupe

(Of gold well was it twin'd,

Knit like the fowler's net, through quhilk

His steelly harness shin'd)

220

Take, Norse, that gilt frae me, and bid

Him venge the blood it bears;

Say, if he face my bendit bow,

He sure nae weapon fears."

XXIX.

Proud Norse with giant body tall,

225

Braid shoulders and arms strong,

Cry'd, "Where is Hardyknute sae fam'd

And fear'd at Britain's throne:

Tho' Britons tremble at his name

230

I soon shall make him wail,

That e'er my sword was made sae sharp,

Sae saft his coat of mail."

XXX.

That brag his stout heart cou'd na bide,

It lent him youtifu' might :

"I'm Hardyknute ; this day, he cry'd

235

To Scotland's king I heght

To lay thee low, as horses hoof;

My word I mean to keep."

Syne with the first stroke e'er he strake,

240

He garr'd his body bleed.

XXXI.

Norse's een like gray gosehawk's stair wyld,

He sigh'd wi' shame and spite;

"Disgrac'd is now my far-fam'd arm

That left thee power to strike :"

Then ga' his head a blow sae fell,

245

It made him doun to stoup,

Page 233

As lugh as he to ladies us'd

In courtly guise to laut.

XXXII.

Fu' soon he rais'd his bent body,

His bow he muivell'd sair,

Sin blaws till then on him but daur'd

As touch of Fuly fau:

Noise muivell'd too as sair as he

'To see his stately look;

Sae soon as o't he strake a fae,

Sae soon his lifo he took.

XXXIII.

Whore like a fite to heather set

Bauld Thomas did advance,

Ane sturdy fite with look enrag'd

Up toward him did prance;

He spur'd his steid through thickest ianks

The hardy youth to quell,

Wha stood unmov'd at his approach

His fury to repell

XLIV.

"That short brown shaft sae meanly thimm'd,

Looks like poor Scotlands gear,

But diendfull seems the rusty point"

And loud he leugh in jean.

"Oft Bittons blood has dimm'd its shine;

This point cut short their vaunt "

Syne pierc'd the boasters bearded cheek;

Nac time he took to taunt

XXXV.

Short while he in his saddle swang,

His stiriup was nae stay,

Sae feeble hung his unbent knee

Sure talken he was fey .

Swifh on the harden't clay he fell,

Right far was head the thud :

But Thomas look't nae as he lay

All waltering in his bluid:

XXXVI.

With careless gesture, mind unmov't,

On roade he north the plain;

His seem in thiong of ficcest strife,

When winner ay the same

Not yet his heart dimes dimplet cheek

Could mease soft leve to bruik,

Till vengefu' Ann return'd his scorn,

Then languid grow his luik.

27

XXXVII.

In thiaws of death, with walowit cheik,

All panting on the plain,

The fainting corps of wariours lay,

Ne'ie to arise again;

Ne'ie to return to native land,

Nac man with blithsome sounds

To boast the glories of the day,

And shaw their shining wounds.

XXXVIII.

On Norways coast the widowit dame

May wash the locks with teals,

May lang luik ow'r the shipless scans

Before her mate appears.

Cease, Emma, cease to hope in vain;

Thy lord lyes in the clay,

The valiant Scots nae reveis thole

To cairy life away.

XXXIX.

Hero on a lee, where stands a cross

Set up for monument,

Thousands fu' fierce that summer's day

Fill'd keen war's black intent

Let Scots, while Scots, praise Hardyknute

Let Noise the name ay dread,

Ay how he faught, af how he spai'd

Shall latest ages read.

XL

Now loud and chill blew th' westlin wind,

Sair beat the heavy shower,

Mulk grew the night ae Hardyknute

Wan near his stately tower

His tow'r that na'd wi' torches blaze

To shine sae far at night,

Seem'd now as black as mourning weed,

Nac marvel sair he sighed.

XLI.

"There's nae light in my lady's bower,

There's nae light in my ha';

Nac blink shines round my Faily fair,

Nor wald stands on my wa'.

"What bodes it? Robent, Thomas, say;"

Nac answer fitts their dread

"Stand back, my sons, I'll be your guide!"

But by they past with speed

XLII.

"As fast I've sped o'er Scotlands faes,"—

There ceas'd his brag of weir,

Page 234

203

HARDYKNUTE.

Sair sham'd to mind ouglit but his dame,

And maiden fairly fair.

Black fear he felt, but what to fear

He wist nae yet ; wi' dred

Sair shook his body, sair his limbs,

And a' the warrior fled.

In an elegant publication, entitled

"Scottish Tragic Ballads, printed by and for

J. Nichols, 1781, 8vo," may be seen a con-

tinuation of the ballad of Hardyknute, by

the addition of a "Second Part," which hath

since been acknowledged to be his own com-

position, by the ingenious Editor—To whom

the late Sir D. Dalrymple communicated

(subsequent to the account drawn up above

in p. 203) extracts of a letter from Sir John

Bruce, of Kinross, to Lord Binnig, which

plainly proves the pretended discoverer of the

fragment of Hardyknute to have been Sir

John Bruce himself. His words are, "To

perform my promise, I send you a true copy

of the Manuscript I found some weeks ago in

a vault at Dumferline. It is written on vel-

lum in a fair Gothic character, but so much

defaced by time, as you'll find, that the tenth

part is not legible." He then gives the whole

fragment as it was first published in 1719,

save one or two stanzas, marking several pas-

sages as having perished by being illegible

in the old MS. Hence it appears that Sir

John was the author of Hardyknute, but af-

terwards used Mrs. Wardlaw to be the mid-

wife of his poetry, and suppressed the story

of the vault; as is well observed by the Edi-

tor of the Tragic Ballads, and of Maitland's

Scot. Poets, vol. I. p. cxxvii.

To this gentleman we are indebted for the

use of the copy, whence the second edition

was afterwards printed, as the same was

prepared for the press by John Clark, M. D.,

of Edinburgh, an intimate companion of Lord

President Forbes.

The title of the first edition was, "Hardy-

knute, a Fragment. Edinburgh, printed for

James Watson, &c., 1719," folio, 12 pages.

Stanzas not in the first edition are, Nos.

17, 18, 20, 21, 22, 23, 34, 35, 36, 37, 41, 42.

In the present impression the orthography

of Dr. Clerk's copy has been preserved, and

his readings carefully followed, except in a

few instances, wherein the common edition

appeared preferable; viz. He had in ver. 20,

but,—v. 56, of 'harm,—v. 64, every,—v. 67, lo

down,—v. 83, That omitted,—v. 89, And

omitted,—v. 143. With argument but vainly

strave Lang.—v. 148, say'd.—v. 155, incam-

pit on the plain.—v. 150, Norse squadrons.—

v. 158, regard revars.—v. 170, his strides he

bent.—v. 171, minstrals play and Pibrochs

fine.—v. 172, stately went.—v. 182, mon.—v.

196, sharp and fatal.—v. 219, which.—v. 241,

stood wyld.—Stanza 39 preceded stanza 38.

—v. 305, There.—v. 313, blew wrestling.—v.

336 had originally been, He feur'd a' rou'd be

fear'd.

The editor was also informed, on the au-

thority of Dr. David Clark, M. D., of Edin-

burgh (son of the foresaid Dr. John Clerk),

that between the present stanzas 36 and 37,

the two following had been intended, but

were on maturer consideration omitted, and

do not now appear among the MS. additions:

Now darts flew wavering through shaw speede,

Sparce could they reach their aim :

Or reach'd, sparce blood the round point drew,

'Twas all but shot in vain :

Righ strengthly arms forfoughted grow,

Sair wreak'd wi' that day's toils:

E'on fierce-born minds now lang'd for peace,

And cur'd war's cruel broils.

Yet still wars horns sounded to charge,

Swords clash'd and harness rang ;

But saftly sae ilk blaster blew

The hills and dales fraemang.

Nac echo heard in double dints,

Nor the lang-winding horn,

Nac mair she blew out brade as she

Did eir that summers moru.

THE END OF BOOK THE FIRST.

Page 235

A BALLAD OF LUTHER, ETC.

SERIES THE SECOND.

BOOK II.

I.

A Ballad of Luther, the Pope, a Cardinal, and a Husbandman.

In the former Book we brought down this second Series of poems as low as about the middle of the sixteenth century. We now find the Muses deeply engaged in religious controversy. The sudden revolution wrought in the opinions of mankind by the Reformation, is one of the most striking events in the history of the human mind. It could not but engross the attention of every individual in that age, and therefore no other writings would have any chance to be read, but such as related to this grand topic. The alterations made in the established religion by Henry VIII., the sudden changes it underwent in the three succeeding reigns within so short a space as eleven or twelve years, and the violent struggles between expiring Popery and growing Protestantism, could not but interest all mankind. Accordingly every lower of the Old and New Profession (as they were called) had their respective ballad-makers; and every day produced some popular sonnet for or against the Reformation. The following ballad, and that entitled "Lit. the John Nobody," may serve for specimens of the writings of each party. Both were written in the reign of Edward VI.; and are not the worst that were composed upon the occasion. Controversial divinity is no friend to poetic flights. Yet this ballad of "Luther and the Pope," is not altogether devoid of spirit; it is of the dramatic kind, and the characters are tolerably well sustained; especially that of Luther, which is made to speak in a manner not unbecoming the spirit and courage of that vigorous reformer. It is printed from the original black-letter copy (in the Pepys collection, Vol. I., folio), to which is prefixed a large wooden cut, designed and executed by some eminent master.

We are not to wonder that the ballad-writers of that age should be inspired with the zeal of controversy, when the very stage teemed with polemic divinity. I have now before me two very ancient quarto black-letter plays: the one published in the time of Henry VIII., entitled "Every Man ;" the other called "Lusty Juventus," printed in the reign of Edward VI. In the former of these, occasion is taken to inculcate great reverence for old mother church and her superstitions:in the other, the poet (one R. Wever) with great success attacks both. So that the stage in those days literally was, what wise men have always wished it—a supplement to the pulpit:this was so much the case, that in the play of "Lusty Juventus," chapter and verse are every where quoted as formally as in a sermon ; take an instance :

"The Lord by his prophet Ezechiel sayeth in this wise playnlye,

As in the xxxiij chapter it doth appere:

Be converted, O ye children. &c."

  • Take a specimen from his high encomiums on the priesthood :

"There is no empour, kyng, duke, ne baron.

That of God hath commissyon,

As hath the leest prest in the world beynga.

God hath to them more power gyvven,

Than to any aungell, that is in heven;

With v. words he may consecrate

(oddes body in theshe, and blode to take,

And handeleth his maker bytweene his handles.

The preest lyveth and unbindeth all bandes,

Both in erthe and in heven.--

Thou minstres all the sacramentes seven.

Though we kyst thy fete thou were worthy;

Thou art the surgyan that cureth synne dedly:

No remedy may we fynde under God,

But alowe on preesthode.

God gave preest that dignité,

And letteth them in his stede amonge us be,

Thus be they above aungels in degre."

See Hawkins's Orig. of Eng. Drama, Vol. I. p. 61.

Page 236

210

A BALLAD OF LUTHER, ETC.

From this play we learn that most of the

young people were New Gospellers, or friends

to the Reformation, and that the old were

tenacious of the doctrines inhibited in their

youth: for thus the devil is introduced lamenting the downfall of superstition :

"The olde people would believe stil in my lawes,

But the yonger sort leade them a contrary way,

They wyl not beleve, they playnly say,

In olde traditions, and made by men, &c."

And in another place Hypocrisy urges,

"The worlde was never meri

Since chyldren were so boulde;

Now every boy will be a tencher,

The father a foole, the chylde a preacher."

Of the plays above mentioned, to the first

is subjoined the following, Printer's Colon

phon, ¶ "Thus endeth this moral playe of

Every Man. ¶ Imprynted at London in

Powles chyrche yarde by me John Skot."

In Mr. Garrick's collection is an imperfect

copy of the same play, printed by Richard

Pynson.

The other is intitled, "An interlude called

Lufty Juventus:" and is thus distinguished

at the end: "Finis. quod R. Wever. Im

prynted at London in Paules churche yaurd

by Abraham Dele at the signe of the Lambe."

Of this, too, Mr. Garrick has an imperfect

copy of a different edition.

Of these two plays the reader may find

some further particulars in Series the First,

Book II., see "The Essay on the Origin of

the English Stage ;" and the curious reader

will find the plays themselves printed at large

in Hawkins's "O!igin of the English Drama,"

3 vols., Oxford, 1773, 12mo.

THE HUSBANDMAN.

Let us lift up our hartes all,

And prayse the Lordes magnificence,

Which hath given the volues a fall,

And is become our strong defence :

For they thorowe a false pretens

From Christes bloude dyd all us leade,*

  • i. e. denied us the Cup, see below, ver. 94.

Geltynge from every man his pence,

As satisfactours for the deade.

For what we with our Flayles coulde get

To kepe our house, and survaunles ;

That did the Freers from us fet,

And with our soules played the mer

chauntes :

And thus they with theyr false warrantes

Of our sweate have easely lyved,

That for fatnosse theyr belyes pantes,

So greatye haye they us deceaued.

They spared not the fatherlesse,

The carefull, nor the pore wydowe;

They wolde have somewhat more or lesse,

If it abovc the ground did growe :

But now we husbandmen do knowe

Al their subteltie, and theyr false caste;

For the Lordc hath them overthrowc

With his swete word now at the laste.

DOCTOR MARTIN LUTHER.

Thou antichrist, with thy thre crowncs,

Has usurped kynges powcrs,

As having power over realmes and townes,

Whom thou oughest to serve all houres.

Thou thinkest by thy jugglyng colours

Thou maist lykewise Gods word oppresse;

As do the deceatfull foulers,

When they theyr mettes craftelye dresse.

Thou flatterest every prince, and lord,

Thretening poore men with swcande and

fyre :

All those, that do followe Gods worde,

To make them cleve to thy dosire,

Theyr bokcs thon barnest in flaming fire;

Cursing with boke, bell, and candell,

Such as to reade them have desyre,

Or with them are wyllynge to meddell.

Thy false power wyl I bryng down,

Thou shalt not nuygne many a yere,

I shall dryve the from citye and towne,

Even with this pen that thou seyste here :

Thou fyghtest with swerd, shylde, and

speare,

But I wyll fyght with Gods worde;

Which is now so open and cleare,

That it shall brynge the under the borde.*

  • i. e. Make thee knock under the table.

Page 237

JOIN ANDERSON MY JO.

211

THE POPE.

THE CARDINAL.

Though I brought never so many to hel,

And to utter dampnacion,

Throughe myne ensample, and consel,

Or thorow any abhominacion,

Yet doth our lawe excuse my fashion.

And thou, Luther, arte accurst;

For blamynnge me, and my condicion,

The holy decres have the condempned.

Thou stryvest against my purgatory,

Because thou findest it not in scripture;

As though I by myne autorite

Myght not make one for myne honoure.

Knowest thou not, that I have power

To make, and mar, in heaven and hell,

In erth, and every creature?

Whatsoever I do it must be well.

As for scripture, I am above it ;

Am not I Gods hye vicarie?

Shulde I be bounde to followe it,

As the carpenter his ruler?*

Nay, nay, hereticks ye are,

That will not obey my auctorite.

With this sworde I wyll declare,

That ye shal al accursed be.

50

55

60

65

70

I am a Cardinall of Rome,

Sent from Christes hye vicary,

To graunt pardon to more, and sume,

That wil Luther resist strongly :

He is a greate hereticke treuly,

And regardeth to much the scripture ;

For he thinketh only thereby

To subdue the popes high honoure:

Receive ye this pardon devoutely,

And loko that ye agaynste him fight;

Plucke up your herts, and be manlye,

For the pope sayth ye do but ryght:

And this be sure, that at one flyghte,

Allthough ye be overcom by chaunce,

Ye shall to heaven go with greate myghte;

God can make you no resistaunce.

But these heretikes for their medlynge

Shal go down to hel every one;

For they have not the popes blessynge,

Nor regard his holy pardon:

They thinke from all destruction

By Christes bloud to be saved,

Fearyng not our excommunicacion,

Therefore shall they al be dampned.

75

80

85

90

95

II.

John Anderson my Jo.

While in England verse was made the ve-

hicle of controversy, and Popery was attacked

in it by logical argument, or stinging satire;

we may be sure the zeal of the Scottish Re-

formers would not suffer their pens to be idle,

but many a pasquil was discharged at the

Romish priests, and their enormous encroach-

ments on property. Of this kind perhaps is

the following (preserved in Maitland's MS.

Collection of Scottish poems in the Pepysian

library) :

"Tak a Wobster, that is leill,

And a Miller, that will not steill,

With ane Priest, that is not gredy,

And lay ane deid corpse thame by,

And, throw virtue of thame thre,

That deid corpse sall qwyknyt be."

Thus far all was fair : but the furious hatred

of Popery led them to employ their rhymes

in a still more licentious manner. It is a

received tradition in Scotland, that at the

time of the Reformation, ridiculous and ob-

scene songs were composed to be sung by the

rabble to the tunes of the most favourite

hymns in the Latin service. Green sleeves

and pudding pies (designed to ridicule the

popish clergy) is said to have been one of

these metamorphosed hymns : Maggy Lauder

  • I. e. his rule.

Page 238

was another: John Anderson my jo was a third. The original music of all these bur-

lesque sonnets was very fine. To give a spe-cimen of their manner, we have inserted one

of the least offensive. The reader will par-don the meanness of the composition for the

sake of the anecdote, which strongly marks the spirit of the times.

In the present edition this song is much improved by some new readings communi-

cated by a friend ; who thinks by the "Seven Bairns," in st. 2d, are meant the Seven Sa-

craments ; five of which were the spurious off-spring of Mother Church : as the first stanza

contains a satirical allusion to the luxury of the popish clergy.

The adaptation of solemn church music to these ludicrous pieces, and the jumble of

ideas, thereby occasioned, will account for the following fact.—From the Records of the

General Assembly in Scotland, called "The Book of the Universal Kirk," p. 90, 7th July,

1508, it appears, that Thomas Bassondyne,

printer in Edinburgb, printed "a psalme buik, in the ond wherof was fund printit

ane baudysang, called 'Welcame Fortunes.'"* WOMAN.

John Anderson my jo, cum in as ze gae by,

And ze sall get a sheips heid weel baken in a pye:

Weel baken in a pye, and the haggis in a pat ;

John Anderson my jo, cum in, and ze's get that.

MAN.

And how doe ze, Cummer ? and how hae ze thre-

ven ?

And how mony bairns hae ze ? Wom. Cum-mer, I hae seven.

Man. Are they to zour awin gude man? Wom. Na, Cummer, na;

For five of tham were gotten, quhan he was awa'.

III.

Little John Nobody.

We have here a witty libel on the Reforma-tion under King Edward VI., written about

the year 1550, and preserved in the Pepys collection, British Museum, and Strype's Me-

moirs of Cranmer. The author artfully de-clines entering into the merits of the cause,

and wholly reflects on the lives and actions of many of the reformed. It is so easy to find

flaws and imperfections in the conduct of men, even the best of them, and still easier to make

general exclamations about the profligacy of the present times, that no great point is

gained by arguments of that sort, unless the author could have proved that the principles

of the reformed religion had a natural ten-dency to produce a corruption of manners;

wheras he indirectly owns, that their Reve-rend Father [Archbishop Cranmer] had used

the most proper means to stem the torrent, by giving the people access to the Scriptures,

by teaching them to pray with understand-ing, and by publishing homilies and other

religious tracts. It must however be acknow-ledged, that our libeller had at that time suf-

ficient room for just satire. For under the banners of the reformed had enlisted them-

selves, many concealed papists, who had pri-vate ends to gratify ; many that were of no

religion ; many greedy courtiers, who thirsted after the possessions of the church; and

many dissolute persons, who wanted to be exempt from all ecclesiastical censures : and

as these men were loudest of all others in their cries for Reformation, so in effect none

obstructed the regular progress of it so much, or by their vicious lives brought vexation

and shame more on the truly venerable and pious Reformers.

The reader will remark the fondness of our satirist for alliteration : in this he was guilty

of no affectation or singularity ; his versi-fication is that of Pierce Plowman's Visions, in

  • See also Biograph. Briant. 1st ed. vol. i. p. 177.

Page 239

which a recurrence of similar letters is essen-

tial: to this he has only superadded rhyme,

which in his time began to be the general

practice. See an Essay on this very peculiar

kind of metre, prefixed to Book III. in this

Series.

In december, when the dayes draw to be

short,

After november, when the nights wax noy-

some and long;

As I past by a place privily at a port,

I saw one sit by himself making a song:

His last* talk of trifles, who told with his

tongue

That few were fast i' th' faith. I 'freyned'†

that frerke,

Whether he wanted wit, or some had done

him wrong.

He said, he was little John Nobody, that

durst not speake.

John Nobody, quoth I, what news? thou soon

note and tell

What maner men thou meane, thou are so

mad.

He said, These gay gallants, that wil con-

strue the gospel,

As Solomon the sage, with semblance full

sad;

To discusse divinity they nought adread;

More meet it were for them to milk kye at a

feyke.

Thou lyest, quoth I, thou losel, like a lend

lad.

He said he was little John Nobody, that

durst not speake.

Its meet for every man on this matter to talk,

And the glorious gospel ghostly to have in

mind;

It is sothe said, that sect but much unseemly

skalk,

As boyes babble in books, that in scripture

are blind:

Yet to their fancy soon a cause will find;

As to live in lust, in lechery to leyke:

Such eaitives count to be come of Cains

kind;‡

But that I little John Nobody durst not

speake.

  • Perhaps He left talk. † freyned, MSS. and P. C.

‡ Cain's kind.] So in Pierce the Plowman's creed, the

proud friars are said to be

— "Of Caymes kind." Vid. Slg. C. v. b.

For our reverend father hath set forth an order,

Our service to be said in our seignours

tongue;

As Solomon the sage set forth the scripture;

Our suffrages, and services, with many a

sweet song,

With homilies, and godly books us among,

That no stiff, stullborn stumacks we should

freyke:

But wretches nere worse to do poor men

wrong;

But that I little John Nobody dare not

speake.

For bribery was never so great, since born

was our Lord,

And whoredom was never les hated, sith

Christ harrowed hel,

And poor men are so sore punished common-

ly through the world,

That it would grieve any one, that good is,

to hear tel.

For al the homilies and good books, yet their

hearts be so quel,

That if a man do amisse, with mischiefo they

wil him wreak;

The fashion of these new fellows it is so vile

and fell:

But that I little John Nobody dare not

speake.

Thus to live after their lust, that life would

they have,

And in lechery to leyke al their long life;

For al the preaching of Paul, yet many a

proud knave

Wil move mischiefe in their mind both to

maid and wife

To bring them in advoutry or else they wil

strife,

And in brawling about bauderly, Gods com-

mandments breake:

But of these frantic il fellowes, few of them

do thrife;

Though I little John Nobody dare not

speake.

If thou company with them, they wil cur-

rishly carp, and not care

According to their polish fantacy; but fast

wil they naught:

Prayer with them is but prating; therefore

they it forbear:

Both almes deeds, and holiness, they hate it

in their thought:

Page 240

. 214

THE HEIR OF LINNE.

Therefore pray we to that prince, that with

his bloud us bougit,

That he wil mend that is amiss : for many a

manful freyke

Is sorry for these seats, though they say little

or nought;

And that I little John Nobody dare not

once speake.

Thus in no place, this Nobody, in no time I

met,

Where no man, 'ne'* Nought was, nor No-

thing did appear;

Through the sound of a synagogue for sor-

row I swett,

That 'Aeolus'* though the eecho did cause

me to heare.

Then I drew me down into a dale, whereas

the dumb deer

Did shiver for a shower ; but I shunted from

a freyke :

For I would no wight in this world wist who

I were,

But little John Nobody, that dare not once

speake.

IV.

Queen Elizabeth's Verses, while Prisoner at Woodstock,

writ with charcoal on a shutter,

—are preserved by Hentzner, in that part of

his Travels, which has been reprinted in so

elegant a manner at Strawberry-Hill. In

Hentzner's book they were wretchedly cor-

rupted, but are here given as amended by his

ingenious Editor. The old orthography, and

one or two ancient readings of Hentzner's

copy, are here restored.

Oh, Fortune! how thy restlesse wavering

state

Hath fraught with cares my troubled witt !

Witnes this present prisonn, whither fate

Could beare me, and the joys I quit.

Thou causedest the guiltie to be losed

From bandes, wherein are innocents in-

closed :

Causing the guitles to be straite reserved,

And freeing those that death hath well de-

served.

But by her envic can be nothing wrought,te,

So God send to my foes all they have thought.te.

A. D. MDLV. Elizabeth, Prisonner.

V.

The Heir of Linne.

The original of this Ballad is found in the

Editor's folio MS., the breaches and defects

in which, rendered the insertion of supple-

mental stanzas necessary. These it is hoped

the Reader will pardon, as indeed the com-

pletion of the story was suggested by a

modern ballad on a similar subject.

From the Scottish phrases here and there

discernible in this poem, it would seem to

have been originally composed beyond the

Tweed.

The heir of Linne appears not to have been

a Lord of Parliament, but a Laird, whose

title went along with his estate.

  • then, MSS. and P. C.

  • Hercules, MS. and P. C.

Ver. 4, Could beare, is an ancient idiom, equivalent to

Did bear or Hath borne.

See below the Beggar of Bednal

Green, ver. 37, Could say.

Page 241

THE HEIR OF LINNE.

215

PART THE FIRST.

Lrtie and listen, gentlemen,

'To sing a song I will beginne:

It is of a lord of faire Scotland,

Which was the unthrifty heire of Linne.

His father was a right good lord,

His mother a lady of high degree;

But they, alas ! were dead, him froe,

And he lov'd keeping company.

To spend the daye with merry cheare,

To drinke and revell every night,

To card and dice from eve to morne,

It was, I ween, his hearts delightc.

To ride, to runne, to rant, to roare,

To alwaye spend and never spare,

I wott, an' it were the king himselffe,

Of gold and fee he mote be bare.

Soe fares the unthrifty Lord of Linne

Till all his gold is gone and spent;

And he maun sell his landes so broad,

His house, and landes, and all his rent.

His father had a keen stewarde,

And John o' the Scales was called hee :

But John is become a gentel-man,

And John has gott both guld and fee.

Sayes, Welcome, welcome, Lord of Linne,

Let nought disturb thy merry cheere;

Iff thou wilt sell thy landes soe broad,

Guod store of gold Ile give thee heere.

My gold is gone, my money is spent;

My lande nowe take it unto thee :

Give me the golde, good John o' the Scales,

And thinc for aye my lande shall bee.

Then John he did him to record draw,

And John he cast him a guld-pennie;

But for every pound that John agreed,

The lande, I wis, was well worth three.

He told him the gold upon the borde.

He was right glad his land to winne;

The gold is thine, the land is mine,

And now He be the Lord of Linne.

  • i.e. earnest-money; from the French "Denier à Dieu."

At this day, when application is made to the Dean and

Chapter of Carlisle to accept an exchange of the tenant

under one of their leases, a piece of silver is presented by

the new tenant, which is still called a God's-penny.

28

Thus he hath sold his land soe broad,

Both hill and holt, and moore and fenue,

All but a poore and lonesoume lodge,

That stood far off in a lonely glenne.

For soe he to his father hight.

My sonne, when I am gonne, sayd hee,

Then thou wilt spend thy lande so broad,

And thou wilt spend thy gold so free:

But sweare me nowe upon the roode,

That lonesome lodge thou'lt never spend ;

For when all the world doth frown on thee,

Thou there shalt find a faithful friend.

The heire of Linne is full of golde:

And come with me, my friends, sayd hee,

Let's drinke, and rant, and merry make,

And he that spares, ne'er mote be thee.

They ranted, drank, and merry made,

Till all his gold it waxed thinne;

And then his frindes they slunk away;

They left the unthrifty heire of Linne.

He had never a penny left in his purse,

Never a penny left but three,

And one was brass, another was lead,

And another it was white monèy.

Nowc well-aday, sayd the heire of Linne,

Nowc well-adayc, and woe is mee,

For when I was the Lord of Linne,

I never wanted gold nor fee.

But many a trustye friend have I,

And why shold I feel dole or care ?

Ile borrow of them all by turnes,

Soe need I not be never bare.

But one, I wis, was not at home;

Another had payd his gold away;

Another call'd him thriftless loone,

And bade him sharply wend his way.

Now well-aday, sayd the heire of Linne,

Now well-aday, and woe is me;

For when I had my landes so broad,

On me they liv'd right merrilee.

To beg my bread from door to door,

I wis, it were a brenning shame :

To rob and steal it were a sinne;

To worke my limbs I cannot frame.

Ver. 63, 4, 5, &c. Sic MS.

Page 242

216

THE HEIR OF LINNE.

Now Ile away to lonesome lodge,

For there my father bade me wend:

When all the world shou'd frown on mee

I there shold find a trusty friend.

PART THE SECOND.

Away then hyd the heire of Linne

Oer hill and holt, and moor and ferne,

Untill he came to lonesome lodge,

That stood so lowe in a lonely glenne.

He looked up, he looked downe,

In hope some comfort for to winne:

But bare and lothly were the walles.

Here's sorry cheare, quoth the heire of Linne.

The little windowe dim and darke

Was hung with ivy, bvere, and yowe ;

No shimmering sunn here ever shone,

No balsome breeze here ever blew.

No chair, no table he mote spye,

No chearful hearth, ne welcome bed,

Nought save a rope with renning noose,

That dangling hung up'oer his head.

And over it in broad lettèrs,

These words were written so plain to see :

“Ah ! gracelesse wretch, hast spent thine all

And brought thyselfo to penurie ?

“All this my boding mind misgave,

I therefore left this trusty friend :

Let it now sheild thy foule disgrace,

And all thy shame and sorrows end.”

Sorely shent wi' this rebuke,

Sorely shent was the heire of Linne ;

His heart, I wis, was near to brast

With guilt and sorrowe, shame and sinne.

Never a word spake the heire of Linne,

Never a word he spake but thrie :

“This is a trusty friend indeed,

And is right welcome unto mee.”

Then round his necke the corde he drewe.

And sprang aloft with his bodie :

When lo ! the ceiling burst in twaine,

And to the ground come tumbling hee.

85 Astonyed lay the heire of Linne,

Ne knewe if he were live or dead :

At length he looket, and sawe a bille,

And in it a key of gold so redd.

He took the bill, and lookt it on,

Strait good comfort found he there:

Itt told him of a hole in the wall,

In which there stood three chests in-fero.*

Two were full of the beaten goldie,

The third was full of white monèy ;

And over them in broad lettèrs

These words were written so plaine to see.

“Once more, my sonne, I set to thee clere;

Amend thy life and follies past;

For but thou amend thee of thy life,

That rope must be thy end at last.”

And let it bee, sayd the heire of Linne ;

And let it bee, but if I amend:†

For here I will make mine avow,

This rede‡ shall guide me to the end.

Away then went with a morry cheare,

Away then went the heire of Linne;

I wis, he neither ceas'd ne blanne,

Till John o' the Scales house he did winne.

And when he came to John o' the Scales,

Upp at the spocre§ then looked hee ;

There sate three lords upon a rowe,

Were drinking of the wine so free.

And John himselffe sate at the bord-head,

Because now lord of Linne was hee.

I pray thee, he said, good John o' the Scalos,

One forty pence for to lend mee.

Away, away, thou thriftless loone ;

Away, away, this may not bee :

For Christs curse on my head, he sayd,

If ever I trust thee one pennie.

Ver. 60, an old northern phrase.

  • in-fero, i. e. together. † i. e. unless I amend. ‡ i. e. advice, counsel.

§ Perhaps the Hole in the window, by which it was speered, i. e. sparred, fastened, or shut.—In Bale's 2d

Part of the Acts of Eng. Votarios, we have this phrase (fol. 38). “The dore therof oft tymes opened and speared

agayon.

Page 243

Then bespake the heire of Linne,

To John o' the Scales wife then spake he :

Madame, some almes on me bestowe,

I pray for sweet saint Charitie.

Away, away, thou thriftless loone,

I sweare thou gettest no almes of mee;

For if we should hang any losel heere,

The first we wold begin with thee.

Then bespake a good fellowe,

Which sat at John o' the Scales his bord;

Sayd, Turne againe, thou heire of Linne;

Some time thou wast a well good lord :

Some time a good fellow thou hast been,

And sparest not thy gold and fee;

Therefore Ile lend thee forty pence,

And other forty if need bee.

And ever, I pray thee, John o' the Scales,

To let him sit in thy companie :

For 'well I wot thou hadst his land,

And a good barganie it was to thee.

Up then spake him John o' the Scales,

All wood he answer'd him againe :

Now Christs curse on my head, he sayd,

But I did lose by that bargaine.

And here I proffer'thee, heire of Linne,

Before these lords so faire and free,

Thou shalt have it backe againe better cheape,

By a hundred markes, than I had it of thee.

I drawe you to record, lords, he said.

With that he cast him a gods pennie :

Var. 34. of Part I., and 102, of Part II., cast is the reading

of the MS.

Now by my fay, sayd the heire of Linne,

And here, good John, is thy monèy.

And he pull'd forth three bagges of gold,

And layd them down upon the bord :

All woe begone was John o' the Scales,

Soe shent he cold say never a word.

He told him forth the good red gold,

He told it forth mickle dinne.

The gold is thine, the land is mine,

And now Ime againe the Lord of Linne.

Sayes, Have thou here, thou good fellòwe,

Forty pence thou didst lend mee :

Now I am againe the Lord of Linne,

And forty pounds I will give thee.

He make the keeper of my forrest,

Both of the wild deere and the tame;

For but I reward thy bountieous heart,

I wis, good fellow, I were to blame.

Now welladay ! sayth Joan o' the Scales;

Now welladay ! and woe is my life !

Yesterday I was lady of Linne,

Now Ime but John o' the Scales his wife.

Now fare thee well, sayd the heire of Linne;

Farewell now, John o' the Scales, saith hee :

Christs curse light on me, if ever again

I bring my lands in jeopardy.

*† In the present edition of this ballad

several ancient readings are restored from the

folio MS.

Page 244

218

GASCOIGNE'S PRAISE OF THE FAIR BRIDGES.

VI.

Gascoigne's Praise of the Fair Bridges, afterwards Lady Sandes,

ON HER HAVING A SCAR IN HER FOREHEAD.

George Gascoigne was a celebrated poet in the early part of Queen Elizabeth's reign, and appears to great advantage among the miscellaneous writers of that age. He was author of three or four plays, and of many smaller poems; one of the most remarkable of which is a satire in blank verse, called the " Steele-glass," 1576, 4to.

Gascoigne was born in Essex, educated in both universities, whence he removed to Gray's Inn; but, disliking the study of the law, became first a dangler at court, and afterwards a soldier in the wars of the Low Countries. He had no great success in any of these pursuits, as appears from a poem of his, entitled, "Gascoigne's Wodmanship, written to Lord Gray of Wilton." Many of his epistles dedicatory are dated in 1575, 1576, from "his poore house in Waldhamstoe;" where he died, a middle-aged man, in 1578, according to Anth. Wood: or rather in 1577, if he is the person meant in an old tract, entitled, "A remembrance of the well-employed life and godly end of George Gascoigne, Esq., who deceased at Stamford in Lincolnshire, Oct. 7, 1577, by Geo. Whetstone, Gent., an eye-witness of his godly and charitable end in this world," 4to., no date.—[From a MS. of Oldys.]

Mr. Thomas Warton thinks "Gascoigne has much exceeded all the poets of his age, in smoothness and harmony of versification."* But the truth is, scarce any of the earlier poets of Queen Elizabeth's time are found deficient in harmony and smoothness, though those qualities appear so rare in the writings of their successors. In the "Paradise of Dainty Devises"† (the Dodsley's Miscellany of those times), will hardly be found one rough or inharmonious line:‡ whereas the numbers of Jonson, Donne, and most of their contemporaries, frequently offend the ear, like the filing of a saw.—Perhaps this is it some measure to be accounted for from the growing pedantry of that age, and from the writers affecting to run their lines into one another, after the manner of the Latin and Greek poets.

The following poem (which the elegant writer above quoted hath recommended to notice, as possessed of a delicacy rarely to be seen in that early state of our poetry) properly consists of alexandrines of twelve and fourteen syllables, and is printed from two quarto black-letter collections of Gascoigne's pieces; the first entitled, "A hundreth sundrie flowres, bound up in one small posie, &c., London, imprinted for Richarde Smith:" without date, but from a letter of H. W. (p. 202), compared with the printer's epist. to the reader, it appears to have been published in 1572, or '3. The other is entitled, "The Posies of George Gascoigne, Esq., corrected, perfected, and augmented by the author, 1575.—Printed at London, for Richard Smith, &c." No year, but the epist. dedicat. is dated 1576.

In the title page of this last (by way of printer's* or bookseller's device) is an ornamental wooden cut, tolerably well executed, wherein Time is represented drawing the figure of Truth out of a pit or cavern, with this legend, "Occulta veritas tempore patet" [r. s.]. This is mentioned because it is not improbable, but the accidental sight of this device, or some other title page containing the same device, suggested to Rubens that well-known design of a similar kind, which he has introduced into the Luxemburgh gallery,† and which has been so justly censured for the unnatural manner of its execution.

In court whoso demandaundes

What dame doth most excell;

For my conceit I must needles say,

Faire Bridges beares the bel.

  • Henrije Fijneman.

Le Temps découvre la Verité.

Page 245

GASCOIGNE'S PRAISE OF THE FAIR BRIDGES.

Upon whose lively cheeke,

To prove my judgment true,

The rose and lillie seeme to strive

For equall change of hewe:

And therewithall so well

Hir graces all agree;

No frowning cheere dare once presume

In hir sweet face to bee.

Althogh some lavishe lippes,

Which like some other best,

Will say, the blemishe on hir browe

Disgraceth all the rest.

Thereto I thus replie;

God wotte, they little knowe

The hidden cause of that mishap,

Nor how the harm did growe:

For when dame Nature first

Had framde hir heavenly face,

And thoroughly bedecked it

With goodly gleames of grace;

It lyked hir so well :

Lo here, quod she, a peece

For perfect shape, that passeth all

Appelles' worke in Greece.

This bayt may chaunce to catche

The greatest God of love,

Or mightie thundring Jove himself,

That rules the roast above.

But out, alas! those wordes

Were vaunted all in vayne:

And some unseene wer present there,

Pure Bridges, to thy pain.

For Cupido, crafty boy,

Close in a corner stoode,

Not blyndfold then, to gaze on hir :

I gesse it did him good.

5

Yet when he felte the flame

Gan kindle in his brest,

And herd dame Nature boast by hir

To break him of his rest,

His hot newe-chosen love

He chaunged into hate,

And sodeynly with mightie mace

Gan rap hir on the pate.

It greved Nature muche

To see the cruell deede :

Mee seemes I see hir, how she wept

To see hir deading bleede.

Wel yet, quod she, this hurt

Shal have some holpe I trow:

And quick with skin she coverd it,

That whiter is than snowe.

Wherwith Dan Cupide fled,

For feare of further flame,

When angel-like he saw hir shine,

Whome he had smit with shame.

Lo, thus was Bridges hurt

In cradel of hir kind.

The coward Cupide brake hir bowe

To wreke his wounded mynd.

The skar still there remains;

No force, there let it bee :

There is no cloude that can eclipse

So bright a sunne, as she.

** The lady here celebrated was Catharine, daughter of Edmond second Lord Chandos, wife of William Lord Sands. See Collins's Peerage, vol. ii., p. 133, ed. 1770.

Vor. 62, In cradel of hir kind: 1. e. In the cradle of her family. See Warton's Observations, vol. II. p. 137.

10

45

50

55

60

65

40

219

Page 246

220

FAIR ROSAMOND.

VII.

ffair 3losamond.

Most of the circumstances in this popular story of King Henry II., and the beautiful Rosamond have been taken for fact by our English Historians; who, unable to account for the unnatural conduct of Queen Eleaunor in stimulating her sons to rebellion, have attributed it to jealousy, and supposed that Henry's amour with Rosamond was the object of that passion.

Our old English annalists seem, most of them, to have followed Higden the monk of Chester, whose account, with some enlargements, is thus given by Stow. "Rosamond, the fayre daughter of Walter Lord Clifford, concubine to Henry II. (poisoned by Queen Elianor, as some thought), dyed at Woodstocke [A. D. 1177], where King Henry had made for her a house of wonderfull working; so that no man or woman might come to her, but he that was instructed by the King, or such as were right seeret with him touching the matter. This house after some was named Labyrinthus, or Dedalus worke, which was wrought like unto a knot in a garden, called a Maze;* but it was commonly said, that lastly the Queene came to her by a clue of thriddle, or silke, and so dealt with her, that she lived not long after; but when she was dead, she was buried at Godstow in an house of nummes, beside Oxford, with these verses upon her tombe :

"Hic jacet in tumulâ, Rosa mundi, non Rosa munda;

Non redolet, sed olet, quæ redolere solet."

"In English thus :

"The rose of the world, but not the cleane flowre,

Is now here graven; to whom beauty was lent:

In this grave full darke nowe is her bowre.

That by her life was sweete and redo ent:

But now that she is from this life blent,

  • Consisting of vaulte under ground, arched and walled with brick and stone, according to Drayton. See note on his Epistle of Rosamond.

Though she were sweete, now foully doth she stinke.

A mirrour good for all men, that on her thinke."

Stowe's Annals, ed. 1631, p. 154.

How the queen gained admittance into Rosamond's bower is differently related. Holinshed speakes of it as "the common report of the people, that the queene . . . founde hir out by a silken thread, whiche the king had drawne after him out of hir chamber with his foot, and dealt with hir in such sharpe and cruell wise, that she lived not long af-ter." Vol. III., p. 115. On the other hand, in Speede's Hist., we are told that the jealous queen found her out "by a clew of silke, falling from Rosamund's lappe, as shee sate to take ayre, and suddenly fleeing from the sight of the searcher, the end of her silke fastened to her foot, and the clew still unwinding, remained behinde : whiche the queene followed, till shee had found what she sought, and upon Rosamund so vented her spleene, as the lady lived not long after." 3d edit. p. 509. Our ballad maker with more ingenuity, and probably as much truth, tells us the clue was gained by surprize, from the knight, who was left to guard her bower.

It is observable that none of the old writers attribute Rosamond's death to poison (Stowe, above, mentions it merely as a slight conjecture); they only give us to understand, that the queen treated her harshly; with furious menaces, we may suppose, and sharp expos-tulations, whieh had such effect on her spirits that she did not long survive it. Indeed on her tomb-stone, as we learn from a person of credit,* among other fine sculptures, was engraven the figureof a cup. This, which perhaps at first was'an accidental ornament (perhaps only the Chalice), might in after-times suggest the notion that she was poisoned; at least this construction was put upon it, when

† Tho. Allen of Gluc Hall, Oxon. who died in 1632. aged 30. See Hearue's rambiling dis our se concerning Rosamond, at the end of Gul. Neubrig. Hist. vol. iii. p. 739.

Page 247

the stone came to be demolished after the

nunnery was dissolved. The account is, that

" the tombstone of Rosamund Clifford was

taken up at Godstow, and broken in pieces,

and that upon it were interchangeable wear-

ings drawn out and decked with roses red

and green, and the picture of the cup, out of

which she drank the poison given her by the

queen, carved in stone."

Rosamond's father having been a great be-

nefactor to the nunnery of Godstow, where

she had also residod herself in the innocent

part of her life, her body was conveyed, there,

and buried in the middle of the choir; in

which place it remained till the year 1191,

when Hugh bishop of Lincoln caused it to be

removed. The fact is recorded by Hovedon,

a contemporary writer, whose words are thus

translated by Stowe: " Hugh bishop of Lin-

colne came to the abbey of nunncs, called

Godstow, . . . and when he had entred the

church to pray, he saw a tombe in the mi-

dle of the quire, covered with a pall of silke,

and set alout with lights of waxe : and de-

manding whose tomb it was, he was answered,

that it was the tombe of Rosamond, that was

some time lemman to Henry II. . . . . who

for the love of her had done much good to

that church. Then, quoth the bishop, take

out of this place the harlot, and bury her

without the church, lest Christian religion

should grow in contempt, and to the end

that, through the example of her, other wo-

men being made afraid may beware, and

kepe themselves from unlawfull and ad-

voutrous company with men." Annals,

p. 1:99.

History further informs us that king John

requiied Godstow nunnery, and endowed it

with yearly revenucs, " that these holy vir-

gins might releeve with their prayers, the

soules of his father King Henrie, and of

Lady Rosamund there interred."* In what

situation her remains were found at the dis-

solution of the nunnery, we learn from Le-

land, " Rosamundes tumbe at Godstowe nun-

nery was taken up [of] late ; it is a stone

with this inscription, Tumba Rosamunde.

Her bones were closid in lede, and within

that bones were closyd yn lether. When it

was opened a very swete smell came out of

  • Vid. Reken of Henry II., In Speed's History, writ by

Dr. Bulhann, Dean of Rocking.

it."* See Hearne's discourse above quoted,

written in 1718; at which time he tells us,

were still seen by the pool at Woodstock the

foundations of a very large building, which

were believed to be the remains of Rosa-

mond's labyrinth.

To conclude this (perhaps too prolix) ac-

count, Henry had two sons by Rosamond,

from a computation of whose ages, a modern

historian has endeavoured to invalidate the

received story. These were William Longue-

espé (or Long-sword) carl of Salisbury,

and Geoffrey bishop of Lincolne.† Geoffrey

was the younger of Rosamond's sons, and

yet is said to have been twenty years old at

the time of his election to that see in 1173.

Hence this writer concludes that Henry

fell in love with Rosamond in 1140, when in

King Stephen's reign he came over to be

knighted by the king of Scots ; he also

thinks it probable that Henry's commerce

with this lady " broke off upon his marriage

with Eleanor [in 1152], and that the young

lady, by a natural effect of grief and resent-

ment at the defection of her lover, entered

on that occasion into the nunnery of God-

stowe, where she died probably before the

rebellion of Henry's sons in 1173. [Carte's

Hist. Vol. i., p. 652] But let it be observed,

that Henry was but sixteen years old when

he came over to be knighted : that he stayed

but eight months in this island, and was al-

most all the time with the King of Scots;

that he did not return back to England till

1153, the year after his marriage with Elea-

nor ; and that no writer drops the least hint

of Rosamond's having ever been abroad with

her lover, nor indeed is it probable that a

boy of sixteen should venture to carry over a

mistress to his mother's court. If all these

circumstances are considered, Mr. Carte's

account will be found more incoherent and

improbable than that of the old ballad;

which is also countenanced by most of our

old historians.

Indeed the true date of Geoffrey's birth,

and consequently of Henry's commerce with

Rosamond, seems to be best ascertained from

an ancient manuscript in the Cotton library;

wherein it is thus registered of Geoffrey Plan-

  • This would have passed for miraculous, if it had hap-

pened in the tomb of any clerical person, and a proof of his

being a saint.

† Afterwards Archbishop of York, temp. Rich. I.

Page 248

tagenet, " Natus est 5° Henry II. [1150.] Fac-

tus est miles 25° Henry II. [1170.] Elect. in

Episcop. Lincoln, 28° Henry II. [1182.]" Vid.

Chron. de Kirkstall, (Domiian XII.) Drake's

Hist. York, p. 422.

Fair Rosamond appears to

have been first published in "Strange Histo-

ries or Songs and Sonnets, of Kinges, Prin-

ces, Dukes, Lords, Ladyes, Knights, and

Gentlemen, &c. By Thomas Delone. Lon-

don, 1612." 4to. It is now printed (with

conjectural emendations) from four ancient

copies in black-letter ; two of them in the Pe-

pys library.

When as King Henry rulde this land,

The second of that name,

Besides the queene, he dearly lovde

A faire and comely dame.

Most peerlesse was her beautye founde,

Her favour, and her face ;

A sweeter creature in this worlde

Could never prince embrace.

Her crisped lockes like threads of golde

Appeard to each mans sight;

Her sparkling eyes, like Orient pearles,

Did cast a heavenlye light.

The blood within her crystal cheekes

Did such a colour drive,

As though the lillye and the rose

For mastership did strive.

Yea Rosamonde, fair Rosamonde,

Her name was called so,

To whom our queene, dame Ellinor,

Was known a deadlye foe.

The king therefore, for her defence,

Against the furious queene,

At Woodstocke builded such a bower,

The like was never seen.

Most curiously that bower was built

Of stone and timber strong,

An hundred and fifty doors

Did to this bower belong :

And they so cunninglye contriv'd

With turnings round about,

That none but with a clue of thread

Could enter in or out.

And for his love and ladyes sake,

That was so faire and brighte,

The keeping of this bower he gave

Unto a valiant knighte.

But fortune, that doth often frowne

Where she before did smile,

The kinges delighte and ladyes joy

Full soon shee did beguile:

For why, the kinges ungracious sonne,

Whom he did high advance,

Against his father raised warres

Within the realme of France.

But yet before our comelye king

The English land forssooke,

Of Rosamond, his lady faire,

His farewelle thus he tooke:

"My Rosamonde, my only Rose,

That pleasantest best mine eye :

The fairest flower in all the worlde

To feed my fantasye :

The flower of mine affected heart,

Whose sweetness doth excelle ;

My royal Rose, a thousand times

I bid thee nowe farwelle !

For I must leave my faireat flower,

My sweetest Rose, a space,

And cross the seas to famous France,

Proud rebelles to abase.

But yet, my Rose, be sure thou shalt

My coming shortlye see,

And in my heart, when hence I am,

Ile beare my Rose with mee."

When Rosamond, that ladye brighte,

Did heare the king saye soe,

The sorrowe of her grieved heart

Her outward lokes did showe;

And from her cleare and crystall eyes

The teares gush out apace,

Which like the silver-pearled dewe

Ranne down her comely face.

Her lippes, erst like the corall redde,

Did waxe both wan and pale,

And for the sorrowe she conceivde

Her vitall spirits failo ;

Page 249

And falling down all in a swoone

Before king Henryes face,

Full oft he in his princelye armes

Her bodye did embrace;

And twentye times, with watery eyes,

He kist her tender cheeke,

Until he had revivde againe

Her senses milde and meeke.

Why grieves my Rose, my sweetest Rose?

The king did often say.

Becanse, quoth shee, to bodye warres

My lord must part away.

But since your grace on forrayne coastes

Amonge your foes unkindle

Must goe to hazarde life and limbe,

Why should I staye behinde?

Nay rather, let me, like a page,

Your sworde and target beare;

That on my breast the blowes may lighte,

Which would offend you there.

Or lett mee, in your royal tent,

Prepare your bed at night,

And with sweete baths refreshe your grace,

At your returne from fighte.

So I your presence may enjoye,

No toil I will refuse;

But wanting you, my life is death :

Nay, denth Ile rather choose.

"Content thy self, my dearest love;

Thy rest at home shall bee

In Euglandes sweet and pleasant isle;

For travell fits not thee.

Faire ladies brooke not bodye warres;

Suft peace their sexe delights:

'Not rugged campés, but courteye bowers;

Gay feastes, nor cruell fightes.'

My Rose shall safely here abide,

With musique passe the day;

Whilst I, amonge the piercing pikes,

My foes seeke far awaye.

My Rose shall shine in pearle, and golde,

Whilst Ime in armour dighte;

Guy galliards here my love shall dance,

Whilst I my foes goe fighte.

And you, Sir Thomas, whom I truste

To bee my loves defence;

Be carefull of my gallant Rose

When I am parted hence."

And therewithall he fetcht a sigh,

As though his heart would breake:

And Rosamonde, for very gricfe,

Not one plaine word could speake.

And at their parting well they mighte

In heart be grieved sore:

After that daye faire Rosamonde

The king did see no more.

For when his grace had past the seas,

And into France was gone;

With envious heart, Queene Ellinor,

To Woodstoccke came anone.

And forth she calls this trustye knighte

In an unhappy houre;

Who with his clue of twined thread,

Came from this famous bower.

And when that they had wounded him,

The queene this thread did gette,

And went where lady Rosamonde

Was like an angell sette.

But when the queene with stedfast eye

Beheld her beauteous face,

She was amazed in her minde

At her exceeding grace.

Cast off from thee those robes, she said,

"That riche and costlye bee:

And drinke thou up this deadly draught,

Which I have brought to thee.

Then presentlye upon her knees

Sweet Rosamonde did falle;

And pardon of the queene she crav'd

For her offences all.

"Take pittyly on my youthfull yeares,

Faire Rosamonde did crye;

And lett mee not with poison stronge

Enforced bee to dye.

I will renounce my sinfull life,

And in some cloyster hide;

Or else be banisht, if you please,

To range the world soe wide.

Page 250

224

QUEEN ELEANOR'S CONFESSION.

And for the fault which I have done,

Though I was forc'd theretoe,

Preserve my life, and punish mee

As you thinke meet to doe."

And with theso words, her lillie handes

She wrunge full often there;

And downe along her lovely face

Did trickle many a teare.

But nothing could this furious queene

Therewith appeased bee;

The cup of dendlye poyson stronge,

As she knelt on her knee,

Shee gave this comelye dame to drinke;

Who tooke it in her hand,

165

And from her bended knoe arose,

And on her feot did stand:

And casting up her eyes to heaven.

Shoe did for mercy calle;

And drinking up the poison stronge,

Her life she lost withalle.

170

And when that death through everye limbe

Had showde its greatest spite,

Her chiefoest foes did plaine confesse

Shee was a glorious wight.

175

Her body then they did entomb,

When life was fled away,

At Godstowe, neare to Oxford towne,

As may be scene this day.

180

186

190

VIII.

Queen Eleanor's Confession.

"Eleanor, the daughter and heiress of

William duke of Guienne, and count of

Poictou, had been married sixteen years to

Louis VII. king of France, and had attended

him in a croisade, which monarch com-

manded against the infidels; but having lost

the affections of her husband, and even fallen

under some suspicions of gallantry with a

handsome Saracen, Louis, more delicate than

politic, procured a divorce from her, and re-

stored her those rich provinces, which by her

marriage she had annexed to the crown of

France. The young count of Anjou, after-

wards Henry II. King of England, though

at that time but in his nineteenth year,

neither discouraged by the disparity of age,

nor by the reports of Eleanor's gallantry,

made such successful courtship to that

princess, that he married her six weeks after

her divorce, and got possession of all her do-

minions as a dowery. A marriage thus

founded upon interest was not likely to be

very happy: it happened accordingly. Ele-

anor, who had disgusted her first husband by

her gallantries, was no less offensive to her

second by her jealousy: thus carrying to ex-

tremity, in the different parts of her life,

every circumstance of female weakness. She

had several sons by Henry, whom she spirit-

ed up to rebel against him; and endeavour-

ing to escape to them disguised in man's ap-

parel in 1173, she was discovered and thrown

into a confinement, which seems to have con-

tinued till the death of her husband in 1189.

She however survived him many years; dy-

ing in 1204, in the sixth year of the reign of

her youngest son, John." See Hume's His-

tory, 4to. vol. I. pp. 260, 307. Speed, Stowe,

&c.

It is needless to observe that the following

ballad (given with some corrections, from an

old printed copy) is altogether fabulous;

whatover gallantries Eleanor encouraged in

the time of her first husband, none are im-

puted to her in that of her second.

Queene Elianor was a sicke womàn,

And afraid that she should dye;

Then she sent for two fryars of France

To speke with her speedilye.

The king calld downe his nobles all,

By one, by two, by three;

"Earl marshall, Ile go shrive the queene,

And thou shalt weund with mee."

5

Page 251

QUEEN ELEANOR'S CONFESSION.

225

A boone, a boone : quoth earl marshall,

And fell on his bended knee ;

That whatsoeuer Queene Elianor saye,

No harme therof may bee.

Ile pawne my landes, the king then cry'd,

My sceptre, crowne, and all,

That whatsoeuer Queen Elianor sayes,

No harme thereof shall fall.

Do thou put on a fryars coat,

And Ile put on another ;

And we will to Queene Elianor goe

Like fryar and his brother.

Thus both attired then they goe :

When they came to Whitehall,

The bells did ring, and the quiristers sing,

And the torches did lightate them all.

When that they came before the queene,

They fell on their bended knee ;

A boone, a boone, our gracious queene,

That you sent so hastilie.

Are you two fryars of France, she sayd,

As I suppose you bee ?

But if you are two English fryars,

You shall hang on the gallowes tree.

We are two fryars of France, they sayd,

As you suppose we bee,

We have not been at any masse

Sith we came from the sea.

The first vile thing that ever I did,

I will to you unfolde ;

Earl marshall had my maidenhead,

Beneath this cloth of gulde.

That's a vile sinne, then sayd the king ;

May God forgive it thee !

Amen, amen, quoth earl marshall ;

With a heavye heart spake hee.

The next vile thing that ever I did,

To you Ile not denye,

I made a boxe of poyson strong,

To poison King Henrye.

Thats a vile sinne, then sayd the king,

May God forgive it thee !

Amen, amen, quoth earl marshall ;

And I wish it so may bee.

The next vile thing that ever I did,

To you I will discover ;

I poyson'd fair Rosamonde,

All in fair Woodstocke bower.

Thats a vile sinne, then sayd the king ;

May God forgive it thee !

Amen, amen, quoth earl marshall ;

And I wish it so may bee.

Do you see yonders little boye,

A tossing of the balle ?

That is carl marshalls eldest sonne,

And I love him the best of all.

Do you see yonders little boye,

A catching of the balle ?

That is king Henryes youngest sonne,

And I love him the worst of all.

His head is fashyon'd like a bull ;

His nose is like a boare.

No matter for that, king Henrye cryd,

I love him the better therfore.

The king pulled off his fryars coate,

And appeered all in redde :

She shrieked, and cryd, and wrung her hands,

And sayd she was betrayde.

The king lookt over his left shoulder,

And a grimme look looked hee,

Earl marshall, he sayd, but for my oathe

Or hanged thou shouldst bee.

Ver. 63, 67. She means that the eldest of these two was

by the Earl Marshall, the youngest by the king.

Page 252

226

THE BEGGAR'S DAUGHTER OF BEDNALL-GREEN.

IX.

The Sturdy Rock.

This poem, subscribed M. T. [perhaps in-|Mr. Weelkes seems to have been of opinion

vertedly for T. Marshall*], is preserved in

"The Paradise of daintie Derises," quoted

above in page 218. The two first stanzas

may be found accompaniod with musical

notes in "An Howres Recreation in Musicke,"

&c., by Richard Alison, Lond., 1606, 4to.:

usually bound up with three or four sets of

"Madrigals set to Music by Thomas Weelkes,

Lond., 1597, 1600, 1608, 4to." One of these

madrigals is so complete an example of the

Bathos that I cannot forbear presenting it to

the reader.

Thule, the period of cosmographie,

Doth vaunt of Hecla, whose sulphureous fire

Doth melt the frozen clime, and thaw the skie,

Trinacrian Ætna's flames ascend not hier:

These things seeme wondrous, yet more won-|drous I,

Whose heart with feare doth freeze, with love

doth fry.

The Andelusian merchant, that returnes

Laden with cutchinele and china dishes,

Reports in Spaine, how strangely Fogo burnes

Amidst an ocean full of flying fishes:

'These things seeme wondrous, yet more won-|drous I,

Whose heart with feare doth freeze, with love

doth fry.

with many of his brethren of later times,

that nonsense was best adapted to display the

powers of musical composure.

The sturdy rock for all his strength

By raging seas is rent in twaine:

The marble stone is pearst at length,

With little drops of drizling rain:

The oxe doth yeeld unto the yoke,

The steele obeayoth the hammer stroke.

The stately stagge, that seemes so stout,

By yalping hounds at bay is set:

The swiftest bird, that flies about,

Is caught at length in fowler's net:

The greatest fish, in deepist brooke,

Is soon deceived by subtill hooke.

Yea man himselſe, unto whose will

All things are bounden to obay,

For all his wit and worthie skill,

Doth fade at length, and fall away.

There is nothing but time doeth waste;

The heavens, the earth consume at last.

But vertue sits triumphing still

Upon the throne of glorious fame:

Though spitefull death mans body kill,

Yet hurts he not his vertuous name;

By life or death what so betides,

The state of vertue never slides.

X.

The Beggar's Daughter of Bednall-Green.

This popular old ballad was written in the

reign of Elizabeth, as appears not only from

ver. 23, where the arms of England are called

the "Queenes armes;" but from its tune's

being quoted in other old pieces, written in

her time. See the ballad on "Mary Ambree,"

in this work. The late Mr. Guthrie assured

the editor, that he had formerly seen another

old song on the same subject, composed in

a different measure from this; which was

truly beautiful, if we may judge from the

only stanza he remembered. In this it was

said of the old beggar, that "down his neck

  • Vid. Athen. Ox. p. 152, 316.

Page 253

THE BEGGAR'S DAUGHTER OF BEDNALL-GREEN.

227

— his reverend lockes

In comely curls did wave;

And on his aged temples grewe

The blossomes of the grave.

The following Ballad is chiefly given from

the Editor's folio MS., compared with two

ancient printed copies : the concluding stan-

zas, which contain the old Beggar's discovery

of himself, are not, however, given from any

of these, being very different from those of

the vulgar ballad. Nor yet does the Editor

offer them as genuine, but as a modern attempt

to remove the absurdities and inconsistencies,

which so remarkably prevailed in this part

of the song, as it stood before : whereas, by

the alteration of a few lines, the story is ren-

dered much more affecting, and is reconciled

to probability and true history. For this

informs us, that at the decisive battle of Eve-

sham (fought August 4, 1265), when Simon

de Montfort, the great Earl of Leicester, was

slain at the head of the barons, his eldest

son, Henry, fell by his side, and, in conse-

quence of that defeat, his whole family sunk

for ever, the king bestowing their great

honours and possessions on his second son,

Edmund, Earl of Lancaster.

PART THE FIRST.

It was a blind beggar, had long lost his

sight,

He had a faire daughter of bewtie most bright:

And many a gallant brave suiter had shee,

For none was soe comelye as pretty Bessee.

And though shee was of favor most faire,

Yet seeing shee was but a poor beggars

heyre,

Of ancyent housekeepers despisèd was shee,

Whose sommes came as suitors to prettye

Bessee.

Wherefore in great sorrow faire Bessy did

say,

Good father, and mother, let me goe away,

'To seke out my fortune, whatsoever itt bee.

This suite then they granted to prettye

Bessee.

Then Bessy, that was of bewtie soe bright,

All clad in gray russett, and late in the

night,

From father and mother alone parted shee;

Who sighed and sobbed for prettye Bessee.

Shee went till shee came to Stratford-le-Bow;

Then knew shee not whither, nor which way

to goe :

With teares shee lamented her hard destinie,

So sadd and soe heavy was pretty Bessee.

Shee kept on her journey untill it was day,

And went unto Rumford along the bye way;

Where at the Queens armes entertained was

shee :

Soe faire and wel favoured was pretty Bessee.

Shee had not been there a month to an end,

But master and mistress and all was her friend :

And every brave gallant, that once did her

see,

Was straight-way enamourd of pretty Bessee.

Great gifts they did send her of silver and

gold,

And in their songs daylye her love was ex-

told;

Her bewtie was blazed in every degree;

Soe faire and soe comelye was pretty Bessee.

The young men of Rumford in her had their

joy;

Shee shewed hirself courteous, and modestlye

coye;

And at her commandment still wold they bee;

Soe fayre and soe comlye was pretty Bessee.

Foure suitors att once unto her did goe;

They craved her favou, but still she sayd noe;

I wold not wish gentles to marry with mee.

Yett ever they honored pretty Bessee.

The first of them was a gallant young knight,

And he came unto her disguisde in the night,

The second a gentleman of good degree,

Who wooed and sued for prettye Bessee.

A merchant of London, whose wealth was not

small,

He was the third suiter, and proper withall;

Her masters own sonne the fourth man must

bee,

Who swore he would dye for pretty Bessee.

And, if thou wilt marry with mee, quoth the

knight,

He make thee a ladye with joy and delight;

My hurt's so inthrallèd by thy bewtie,

That soone I shall dye for prettye Bessee.

Page 254

228

THE BEGGAR'S DAUGHTER OF BEDNALL-GREEN.

The gentleman sayd, Come, marry with mee,

As fine as a ladye my Bessy shal bee:

My life is distressed: O heare mee, quoth

hee;

And grant me thy love, my prettye Bossce.

Let me bee thy husband, the merchant cold

say,

Thou shalt live in London both gallant and

gay;

My shippes shall bring home rych jewells for

thee,

And I will for ever love pretty Bessee.

Then Bessy shee sighed, and thus shee did

say,

My father and mother I meane to obey;

First gett there good will, and be faithfull to

mee,

And you shall enioye your prettye Bessee.

To every one this answer shee made,

Wherefore unto her they joyfullie sayd,

This thing to fulfill wee all doe agree;

But where dwells thy father, my prettye

Bessee?

My father, shee said, is soone to be scene:

The scely blind beggar of Bednall-greene,

That daylyo sits begging for charitie,

He is the good father of pretty Bessee.

His markes and his tokens are knowen very

well;

He alwayes is led with a dogg and a bell:

A seely oldo man, God knoweth, is hee,

Yett hee is the father of pretty Bessee.

Nay then, quoth the merchant, thou art not

for mee:

Nor, quoth the inn-holder, my wiffe thou shalt

bee:

I lothe, sayd the gentle, a beggars degree,

And therefore, adewe, my pretty Bessee!

Why then, quoth the knight, hap better or

worse,

I waighe not true love by the waight of the

pursse,

And bewtie is bewtie in every degree;

Then welcome unto mee, my pretty Bessee.

With thee to thy father forthwith I will goe.

Nay soft, quoth his kinsmen, it must not be

soe;

A poor beggars daughter noe ladye shall bee,

Then take thy adiew of pretty Bessee.

But soone after this, by breake of the day

The knight had from Rumford stole Bessy

away.

The younge man of Rumford, as thicke might

bee,

Rode after to feitch againe pretty Bessee.

As swifte as the winde to ryde they were

seene,

Untill they came neare unto Bednall-greene,

And as the knight lighted most courteouslie,

They all fought against him for pretty Bes-

see.

But rescow came speedilye over the plaine,

Or else the young knight for his love had

been slaine.

This fray being ended, then straitway he see

His kinsmen come rayling at pretty Bessee.

Then spake the blind beggar, Although I bee

poore,

Yett rayle not against my child at my own

doore:

Though shee be not decked in velvett and

pearle,

Yett will I dropp angells with you for my

girle.

And then, if my gold may better her birthe,

And equall the gold that you lay on the earth,

Then neyther rayle nor grudge you to see

The blind beggars daughter a lady to bee.

But first you shall promise, and have itt well

knowne,

The gold that you drop shall all be your

owne.

With that they replyed, Contented bee wec.

Then here's, quoth the beggar, for pretty

Bessee.

With that an angell he cast on the ground,

And dropp'd in angells full three thousand

pound;

And oftentimes itt was prov'd most plaine,

For the gentlemenn one the beggar droppt

twayne:

  • In the Editor's folio MS. it is 500l.

Page 255

THE BEGGAR'S DAUGHTER OF BEDNALL-GREEN.

229

Soe that the place, wherein they did sitt,

With gold it was covered every whitt.

The gentlemen then having dropt all their

store,

Sayd, Now, beggar, hold, for wee have noe more.

120

Thou hast fulfilled thy promise arright.

Then marry, quoth he, my girle to this knight;

And heere, added hee, I will now throwe you

downe

A hundred pounds more to buy her a gowne.

The gentlemen all, that this treasure had seene,

Admired the beggar of Bednall-greene:

And all those, that were her suitors before,

Their fleshe for very anger they tore.

Thus was fair Bessce matched to the knight,

And then made a lady in others despite;

A fairer lady there never was seene,

Than the blind beggars daughter of Bednall-greene.

But of their sumptuous marriage and feast,

What brave lords and knights thither were prest,

The second fitt* shall set forth to your sight

With marveilous pleasure and wished delight.

PART THE SECOND.

Off a blind beggars daughter most bright,

That late was betrothed unto a younge knight;

All the discourse therof you did see ;

But now comes the wedding of pretty Bessee.

Within a gorgeous palace most brave,

Adorned with all the cost they cold have,

This wedling was kept most sumptuouslie,

And all for the creditt of pretty Bessee.

All kind of dainties, and delicates sweete

Were bought for the baniquet, as it was most meete;

Partridge, and plover, and venison most free,

Against the brave wedding of pretty Bessee.

  • See an Essay on the word Fit at the end of the Second

Part.

This marriage through England was spread

by report,

So that a great number thereto did resort

Of noblos and gentles in every degree ;

15

And all for the fame of prettye Bessee.

To church then went this gallant younge knight;

His bride followed after, an angell most bright,

With troupes of ladies, the like nere was scene

As went with sweete Bessy of Bednall-greene.

This marryage being solempnized then,

With musicke performed by the skilfullest men,

The nobles and gentles sate downe at that tyde,

Each one admiring the beautifull bryde.

21

Now, after the sumptuous dinner was done,

To talke, and to reason a number begunn :

26

They talkt of the blind beggars daughter most bright,

And what with his daughter he gave to the knight.

Then spake the nobles, "Much marveil have wee,

This jolly blind beggar wee cannot here see."

"My lords, quoth the bride, my father's so base,

He is loth with his presence these states to disgrace."

31

"The prayse of a woman in question to bringe

Before her own face, were a flattering thinge;

But wee thinke thy father's baseness, quoth

they,

Might by thy bewtie be cleane put awaye."

35

They had noe sooner these pleasant words spoke,

But in comes the beggar cladd in a silke cloke;

A faire velvet capp, and a fether had hee,

And now a musicyan forsooth he wold bee.

He had a daintye lute under his arme,

41

He touched the strings, which made such a charme,

Page 256

230

THE BEGGAR'S DAUGHTER OF BEDNALL-GREEN.

Saies, Please you to heare any musicke of mee,

He sing you a song of pretty Bessee.

44

With that his lute he twanged straigttway,

And thereon begann most sweetlye to play ;

And after that lessons were playd two or three,

He strayn'd out this song most delicatlie.

"A poore beggars daughter did dwell on a greene,

49

Who for her faireness might well be a queene:

A blithe bonny lasse, and a daintye was shee,

And many one called her pretty Bessee.

"Her father hee had noe goods, nor noe land,

But beggd for a penny all day with his hand;

And yett to her mariage he gave thousands three,*

55

And still he hath somewhaat for pretty Bessee.

"And if any one here her birth doe disdaine,

Her father is ready, with might and with maine,

To proove shoe is come of noble degree:

Therfore never flout att prettye Bessee."

60

With that the lords and the companye round

With hurty laughter were readye to swound :

Att last said the lords, Full well we may see,

The bride and the beggar's behoulden to thee.

On this the bride all blushing did rise,

65

The pearlie dropps standing within her faire eyes,

O pardon my father, grave nobles, quoth shee,

That throughe blind affection thus doteth on mee.

If this be thy father, the nobles did say,

70

Well may he be proud of this happy day ;

Yett by his countenance well may wee see,

His birth and his fortune did never agree;

And therfore, blind man, we pray thee bewray,

(And looke that the truth thou to us doe say)

Thy birth and thy parentage, what itt may bee;

75

For the love that thou bearest to pretty Bessee.

  • So the folio MS.

"Then give me leave, nobles and gentles, each one,

One song more to sing, and then I have done;

And if that itt may not winne good report,

79

Then doe not give mee a groat for my sport.

"Sir Simon de Montfort my subject shal bee;

Once chiefe of all the great barons was hee,

Yet fortune so cruelle this lorde did abase,

Now loste and forgotten are hee and his race.

"When the barons in armes did King Henrye oppose,

85

Sir Simon de Montfort their leader they chose;

A leader of courage undaunted was hee,

And oft-times he made their enemyes flee.

"At length in the battle on Eveshame plaine

The barons were routed, and Montfort was slaine;

90

Moste fatall that battel did prove unto thee,

Thoughne thou wast not borne then, my pretty Bessee !

"Along with the nobles, that fell at that tyde,

His eldest son Henrye, who fought by his side,

Was felde by a blowe, he receivde in the fight !

95

A blowe that deprivde him for ever of sight.

"Among the dead bodyes all lifelesse he laye,

Till evening drewe on of the following daye,

When by a yong ladye discoverd was hee;

And this was thy mother my prettye Bessee!

"A barons faire daughter stept forth in the nighte

101

To search for her father, who fell in the fight,

And seeing yong Montfort, where gasping he laye,

Was moved with pitye, and brought him awaye.

"In secrete she nurst him, and swaged his paine,

105

While he through the realme was beleevd to bee slaine:

At length his faire bride she consented to bee,

And made him glad father of prettye Bessee.

"And nowe lest our foes our lives sholde betraye,

We clothed ourselves in beggars arraye;

110

Page 257

THE BEGGAR'S DAUGHTER OF BEDNALL-GREEN.

231

Her jewelles shee solde, and hither came wee:

All our comfort and eare was our prettye

Bessee.]

"And here have wee lived in fortunes despite,

Thoughe poore, yet contented with humble

delighte:

Full fourty winters thus have I beene

115

A silly blind beggar of Bednall-greene.

"And here, noble lordes, is ended the song

Of one, that once to your own ranke did

helong:

And thus have you learned a secrete from

mee,

That ne'er had beene known, but for prettye

Bessee."

120

Now when the faire companye everye one,

Had heard the strange tale in the song he

had showne,

They all were amazed, as well they might

bee,

Both at the blinde beggar, and prettye Bessee.

With that the faire bride they all did em-

brace,

125

Saying, Sure thou art come of an honourable

race,

Thy father likewise is of noble degree,

And thou art well worthy a lady to bee.

Thus was the feast ended with joye and de-

lighte,

A bridegroome most happy then was the

130

younge knight,

In joy and felicitie long lived hee,

All with his faire ladye, the prettye Bessee.

†† The word fit for part, often occurs in

our ancient ballads and metrical romances;

which being divided into several parts for the

convenience of singing them at public enter-

tainments, were in the intervals of the feast

sung by fits, or intermissions. So Putten-

ham in his art of English Poesie, 1589, says,

"the Epithalamie was divided by breaches

into three partes to serve for three several

fits, or times to be sung." P. 41.

From the same writer we learn some cur-

rious particulars relative to the state of bal-

lad-singing in that age, that will throw light

on the present subject: speaking of the quick

returns of one manner of tune in the short

30

measures used by common rhymers; these,

he says, "glut the eare, unless it be in small

and popular musickes, sung by these Canta-

banqui upon benches and barrels heads,

where they have none other audience then

boys or countrey fellowes, that passe by

them in the streete; or else by blind harpers,

or such like tavern Minstrels, that gave a fit

of mirth for a groat, . . their matter being

for the most part stories of old time, as the

tale of Sir Topas, the reportes of Bevis of

Southampton, Guy of Warwicke, Adam Bell

and Clymme of the Clough, and such other

old romances or historical rimes, made pur-

posely for recreation of the common people

at Christmasse dinners and brideales, and in

tavernes and alehouses, and such other places

of base resorte." P. 69.

This species of entertainment, which seems

to have been handed down from the ancient

bards, was in the time of Puttenham falling

into neglect; but that it was not, even then,

wholly excluded more genteel assemblies, he

gives us room to infer from another passage,

"We ourselves," says this courtly* writer,

"have written for pleasure a little brief ro-

mance, or historical ditty in the English tong

of the Isle of Great Britaine in short and long

meetres, and by breaches or divisions [i. e.

fits] to be more commodiously sung to the

harpe in places of assembly, where the com-

pany shall be desirous to heare of old adven-

tures, and valiaunces of noble knights in

times past, as are those of King Arthur and

his knights of the Round Table, Sir Bevys

of Southampton, Guy of Warwicke, and

others like." P. 33.

In more ancient times no grand scene of

festivity was complete without one of these

reciters to entertain the company with feats

of arms, and tales of knighthood, or, as one

of these old minstrels says, in the beginning

of an ancient romance on Guy and Colbronde,

in the Editors folio MS.

"When meate and drinke is great plentyè,

And lords and ladyes still wil bee,

And sitt and soplace lythe;†

Then itt is time for mee to speake

Of keene knightes, and kempès great,

Such carping for to kythe."

  • He was one of Queen Elizabeth's gent. pensioners, at a time when the whole band consisted of men of distinguished birth and fortune. Vid. Ath. Ox.

† Perhaps "blythe."

Page 258

232

THE BEGGAR'S DAUGHTER OF BEDNALL-GREEN.

If we consider that a groat in the age of Elizabeth was more than equivalent to a shilling now, we shall find that the old harpers were even then, when their art was on the decline, upon a far more reputable footing than the ballad-singers of our time. The Beggar of Bednall-green, in two parts, was rewarded with half a crown of our money. And that they made a very respectable appearance, we may learn from the dress of the old beggar, in the preceding ballad, p. 220, where he comes into company in the habit and character of one of these minstrels, being not known to be the bride's father, till after her speech, ver. 63. The exordium of his song, and his claiming a groat for his reward, ver. 80, are peculiarly characteristic of that profession.—Most of the old ballads begin in a pompous manner, in order to captivate the attention of the audience, and induce them to purchase a recital of the song; and they seldom conclude the first part without large promises of still greater entertainment in the second. This was a necessary piece of art to incline the hearers to be at the expenso of a second groat's worth.—Many of the old romances extend to eight or nine fits, which would afford a considerable profit to the reciter.

To return to the word fit; it seems at one time to have peculiarly signified the breathing-time, between the several parts (answering to Passus in the visions of Pierce Plowman): thus in the ancient ballad of "Chevy-Chase," (p. 55,) the first Part ends with this line,

"The first fit here I fynde:"

i. e. here I come to the first pause or intermission. (See also p. 58.) By degrees it came to signify the whole part or division preceding the pause. (See the concluding verses of the first and second parts of "Adam Bell, Clym of the Clough, and William of Cloudesly," in this work.) This sense it had obtained so early as the time of Chaucer: who thus concludes the first part of his rhyme (writ in ridicule of the old ballad romances) :

"Lo! lordinges mine, here is a fitt; If ye woll any more of it, To tell it woll I fonde."

The word fit indeed appears originally to have signified a poetic strain, verse, or poem: for in these senses it is used by the Anglo-Saxon writers. Thus King Alfred in his Boetius, having given a version of lib. 3, metr. 5, adds, Ðupre pirðom tha thay picce arungen hæpðe p.65, i.e. "When wisdom had sung these [fitts] verses." And in the Proem to the same book Fon on pirce, 45, Feonð on pirce, seems to mean "composed a song," or "poem." The reader will trace this old Saxon phrase, in the application of the word fond, in the foregoing passage of Chaucer. See Gloss.

Spenser has used the word fit to denote "a strain of music;" see his poem entitled "Collin Clout's come home again," where he says,

The Shepherd of the ocean [Sir W. Raleigh.] Provoked me to play some pleasant fit. m And when he heard the music which I made

He found himselfe full greatly pleas'd at it, &c.

It is also used in the old ballad of King Estmere, p. 16, v. 243.

From being applied to music, this word was easily transferred to dancing ; thus in the old play of "Lusty Juventus" (described in p. 117), Juventus says,

By the masse I would fayne go daunce a fitte.

And from being used as a part or division in a ballad, poem, &c., it is applied by Bale to a section or chapter in a book, (though I believe in a sense of ridicule or sarcasm) for thus he entitles two chapters of his "English Dotaryes," part 2, viz.—fol. 49, "The first fytt of Anselme with Kynge Wyllyam Rufas."——fol. 50, "An other fytt of Anselme with Kynge Wyllyam Rufas."

Page 259

FANCY AND DESIRE.

233

XI.

fancy and Besire.

BY THE EARL OF OXFORD.

Edward Vere, Earl of Oxford, was in high fame for his poetical talents in the reign of Elizabeth : perhaps it is no injury to his reputation that few of his compositions are preserved for the inspection of impartial posterity. To gratify curiosity, we have inserted a sonnet of his, which is quoted with great encomiums for its "excellencic and wit," in Puttenham's "Arte of Eug. Poesie;"* and found entire in the " Garland of Good-will." A few more of his sonnets (distinguished by the initial letters E. O.) may be seen in the " Paradise of Daintie Devices." One of these is entitled, " The Complaint of a Lover, wearing blacke and tawnie." The only lines in it worth notice are these,

A crowne of banies shall that man 'beare'

Who triumphs over me;

For black and tawnie will I weare,

Which mourning colours be.

We find in Hall's Chronicle, that when Queen Catharine of Aragon died, Jan. 8, 1536, "Queen Anne [Bullen] ware yelowe for the mourning." And when this unfortunate princess lost her head, May 19, the same year, " on the ascencion day following, the kyng for mourning ware whyte." Fol. 227, 228.

Edward, who was the seventeenth Earl of Oxford, of the family of Vere, succeeded his father in his title and bonours in 1562, and died an aged man in 1604. See Mr. Walpole's Noble Authors. Athen. Oxon. &c.

Come hither shepherd's swayne:

" Sir, what do you require?"

I praye thee, shewe to me thy name.

My name is " Fond Desire."

  • Lond. 1589, p. 172.

When wert thou borne, Desire?

" In pompe and pryme of may."

By whom, sweet boy, wert thou begot?

" By fond Conceit men say."

Tell me, who was thy nurse ?

" Fresh Youth in sugred joy."

What was thy meate and dayly foode?

" Sad sighes with great annoy."

What hadst thou then to drinke?

" Unsavoury lovers teares."

What cradle wert thou rocked in ?

" In hope devoyde of fearec."

What luld thee then asleepe?

" Sreete speech, which likes me best."

Tell me, where is thy dwelling place?

" In geutle hartes I rest."

What thing doth please thee most?

" To gaze on beautye stille."

Whom dost thou thinke to be thy foe

" Disdayn of my good wille."

Doth companye displease?

" Yes, sureye, many one."

Where doth Desire delighte to live?

" He loves to live alone."

Doth either tyme or age

Bringe him unto decaye ?

" No, no, Desire both lives and dyes

Ten thousand times a daye."

Then, fond Desire, farewelle,

Thou art no male for mee;

I sholde be lothe, methinkes, to dwelle

With such a one as thee.

Page 260

234

SIR ANDREW BARTON.

XII.

Sir Andrew Barton.

I cannot give a better relation of the fact, which is the subject of the following ballad, than in an extract from the late Mr. Guthrie's Peerage; which was begun upon a very elegant plan, but never finished. Vol. I., 4to. p. 22.

"The transactions which did the greatest honour to the Earl of Surrey* and his family at this time [A. D. 1511], was their behaviour in the case of Barton, a Scotch sea officer. This gentleman's father having suffered by sea from the Portuguese, he had obtained letters of marque for his two sons to make reprisals upon the subjects of Portugal. It is extremely probable, that the court of Scotland granted these letters with no very honest intention. The council board of England, at which the Earl of Surrey held the chief place, was daily pestered with complaints from the sailors and merchants, that Barton, who was called Sir Andrew Barton, under pretence of searching for Portuguese goods, interrupted the English navigation. Henry's situation at that time rendered him backward from breaking with Scotland, so that their complaints were but coldly received. The Earl of Surrey, however, could not smother his indignation, but gallantly declared at the council board, that while he had an estate that could furnish out a ship, or a son that was capable of commanding one, the narrow seas should not be infested.

"Sir Andrew Barton, who commanded the two Scotch ships, had the reputation of being one of the ablest sea officers of his time. By his depredations, he had amassed great wealth, and his ships were very richly laden. Henry, notwithstanding his situation, could not refuse the generous offer made by the Earl of Surrey. Two ships were immediately fitted out, and put to sea with letters of marque, under his two sons, Sir Thomas† and Sir Edward Howard. After encountering a great deal of foul weather, Sir Thomas came up with the Lion, which was commanded by Sir Andrew Barton in person; and Sir Edward came up with the Union, Barton's other ship [called by Hall, the Bark of Scotland]. The engagement which ensued was extremely obstinate on both sides; but at last the fortune of the Howards prevailed. Sir Andrew was killed, fighting bravely, and encouraging his men with his whistle, to hold out to the last; and the two Scotch ships, with their crews, were carried into the River Thames. [Aug. 2, 1511.]

"This exploit had the more merit, as the two English commanders were in a manner volunteers in the service, by their father's order. But it seems to have laid the foundation of Sir Edward's fortune; for, on the 7th of April, 1512, the king constituted him (according to Dugdale) admiral of England, Wales, &c.

"King James 'insisted' upon satisfaction for the death of Barton, and capture of his ship: 'though' Henry had generously dismissed the crews, and even agreed that the parties accused might appear in his courts of admiralty by their attorneys, to vindicate themselves." This affair was in a great measure the cause of the battle of Flodden, in which James IV. lost his life.

In the following ballad will be found perhaps some few deviations from the truth of history: to atone for which it has probably recorded many lesser facts, which history hath not condescended to relate. I take many of the little circumstances of the story to be real, because I find one of the most unlikely to be not very remote from the truth. In Part 2, v. 156, it is said, that England had before "but two ships of war." Now the "Great Harry" had been built only seven years before, viz., in 1504: which "was properly speaking the first ship in the English navy: Before this period, when the prince wanted a fleet, he had no other expedient but hiring ships from the merchants." Hume.

  • Thomas Howard, afterwards created Duke of Norfolk.

† Called by old historians Lord Howard, afterwards created Earl of Surrey in his father's lifetime. He was father of the poetical Earl of Surrey.

Page 261

SIR ANDREW BARTON.

235

This ballad, which appears to have been written in the reign of Elizabeth, has received

great improvements from the Editor's folio MS., wherein was an ancient copy, which,

though very incorrect, seemed in many respects superior to the common ballad ; the lat-

ter being evidently modernized and abridged from it. The following text is however in

some places amended and improved by the latter (chiefly from a black-letter copy in the

Pepys collection), as also by conjecture.

THE FIRST PART.

"When Flora with her fragrant flowers

Bedeckt the earth so trim and gay,

And Neptune with his dainteye showers

Came to present the monthe of Maye;"*

King Henrye rode to take the ayre,

Over the river of Thames past hee;

When eighty merchants of London came,

And downe thoy knelt upon their knee.

"O yee are welcome, rich merchànts ;

Good saylors, welcome unto mee."

They swore by the rood, they were saylors good,

But rich merchànts they cold not bee :

"To France nor Flanders dare we pass :

Nor Borudeaux voyage dare we fare;

And all for a rover that lyes on the seas,

Who robs us of our merchant ware."

King Henrye frownd, and turned him rounde,

And swore by the Lord, that was mickle

of might,

"I thought he had not beene in the world,

Durst have wrought England such un-

right."

The merchants sighed, and said, alas !

And thus they did their answer frame,

He is a proud Scott, that robb's on the seas,

And Sir Andrew Barton is his name.

The king lookt over his left shouldèr,

And an angry looke then looked hee :

"Have I never a lorde in my realme,

Will feitch yond traytor unto mee?"

Yea, that dare I; Lord Howard sayes;

Yea, that dare I with heart and hand :

If it please your grace to give me leavè,

Myselfe wil be the only man.

V 15, 83, robber, MS. V. 29, Lord Charles Howard, MS.

  • From the pr. copy.

Thon art but yong; the kyng replyed :

Yond Scott hath numbred manye a yeare.

"Trust me, my liege, Ile make him quail,

Or before my prince I will never appeare."

Then bowemen and gunners thou shalt have,

And chuse them over my realme so free;

Besides good mariners, and shipp-boyes,

To guide the great shipp on the sea.

The first man, that Lord Howard chose,

Was the ablest gunner in all the realm,

Thoughe he was threescore yeeres and ten;

Good Peter Simon was his name.

Peter, saith hee, I must to the sea,

To bring home a traytor live or dead :

Before all others I have chosen thee ;

Of a hundred gunners to be the head.

If you, my lord, have chosen mee

Of a hundred gunners to be the head,

Then hang mee up on your mainemast tree,

If I misse my marke one shilling bread.*

My lord then chose boweman rare,

"Whose active hands had gained fame"†

In Yorkshire was this gentleman borne,

And William Horseley was his name.‡

Horseley, sayd he, I must with speede

Go seeke a traytor on the sea,

And now of a hundred bowemen brave

To be the head I have chosen thee.

If you, quoth hee, have chosen mee

Of a hundred bowemen to be the head ;

On your main-màst Ile hanged bee,

If I miss twelvescore one penny bread."

With pikes and gunes, and bowemen bold,

This noble Howard is gone to the sea ;

With a valyant heart and a pleasant cheare,

Out at Thames mouth sayled he.

And dayes he scant had sayled three,

Upon the 'voyage,' he tooko in hand,

But there he mett with a noble shipp,

And stoutely made itt stay and stand.

Thou must tell me, Lord Howard said,

Now who thou art, and what's thy name ;

And shewe me where thy dwelling is :

And whither bound, and whence thou came.

Ver. 70, Journey, MS.

  • An old English word for breadth. † 1'r. copy.

‡ Mr. Lambie, in his Notes to the Poem on the Battle of

Flodden Field, contends, that this expert bowman's name

was not Horseley, but Hustler, of a family long seated near

Stockton, in Cleveland, Yorkshire. Vid. p. 5.

Page 262

230

SIR ANDREW BARTON.

My name is Henry Hunt, quoth hee,

With a heavye heart, and a carefull mind;

I and my shipp doe both belong

To the Newcastle, that stands upon Tyne.

Hast thou not heard, nowe, Henrye Hunt,

As thou hast sayled by daye and by night,

Of a Scottish rover on the seas;

Men call him Sir Andrew Barton, knight?

Then ever he sighed, and sayd alas!

With a grieved mind, and well away!

But over-well I knowe that wight,

I was his prisoner yester-day.

As I was sayling upon the sea,

A Burdeaux voyage for to make;

To his hach-borde he clasped me,

And robd me of all my merchant ware:

And mickle debts, God wot, I owe,

And every man will have his owne,

And I am nowe to London bounde,

Of our gracious king to beg a boone.

That shall not need, Lord Howard sais;

Lett me but once that robber see,

For every penny tane thee froe

It shall be doubled shillings three.

Nowe God forefend, the merchant said,

'That you shold seeke sie far amisse !

God keepe you out of that traitours hands !

Full litle ye wott what a man hee is.

Hee is brasse within, and steele without,

With beames on his topeastle stronge;

And eighteen pieces of ordinance

He carries on each side along;

And he hath a pinnace deerlye dight,

St. Andrewes crosse that is his guide;

His pinnace beareth nine-score men,

And fifteen canons on each side.

Were ye twentie shippes, and he but one;

I sweare by kirke, and bower, and hall;

He wold overcome them everye one,

If once his beames they doe downe fall.*

V. 91, The MS. has here Hach-borde, but in Part II. v. 5, Hachebord.

  • It should seem from hence, that before our marine commanders had recourse to instruments or machines, similar in use, though perhaps unlike in construction, to the heavy Dolphins made of lead or iron used by the ancient Greeks; which they suspended from beams or yards fastened to the mast, and which they precipitately let fall on the enemies' ships, in order to sink them, by beating

This is cold comfort, sais my lord,

'To wellcome a stranger thus to the sea:

Yet Ile bring him and his shipp to shore,

Or to Scotland hee shall carrye mee.

Then a noble gunner you must have,

And he must aim well with his ee,

And sinke his pinnace into the sea,

Or els hee never overcome will bee:

And if you chance his shipp to borde,

This counsel I must give withall,

Lett no man to his topeastle goe

To strive to lett his beams downe fall.

And seven pieces of ordinance,

I pray your honour lend to mee,

On each side of my shipp along,

And I will lead you on the sea.

A glasse Ile sett, that may be seene,

Whether you sayle by day or night;

And to-morrowe, I swere, by nine of the clocke,

You shall meete with Sir Andrew Barton knight.

THE SECOND PART.

THE merchant sett my lorde a glasse

Soe well apparent in his sight,

And on the morrow, by nine of the clocke,

He shewed him Sir Andrewe Barton knight.

His hachebord it was 'gilt' with gold,

Soe deerlye dight it dazzled the ee:

Nowe by my faith, Lord Howarde sais,

This is a gallant sight to see.

Take in your ancients, standards eke,

So close that no man may them see;

And put mee forth a white willowe wand,

As merchants use to sayle the sea.

But they stirred neither top, nor mast;

Stoutly they past Sir Andrew by.

What English churles are yonder, he sayd,

That can see litle curtesye?

Ver. 5, 'hached with gold,' MS.

holes through the bottoms of their undecked Triremes, or otherwise damning them. These are mentioned by Thucydides, lib. 7, p. 250, Ed. 1564, folio, and are more fully explained in Scheffer de Militia Navall, lib. 2, cap. 5, p. 136, Ed. 1653, 4to.

N.B. It every where in the MS. seems to be written Beames.

  • f. o. did not salute.

Page 263

SIR ANDREW BARTON.

237

Now by the roode, three yeares and more

I have beene admirall over the sea;

And never an English nor Portingall

Without my leare can passe this way.

20

Then called he forth his stout pinnàce ;

" Fetch backe yond pedlars nowe to mee :

I sweare by the masse, you English churles

Shall all hang att my mainc-mast tree."

With that the pinnace itt shott off,

25

Full well Lord Howard might it ken ;

For itt stroke down my lord's fore mast,

And killed fourteen of his men.

Come hither, Simon, sayes my lord,

Looke that thy word be truec, thou said ;

30

For at my maine-mast thou shalt hang,

If thou misse thy marke one shilling bread.

Simon was old, but his heart itt was bold,

His ordinance he laid right lowe ;

35

He put inchaine full nine yardes long,

With other great shott llesse, and moe ;

And he lette goe his great gunnes shott :

Suc well he settled itt with his ee,

The first sight that Sir Andrew sawc,

40

He see his pinnace sunke in the sea.

And when he saw his pinnace sunke,

Lord, how his heart with rage did swell !

" Nowe cutt my ropes, itt is time to be gon ;

He fetch yond pedlars backe mysell."

When my Lord sawe Sir Andrewe loose,

45

Within his heart hee was full faine :

" Nowe spread your ancients, strike up

drummes,

Sound all your trumpett out amaine."

Fight on, my men, Sir Andrewe sais,

Weale howsocver this geere will sway ;

50

Itt is my lord admirall of England,

Is come to seeke mee on the sea.

Simon had a sonne, who shott right well,

That did Sir Andrewe mickle scae ;

In att his decke he gave a shott,

55

Killed threescore of his men of warre.

Then Henrye Hunt with rigour hott

Came bravely on the other side,

Suone he drove downe his fore-mast tree,

And killed fourscore men beside.

60

Nowe, out alas ! Sir Andrewe cryed,

What may a man now thinke, or say ?

Yonder merchant theefe, that pierceth mee,

He was my prisoner yesterday.

Ver. 35, i. e. discharged chain shott.

Come hither to me, thou Gordon good,

65

That ayo wast readyo att my call ;

I will give thee three hundred markes,

If thou wilt let my beames downe fall.

Lord Howard hee then calld in haste,

69

" Horseley see thou be true in stead ;

For thou shalt att the maine-mast hang,

If thou misse twelescore one penny bread."

Then Gordon swarved the maine-mast tree,

He swarved it with might and maine ;

75

But Horseley with a bearing arrowc,

Stroke the Gordon through the braine ;

And he fell unto the hatches again,

And sore his deadyoe wounde did bleede :

Then word went through Sir Andrews men,

80

How that the Gordon hee was dead.

Come hither to mee, James Hambilton,

Thou art my only sisters sonne,

If thou wilt let my beames downe fall,

Six hundred nobles thou hast wonne.

With that he swarved the maine-mast tree,

85

He swarved it with nimble art ;

But Horseley with a broad arròwe

Pierced the Hambilton thorough the heart :

And downe he fell upon the deck,

That with his blood did streame amaine :

Then every Scott cryed, Well-away !

91

Alas a comelye youth is slaine !

All woe began was Sir Andrew then,

With griefe and rage his heart did swell :

" Go fetch me forth my armour of proofe,

95

For I will to the topcastle mysell."

" Goe fetch me forth my armour of proofe ;

That gilded is with gold soe cleare :

God be with my brother John of Barton !

100

Against the Portingalls hee it ware ;

And when hee had on this armour of proofe,

Hee was a gallant sight to see :

Ah ! nere didst thou meet with living wight,

My deere brother, could cope with thee."

Come hither, Horseley, sayes my lord,

105

And looke your shalt that itt goe right,

Shoot a good shoote in time of need,

And for itt thou shalt be made a knight.

Hee shoot my best, quoth Horseley then,

Your honour shall see, with might and

110

maine ;

But if I were hanged at your maine-mast,

I have now left but arrowes twaine.

Ver. 67, 84, pounds, MS.

i well, &c. But see Gloss.

V. 75, bearings, sc. that carrics

Page 264

238

SIR ANDREW BARTON.

Sir Andrew he did swarve the tree,

With right good will he swarved then:

Upon his breast did Horseley hitt,

But the arrow bounded back agen.

Then Horseley spyed a privye place

With a perfect eye in a secrette part;

Under the spole of his right arme

He smote Sir Andrew to the heart.

"Fight on, my men, Sir Andrew sayes,

A little Ime hurt, but yett not slaine;

Ile but lye downe and bleede a while,

And then Ile rise and fight againe.

Fight on, my men, Sir Andrew sayes,

And never flinche before the foe;

And stand fast by St. Andrewes crosse

Untill you heare my whistle blowe."

They never heard his whistle blow,—

Which made their hearts waxe sore adread:

Then Horseley sayd, "Abord, my lord,

For well I wott Sir Andrew's dead.

They boarded then his noble shipp,

They boarded it with might and maine;

Eightcen score Scots alive they found,

The rest were either maimed or slaine.

Lord Howard tooke a sword in hand,

And off he smote Sir Andrewes head,

"I must have left England many a daye,

If thou wert alive as thou art dead."

He caused his body to be cast

Over the hatchbord into the sea,

And about his middle three hundred crownes:

"Wherever thou land this will bury thee."

Thus from the warres Lord Howard came,

And backe he sayled ore the maine,

With mickle joy and triumphling

Into Thames mouth he came againe.

Lord Howard then a letter wrote,

And sealed it with seale and ring ;

"Such a noble prize have I brought to your

grace

As never did subject to a king.

"Sir Andrewes shipp I bring with mee;

A braver shipp was never none:

Now hath your grace two shipps of warr,

Beforne in England was but one."

King Henr yes grace with royall cheere

Welcomed the noble Howard home,

And where, said he, is this rover stout,

"That I myselfe may give the doome?"

"The rover, he is safe, my leige,

Full many a fudom in the sea;

If he were alive as he is dead,

I must have left England many a day:

And your grace may thank four men i' the

ship

For the victory wee have wonne,

These are William Horseley, Henry Hunt,

And Peter Simon, and his sonne."

To Henry Hunt, the king then sayd,

In lieu of what was from thoe tane,

A noble a day now thou shalt have,

Sir Andrewes jewels and his chayne

And Horseley thou shalt be a knight,

And lands and livings shalt have store;

Howard shall be Erle Surrye hight,

As Howards erst have beene before.

Nowe, Peter Simon, thou art old,

I will maintaine thee and thy sonne:

And the men shall have five hundred markes

For the good service they have done.

Then in came the queene with ladyes fair

To see Sir Andrew Barton knight;

They weend that hee were brought on shore,

And thought to have seen a gallant sight.

But when they see his dead lye face,

And eyes soe hollow in his head,

I wold give, quoth the king, a thousand

markes,

This man were alive as hee is dead:

Yett for the manfull part hee playd,

Which fought soe well with heart and

hand,

His men shall have twelue pence a day,

Till they come to my brother kings high

land.


Ver. 175, 0 . . Erle of Nottlngham, And soe was never

&c., MS.

Page 265

LADY ANNE BOTHWELL'S LAMENT.

239

XIII.

Lady Anne Bothwell's Lament.

A SCOTTISH SONG.

THE subject of this pathetic ballad the Editor once thought might possibily relate to the Earl of Bothwell, and his desertion of his wife Lady Jean Gordon, to make room for his marriage with the Queen of Scots. But this opinion he now believes to be groundless; indeed Earl Bothwell's age, who was upwards of sixty at the time of that marriage, renders it unlikely that he should be the object of so warm a passion as this elegy supposes. He has been since informed, that it entirely refers to a private story. A young lady of the name of Bothwell, or rather Boswell, having been, together with her child, deserted by her husband or lover, composed these affecting lines herself; which here are given from a copy in the Editor's folio MS., corrected by another in Allan Ramsay's Miscellany.

Balow, my babe, lye still and sleipe !

It grieves me sair to see thee weipe:

If thoust be silent, Is be glad,

Thy maining maks my heart ful sad.

Balow, my boy, thy mothers joy,

Thy father breides me great annoy.

Balow, my babe, ly stil and sleipe,

It grieves me sair to see thee weipe.

Whan he began to court my luse,

And with his sugred wordes* to muve,

His faynings fals, and flattering cheire

To me that time did not appeire :

But now I see, most cruell hee

Cares neither for my babe nor mee.

Balow, &c.

  • When sugar was first imported into Europe, it was a very great dainty; and therefore the epithet sugred is used by all our old writers metaphorically to express extreme and delicate sweetness. (See above, No. XI. v. 10.) Sugar at present is cheap and common; and therefore suggests now a coarse and vulgar idea.

Lye still, my darling, sleipe a while,

And when thou wakest, sweitly smile :

But smile not, as thy father did,

To cozon maids: nay God forbid !

Bot yott I feire, thou wilt gne neire

Thy fatheris hart, and face to beire.

Balow, &c.

I cannae chuse, but ever will

Be luring to thy father still:

Whair-eir he gae, whair-eir he ryde,

My luse with him doth still abyde :

In weil or wae, whair-eir he gae,

Mine hart can neire depart him frae.

Balow, &c.

But doe not, doe not, pretty mine,

To faynings fals thine hart incline;

Be loyal to thy luver trew,

And nevir change her for a new :

If gude or faire, of hir have care,

For womens banning's wonderous sair.

Balow, &c.

Bairne, sin thy cruel father is gane,

Thy winsome smiles maun eise my paine;

My babe and I'll be together lye,

He'll comfort me when cares doe grieve :

My babe and I right saft will ly,

And quite forget man's cruelty.

Balow, &c.

Fareweil, fareweil, thou falsest youth,

That evir kist a womans mouth !

I wish all maides be warnd by mee

Novir to trust mans curtesy ;

For if we doe bot chance to bow,

They'lle use us then they care not how.

Balow, my babe, ly stil, and sleipe

It grives me sair to see thee weipe.

31

Page 266

240

THE MURDER OF THE KING OF SCOTS,

XIV.

The Murder of the King of Scots.

The catastrophe of Henry Stewart, Lord Darnley, the unfortunate husband of Mary Queen of Scots, is the subject of this ballad. It is here related in that partial imperfect manner, in which such an event would naturally strike the subjects of another kingdom; of which he was a native. Henry appears to have been a vain, capricious, worthless young man, of weak understanding, and dissolute morals. But the beauty of his person, and the inexperience of his youth, would dispose mankind to treat him with an indulgence, which the cruelty of his murder would afterwards convert into the most tender pity and regret: and then imagination would not fail to adorn his memory with all those virtues he ought to have possessed. This will account for the extravagant eulogium bestowed upon him in the first stanza, &c.

Henry Lord Darnley was eldest son of the Earl of Lennox, by the Lady Margaret Douglas, niece of Henry VIII., and daughter of Margaret Queen of Scotland by the Earl of Angus, whom that princess married after the death of James IV.—Darnley, who had been born and educated in England, was but in his 21st year when he was murdered, Feb. 9, 1567-8. This crime was perpetrated by the Earl of Bothwell, not out of respect to the memory of Rizzio, but in order to pave the way for his own marriage with the queen.

This ballad (printed, with a few corrections, from the Editor's folio MS.) seems to have been written soon after Mary's escape into England in 1568, see v. 65.—It will be remembered, at v. 5, that this princess was Queen Dowager of France, having been first married to Francis II., who died Dec. 4, 1560.

Woe worth, woe worth thee, false Scotlande!

For thou hast ever wrought by sleight;

The worthyest prince that ever was borne,

You hanged under a cloud by night.

The Queene of France a letter wrute,

And sealed itt with harte and ringe;

And bade him come Scotland within,

And shee wold marry and crowne him kinge.

To be a king is a pleasant thing,

To bee a prince unto a peere:

But you have heard, and soe have I too,

A man may well buy gold too deare.

There was an Italian in that place,

Was as well beloved as ever was hee,

Lord David was his name,

Chamberlaine to the queene was hee.

If the king had risen forth of his place,

He wold have sato him downe in the cheare,

And tho itt bescemed him not so well,

Altho the kinge had beene prosont there.

Some lords in Scotlande waxed wrothe,

And quarrelled with him for the nonce;

I shall you tell how it befell,

Twelve daggers were in him att once.

When the queene saw her chamberlaine was slaine,

For bim her faire cheoks shoo did weete,

And made a vowe for a yeare and a day

The king and shee wold not come in one shecte.

Then some of the lords they waxed wrothe,

And made their vow all vehementlye;

For the death of the queenes chamberlaine,

The king himselfe, how he shall dyc.

With gun-powder they strewed his roome,

And layd greene rushes in his way:

For the traitors thought that very night

This worthye king for to betray.

To bedd the king he made him bowne;

To take his rest was his desire;

He was noe sooner cast on sleepe,

But his chamber was on a blasing fire.

Up he lope, and the window brake,

And hee had thirtye foote to fall;

Lord Bodwell kept a privy watch,

Underneath his castle wall.

Var. 15. old MS.

Page 267

241

A SONNET BY QUEEN ELIZABETH.

Who have wee here? Lord Bodwell sayd :

Now answer me, that I may know.

"King Henry the eighth my uncle was ;

For his sweete sake some pitty show."

Who have we here? Lord Bodwell sayd,

Now answer me when I doe speake.

"Ah, Lord Bodwell, I know thee well;

Some pitty on me I pray thee take."

He pity thee as much he sayd,

And as much favor show to thee,

As thou didst to the queenes chamberlaine,

That day thou deemdst him to die.*

Through halls and towers the king they ledd,

Through towers and castles that were nye,

Through an arbor into an orchard,

There on a pearc-tree hanged him hye.

When the governor of Scotland heard

m,

How that the worthye king was slaine ;

He persued the queen so bitterlye,

That in Scotland shee dure not remaine.

But shee is fledd into merry England,

And here her residence hath taine;

And through the Queene of Englands grace,

In England now shee doth remaine.

XV.

A Sonnet by Queen Elizabeth.

The following lines, if they display no rich

vein of poetry, are yet so strongly character-

istic of their great and spirited authoress,

that the insertion of them will be pardoned.

They are preserved in Puttenham's " Arte of

English Poesie:" a book in which are many

sly addresses to the queen's foible of shining

as a poetess. The extraordinary manner in

which these verses are introduced shows

what kind of homage was exacted from the

courtly writers of that age, viz.

"I find," says this antiquated critic, "none

example in English metre, so well maintain-

ing this figure [Exargasia, or the Gorgious,

Lat. Expolitio] as that dittie of her majesties

owne making, passing swcete and harmoni-

call; which figure beyng as his very origi-

nall name purporteth the most bewtifull and

gorgious of all others, it usketh in reason to

be reserved for a last complement, and desci-

phred by a ladies penne, herself beyng the

most bewtifull, or rather bewtie of queenes.*

And this was the occasion; our soveraigne

lady perceiving how the Scottish queenes re-

sidence within this realme at so great libertie

and ease (as were skaree meeteo for so great

and dangerous a prysoner) bred secret fac-

tions among her people, and made many of

the nobilitie inclin to favour her partie:

some of them desirous of innovation in the

state: others aspiring to greater fortunes by

her libertie and life: the queene our sover-

raigne ladie, to declare that shee was nothing

ignorant of those secret practizes, though she

had long with great wisdome and pacience

dissembled it, writeth in this dittie most sweete

and sententious, not hiding from all such

aspiring minds the danger of their ambition

and disloyalitie: which afterwards fell out

most truly by th' exemplary chastisement of

sundry persons, who in favour of the said

Scott. Qd. declining from her majestie, sought

to interrupt the quiet of the realme by many

evill and undutifull practizes."

This sonnet seems to have been composed

in 1569, not long before the Duke of Norfolk,

the Earls of Pembroke and Arundel, the

Lord Lumley, Sir Nich. Throcmorton, and

others, were taken into custody. See Hume,

Rapin, &c. It was originally written in long

lines or alexandrines, each of which is here

divided into two.

The present odition is improved by some

readings adopted from a copy printed in a

colllection from the papers of Sir John Har-

rington, intituled, "Nugæ Antiquæ," Lond.

1769, 12mo, where the verses are accompa-

nied with a very curious letter, in which this

sonnet is said to be "of her Highness own

  • Pronounced after the northern manner dee.

† She was at this time near three-score.

Page 268

inditing. . . My Lady Willoughby did co-

vertly get it on her Majesties tablet, and had

much hazard in so doing, for the Queen did

find out the thief, and did for her spending

evil bruit of her waiting such toyes, when

other matters did so occupy her employment

at this time—and was fearfull of being thought

too lightly of for so doing" * * *

The doubt of future foes

Exiles my present joy,

And wit me wannes to shun such snares,

As threaten mine annoy.

For falshood now doth flow,

And subjects futh doth ebbe .

Which would not be, if reason rul'd,

Or wisdom were the welbe.

But cloudes of joyes entri'd

Do cloake aspiring mindes ,

Which turn to raine of late repent,

By course of chinged windes.

The toppe of hope supposed

The roote of ruthe will be,

And fiuteless all then graffed gules,

As shortly all shall see.

Then dareld eyes with pride,

Which great ambition blindes,

Shal be unseeld by worthy wights,

Whose forcsight falshood finds

The dightor of debate,

That discord doth some e

Shal reape no guine where former rule

H'ruth taight stil peace to giowe

No forcine bannischt wight

Shall anie in this port,

Our realme it brokes no stiangers force,

Let them elswe here resort.

Our rusty sworde with rest

Shall fist his edge employ,

To poll the toppes, that seeke such change,

Or gipe for such like joy.

†† I cannot help subjoining to the above sonnet another distich of Elizabeth's pre-

served by Puttenham (v. 197), "which (says he) our soveraign lady wrote in defiance of fortune."

Nover thinke you, Fortune can beare the sway,

Where Vertuc's force can cause her to obay.

The slightest effusion of such a mind de-

serves attontion.

XVI

æing of Scots and gnbrew Grolwne.

This ball'd is a proof of the little inter-

course th't subsisted between the Scots and

English, befor e the accession of James I to

the crown of England The tale which is

here so encumstantially related, does not ap-

pear to have hld the least foundation in his-

tory, but was problably built upon some con-

fused hearsay report of the tumults in Scot-

land during the minority of that prince, and

of the conspiracies formed by different fac-

tions to get possession of his person It

should seem from ver 97 to have been writ-

ten during the regency, or at leust befor

the doath, of the Earl of Morton, who was

condemned and executed June 2, 1581, when

James was in his fifteenth year

The ornginal copy (preserved in the nchives

of the Antiquarin Society, London) is enti-

tled, "A new ballad, decluing the greit

treason conspired against tbe young king of

Scots, and how one Andrew Biowne an Ing-

lish-man, which was the king's chambor-

lunc, prevented the same To the tune of

Milfield, or els to Giecn-sleoves" At the

end is subjoined the name of the author, W.

Elderton "Imprinted ut London for Yarathc

  • She eridently means here the Queen of Scots.

Ver 1, dread, al ed V 9, toyes, al ed

Page 269

James, dwelling in Newgate Market, over against Ch. Church," in black-letter folio.

This Elderton, who had been originally an attorney in the sheriff's court of London, and afterwards (if we may believe Oldys) a comedian, was a facetious fuddling companion, whose tippling and rhymes rendered him famous among his contemporaries. He was author of many popular songs and ballads ; and probably other pieces in this work, besides the following, are of his composing.

He is believed to have fallen a victim to his bottle before the year 1592. His epitaph has been recorded by Camden, and translated by Oldys.

Hic situs est sitiens, atque ebrius Eldertonus,

Quid dico hic situs est? hic potius sitis est.

Dead drunk here Elderton doth lie;

Dead as he is, he still is dry :

So of him it may well be said,

Here he, but not his thirst, is laid.

See Stow's Lond. [Guild-hall.]-Biogr. Brit. ["Drayton," by Oldys, Note B.] Ath. Ox.-Camden's Remains.-The Exaltation of Ale, among Beaumont's Poems, 8vo. 1653.

"Our alas !" what a grief is this

That princes subjects cannot be true,

But still the devill hath some of his,

Will play their parts whatsoever ensue ;

Forgetting what a grievous thing

It is to offend the anointed king !

Alas for woe, why should it be so,

This makes a sorrowful heigh ho.

In Scotland is a bonnie kinge,

As proper a youth as neede to be,

Well given to every happy thing,

That can be in a kinge to see :

Yet that unluckie country still,

Hath people given to craftie will.

Alas for woe, &c.

On Whitsun eve it so befell,

A posset was made to give the king,

Whereof his ladic nurse hard toll,

And that it was a poysonèd thing :

She cryed, and called piteouslie ;

Now help, or els the king shall die !

Alas for woe, &c.

One Browne, that was an English man,

And hard the ladies pitcous crye,

Out with his sword, and bestir'd him than,

Out of the doores in haste to flie ;

But all the doorcs were made so fast,

Out of a window he got at last.

Alas, for woe, &c.

He met the bishop coming fast,

Having the posset in his hande:

The sight of Browne made him aghast,

Who had him stoutly staie and stand.

With him were two that ranne awa,

For feare that Browne would make a fray.

Alas, for woe, &c.

Bishop, quoth Browne, what hast thou there?

Nothing at all, my friend, sayde he ;

But a posset to make the king good cheere.

Is it so? sayd Browne, that will I see,

First I will have thyself begin,

Before thou go any further in ;

Be it weale or woe, it shall be so,

This makes a sorrowful heigh ho.

The bishop sayde, Browne I doo know,

Thou art a yong man poore and bare;

Livings on thee I will bestowe :

Let me go on, take thou no care.

No, no, quoth Browne, I will not be

A traitor for all Christiantie :

Happe well or woe, it shall be so,

Drink now with a sorrowfull, &c.

The bishop drank, and by and by

His belly burst and he fell downe:

A just rewarde for his treitery.

This was a posset indeed, quoth Browne !

He serched the bishop, and found the keyes,

To come to the kinge when he did please.

Alas for woe, &c.

As soon as the king got word of this,

He humbly fell upon his knce,

And praysed God that he did misse,

To tast of that extremity :

For that he did perceive and know,

His clergic would betray him so :

Alas for woe, &c.

Alas, he said, unhappy realme,

My father, and grandfather slaine:

Ver. 67, His father was Henry Lord Darnley. His grandfather the old Earl of Lenox, regent of Scotland, and father of Lord Darnley, was murdered at Stirling, Sept. 5. 1571.

KING OF SCOTS AND ANDREW BROWNE.

243

Page 270

inditing. . . . . My Lady Willoughby did co-

vertly get it on her Majesties tablet, and had

much hazzard in so doing; for the Quecn did

find out the thief, and chid for her spreading

evil bruit of her writing such toyes, when

other matters did so occupy her employment

at this time—and was fearful of being thought

too lightly of for so doing." * * *

THE doubt of future fates

Exiles my present joy;

And wit me warnes to shun such snares,

As threaten mine annoy.

For falshood now doth flow,

And subjects faith doth obbe :

Which would not be, if reason rul'd,

Or wisdome wove the webbe.

But clowdes of joyes untrifd

Do cloake aspiring mindes;

Which turn to raine of late repent,

By course of changed windes.

The toppe of hope supposed

The roote of ruthe will be;

And frutclesse all their graffed guiles,

As shortly all shall see.

Then dazeld eyes with pride,

Which great ambition blinde's,

Shal be unseeld by worthy wights,

Whose foresight falshood finds.

The daughter of debate,*

That discord doth sowe,

Shal reape no gaine where former rule

Hath taight stil peace to growe.

No forreine bannislıt wight

Shall ancre in this port;

Our realme it brookes no strangers force,

Let them els where resort.

Our rusty sworded with rest

Shall first his edge employ,

To poll the toppes, that secke such change,

Or gaue for such like joy.

†† I cannot help subjoining to the above

sonnet another distich of Elizabeth's pre-

served by l'autenham (p. 197), " which (says

he) our soverigne lady wrote in defiance of

fortune."

Nover thinke you, Fortunc can beare the

sway,

Where Vertuc's force can cause her to obay.

The slightest effusion of such a mind de-

serves attention.

XVI.

King of Scots and Andrew Browne.

THIS ballad is a proof of the little inter-

course that subsisted between the Scots and

English, before the accession of James I. to

the crown of England. The tale which is

here so circumstantially related, does not ap-

pear to have had the least foundation in his-

tory, but was probably built upon some con-

fused hearsay report of the tumults in Scot-

land during the minority of that prince, and

of the conspiracies formed by different fac-

tions to get possession of his person. It

should seem from ver. 97 to have been writ-

ten during the regency, or at least before

the death, of the Earl of Morton, who was

condemned and executed June 2, 1581 ; when

James was in his fifteenth year.

The original copy (preserved in the archives

of the Antiquarian Society, London) is enti-

tled, "A new ballad, declaring the great

treason conspired against the young king of

Scots, and how one Andrew Browne an Eng-

lish-man, which was the king's chamber-

laine, prevented the same. To the tune of

Milfield, or els to Green-sleeves." At the

end is subjoined the name of the author, W.

Elderton. "Imprinted at London for Yarathe

Ver. 1, dread, al. cd. V. 9, toyes, al. ed.

  • She ovidently means here the Queen of Scots.

Page 271

KING OF SCOTS AND ANDREW BROWNE.

243

James, dwelling in Newgate Market, over

against Ch. Church," in black-letter folio.

This Elderton, who had been originally an

attorney in the sheriff's court of London, and

afterwards (if we may believe Oldys) a come-

dian, was a facetious fuddling companion,

whose clipping and rhymes rendered him fa-

mous among his contemporaries. He was

author of many popular songs and ballads;

and probably other pieces in this work, be-

sides the following, are of his composing.

He is believed to have fallen a victim to his

bottle before the year 1592. His epitaph

has been recorded by Camden, and translated

by Oldys.

Hic situs est sitieus, atque ebrius Eldertonus,

Quid dico hic situs est? hic potius sitis est.

Dead drunk here Elderton doth lie;

Dead as he is, he still is dry:

So of him it may well be said,

Here he, but not his thirst, is laid.

See Stow's Lond. [Guild-hall.]-Biogr. Brit.

["Drayton," by Oldys, Note B.] Ath. Ox.-

Camden's Remains.-The Exale-tation of

Ale, among Beaumont's Poems, 8vo. 1653.

"Out alas!" what a grief is this

That princes subjects cannot be true,

But still the devill hath some of his,

Will play their parts whatsoever ensue;

Forgetting what a grievous thing

It is to offend the anoited king!

Alas for woe, why should it be so,

This makes a sorrowful heigh ho.

In Scotland is a bonnie kinge,

As proper a youth as nede to be,

Well given to every happy thing,

That can be in a king to see;

Yet that unluckie country still,

Hath people given to craftie will.

Alas for woe, &c.

On Whitsun eve it so befell,

A posset was made to give the king,

Whereof his ladie nurse hard tell,

And that it was a poysoned thing:

She cryed, and called piteouslie;

Now help, or els the king shall die!

Alas for woe, &c.

One Browne, that was an English man,

And hurd the ladie's piteous crye,

Out with his sword, and bestir'd him than,

Out of the doores in haste to flie;

But all the doores were made so fast,

Out of a window he got at last.

Alas, for woe, &c.

He met the bishop coming fast,

Having the posset in his hande:

The sight of Browne made him aghast,

Who had him stoutly staid and stand.

With him were two that ranne awa,

For feare that Browne would make a fray.

Alas, for woe, &c.

Bishop, quoth Browne, what hast thou there?

Nothing at all, my friend, sayde he;

But a posset to make the king good cheere.

Is it so? sayd Browne, that will I see,

First I will have thy self begin,

Before thou go any further in;

Be it weale or woe, it shall be so,

This makes a sorrowful heigh ho.

The bishop sayde, Browne I doo know,

Thou art a yong man poore and bare;

Livings on thee I will bestowe:

Let me go, take thou no care.

No, no, quoth Browne, I will not be

A traitor for all Christiantie:

Happe well or woe, it shall be so,

Drink now with a sorrowfull, &c.

The bishop dranke, and by and by

His belly burst and he fell downe:

A just rewarde for his traiterie.

This was a posset indeed, quoth Browne!

He serched the bishop, and found the keyes,

To come to the king when he did please.

Alas for woe, &c.

As soon as the king got word of this,

He humbly fell upon his knee,

And praysed God that he did misse,

To tast of that extremity:

For that he did perceive and know,

His clergie would betray him so:

Alas for woe, &c.

Alas, he said, unhappie realme,

My father, and grandfather slaine:

Ver. 67, His father was Henry Lord Darnley. His grand-

father the old Earl of Lenox, regent of Scotland, and father

of Lord Darnley, was murdered at Stirling, Sept. 5. 1571.

Page 272

244

THE BONNY EARL OF MURRAY.

My mother banished, O extreme!

Unhappy fate, and bitter bayne!

And now like treason wrought for me,

What more unhappie realme can be!

Alas for woe, &c.

The king did call his nurse to his grace,

And gave her twenty poundes a yere;

And trustie Browne too in like case,

He knighted him with gallant geere:

And gave him 'lands and livings great,

For doing such a manly feat,

As he did showe, to the bishop's woe,

Which made, &c.

When all this treason done and past,

Tooke not effect of treaty:

Another treason at the last,

They sought against his majestie:

How they might make their kinge away,

By a privie blanket on a daye.

Alas for woo, &c.

'Another time' to sell the king

Beyonde the seas they had decreede:

Three noble Earles heard of this thing,

And did prevent the same with speede.

For a letter came, with such a charme,

That they should doo their king no harme:

For further woe, if they did soe,

Would make a sorrowful heigh hoe.

The Earle Mourton told the Douglas then,

Take heede you do not offend the king;

But shew yourselvs like honest men

Obediently in every thing;

For his godmother* will not see

Her noble child misus'd to be

With any woe; for if it be so,

She will make, &c.

God graunt all subjects may be true,

In England, Scotland, every where:

That no such daunger may ensue,

To put the prince or state in feare:

That God the highest king may see

Obedience as it ought to be,

In wealth or woe, God graunt it be so

To avoide the sorrowful heigh ho.

XVII.

The Bonny Earl of Murray.

A SCOTTISH SONG.

In December 1591, Francis Stewart, Earl

of Bothwell, had made an attempt to seize on

the person of his sovereign James VI., but

being disappointed, had retired towards the

north. The king unadvisedly gave a commission to George Gordon, Earl of Huntley, to

pursue Bothwell and his followers with fire

and sword. Huntley, under cover of executing that commission, took occasion to revenge

a private quarrel he had against James

Stewart, Earl of Murray, a relation of Bothwell's. In the night of Feb. 7, 1592, he

beset Murray's house, burnt it to the ground,

and slew Murray himself; a young nobleman

of the most promising virtues, and the very

darling of the people. See Robertson's History.

The present Lord Murray hath now in his

possession a picture of his ancestor naked

and covered with wounds, which had been carried about, according to the custom of that

age, in order to inflame the populace to revenge his death. If this picture did not flatter, he well deserved the name of the "Bonny

Earl," for he is there represented as a tall

and comely personage. It is a tradition in the family, that Gordon of Bucky gave him a wound in the face: Murray, half expiring,

said, "you hae spoilt a better face than your awin." Upon this, Bucky, pointing his dagger at Huntley's breast, swore, "You shall be as deep as I;" and forced him to pierce the poor defenceless body.

King James, who took no care to punish

  • Queen Elizabeth.

Page 273

the murderers, is said by some to have privately countenanced and abetted them, being stimulated by jealousy for some indiscreet praises which his queen had too lavishly bestowed on this unfortunate youth. See the preface to the next ballad. See also Mr. Walpole's "Catalogue of Royal Authors," vol. I. p. 42.

Ye highlands, and ye lawlands,

Oh ! quhair hac ye been?

They hac slaine the Earl of Murray,

And hac laid him on the green.

Now was he to thee, Huntley!

And quhairfore did you sae !

I bade you bring him wi' you,

But forbade you him to slay.

He was a braw gallant,

And he rid at the ring;

And the bonny Earl of Murray,

Oh ! he might hae been a king.

He was a braw gallant,

And he playcd at the ba';

And the bonny Earl of Murray

Was the flower among them a'.

He was a braw gallant,

And he playd at the gluve;

And the bonny Earl of Murray,

Oh ! he was the Queenes luve.

Oh ! lang will his lady

Luke owre the castle downe,*

Ere she see the Earl of Murray

Cum sounding throw the towne.

XVIII.

Young Waters.

A SCOTTISH BALLAD.

It has been suggested to the Editor, that this ballad covertly alludes to the indiscreet partiality, which Queen Anne of Denmark is said to have shown for the "Bonny Earl of Murray ;" and which is supposed to have influenced the fate of that unhappy nobleman. Let the reader judge for himself.

The following account of the murder is given by a contemporary writer, and a person of credit, Sir James Balfour, knight, Lyon King of Arms. whose MS. of the Annals of Scotland is in the Advocate's Library at Edinburgh.

"The seventh of February, this zeire, 1592, the Earle of Murray was cruelly murthered by the Earle of Huntley at his house in Dun-brisel of Fyffe-shyre, and with him Dunbar, sherriffe of Murray. It was given out and publickly talkt, that the Earle of Huntley was only the instrument of perpetrating this facte, to satisfie the King's jealousie of Murray, quham the Queenes, more rashly than wisely, some few days before had commendet in the king's hearing, with too many epithets of a proper and gallant man. The reasons of these surmises proceedit from a proclamatione of the Kings, the 13 of Marche following: inhibiteine the zoung Earle of Murray to persue the Earle of Huntley, for his father's slaughter, in respect he being wardeit [imprisoned] in the castell of Blacknesse for the same murther, was willing to abido a tryalt, averring that he had done nothing but by the King's majesties commissione ; and was neither airt nor part in the murther."†

The following ballad is here given from a copy printed not long since at Glasgow, in one sheet 8vo. The world was indebted for its publication to the Lady Jean Hume, sister to the Earl of Hume, who died at Gibraltar.

Anout Zule, quhen the wind blew cule,

And the round tables began,

A' there is cum to our kings court

Mony a well-favoured man.

  • Castle downe here has been thought to mean the Castle of Downe, a seat belonging to the family of Murray.

† This extract is copied from the Critical Review.

Page 274

246

MARY AMBREE.

The quecn luikt owre the castle wa,

Beheld baith dale and down,

And then she saw zoung Waters

Cum riding to the town.

His footmen they did rin before,

His horsemen rade behind,

Ane mantel of the burning gowd

Did keip him frae the wind.

Gowden graith'd his horse before

And siller shod behind,

The horse zong Waters rade upon

Was fleetor than the wind.

But than spake a wylie lord,

Unto the queene said he,

O tell me qhua's the fairest face

Rides in the company.

I've sene lord, and I've sene laird,

And knights of high degree;

Bot a fairer face than zoung Watèrs

Mine eyne did never see..

Out then spack the jealous king,

(And an angry man was he)

O, if he had been twice as fair,

Zou might have excepted me.

Zou're neither laird nor lord, she says,

Bot the king that wears the crown;

5

Ther is not a knight in fair Scotland

Bot to thee man bow down.

For a' that she could do or say,

Appeasd he was nae bee;

Bot for the words which she had said

Zoung Waters he maun dee.

They hae taen zoung Waters, and

Put fetters to his feet;

They hae taen zoung Waters, and

Thrown him in dungeon deep.

Aft I have ridden thro' Stirling town

In the wind both and the weit;

Bot I neir rade thro' Stirling town

Wi fetters at my feet

10

15

20

Aft have I ridden thro' Stirling town

In the wind both and the rain;

Bot I neir rade thro' Stirling town

Neir to return again.

They hae taen to the heiding-hill*

His zoung son in his craddle,

And they hae taen to the heiding-hill

His horse both and his saddle.

They hae taen to the heiding-hill

His lady fair to see.

And for the words the queen had spoke

Zoung Waters he did dee.

25

30

35

40

45

50

55

XIX.

Mary Ambree.

In the year 1584, the Spaniards, under the

command of Alexander Farnese, prince of

Parma, began to gain great advantages in

Flanders and Brabant, by recovering many

strongholds and cities from the Hollanders,

as Ghent (called then by the English Gaunt),

Antwerp, Mechlin, &c. See Stow's Annals,

p. 711. Some attempt made with the assist-

ance of English volunteers to retrieve the

former of those places probably gave occasion

to this ballad. I can find no mention of our

heroine in history, but the following rhymes

rendered her famous among our poets. Ben

Jonson often mentions her, and calls any re-

markable virago by her name. See his Epi-

cæne, first acted in 1609, Act 4, sc. 2. His

Tale of a Tub, Act 4, sc. 4. And his masque

entitled The Fortunate Isles, 1626, where he

quotes the very words of the ballad,

— Mary Ambrie,

(Who marched so free

To the siege of Gaunt,

And death could not daunt,

As the ballad doth vaunt)

Wore a braver wight, &c.

She is also mentioned in Fletcher's Scornful

Lady, Act 5, sub finem.

  • Heiding hill; i. e. heading [beheading hill.] The place

of execution was anciently an artificial hillock.

Page 275

"—"My large gentlewoman, my 'Mary Ambree,' had I but seen into you, you should have had another bedfellow."—

It is likewise evident that she is the virago intended by Butler in Hudibras (P. 1, c. 3, v. 365), by her being coupled with Joan d'Arc, the celebrated Pucelle d'Orleans :

A bold virago stout and tall

As Joan of France, or English Mall.

This ballad is printed from a black-letter copy in the Pepys Collection, improved from the Editor's folio MS., and by conjecture.

The full title is, "The valourous acts performed at Gaunt by the brave bonnie lass Mary Ambree, who in revenge of her lovers death did play her part most gallantly. The tune is, The blind beggar, &c."

When captaines courageous, whom death cold not daunte,

Did march to the siege of the citty of Gaunt,

They mustred their souldiers by two and by three,

And the formost in battle was Mary Ambree.

When brave Sir John Major* was slaine in her sight,

Who was her true lover, her joy, and delight,

Because he was slaine most treacherouslie,

Then vowd to revenge him Mary Ambree.

She clothed herselfe from the top to the toe

In buffe of the bravest, most seemelye to showe ;

A faire shirt of male† then slippèd on shee;

Was not this a brave bonny lass, Mary Ambree?

A helmett of proofe shee strait did provide,

A stronge arminge sword shee girt by her sideo,

On her hand a goodly faire gauntlett put shee;

Was not this a brave bonny lass, Mary Ambree?

  • So MS. Serjeant Major, in P. C.

† A peculiar kind of armour, composed of small rings of iron, and worn under the clothes. It is mentioned by Spenser, who speaks of the Irish Gallowglass or Foot-State of Ireland.)

Then tooke shee her sworde and her targett in hand;

Bidding all such, as world, bee of her hand;

To wayte on her person came thousand and three :

Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?

My soldiers, she saith, soe valliant and bold,

Nowe followe your capitaine, whom you doe beholde;

Still formost in battell my selfe will I bee :

Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?

Then cryed out her souldiers and londe they did say,

Soe well thou becomest this gallant array,

Thy harte and thy weapons so well do agree,

There was none ever like Mary Ambree.

Shee cheared her souldiers, that foughten for life,

With ancyent and standard, with drum and with fite,

With brave clanging trumpotts, that sounded so free ;

Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?

Befor I will see the worst of you all

To come into danger of death, or of thrall,

This hand and this life I will venture so free :

Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?

Shee ledd upp her souldiers in battaile array,

Gainst three times theyr number by breake of the daye;

Seuen howers in skirmish continued shee :

Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?

She filled the skyes with the smoke of her shott,

And her enemyes bodyes with bullets so hott;

For one of her owne men a score killed shee :

Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?

And when her false gunner, to spoyle her intent,

Away all her pellets and powder had sent,

Page 276

248

MARY AMBREE.

Straight with her keen weapon shee slasht him in three:

Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?

Being falselye betrayed for lucre of hyre,

At length she was forced to make a retyre;

Then her souldiers into a strong castle drew shee :

Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?

Her foes they besett her on everye side,

As thinking close siege shee cold never abide;

To beate down the walles they all did decree:

But stoutlye deffyd them brave Mary Ambree.

Thon took shee her sword and her targett in hand,

And mounting the walls all undaunted did stand,

There daring their capitaine to match any three:

O what a brave capitaine was Mary Ambree!

Now saye, English capitaine, what woldest thou give

To ransome thy selfe, which elso must not live ?

Come yield thy selfe quickklye, or slaine thou must bee,

Then smiled sweetlye brave Mary Ambree.

Ye captaines couragious, of valour so bold,

Whom thinke you before you now you doe behold ?

A knight, sir, of England, and capitaine soe free,

Who shortleye with us a prisoner must bee.

No, captaine of England; behold in your sight

Two breasts in my bosome, and therfore no knight:

Noe knight, sirs, of England, nor captaine

you see,

But art thou a woman, as thou dost declare,

Whose valor hath proved so undaunted in warre?

If England doth yield such brave lasses as thee,

Full well may they conquer, faire Mary Ambree.

The prince of Great Parma heard of her renowno

Who long had advanced for England's faire crowne;

Hee wooed her, and sued her his mistress to bee,

And offerd rich presents to Mary Ambree.

But this virtuous mayden despised them all,

Ile nere sell my honour for purple nor pall :

A mayden of England, sir, never will bee

The whore of a monarcke, quoth Mary Ambree.

Then to her owne country shee backe did returne,

Still holding the foes of faire England in scorne;

Therfore English capitaine of every degree

Sing forth the brave valours of Mary Ambree.

Page 277

BRAVE LORD WILLOUGHIBEY.

249

XX.

Brave Lord Willoughbey.

Percygrine Bertie, Lord Willoughby of Eresby, had, in the year 1586, distinguished himself at the siege of Zutphen, in the Low Countries. He was the year after, made general of the English forces in the United Provinces, in room of the Earl of Leicester, who was recalled. This gave him an opportunity of signalizing his courage and military skill in several actions against the Spaniards. One of these, greatly exagerite by popular report, is probably the subject of this old ballad, which, on account of its flattering encomiums on English valour, hath always been a favourite with the people.

"My Lord Willoughbie (says a contemporary writer) was one of the queenes best swordsmen: . . . . he was a great master of the art military . . . . I have heard it spoken, that had he not slighted the court, but applied himselfe to the queene, he might have enjoyed a plentiful portion of her grace; and it was his saying, and it did him no good, that he was none of the Reptilia; intimating, that it could not creepe on the ground, and that the court was not his element; for, indeed, as he was a great souldier, so he was of suitable magnanimitie, and could not brooke the obsequiousnesse and assiduitie of the court."—(Naunton.)

Lord Willoughbie died in 1601.—Both Norris and Turner were famous among the military men of that age.

The subject of this ballad (which is printed from an old black-letter copy, with some conjectural emendations) may possibly receive illustration from what Chapman says in the dedication to his version of Homer's Frogs and Mice, concerning the brave and memorable retreat of Sir John Norris, with only 1000 men, through the whole Spanish army, under the Duke of Parma, for three miles together.

The fifteenth day of July,

With glistering spear and shield,

A famous fight in Flanders

Was foughten in the field;

The most courageous officers

Were English captains three;

But the bravest man in battel

Was brave Lord Willoughbèy.

The next was Captain Norris,

A valiant man was hee:

The other Captain Turner,

From field would never flee.

With fifteen hundred fighting men,

Alas! there were no more,

They fought with fourteen thousand then,

Upon the bloody shore.

Stand to it noble pikemen,

And look you round about:

And shoot you right you bow-men,

And we will keep them out:

You musquet and callver men,

Do you prove true to me,

Ile be the formost man in fight,

Says brave Lord Willoughbèy.

And then the bloody enemy

They fiercely did assail,

And fought it out most furiously,

Not doubting to prevail :

The wounded men on both sides fell

Most pitious for to see,

Yet nothing could the courage quell

Of brave Lord Willoughbèy.

For seven hours, to all men's view,

This fight endured sore,

Until our men so feeble grew

That they could fight no more;

And then upon dead horses,

Full savourly they eat,

And drank the puddle water,

They could no better get.

When they had fed so freely,

They kneeled on the ground,

And praised God devoutly

For the favour they had found ;

And beating up their colours,

The fight they did renew,

And turning towards the Spaniard,

A thousand more they slew.

Page 278

250

VICTORIOUS MEN OF EARTH.

The sharp steel-pointed arrows,

And bullets thick did fly;

Then did our valiant soldiers

Charge on most furiously;

Which made the Spaniards waver,

They thought it best to flee,

They fear'd the stout behaviour

Of brave Lord Willoughbèy.

Then quoth the Spanish general,

Come let us march away,

I fear we shall be spoiled all

If here we longer stay;

For yonder comes Lord Willoughbèy

With courage fierce and fell,

He will not give one inch of way

For all the devils in hell.

And then the fearful enemy

Was quickly put to flight,

Our men persued courageously,

And caught their forces quite;

But at last they gave a shout,

Which ecchoed through the sky,

God, and St. George for England !

The conquerers did cry.

This news was brought to England

With all the speed might be,

And soon our gracious queen was told

Of this same victory.

O this is brave Lord Willoughbyèy.

My love that e'er won,

Of all the lords of honour

'Tis he great deeds hath done.

To the souldiers that were maimed,

And wounded in the fray,

The queen allowed a pension

Of fifteen pence a day;

And from all costs and charges

She quit and set them free:

And this she did all for the sake

Of brave Lord Willoughbèy.

Then courage, noble Englishmen,

And never be dismaid;

If that we be but one to ten,

We will not be afraid

To fight with foreign enemies,

And set our nation free.

And thus I end the bloody bout

Of brave Lord Willoughbèy.

XXI.

Victorious Men of Earth.

THIS little moral sonnet hath such a pointed

application to the heroes of the foregoing and

following ballads, that I cannot help placing

it here, though the date of its composition is

of a much later period. It is extracted from

"Cupid and Death, a masque by J. S. [James

Shirley] presented Mar. 26, 1653. London,

printed 1653," 4to.

Victorious men of earth, no more

Proclaim how wide your empires are:

Though you bind in every shore,

And your triumphs reach as far

As night or day;

Yet you proud monarchs must obey,

And mingle with forgotten ashes, when

Death calls yee to the croud of common men.

Devouring famine, plague, and war,

Each able to undo mankind,

Death's servile emissaries are :

Nor to these alone confin'd,

He hath at will

More quaint and subtle wayes to kill :

A smile or kiss, as he will use the art,

Shall have the cunning skill to break a heart.

Page 279

THE WINNING OF CALES.

251

XXII.

The Winning of Cales.

The subject of this ballad is the taking of the city of Cadiz, (called by our sailors corruptly Cales) on June 21, 1596, in a descent made on the coast of Spain, under the command of the Lord Howard admiral, and the Earl of Essex general.

The valour of Essex was not more distinguished on this occasion than his generosity: the town was carried sword in hand, but he stopped the slaughter as soon as possible, and treated his prisoners with the greatest humanity, and even affability and kindness. The English made a rich plunder in the city, but missed of a much richer, by the resolution which the Duke of Medina the Spanish admiral took, of setting fire to the ships, in order to prevent their falling into the hands of the enemy. It was computed, that the loss which the Spanish sustained from this enterprise, amounted to twenty millions of ducates. See Hume's History.

The Earl of Essex knighted on this occasion not fewer than sixty persons, which gave rise to the following sarcasm :

A gentleman of Wales, a knight of Cales,

And a laird of the North country;

But a yeoman of Kent with his yearly rent

Will buy them out all three.

The ballad is printed with some corrections, from the Editor's folio MS., and seems to have been composed by some person who was concerned in the expedition. Most of the circumstances related in it will be found supported by history.

Long the proud Spaniards had vaunted to conquer us,

Threatning our country with fyer and sword;

Often preparing their nary most sumptuous

With as great plenty as Spain could afford.

Dub a dub, dub a dub, thus strike their drums :

Tantara, tantara, the Englishman comes.

To the seas presently went our lord admiral,

With knights courageous and captains full good;

The brave Earl of Essex, a prosperous general,

With him prepared to pass the salt flood.

Dub a dub, &c.

11

At Plymouth speedilye, took they ship vallantlye,

Braver ships never were seen under sayle,

With their fair colours spread, and streamers ore their head,

Now bragging Spaniards, take heed of your tyle.

Dub a dub, &c.

15

Unto Cales cunninglye, came we most speedilye,

Where the kinges navy securlye did ryde;

Being upon their backs, piercing their butts of sacks,

Ere any Spaniards our coming descryde.

Dub a dub, &c.

21

Great was the crying, the ruoning and ryding,

Which at that season was made in that place;

The beacons were fyred, as need then required;

To hyde their great treasure they had little space.

Dub a dub, &c.

25

There you might see their ships, how they were fyred fast,

And how their men drowned themselves in the sea;

There might you hear them cry, wayle and weep piteously,

When they saw no shift to scape thence away.

Dub a dub, &c.

30

Page 280

252

THE SPANISH LADY'S LOVE.

The great St. Phillip, the pryde of the Spaniards,

Was burnt to the bottom, and sunk in the sea;

But the St. Andrew, eke the St. Matthew,

We took in fight manfullye and brought away.

Dub a dub, &c.

The Earl of Essex most valiant and hardye,

With horsemen and footmen marched up to the town;

The Spanyards, which saw them, were greatly alarmed,

Did fly for their saveguard, and durst not come down.

Dub a dub, &c.

Now, quoth the noble Earl, courage my soldiers all;

Fight and be valiant, the spoil you shall have;

And be well rewarded all from the great to the small;

But looke that the women and children you save.

Dub a dub, &c.

The Spaniards at that sight, thinking it vain to fight,

Hung upp flags of truce and yielded the towne;

Wee marched in presentlye, decking the walls on hye,

With English colours which purchased renowne.

Dub a dub, &c.

Entering the houses then, of the most richest men,

For gold and treasure we searched eche day;

In some places we did find, pyes baking left behind,

Meate at fire rosting, and folkes run away.

Dub a dub, &c.

Full of rich merchandize, every shop catched our eyes,

Damasks and sattens and velvets full fayre;

Which soldiers mensur'd out by the length of their swords;

Of all commodities eche had a share.

Dub a dub, &c.

Thus Cales was taken, and our brave general

March'd to the market-place, where he did stand:

There many prisoners fell to our several shares,

Many crav'd mercy, and mercy they fannd.

Dub a dub, &c.

When our brave General saw they delayed all,

And wold not ransome their towne as they said,

With their fair wanscots, their presses and bodsteds,

Their joint-stools and tables a fire we mado;

And when the town burned all in flame,

With tara, tantara, away wee all came.

XXIII.

The Spanish Lady's Love.

This beautiful old ballad most probably took its rise from one of these descents made on the Spanish coasts in the time of Queen Elizabeth; and in all likelihood from that which is celebrated in the foregoing ballad.

It was a tradition in the West of England, that the person admired by the Spanish lady was a gentleman of the Popham family, and that her picture, with the pearl necklace

mentioned in the ballad, was not many years ago preserved at Littlecot, near Hungerford, Wilts, the seat of that respectable family.

Another tradition hath pointed out Sir Richard Levison, of Trentham, in Staffordshire, as the subject of this ballad; who married Margaret, daughter of Charles Earl of Nottingham; and was eminently distinguished as a naval officer and commander in all the

Page 281

expeditions against the Spaniards in the latter end of Queen Elizabeth's reign, particularly in that to Cadiz in 1596, when he was aged 27. He died in 1605, and has a monument, with his effigy in brass, in Wolverhampton church.

It is printed from an ancient black-letter copy, corrected in part by the Editor's folio MS.

Will you hear a Spanish lady,

How she wooed an English man?

Garments gay as rich as may be

Decked with jewels she had on.

Of a comely countenance and grace was she,

And by birth and parentage of high degree.

As his prisoner there he kept her,

In his hands her life did lye;

Cupid's hands did tye them faster

By the liking of an eye.

In his courteous company was all her joy,

To favour him in any thing she was not coy.

But at last there came commandment

For to set the ladies free,

With their jewels still adorned,

None to do them injury.

Then said this lady mild, Full woe is me;

O let me still sustain this kind captivity!

Gallant captain, shew some pity

To a ladye in distresse;

Leave me not within this city,

For to dye in heavinesse.

Thou hast set this present day my body, free,

But my heart in prison still remains with thee.

"How should'st thou, fair lady, love me,

Whom thou knowst thy country's foe?

Thy fair wordes make me suspect thee:

Serpents lie where flowres grow."

All the harm I wishe to thee, most courteous knight,

God grant the same upon my head may fully light.

Blessed be the time and season,

That you came on Spanish ground;

If our foes you may be termed,

Gentle foes we have you found:

THE SPANISH LADY'S LOVE.

253

With our city, you have won our hearts eche one,

Then to your country bear away, that is your owne.

"Rest you still, most gallant lady;

Rest you still, and weep no more;

Of fair lovers there is plenty,

Spain doth yield a wonderous store."

Spaniards fraught with jealousy we often find,

But Englishmen through all the world are counted kind.

Leave me not unto a Spaniard,

You alone enjoy my heart;

I am lovely, young, and tender,

Love is likewise my desert:

Still to serve thee day and night my mind is prest;

The wife of every Englishman is counted blest.

"It wold be a shame, fair lady,

For to bear a woman hence;

English soldiers never carry

Any such without offence."

I'll quickly change myself, if it be so,

And like a page Ile follow thee, where'er thou go.

"I have neither gold nor silver

To maintain thee in this case,

And to travel is great charges,

As you know in every place."

My chains and jewels every one shal be thy own,

And eke five hundred* pounds in gold that lies unknown.

"On the seas are many dangers,

Many storms do there arise,

Which wil be to ladies dreadful,

And force tears from watery eyes."

Well in troth I shall endure extremity,

For I could find in heart to lose my life for thee.

"Courteous ladye, leave this fancy,

Here comes all that breeds this strife;

I in England have already

A sweet woman to my wife:

I will not falsify my vow for gold nor gain,

Nor yet for all the fairest dames that live in Spain."

Ver. 65, Well in worth, MS.

  • So the MS.—10,000l., P. C.

Page 282

254

ARGENTILE AND CURAN.

O how happy is that woman

That enjoys so true a friend!

Many happy days God send her ;

Of my suit I make an end :

On my knees I pardon crave for my offence,

Which did from love and true affection first

commence.

Commend me to thy lovely lady,

Bear to her this chain of gold ;

And these bracelets for a token ;

Grieving that I was so bold :

All my jewels in like sort take thou with thee,

For they are fitting for thy wife, but not for

me.

75

I will spend my days in prayer,

Love and all her laws defyo ;

In a nunnery will I shroud mee

Far from any companye:

But are my prayers have an end, be sure of

this,

To pray for thee and for thy love I will not

miss.

Thus farewell most gallant captain !

Farewell to my heart's content !

Count not Spanish ladies wanton,

Though to thee my love was bent :

Joy and true prosperity goe still with thee !

" The like fall ever to thy share, most fair

ladie."

80

85

90

94

XXIV.

Argentile and Guran

—Is extracted from an ancient historical

poem in XIII. Books, entitled “Albion's Eng-

land, by William Warner." " An author

(says a former Editor) only unhappy in the

choice of his subject, and measure of his

verse. His poem is an epitome of the Bri-

tish history, and written with great learning,

sense, and spirit ; in some places fine to an

extraordinary degree, as I think will emi-

nently appear in the ensuing episode [of Ar-

gentilo and Curan,]-a tale full of beautiful

incidents in the romantic taste, extremely

affecting, rich in ornament, wonderfully va-

rious in style ; and in short, one of the most

beautiful pastorals I ever met with." [Muses

library, 1738, 8vo.] To his merit nothing

can be objected, unless perhaps an affected

quaintness in some of his expressions, and

an indelicacy in some of his pastoral images.

Warner is said, by A. Wood,* to have been

a Warwickshire man, and to have been edu-

cated in Oxford, at Magdalen-hall : as also

in the latter part of his life to have been re-

tained in the service of Henry Cary Lord

Hunsdon, to whom he dedicates his poem.

However that may have been, new light is

thrown upon his history, and the time and

manner of his death are now ascertained, by

the following extract from the parish register

book of Amwell, in Hertfordshire; which

was obligingly communicated to the editor

by Mr. Hoole, the very ingenious translator

of Tasso, &c.

[1608-1609.] " Master William Warner,

a man of good yeares and of honest reputation;

by his profession an Atturnye of the Common

Pleas ; author of Albions England, diynge

suddenly in the night in his bedde, without

any former complaynt or sicknes, on thurs-

day night beeinge the 9th daye of March;

was buried the saturday following, and lyeth

in the church at the corner under the stone

of Walter Ffader." Signed Tho. Wassall Vi-

carus.

Though now Warner is so seldom men-

tioned, his contemporaries ranked him on a

level with Spenser, and called them the Ho-

mer and Virgil of their age.* But Warner

rather resembled Ovid, whose Metamorphosis

he seems to have taken for his model, having de-

duced a perpetual poem from the deluge down

to the era of Elizaheth, full of lively digres-

sion and entertaining episodes. And though

he is sometimes harsh, affected, and obscure, he

often displays a most charming and pathetic

simplicity : as where he describes Eleanor's

harsh treatment of Rosamond :

  • Athen. Oxon.

Ver. 86, So the folio MS. Other editions read his laws.

  • Athen. Oxon

Page 283

ARGENTILE AND CURAN.

255

With that she dasht her on the lippes

So dyed double red :

Hard was the heart that gave the blow,

Soft were those lippes that bled.

The edition of " Albion's England" here followed was printed in 4to., 1602 ; said in

the title page to have been " first penned and published by William Warner, and now revised and newly enlarged by the same author." The story of " Argentile and Curan"

is, I believe, the poet's own invention ; it is not mentioned in any of our chronicles. It was, however, so much admired, that not

many years after he published it, came out a larger poem on the same subject in stanzas of six lines, entitled, " The most pleasant

and delightful historie of Curan a prince of Danske, and the fayre princesse Argentile, daughter and heyre to Adelbright, sometime

King of Northumberland, &c., by William Webster, London, 1617," in eight sheets 4to.

An indifferent paraphrase of the following puem.—This episode of Warner's has also been altered into the common Ballad, " of the

two young Princes on Salisbury Plain," which is chiefly composed of Warner's lines, with a few contractions and interpolations, but all

greatly for the worse. See the collection of Historical Ballads, 1727, 3 vols., 12mo.

Though here subdivided into stanzas, Warner's metre is the old-fashioned alexandrine of fourteen syllables. The reader therefore

must not expect to find the close of the stanzas consulted in the pauses.

The Braton's ' being' departed hence

Seaven kingdoms here begonne,

Where diversly in divers broyles

The Saxons lost and woune.

King Edel and King Adelbright

In Diria jointly reigne ;

In loyal concorde during life

These kingly friends remaine.

When Adelbright should leave his life,

To Edel thus he sayes ;

By those same bonds of happie love,

That held us friends alwaies ;

By our by-parted crowne, of which

The moyetie is mine ;

By God, to whom my soule must passe,

And so in time may thine ;

33

I pray thee, may I conjure thee,

To nourish, as thine owne,

Thy nicce, my daughter Argentile,

Till she to age be growne ;

And then, as thou receivest it,

Resigne to her my throne.

A promise had for his bequest,

The testatôr dies ;

But all that Edel undertook,

He afterwards denies.

20

Yet well he 'fosters for' a time

The damsell that was growne

The fairest lady under heaven ;

Whose beautie being knowne,

30

A many princes seeke her love ;

But none might her obtaine ;

For grippell Edel to himselfe

Her kingdome sought to gaine ;

And for that cause from sight of such

35

He did his ward restraine.

By chanc one Curan, sonne unto

A prince in Danske, did see

The maid, with whom he fell in love,

As much as man might bee.

40

Unhappie youth, what should he doe?

His saint was kept in mewe ;

Nor he, nor any noble-man

Admitted to her vewe.

One while in melancholy fits

45

He pines himselfe awaye:

Anon he thought by force of armes

To win her if he maye :

And still against the kings restraint

Did secretly invay.

50

At length the high controller Love,

Whom none may disobay,

Imbased him from lordlines

Into a kitchen drudge,

That so at least of life or death

55

She might become his judge.

Accesse so had to see and speake,

He did his love bewray,

And tels his birth : her answer was,

She husbandles would stay.

60

Page 284

256

ARGENTILE AND CURAN.

Meane while the king did beate his braines,

His booty to atchieue,

Nor caring what became of her,

So he by her might thriue;

At last his resolution was

Some pessant should her wiue.

And (which was working to his wish)

He did obserue with ioye

How Curan, whom he thought a drudge,

Scapt many an amorous toye.*

The king, perceiuing such his vein,

Promotes his vassal still,

Lest that the basenesse of the man

Should lett, perhaps, his will.

Assured therefore of his loue,

But not suspecting who

The louer was, the king himselfe

In his behalfe did woe.

The lady resolute from loue,

Vnkindly takes that he

Should barre the noble, and vnto

So base a match agree:

And therefore shifting out of doores,

Departed thence by stealth;

Preferring povertie before

A dangerous life in wealth.

When Curan heard of her escape,

The anguish in his hart

Was more than much, and after her

From court he did depart;

Forgetfull of himselfe, his birth,

His country, friends, and all,

And only minding (whom he mist)

The foundresse of his thrall.

Nor meanes he after to frequent

Or court, or stately townes,

But solitarily to liue

Amongst the country grownes.

A brace of years he liued thus,

Well pleased so to liue,

And shepherd-like to feed a flocke

Himselfe did wholly giue.

So wasting, loue, by worke, and wnot,

Grew almost to the waine:

But then began a second loue,

The worser of the twaine.

A country wench, a neatherds maid,

Where Curan kept his sheepe,

Did feed her drue: and now on her

Was all the shepherds keepe.

He borrowed on the working daies

His holy rüssets oft,

And of the bacon's fat, to make

His startops blacke and soft.

And least his tarbox should offend,

He left it at the folde:

Sweete gourde, or wig, his bottle had,

As much as it might holde.

A sheeue of bread as browne as nut

And cheeso as white as snowr,

And wildings, or the seasons fruit

He did in serip bestow.

And whilſt his py-bald curre did sleepe

And sheep-hooke lay him by,

On hollow quilles of oten straw

He piped melody.

But when he spyed her his saint,

He wip'd his greasie shoocs,

And clear'd the driuell from his beard,

And thus the shepheard wooes.

"I haue, sweet wench, a peece of cheeso,

As good as tooth may chawe,

And bread and wildings souning well,

And therwithall did drawe.

His lardrie) and in 'yeaning' see

"Yon crumpling ewe, quoth he,

Did twinne this fall, and twin shouldst thou,

If I might tup with thee.

"Thou art too elvish, faith thou art,

Too cluish and too coy :

Am I, I pray thee, beggarly,

That such a flocke enjoy?

"I wis I am not: yet that thou

Doest holde me in disdaine

Is brimne abroad, and made a gybe

To all that keepe this plaine.

  • The construction is, "How that many an amorous toy,

or folery of loue, 'scaped Curan;" i. e. escaped from him,

being off his guard.

Ver. 112, l. e. holy-day Rüssets. V. 135, Eating, P. CC.

Page 285

"There be as quaint (at least that thinke

Themselves as quaint) that crave

The match, that thou, I wot not why,

Maist, but mislik'st to have.

150

"How wouldst thou match? (for well I wot,

"Thou art a female) I

Her know not here that willingly

With maiden-head would die.

"The plowmans labour hath no end,

155

And he a charle will prove:

The craftesman hath more worke in hand

Then fitteth unto love:

"The merchant, trafiquing abroad,

160

Suspects his wife at home:

A youth will play the wanton; and

An old man prove a mome.

"Then chuse a shepheard: with the sun

He doth his flocke unfold,

165

And all the day on hill or plaine

He merriest that can hold;

"And with the sun doth folde againe;

Then jogging home betime,

He turnes a crab, or turnes a round,

170

Or sings some merry ryme.

"Nor lacks he gloefull tales, whilst round

The nut-brown bowl doth trot;

And sitteth singing care away,

Till he to bed be got:

"Thereas sleepes he soundly all the night,

Forgetting morrow-cares:

175

Nor feares he blasting of his corne,

Nor uttering of his wares;

"Or stormes by seas, or stirres on land,

Or cracke of credit lost:

180

Not spending franklier than his flocke

Shall still defray the cost.

"Well wot I, sooth they say, that say

More quiet nights and daies

The shepheard sleeps and wakes, than he

185

Whose cattel he doth graize.

Ver. 153, Her know I not her that. 1602. V. 160, l. e.

runts a crab, or apple. V. 171, to tell, whilst round the

bole doth trot. Ed. 1597.

"Beleeve me, lasse, a king is but

A man, and so am I;

Content is worth a monarchie

And mischiefs hit the hie;

190

"As late it did a king and his

Not dwelling fur from hence,

Who loft a daughter, save thyselfe,

For fair a matchless wench."---

Here did he pause, as if his tongue

195

Had done his heart offence.

The neatreste, longing for the rest,

Did egge him on to tell

How faire she was, and who she was.

She bore, quoth he, the bell

200

"For beautie: though I clownish am,

I know what beautic is;

Or did I not, at seeing thee,

I senceles were to mis.


"Her stature comely, tall; her gate

205

Well graced; and her wit

To marvell at, not meddle with,

As matchless I omit.

"A globe-like head, a gold-like haire,

A forehead smooth, and hie,

210

An even nose; on either side

Did shine a grayish cie:

"Two rosie cheaks, round ruddy lips,

White just-set teeth within;

A mouth in meane; and underneathe

215

A round and dimpled chin.

"Her snowie necke, with blewish veines,

Stood bolt upright upon

Her portly shoulders: beating balles

Her veined breasts, anon

220

"Adde more to beautie. Wand-like was

Her middle falling still,

And rising whoreas women rise:* * *

-Imagine nothing ill.

"And more, her long, and limber armes

Had white and azure wrists;

226

And slender fingers aunswere to

Her smooth and illic fists.

Page 286

258

ARGENTILE AND CURAN.

" A legge in print, a pretie foot;

Conjecture of the rest:

For amorous eies, observing forme,

Think parts obscured best.

" With these, O raretie ! with these

Her tonge of speach was spare;

But speaking, Venus seem'd to speake,

The balle from Ide to beare.

" With Phoebe, Juno, and with both

Herselfe contends in face;

Wheare equall mixture did not want

Of milde and stately grace.

" Her smiles were sober, and her lookes

Were chearefull unto all:

Even such as neither wanton seeme

Nor waiward; mell, nor gall.

" A quiet minde, a patient moode,

And not disdaining any;

Not gybling, gadding, gawdy: and

Sweete faculties had many.

" A nimph, no tong, no heart, no eie,

Might praise, might wish, might see;

For life, for love, for forme; more good,

More worth, more faire than shee.

" Yea such an one, as such was none,

Save only she was such :

Of Argentile to say the most,

Were to be silent much."

I knew the lady very well,

But worthles of such praise,

The neatresse said: and muso I do,

A shepheard thus should blaze

The 'coate' of beautie.* Credit me,

Thy latter speech bewraies.

Thy clownish shape a coyned shew

But wherefore dost thou wepe?

The shepheard wept, and she was woe,

And both doe silence keepe.

" In troth, quoth he, I am not such,

As seeming I professe :

But then for her, and now for thee,

I from my selfe digresse.

" Her lov'd I (wretch that I am

A recreant to be)

I lov'd her, that hated love,

But now I die for thee.

" At Kirkland is my fathers court,

And Curan is my name,

In Edels court sometimes in pompe,

Till love contrould the same;

" But now—what now ?—deare heart, how

now?

What ailest thou to weepe?"

The damsell wept, and he was woe,

And both did silence keepe.

I graunt, quoth she, it was too much,

That you did love so much:

But whom your former love could not move,

Your second love doth touch.

Thy twic-beloved Argentile

Submitteth her to thee,

And for thy double love presents

Herself a single fee,

In passion not in person chang'd,

And I, my lord, am she.

They sweetly surfeiting in joy,

And silent for a space.

When as the extasie had end,

Did tenderly embrace;

And for their wedding, and their wish

Got fitting time and place.

Not England (for of Hengist then

Was named so this land)

Then Curan had an hardier knight;

His force could none withstand :

Whose sheep-hooke laid apart, he then

Had higher things in hand.

First, making knowne his lawfull claime

In Argentile her right,

He warr'd in Diria,* and he wonne,

Bernicia* too in fight:

And so from trecherous Edel took

At once his life and crowne,

And of Northumberland was king,

Long raigning in renowne.

  • During the Saxon heptarchy, the kingdome of North- umberland (consisting of six northern counties, besides part of Scotland) was for a long time divided into two lesser soveraignties, viz. Deira (called here Diria) which contained the southern parts, and Bernicia, comprehend those which lay north.

  • I. e. emblazon beauty's coate. Ed. 1597, 1602, 1612, read Coote.

Page 287

JANE SHORE.

259

XXV.

Corin's Fate.

Only the three first stanzas of this song

are ancient: these are extracted from a small

quarto MS. in the Editor's possession, written

in the time of Queen Elizabeth. As they

seemed to want application, this has been at-

tempted by a modern hand.

Corin, most unhappie swaine,

Whither wilt thou drive thy flocke?

Little foode is on the plaine;

Full of danger is the rocke:

Wolfes and beares doe kepe the woodes;

Forests tangled are with brakes:

Meadowes subiect are to floodles;

Moores are full of miry lakes.

Yet to shun all plaine, and hill,

Forest, moore, and meadow-ground,

Hunger will as surely kill;

How may then reliefe be found?

Such is hapless Corins fate:

Since my waywarde love begunnc,

Equall doubts beggett debate

What to secke, and what to shunne.

Spare to speke, and spare to speede;

Yet to speke will move disdaine :

If I see her not I bleed,

Yet her sight augments my paine.

What may then poore Corin doe?

Tell me, shepherdes, quicklye tell;

For to linger thus in woe

Is the lover's sharpest hell.

XXVI.

Jane Shore.

Though so many vulgar errors have pre-

vailed concerning this celebrated courtesan,

no character in history has been more per-

fectly handed down to us. We have her

portrait drawn by two masterly pens; the

one has delineated the features of her person,

the other those of her character and story.

Sir Thomas More drew from the life, and

Drayton has copied an original picture of

her. The reader will pardon the length of

the quotations, as they serve to correct many

popular mistakes relating to her catastrophe.

The first is from Sir Thomas More's History

of Richard III. written in 1513, about thirty

ye.rs after the death of Edward IV.

"Now then by, as it wer for anger,

not for covetise, the protector sent into

house of Shores wife (for her husband dwelled

not with her) and spoiled her of al that ever

she had (above the value of 2 or 3 thousand

marks), and sent her body to prison. And

when he had a while laide unto her, for the

manner sake that she went about to bewitch

him, and that she was of counsel with the

lord chamberlein to destroy him : in conclu-

sion, when that no colour could fasten upon

those matters, then he layd heinously to her

charge the thing that herselfe could not deny,

that al the world wist was true, and that na-

theless every man laughed at to here it then

so sodainly so highly taken,—that she was

naught of her body. And for thys cause, (as

a goodly continent prince, clene and fantless

of himself, sent out of heaven into this vicious

world for the amendement of mens manners),

he caused the bishop of London to put her to

open pennance, going before the crosse in pro-

cession uponasunday with a taper in her hand.

In which she went in countenance and pace de-

mure so womanly; and albeit she was out of

al array save her kyrtle only, yet went she

so fair and lovely, namelye, while the won-

Page 288

260

JANE SHORE.

dering of the people ceste a comly rud in her chekes (of which she before had most misse) that her great shame wan her much praise among those that were more amorous of her body, then curious of her soule. And many good folke also, that hated her living, and glad wer to se sin corrected, yet pittied thei more her penance than rejoiced therein, when thei considred that the protector procured it more of a corrupt intent, than any virtuous affeccion.

"This woman was born in London, worshipfully frendled, honestly brought up, and very wel maryed, saving somewhat to soone: her husbando an honest citizen, yonge, and goodly, and of good substance. But forasmuch as they were coupled ere she wer wel ripe, she not very fervently loved, for whom she never louged. Which was happely the thinge, that the more easily made her encline unto the king's appetite, when he required her. Howbeit the respect of his royaltié, the hope of gay apparel, ease, plesure, and other wanton welth, was able soone to perse a soft tender hearte. But when the king had abused her, anon her husband (as he was an honost man, and one that could his good, not presuming to touch a kinges concubine) left her up to him al together. When the king died, the lord chamberlen [Hastings] toke her:* which in the kinges daies, albeit he was sore enamoured upon her, yet he forbare her, either for reverence, or for a certain frendly faithfulnesse.

"Proper she was, and faire: nothing in her body that you would have changed, but if you would have wished her somewhat higher. Thus say thei that knew her in her youthé. Albeit some that 'now see her (for yet she liveth)' doth never to have bene wel visaged. Whose jugement seemeth me somewhat like, as though men should gesso the

  • After the death of Hastings, she was kept by the Mar. quis of Dorset, son to Edward IV.'s queon. In Rymer's Foedera is a proclamation of Edward's, dated at Leicester, October 23, 1483, whereln a reward of 1000 marks in money, or 100 a year in land is offered for taking "Thomas late Marquis of Dorset." who "not having the feare of God, nor the salvation of his owne soule, before his eyes, hath notably debaunched and defiled many maidls. widows, and wives, and lived in adulterie with the wife of Shore." Buck-hugham was at that time in rebellion, but as Dorset was not with him, Richard could not accuse him of treason, and therefore made a handle of these pretended debauch-eries to get him apprehended. Vide Rym. Foed. tom. xii.

bewty of one longe before departed, by her scalpe taken out of the charnel-house; for now is she old, lene, withered, and dried up, nothing left but ryvilde skin, and hard bone. And yet being even such, whose wel advise herr visage, might gesse and devise which partes how filled, would make it a fair face.

"Yet delited not men so much in her bewty, as in her plesant behaviour. For a proper wit had she, and could both rede wel and write; mery in company, redy and quick of aunswer, neither mute nor ful of bable; sometime taunting without displeasure, and not without disport. The king would say, That he had three concubines, which in three divers properties diversly excelled. One the meriest, another the wiliest, the third the holiest harlot in his realme, as one whom no man could get out of the church lightly to any place, but it wer to his bed. The other two wer somwhat greter personages, and matcles of their humilite content to be namelos, and to forbere the praise of those proporties; but the meriest was the Shoris wife, in whom the king therfore toke special pleasure. For many he had, but her he loved, whose favour, to sai the trouth (for sinne it wer to belie the devil) she never abused to any mans hurt, but to many a mans comfort and relief. Where the king toke displesure, she would mitigate and appease his mind: where men were out of favour, she wold bring them in his grace: for many, that had highly offended, shee obtained pardon: of great forfaitures she gate men remis-sion : and finally in many weighty suites she stode many men in great stede, either for none or very smal rewardes, and those rather gay than rich: either for that she was content with the dede selfe well done, or for that she delited to be sued unto, and to show what she was able to do with the king, or for that wanton women and welthy be not alway covetous.

"I doubt not some shal think this woman too sleight a thinge to be written of, and set amonge the remembraunces of great matters: which thei shal specially think, that happely shal esteme her only by that thei 'now see her.' But me semeth the chaunce so much the more worthy to be remembred, in how much she is 'now' in the more beggerly condition, unfrended and worne out of acquaint-ance, after good substance, after as greta

Page 289

favour with the prince, after as grete sute and seking to with al those, that in those days

had busynes to spede, as many other men were in their times, which be now famouse

only by the infamy of their il dedes. Her doinges were not much lese, albeit thei be

muche lese remembred because thei were not so evil. *For men use, if they have an

evil turne, to write it in marble; and whoso

doth us a good tourne, we write it in duste.

Which is not worst proved by her; for 'at

this daye' shee beggeth of many at this daya

iiving, that at this day had not bene." See More's Workes, folio,

black-letter, 1557, pp. 56, 57.

Drayton has written a poetical epistle from

this lady to her royal lover, and in his notes

thereto he thus draws her portrait: "Her

stature was meane, her haire of a dark yel-

low, her face round and full, her eye gray,

delicate harmony being betwixt each part's

proportion, and each proportion's colour, her

body fat, white and smooth, her countenance

cheerfull and like to her condition. The pic-

ture which I have seen of hers was such as

she rose out of her bed in the morning, hav-

ing nothing on but a rich mantle cast under

one arme over her shoulder, and sitting on a

chaire, on which her naked arm did lye.

What her father's name was, or where she

was borne, is not certainly knowne; but Shore,

a young man of right goodly person, wealth,

and behariour, abandoned her bed after the

king had made her his concubine. Richard

III., causing her to do open penance in Paul's

church-yard, 'commended that no man should

relieve her,' which the tyrant did, not so

much for his hatred to sinne, but that by

making his brother's life odions, he might

cover his horrible treasons the more cunning-

ly." See England's Heroical Epistles, by

Michael Drayton, Esq., London, 1637, 12mo.

The history of Jane Shore receives new

illustration from the following letter of King

Richard III., which is preserved in the Harl.

MSS., Number 433, Article 2378, but of which

the copy transmitted to the Editor has been

  • These words of Sir Thomas More probably suggested to

Shakspeare that proverbial reflection in Hen. VIII., Act 4,

sc. 11.

"Men's evill manners live in brass: their vertues

We write in water."

Shakspeare, in his play of Richard III., follows More's

History of that reign, and therefore could not but see this

paasage. ,

JANE SHORE.

261

reduced to modern orthography, &c. It is

said to have been addresed to Russell bishop

of Lincoln, lord chancellor, Anno 1484.

By the KING,

" Right Reverend Father in God, &c., sig-

nifying unto you, that it is shewed unto us,

that our Servant and Solicitor Thomas Ly-

nom, marvellously blinded and abused with

the late Wife of William Shore, now living

in Ludgate by our commandment, hath made

Contract of Matrimony with her, as it is said,

and intendeth to our full grete marvel, to

effect the same. WE, for many causes, would

be sorry that he should be so disposed ; pray

you therfore to send for him, and in that ye

goodly may, exhort, and stir him to the con-

trary: And if ye find him utterly set for to

marry her, and none otherwise would be

advertized, then, if it may stand with the

laws of the church, we be content that the

time of marriage be deferred to our coming

next to London; that upon sufficient Surety

found of his good abearing, ye do so send for

her Keeper, and discharge him of our said

commandment, by Warrant of these, commit-

ting her to the rule, and guiding of her

Father, or any other, by your direction, in

the mean season. Given, &c.

" RIC. Rex."

It appears from two articles in the same

MS. that King Richard had granted to the

said Thomas Lynom the office of King's So-

licitor (Article 134), and also the Manor of

Colmeworth, com Bedf., to him, his heirs

male (Article 396).

An original picture of Jane Shore alnost

naked is preserved in the Provost's Lodgings

at Eton ; and another picture of her is in the

Provost's Lodge at King's College, Cam-

bridge: to both which foundations she is

supposed to have done friendly offices with

Edward IV. A small quarto mezzotinto

print was taken from the former of these by

J. Faber.

The following ballad is printed (with some

corrections) from an old black-letter copy in

the Pepys collection. Its full title is, "The

woeful lamentation of Jane Shore, a guld-

smith's wife in London, sometime king Ed-

ward IV. his concubine. To the tune of

'Live with me,' &c." [See the first volume.]

To every stanza is annexed the following

burthen:

Page 290

202

JANE SHORE.

Then maids and wives in time amend

For love and beauty will have end.

If Rosamonde that was so faire,

Had cause her sorrowes to declare,

Then let Jane Shore with sorrowe sing

That was beloved of a king.

In maiden yeares my beautye bright

Was loved deare of lord and knight;

But yet the love that they requir'd,

It was not as my friends desir'd.

My parents they, for thirst of gaine,

A husband for me did obtaine;

And I, their pleasure to fulfillle,

Was forc'd to wedd against my wille.

To Matthew Shore I was a wife,

Till lust brought ruine to my life;

And then my life I lewdlye spent,

Which makes my soul for to lament.

In Lombard-street I once did dwelle,

As London yet can witnesse welle;

Where many gallants did beholde

My beautye in a shop of golde.

I spred my plumes, as wantons doe,

Some sweet and secret friende to wooe,

Because chast love I did not finde

Agreeing to my wanton minde.

At lust my name in court did ring

Into the cares of Englandes king,

Who came and lik'd, and love requir'd,

But I made coye what he desir'd:

Yet Mistress Blague, a neighbour neare,

Whose friendship I esteemed deare,

Did saye, It was a gallant thing

To be beloved of a king.

By her persuasions I was led

For to defile my marriage-bed,

And wronge my wedded husband Shore,

Whom I had married yeares before.

In heart and mind I did rejoyce,

That I had made so sweet a choice;

And therefore did my state resigne,

To be king Edward's concubine.

From city then to court I went,

To reape the pleasures of content;

There had the joyes that love could bring,

And know the secrets of a king.

When I was thus advanc'd on highe

Commanding Edward with mine eye,

For Mrs. Blague I in short space

Obtaind a livinge from his grace.

No friende I had but in short time

I made unto a promotion clime;

But yet for all this costlye pride,

My husbande could not mee abido.

His bed, though wronged by a king,

His heart with deadye gricfe did sting;

From England then he goes away

To end his life beyond the sea.

He could not live to see his name

Impaired by my wanton shame;

Although a prince of poorlesse might

Did reape the pleasure of his right.

Long time I lived in the courte,

With lords and ladies of great sorte;

And when I smil'd all men were glad,

But when I frown'd my prince grewe sad.

But yet a gentile minde I bore

To helplesse people, that were poore;

I still redrest the orphan's crye,

And sav'd their lives condemned to dye.

I still had ruth on widowes teares,

I succour'd babes of tender yeares;

And never look'd for other gaine

But love and thankes for all my paine.

At last my royall king did dye,

And then my dayes of woe grew nighe;

When crook-back Richard got the crowne,

King Edwards friends were soon put downe.

I then was punish't for my sin,

That I so long had lived in;

Yea, every one that was his friend,

This tyrant brought to shamefull end.

Then for my lewd and wanton life,

That made a strumpet of a wife,

I penance did in Lombard-street,

In shamefull manner in a sheet.

Page 291

Where many thousands did me viewe,

Who late in court my credit knewve;

Which made the teares run downe my face,

To thinke upon my foul disgrace.

Not thus content, they took from mee

My goodes, my livings, and my fee,

And charg'd that none should me relieve,

Nor any succour to me give.

Then unto Mrs. Blague I went,

To whom my jewels I had sent,

In hope therebye to ease my want,

When riches fail'd, and love grew scant:

But she denyed to me the same

When in my need for them I came;

To recompence my former love,

Out of her doores shee did me shove.

So love did vanish with my state,

Which now my soul repents too late;

Therefore example take by mee,

For friendship parts in povertie.

But yet one friend among the rest,

Whom I before had seen distrest,

And sav'd his life, condemn'd to die,

Did give me food to succour me:

For which, by lawe, it was decreed

That he was hanged for that deed;

His death did grieve me so much more,

Than had I dyed myself therefore.

Then those to whom I had done good

Durst not afford mee any food;

Whereby I begged all the day,

And still in streets by night I lay.

My gowns beset with pearl and gold,

Were turn'd to simple garments old;

85

My chains and gems and golden rings,

To filthy rags and loathsome things.

Thus was I scorn'd of maid and wife,

For leading such a wicked life;

Both sucking babes and children small,

Did make their pastime at my fall.

I could not get one bit of bread,

Whereby my hunger might be fed :

Nor drink, but such as channels yield,

Or stinking ditchos in the field.

Thus, weary of my life, at length

I yielded up my vitall strength,

Within a ditch of loathsome scent,

Where carrion dogs did much frequent:

The which now since my dying daye,

Is Shoreditch call'd, as writers sayo;

Which is a witnesse of my sinne,

For being concubine to a king.

You wanton wives, that fall to lust,

Be you assur'd that God is just;

Whoredome shall not escape his hand,

Nor pride unpunish'd in this land.

If God to me such shame did bring,

That yielded only to a king.

How shall they scape that daily run

To practise sin with every one?

You husbands, match not but for love,

Lest some disliking after prove;

Women, be warn'd when you are wives,

What plagues are due to sinful lives:

Then, maids and wives, in time amend,

For love and beauty will have end.

  • But it had this name long before; being so called from

its being a common Sewer (vulgarly Shore) or drain. See

Stow.

34

Page 292

264

CORYDON'S DOLEFUL KNELL.

XXVII.

Corydon's Doleful Knell.

This little simple elegy is given, with some

corrections, from two copies, one of which is

in "The Golden Garland of Princely De-

lights."

The burthen of the song, "Ding Dong,

&c.," is at present appropriated to burlesque

subjects, and, therefore, may excite only lu-

dicrous ideas in a modern reader; but, in the

time of our poet, it usually accompanied the

most solemn and mournful strains. Of this

kind is that fine aërial dirge in Shakspere's

Tempest:

"Full fathom five thy father lies,

Of his bones are coral made;

Those are pearls that were his eyes;

Nothing of him that doth fade,

But doth suffer a sea-change

Into something rich and strange:

Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell,

Harke now I heare them, Ding dong bell.

"Burthen, Ding dong."

I make no doubt but the poet intended to

conclude the above air in a manner the most

solemn and expressive of melancholy.

My Phillida, adieu love !

For evermore farewell !

Ay me ! I've lost my true love,

And thus I ring her knell,

Ding dong, ding dong, ding dong,

My Phillida is dead !

I'll stick a branch of willow

At my fair Phillis' head.

For my fair Phillida,

Our bridal bed was made:

But 'stead of silkes so gay,

She in her shroud is laid.

Ding, &c.

Her corpse shall be attended,

By maides in fair array,

Till the obsequies are ended,

And she is wrapt in clay.

Ding, &c.

Her herse it shall be carried

By youths that do excell;

And when that she is buried,

I thus will ring her knell,

Ding, &c.

A garland shall be framed

By art and natures skill,

Of saundry-colour'd flowers,

In token of good-will.*

Ding, &c.

And saundry-colour'd ribbands

On it I will bestow !

But chiefly black and yellowe:†

With her to grave shall go.

Ding, &c.

I'll decke her tombo with flowers,

The rarest ever seen,

And with my teares, as showers,

I'll keepe them fresh and greene.

Ding, &c.

Instead of fairest colours,

Set forth with curious art,‡

Her image shall be painted

On my distressed heart.

Ding, &c.

And thereon shall be graven

Her epitaph so faire,

"Here lies the loveliest maiden,

That e'er gave shepheard care."

Ding, &c.

In sable will I mourne;

Blacke shall be all my weede

Ay me ! I am forlorne,

Now Phillida is dead !

Ding dong, ding dong, ding dong,

My Phillida is dead !

I'll stick a branch of willow

At my fair Phillis' head.

  • It is a custom in many parts of England, to carry a

flowery garland before the corpse of a woman who dies

unmarried.

† See above, preface to No. XI. Book II.

‡ This alludes to the painted effigies of Alabaster,

anciently erected upon tombs and monuments.

THE END OF THE SECOND BOOK.

Page 293

THE COMPLAINT OF CONSCIENCE.

235

SERIES THE SECOND.

BOOK III.

I.

The Complaint of Conscience.

I shall begin this Third Book with an old allegoric sutire: a manner of moralizing, which, if it was not first introduced by the author of " Pierce Plowman's Visions," was at least chiefly brought into repute by that ancient satirist. It is not so generally known that the kind of verse used in this ballad hath any affinity with the peculiar metre of that writer, for which reason I shall throw together some cursory remarks on that very singular species of versification, the nature of which has been so little understood.

ON THE ALLITERATIVE METRE, WITHOUT RHYME, IN PIERCE PLOWMAN'S VISIONS.

We learn from Wormius,* that the ancient Islandic poets used a great variety of measures: he mentions 136 different kinds, without including rhyme, or a correspondence of final syllables: yet this was occasionally used, as appears from the Ode of Egil, which Wormius hath inserted in his book.

He hath analyzed the structure of one of these kinds of verse, the harmony of which neither depended on the quantity of the syllables, like that of the ancient Greeks or Romans; nor on the rhymes at the end, as in modern poetry; but consisted altogether in alliteration, or a certain artful repetition of the sounds in the middle of the verses. This was adjusted according to certain rules of their prosody, one of which was, that every distich should contain at least three words beginning with the same letter or sound.

Two of these corresponding sounds might be placed either in the first or second line of the distich, and one in the other; but all three were not regularly to be crowded into one

  • Literatura Runica. Hafniæ 1636, 4to.—1651, fol. The Islandic language is of the same origin as our Anglo-Saxon, being both dialects of the ancient Gothic or Teutonic. Vid Hickesii Præfat. in Grammat. Anglo-Saxon & Moeso-Goth-4to. 1689.

line. This will be the best understood by the following examples.*

" Meire og Minne " Gab Ginunga Mogu heimdaller." Einn Gras huerge."

There were many other little niceties observed by the Islandic poets, who, as they retained their original language and peculiarities longer than the other nations of Go-thic race, had time to cultivate their native poetry more, and to carry it to a higher pitch of refinement than any of the rest.

Their brethren, the Anglo-Saxon poets, occasionally used the same kind of alliteration, and it is common to meet in their writings with similar examples of the foregoing rules.

Take an instance or two in modern characters:†

" Skoop tha and Skyrde " Ham and Heahsetl Skyppend ure. Heofena rikes."

I know not, however, that there is anywhere extant an entire Saxon poem all in this measure. But distichs of this sort perpetually occur in all their poems of any length.

Now, if we examine the versification of "Pierce Plowman's Visions," we shall find it constructed exactly by these rules; and therefore each line, as printed, is in reality a dis-tich of two verses, and will, I believe, be found distinguished as such, by some mark or other in all the ancient MSS., viz.

" In a Somer Season, | when 'hot'‡ was the Sunne, I Shope me into Shroubs, | as I a Shepe were; In Habite as an Hermet, | unHoly of werkes, Went Wyde in this world | Wonders to heare," &c.

  • Vid. Hickes Antiq. Literat. Septentrional. Tom. I. p. 217. † Ibid. ‡ So I would read with Mr. Warton, rather than either "soft," as in MS., or "set," as in P. CC.

Page 294

206

ON ALLITERATIVE METRE.

So that the author of this poem will not be found to have invented any new mode of versification, as some have supposed, but only to have retained that of the old Saxon and Gothie poets; which was probably never wholly laid aside, but occasionally used at different intervals: though the ravages of time will not suffer us now to produce a regular series of poems entirely written in it.

"Cros, and Curteis Christ, this beginning speçio

For the Fadors Frendshipe, that Fourmed heauen.

And through the Special Spirit, that Sprong of hem tweyne,

And al in one godhed endles dwelleth."

The author feigns himself ignorant of his Creed, to be instructed in which he applies to the four religious orders, viz., the gray friars of St. Francis, the black friars of St. Dominic, the Carmelites or white friars, and the Augustines. This affords him occasion to describe in very lively colours, the sloth, ignorance, and immorality of those reverend drones. At length he meets with Piers, a poor ploughman, who resolves his doubts, and instructs him in the principles of true religion. The author was evidently a follower of Wicliff, whom he mentions (with honour) as no longer living.* Now that reformer died in 1384. How long after his death this poem was written, dues not appear.

There are some readers, whom it may gratify to mention, that these "Visions of Pierce [i. e. Pcter] the Plowman," are attributed to Robert Langland, a secular priest, born at Mortimer's Cleobury in Shropshire, and fellow of Oriel cullege in Oxford, who flourished in the reigns of Edward III. and Richard II., and published his poem a few years after 1350. It consists of xx Passus or Breaks,* exhibiting a series of visions, which he pretends happened to him on Malvern hills in Worcestershire. The author excels in strong, allegoric painting, and has with great humour, spirit, and fancy, censured most of the vices incident to the several professions of life; but he particularly inveighs against the corruptions of the clergy, and the absurdities of superstition. Of this work, I have now before me four different editions in black-letter quarto. Three of them are printed in 1550 by Robert Crowley, dwelling in Ely rentes in Holburne. It is remarkable that two of these are mentioned in the title-page as both of the second impression, though they contain evident variations in every page.† The other is said to be newlye imprynted after the authors olde copy . . . . by Owen Rogers, Feb. 21, 1561.

As Langland was not the first, so neither was he the last that used this alliterative species of versification. To Rogers's edition of the Visions is subjoined a poem, which was probably writ in imitation of them, entitled "Piers the Ploughman's Crede." It begins thus:

  • The poem properly contains xxi parts; the word passus, adopted by the author, seems only to denote the break or division between two parts, though by the ignorance of the printer applied to the parts themselves. See Series III., preface to ballad III., where Passus seems to signify pause.

† That which seems the first of the two, is thus distin-guished in the title-page, nowe the seconde tyme imprinted by Roberte Crowlye; the other thus, nowe the seconde time imprinted by Robert Crowley. In the former the folios are thus erroneously numbered, 33, 39, 41, 63, 43, 42, 45, &c. The booksellers of those days did not ostentatiously affect to multiply editions.

"In Tyberius Tyme . the Trewe emperour

Syr Cesar hymself . beSted in Rome

Whyll Pylat was Prouoste . under that Prynce ryche

And Jewes Justice also . of Judens londe

Harode under emperre . as Herytage wolde Kyng," &c.

The other is entitled, "Chevalero Assigne" [or De Cigne], that is, "The Knight of the Swan," being an ancient Romance, begin ning thus:

"All-Weldynge God . Whene it is his Wylle

Wele he Wereth his Werke . With his owne honde

  • Signature : 4ff.

† Caligula A. ij. fol. 109, 123.

In the Cotton library is a volume of ancient English poems,† two of which are written in this alliterative metre, and have the division of the lines into distichs distinctly marked by a point, as is usual in old poetical MSS. That which stands first of the two (though perhaps the latest written) is entitled, "The sege of I erlam," [i. e. Jerusalem] being an old fabulous legend, composed by some monk, and stuffed with marvellous figments concerning the destruction of the holy city and temple. It begins thus;

Page 295

ON ALLITERATIVE METRE.

267

For ofte Hermes were Hente . that Helpe we

ne myzte

Nere the Hyznes of Hym . that lengeth in

Hevene

For this," &c.

Among Mr. Garrick's collection of old

plays* is a prose narrative of the adventures

of this same Knight of the Swan, "newly

translated out of Frenshe into Englyshe, at

thinstigacion of the puysant and illustryous

prynce, lorde Edward duke of Buckyng-

hame." This lord, it seems, had a peculiar

interest in the book, for in the preface the

translator tells us, that this, "highe dygne

and illustryous prynce my lorde Edwarde by

the grace of god Duke of Buckyngham, erle

of Hereforde, Staffurde, and Northampton,

desyrynge cotydyally to encrease and aug-

ment the name and fame of such as were re-

lucent in vertuous featres and triumphaunt

actes of chivalry, and to encourage and styrre

every lusty and gentell herte by the oxemply-

fiyacyon of the same, havyng a goodli booke of

the highe and miraculous histori of a famous

and puyssaunt kynge, named Oryant some-

time reynynge in the parties beyonde the

sea, havynge to his wif a noble lady; of

whome she conceyved sixe sonnes and a

daughter, and chylded of them at one only

time; at whose byrthe echone of them had a

chayne of sylver at their neckes, the whiche

were all tourned by the provydence of god

into whyte swannes, save one, of the whiche

this present hystory is compyld, named Hel-

yas, the knight of the swanne, 'of whome lini-

ally is dyscended my saydeldorde.' The whiche

ontentfly to have the sayde hystory more

amply and unyversally knowen in thys hys

natiff comtrie, as it is in other, hath of hys

lie bountie by some of his faithfull and trusti

servauntes cohorted mi mayster Wynkin de

Worde† to put the said vertuous hystori in

prynte . . . . at whose instigacion and stir-

ing I (Roberte Copland) have me applied,

moiening the helpe of god, to reduoe and

translate it into our maternal and vulgare

english tonge after the capacité and rude-

nesse of my weke entendement."—A curious

picture of the times ! While in Italy litera-

ture and the fine arts were ready to burst

forth with classical splendour under Leo X.,

the first peer of this realm was proud to de-

rive his pedigree from a fabulous "Knight

of the Swan."*

"To return to the metre of Pierce Plowman:

In the folio MS. so often quoted in this work,

are two poems written in that species of ver-

sification. One of these is an ancient allego-

rical poem, entitled "Death and Life" (in 2

fitts or parts, containing 458 distichs), whi:ch,

for aught that appears, may have been writ-

ten as early, if not before the time of Lang-

land. The first forty lines are broke as they

should be into distichs, a distinction that is

neglected in the remaining part of the tran-

script, in order, I suppose, to save room. It

begins,

"Christ Christen king

that on the Crosse tholed;

Hadd P:aines and Passyons

to delevd our soules;

Give us Grace on the Ground

the Grealye to serve,

For that Royal Red blood

that Ran from thy side."

The subject of this piece is a vision, wherein

the poet sees a contest for superiority between

"our lady Dame Life," and the "ugly fiend

Dame Death;" who with their serval attri-

butes and concomitants are personified in a

fine vein of allegorige painting. Part of the

description of Dame Life is,

"Shee was Brighter of her Blee,

then was the Bright sonn :

Her Rudd Redder then the Rose,

that on the Rise hangeth :

Meekely smiling with her Mouth,

And Merry in her lookes;

Ever Laughing for Love,

as shee Like would.

And as shee came by the Bankes,

the Boughes echo one

They Lowted to that Ladye,

And Layd forth their branches;

Blossomes and Burgens

Breathd full sweete;

Flowers Flourished in the Frith,

where shee Forth stepped;

  • K. vol. X.

† W. de Worde's edit. is in 1512. See Ames, p. 92. Mr.

G.'s copy is "† Imprinted at London by me William Copland."

‡ He is said in the story book to be the grandfather of

Godfrey of Boulogne, through whon I suppose the duke

made out his relation to him. This duke was beheaded

May 17, 1521, 13 Henry VIII.

Page 296

And the Grasse, that was Gray,

Greened belive."

Death is afterwards sketched out with a no

less bold and original pencil.

The other poem is that which is quoted in

the 181st page of this work, and which was

probably the last that was ever written in

this kind of metre in its original simplicity,

unaccompanied with rhyme. It should have

been observed above in page 181, that in this

poem the lines are throughout divided into

distichs, thus :

Grant Gracious God,

Grant me this time, &c.

It is entitled, "Scottish Feilde" (in 2 fitts,

420 distichs,) containing a very circumstan-

tial narrative of the battle of Flodden, fought

Sept. 9, 1513 : at which the author seems to

have been present, from his speaking in the

first person plural :

"Then we Tild downe our Tents,

that Told were a thousand."

In the conclusion of the poem he gives this

account of himself:

"He was a Gentleman by Jesu,

that this Gest% made:

Which Say but as he Sayd†

for Sooth and noe other.

At Bagily that Boarne

his Biding place had;

And his ancestors of old time

have yeard‡ theire longe,

Befor William Conquerour

this Cuntry did inhabitt.

Jesus Bring 'them§ to Blisse,

that Brought us forth of bale,

That hath Harkned me Heare

Or Heard my Tale."

The village of Bagily or Baguleigh is in

Cheshire, and had belonged to the ancient

family of Legh for two centuries before the

battle of Flodden. Indeed, that the author

  • Jest, MS.

† Probably corrupted for-"Says but as he Saw."

‡ Yeardal, i. e. buried, earthed, carled. It is common

to pronounce "Earth," in some parts of England "Yearth,"

particularly in the North.—Pitscottie, speaking of James

III., slain at Bannockbourn, says, "Nane man wot whar

they yeardal him."

§ "us," MS. In the second line above, the MS. has

'bidding.'

was of that country appears from other pas-

sages in the body of the poem, particularly

from the pains he takes to wipe off a stain

from the Cheshiremen, who it seems ran

away in that battle, and from his encomiums

on the Stanleys Earls of Derby, who usually

headed that county. He laments the death

of James Stanley, bishop of Ely, as what

had recently happened when this poem was

written ; which serves to ascertain its date,

for that prelate died March 22, 1514-5.

Thus have we traced the Alliterative Mea-

sure. so low as the sixteenth century. It is

remarkable that all such poets as used this

kind of metre, retained along with it many

peculiar Saxon idioms, particularly such as

were appropriated to poetry : this deserves

the attention of those who are desirous to

recover the laws of the ancient Saxon Poesy,

usually given up as inexplicable: I am of

opinion that they will find what they seek in

the metre of Pierce Plowman.*

About the beginning of the sixteenth cen-

tury this kind of versification began to change

its form: the author of "Scottish Field," we

see, concludes his poem with a couplet in

rhyme: this was an innovation that did but

prepare the way for the general admission of

that more modish ornament: till at length the

old uncouth verse of the ancient writers

would no longer go down without it. Yet

when Rhyme began to be superadded, all the

niceties of Alliteration were at first retained

along with it; and the song of "Little John

Nobdy" exhibits this union very clearly.

By degrees the correspondence of final sounds

engrossing the whole attention of the poet,

and fully satisfying the reader, the internal

embellishment of Alliteration was no longer

studied, and thus was this kind of metre at

length swallowed up and lost in our common

Burlesque Alexandrine, or Anapestick verse,†

  • And in that of Robert Gloucester. See the next

noto.

† Consisting of four Anapests ( ˘ ˘ ˘ ) in which the ac-

cent rests upon every third syllable. This kind of verse,

which I also call the Burlesque Alexandrine to distinguish

it from the other Alexandrines of eleven and fourteen

syllables, the parents of our lyric measure (See examples,

pp. 151, 152, &c.) was early applied by Robert Gloucester

to serious subjects. That writer's metre, like this of Lang-

land's, is formed on the Saxon models (each verse of his

containing a Saxon distich); only instead of the internal

alliterations adopted by Langland, he rather chose final

rhymes, as the French poets have done since. Take a

specimen.

Page 297

now never used but in ballads and pieces of light humour, as in the following song of "Conscience," and in that well-known doggrel,

"A cobler there was, and he lived in a stall."

But although this kind of measure hath with us been thus degraded, it still retains among the French its ancient dignity; their grand heroic verse of twelve syllables* is the same genuine offspring of the old alliterative metre of the ancient Gothic and Francic poets, stript like our Anapestic of its alliteration, and ornamented with rhyme. But with this difference, that whereas this kind of verse hath been applied by us only to light and trivial subjects, to which by its quick and lively measure it seemed best adapted, our poets have let it remain in a more lax unconfined state,† as a greater degree of severity and strictness would have been inconsistent with the light and airy subjects to which they have applied it. On the other hand, the French having retained this verse as the vehicle of their epic and tragic flights, in order to give it a stateliness and dignity were

obliged to confine it to more exact laws of Scansion; they have therefore limited it to the number of twelve syllables; and by making the Cæsura or Pause as full and distinct as possible, and by other severe restrictions, have given it all the solemnity of which it was capable. The harmony of both, however, depends so much on the cadence and disposal of the pause, that they appear plainly to be of the same original ; and every French heroic verse evidently consists of the ancient Distich of their Francic ancestors : which, by the way, will account to us why this verse of the French so naturally resolves itself into two complete hemistichs. And indeed by making the cæsura or pause always to rest on the last syllable of a word, and by making a kind of pause in the sense, the French poets do in effect reduce their hemistichs to two distinct and independent verses : and some of their old poets have gone so far as to make the two hemistichs rhyme to each other.*

After all, the old alliterative and anapestic metre of the English poets being chiefly used in a barbarous age, and in a rude unpolished language, abounds in verses defective in length, proportion, and harmony; and therefore cannot enter into a comparison with the correct versification of the best modern French writers; but making allowances for these defects, that sort of metre runs with a cadence so exactly resembling the French heroic Alexandrine, that I believe no peculiarities of their versification can be produced, which cannot be exactly matched in the alliterative metre. I shall give by way of example a few lines from the modern French poets commodated with parallels from the ancient poem of "Life and Death ;"† in these I shall denote the Cæsura or Pause by a perpendicular line, and the cadence by the marks of the Latin quantity.

Lě siēnčs fŭl lŏrjŭnčrs | tŏn īnfānt dĕ lāūdūre;

All shall dryē with thĕ dŭst | thăt I dĕal with my hānds.

L'hūmāitē prūďĕnt | vĕit trĭp | Pĭllūsĭŏn lĕ sītĕ,

Yŏnder dŭmsel ĭs dĕath | thăt drĕssĕth hĕr tŏ smĭte.

L'āstrĕ pŭr vĕit mīxč | ĭt ľ fĭntōme făĭt.† |

Whĕn shŏ dŏlefully sāw | hŏw shĕ dāĭng dōwne hĭr fŏlke.

Mĕme āŭx yĕŭx dĕ līnjŭstě | ēn īnjŭstě ĕst hŏrrĭdł.†‡

Thĕm shĕ ĭs cāst ŭp ă cryō | tŏ thĕ hĭgh kĭng ĭf hĕavĕn.

"The Saxons tho in their power, tho thilke were so rive,

Sĕvĕ kĭnglŏmĕs măde ĭn Eŭgĕlŏndĕ, ănd sŭllĕ bŭt vīvě:

Thĕ kĭng ŏf Nŏrthŏmberlŏnd, ănd ŏf Eăstăngle ălso,

Ŏf Kĕnt, ănd ŏf Wĕstsĕx, ănd ŏf thĕ Mĕrch, thŭerto."

Robert of Gloucester wrote in the western dialect, and his language differs exceedingly from that of other contemporany writers, who resided in the metropolice, or in the midland counties. Had the heptarchy continued, our English language would probably have been as much distingual-hed for its different dialects as the Greek; or at least as that of the several independent states of Italy.

  • Or of thirteen syllables, in what they call a feminine verse. It is remarkable that the French alone have rotated this old Gothic metre for their serious poems; while the English, Spaniards, &c., have adopted the Italic verse of ten syllables, although the Spaniards, as well as we, anciently used a short-lined metre. I believe the success with which Petrarch, and perhaps one or two others, first used the heroic verse of ten syllables in Italian Poetry, recommended it to the Spanish writers; as it also did to our Chaucer, who first attempted it in English; and to his successors Lord Surrey, Sir Thomas Wyat, &c. who afterwards improved it and brought it to perfection. To Lord Surrey we also owe the first introduction of blank verse in his versions of the second and fourth books of the Æneid, 1557, 40.

† Thus our poets use this verse indifferently with twelve, eleven, and even ten syllables. For though regularly it consists of four anapests (o - - -) or twelve syllables, yet they frequently retrench a syllable from the first or third anapest; and sometimes from both; as in these instances from Prior and from the following sung of Conscience:

Whō hăth wĭr bĕen ăt Pāris mīast nĕeds knōw thĕ Grāve,

Thĕ fĭtĕl rĕtrĕat ŏf th' īnfŏrtūnātĕ brāve.

Hĕ stĕpt tŏ hĭm străight, ănd dĭd hĭm rĕquĭre.

  • See instances in l'Histoire de la Poesie Françoise par Massieu, &c. In the same book are also specimens of alliterative French verses.

† Catallina, A. 3.

‡ Boileau Sat.

Page 298

270

ON ALLITERATIVE METRE.

Dá ménsóngi túrfúrs | té vrá dínírí máitri,

Thóur shált bíttárlyá hyá | ór clse thé bóóká fílleth.

Púír púrúítre hónáíto hómme | én ín mót, lí fáut líltre

Thúís í fáíred thrónghe á frythí where thé flówers wére mányé.

To conclude; the metre of Pierce Plow-man's Visions has no kind of affinity with what is commonly called Blank Verse; yet has it a sort of harmony of its own, proceeding not so much from its alliteration, as from the artful disposal of its cadence, and the contrivance of its pause; so that when the ear is a little accustomed to it, it is by no means unpleasing; but claims all the merit of the French heroic numbers, only far less polished; being sweetened, instead of their final rhymes, with the internal recurrence of similar sounds.

This Essay will receive illustration from another specimen in Warton's " History of English Poctry," Vol. I., p. 309, being the fragment of a MS. poem on the subject of "Alexander the Great," in the Bodleian Library, which he supposes to be the same with Number 44, in the Ashmol. MSS., containing twenty-seven pasus, and beginning thus:

Whenér fólk fástid [feasted, qu.] and fód,

fáyne wólde théi hér [i. e. hear]

Sóme faráand thíng, &c.

It is well observed by Mr. Tyrwhitt, on Chaucer's sneer at this old alliterative metre (Vol. iii. p. 305), viz.:

— I am a Sotherne [i. e. Southern] man,

I cannot geste, rom, ram, raf, by my letter.

That the fondness for this species of versification, &c., was retained longest in the northern provinces : and that the author of " Pierce Plowman's Visions" is in the best MSS. called "William," without any surname. (See vol. iv. p. 74.)

ADDITIONS TO THE ESSAY ON THE ALLITERATIVE METRE.

Since the foregoing Essay was first printed, the Editor hath met with some additional examples of the old alliterative metre.

The first is in MS.,† which begins thus:

Crist Crowned Kyng, that on Crus didest,‡

And art Cumfort of all Care, thow,† kind ga

out of Cours

With thi Halwes in Heven Heried mote thu be,

And thy Worshipful Werkes Worshiped evere,

That suche Sundry Signes Showest unto man,

In Dremyng, in Drecchyng,‡ and in Derke swerenes.

The author from this premium takes occasion to give an account of a dream that happened to himself; which he introduces with the following circumstances:

Ones y me Ordayned, as y have Ofte doon,

With Frendes, and Felawes, Frendemen, and other;

And Caught me in a Company on Corpus

Christi even,

Six, other‡ Seven myle, out of Southampton,

To take Meledye, and Mirthes, among my Mates;

With Redyng of Romances, and Rereyng among,

The Dym of the Derknesse Drewo me into the west;

And be Gon for to spryng in the Grey day.

Than Lift up my Lyddes, and Loked in the sky,

And Knewe by the Kendo Cours, hit clerid in the est:

Blyve y Busked me down, and to Bed went,

For to Comforte my Kynde, and Cauche a slope.

He then describes his dream:

Methought that y Hovede on Hygh on an Hill,

And loked Doun on a Dale Depest of othre;

Thy y Suwe in my Sighte a Selcouthe peple;

The Multitude was so Moche, it Mighte not be nombred.

Methoughte y herd a Crowned Kyng, of his

Comunes axe

A Soleyne|| Subsidie, to Susteyne his werres.

With that a Clerk Kneled adowne and Curped these wordes,

Liege Lord; yif it you Like to Listen a while,

Som Sawes of Salomon y shall you shewe some.

  • Boll. Sat. 11.

† In a small 4to. MS. containing 38 leaves, in private hands.

‡ Didst dye. † though. ‡ being overpowered.

|| Solemn.

Page 299

ON ALLITERATIVE METRE.

271

The writer then gives a solemn lecture to kings on the art of governing. From the demand of subsidies "to susteyne his werres,"

I am inclined to believe this poem composed in the reign of King Henry V., as the MS. appears from a subsequent entry to have been written before the 9th of Henry VI. The whole poem contains but 146 lines.

The alliterative metre was no less popular among the old Scottish poets, than with their brethren on this side the Tweed. In Maitland's Collection of ancient Scottish Poems, MS. in the Pepysian library, is a very long poem in this species of versification, thus inscribed :

Heir bogins the Tretis of the Twa Marrit Wemen, and the Wedo, compylit be Maister William Dunbar.*

"Upon the Midsummer evven Mirriest of richtis

I Mavit furth alane quhen as Midnigit was past

Besyd ane Gudlie Grene Garth,† full of Gay flouris

Hegeit‡ of ane Huge Hicht with Hawthorne treis

Quairon ane Bird on ane Bransehe so Birst out hir notis

That nevir ane Blythfuller Bird was on the Benche§ hard, &c."

The author pretends to overhear three gossips sitting in an arbour, and revealing all their secret methods of alluring and governing the other sex ; it is a severe and humorous satire on bad women, and nothing inferior to "Chaucer's Prologue to his Wife of Bath's Tale." As Dunbar lived till about the middle of the sixteenth century, this poem was probably composed after "Scottish Field" (described above in p. 268), which is the latest specimen I have met with written in England. This poem contains about five hundred lines.

But the current use of the Alliterative Metre in Scotland, appears more particularly from those popular vulgar prophecies, which

  • Since the above was written, this poem hath been printed in "Ancient Scottish Poems, &c. from the MS. collections of Sir R. Maitland, of Lethington, knight of London, 1786," 2 vols. 12mo. The two first lines are hero corrected by that edition.

† Garden. ‡ Hedged. § Bougn. 35

are still printed for the use of the lower people in Scotland, under the names of "Thomas Rymer," "Marvellous Merling," &c. This collection seems to have been put together after the accession of James I. to the crown of England, and most of the pieces in it are in the metre of " Pierce Plowman's Visions." The first of them begins thus:

"Merling sayes in his book, who will Read Right,

Although his Sayings be uncouth, they Shall be true found,

In the seventh chapter, read Whoso Will, &c."

And the "Prophesie of Beid:"

"Betwixt the chief of Summer and the Sad winter ;

Before the Heat of summer Happen shall a war

That Euron's lands Earnestly shall be wrought

And Earnest Eury shall last but a while, &c."

So again the "Prophesie of Berlington:"

"When the Ruby is Raised, Rest is there none,

But much Rancour shall Rise in River and plain,

Much Sorrow is Seen through a Suth-hound

That beares Hornes in his Head like a wyld Hart, &c."

In like metre is the "Prophesie of Waldhare:"

"Upon Lowdon Law alone as I Lay,

Loking to the Lenox, as me Lief thought,

The first Morning of May, Medicine to seek

For Malice and Melody that Moved me sore, &c."

And lastly, that entitled "The Prophesie of Gildas:"

"When holy kirk is Wracked and Will has no Wit

And Pastors are Pluckt, and Pil'd without Pity

When Idolatry Is In ENS and RE

And spiritual pastours are vexed away, &c "

Page 300

272

THE COMPLAINT OF CONSCIENCE.

It will be observed in the foregoing speci-

mens, that the alliteration is extremely

neglected, except in the third and fourth

instances; although all the rest are written

in imitation of the cadence used in this kind

of metre. It may perhaps appear from an

attentive perusal, that the poems ascribed to

Burlington and Waldhaue are more ancient

than the others: indeed the first and fifth ap-

pear evidently to have been new modelled, if

not entirely composed about the beginning

of the last century, and are probably the

latest attempts ever made in this species of

verse.

In this and the foregoing Essay are men-

tioned all the specimens I have met with of

the Alliterative Metre without rhyme: but

instances occur sometimes in old manuscripts,

of poems written both with final rhymes in

the internal cadence and alliterations of the

Metre of Pierce Plowman.

The following song, entitled "The Com-

plaint of Conscience," is printed from the

Editor's folio manuscript: some corruptions

in the old copy are here corrected; but with

notice to the reader wherever it was judged

necessary, by enclosing the corrections be-

tween inverted 'commas.'

As I walked of late by 'an' wood side,

To God for to meditate was my entent;

Where under a hawthorne I suddenly spyed

A silly poore creature rugged and rent,

With bloody teares his face was besprent,

His fleshe and his color consumed away,

And his garments they were all mire,

mucke, and clay.

This made me muse, and much 'to' desire

To know what kind of man hee shold bee;

I stept to him straight, and did him require

His name and his secretts to shew unto mee.

His head he cast up, and wooful was hee,

My name, quoth he, is the cause of my

care,

And makes me scorned, and left here so

bare.

Then straightway he turned him, and prayd

'me' sit downe,

And I will saithe he, declare my whole

greefe;

My nume is called "Conscience:"—whereat

he did frowne,

He pined to repent it, and grinded his teethe,

'Though now, silly wretchie, I'm denyed all

releef,'

'Yet' while I was young, and tender of

yeeres,

I was enterteined with kinges, and with

peeres.

There was none in the court that lived in

such fame,

For with the kings councell 'I' sate in com-

mission;

Dukes, earles, and barrons esteem'd of my

name;

And how that I liv'd there needs no repeti-

tion:

I was ever holden in honest condition,

For howsoever the lawes went in West-

minster-hall,

When sentence was given, for me they wold

call.

No incomes at all the landlords wold take,

But one pore peny, that was their fine;

And that they acknowledged to be for my

sake.

The poore wold doe nothing without councell

mine:

I ruled the world with the right line:

For nothing was passed betwene foe and

friend,

But Cunscience was called to bee at 'the'

end.

Noe bargaines, nor merchandize merchants

wold make

But I was called a wittenesse thereto:

No use for noe money, nor forfett wold take,

But I wold controle them, if that they did

soe:

'And' that makes me live now in great woe.

For then came in Pride, Sathan's disciple,

That is now entertayned with all kind of

people.

He brought with him three, whose names

'thus they call'

That is Covetousnes, Lecherye, Usury, be-

side;

Ver. 1, one, MS. V. 15, him, MS.

Ver. 19, not in MS. V. 23, he sate, MS. V. 35, an end.

MS. V. 43, they be these, MS.

Page 301

THE COMPLAINT OF CONSCIENCE.

273

They never prevail'd, till they had wrought

my downe-fall;

Soo Pride was entertained, but Conscience decried,

And 'now ever since' abroad have I tryed

To have had entertainment with some one or other;

But I am rejected, and scorned of my brother.

Then went I to the court the gallants to winn,

But the porter kept me out of the gate :

To Bartlemew Spittle to pray for my sinne,

They bade me goe packe, it was fitt for my state;

Goe, goe, threed-bare Conscience, and seeke thee a mate.

Good Lord, long preserve my king, prince,

and queene,

With whom evermore I esteemed have been.

Then went I to London, where once I did 'dwell:'

But they bade away with me, when they knew my name;

For he will undo us to bye and to sell !

They bade me goe packe me, and hye me for shame:

They lought at my raggs, and there had good game;

This is old threed-bare Conscience, that dwelt with saint Peter;

But they wold not admitt me to be a chimney-sweeper.

Not one wold receive me, the Lord 'he' doth know;

I having but one poor penny in my purse,

On an awle and some patches I did it bestow;

'T'ow' I thought better whole shooes than doe worse.

Straight then all the cobblers began for to curse,

And by statute wold prove me a rogue, and forlorne,

And whipp me out of towne to 'secke' where I was borne.

Then did I remember, and call to my minde,

The Court of Conscience where once I did sit:

Not doubting but there I some favor shold find,

For my name and the place agreed soe fit;

Ver. 46, was dorited, MS. V. 53, packe me, MS. V. 67, wonne, MS. V. 70, æc.

But there of my purpose I fayled a whit,

For 'though' the judge us'd my name in everye 'cumission,'

The lawyers with their quillets wold get 'my' dismission.

Then Westminster-hall was noe place for me;

Good lord! how the lawyersbegan toassemble,

And fearfull they were, lest there I shold bee;

The silly poore clerkes began for to tremble;

I showed them my cause, and did not dissemble;

Soe they gave me some money my charges to beare,

But swore me on a booke I must never come there.

Next the merchants said, Counterfeite, get

thee away,

Dost thou remember how wee thee fond ?

Wo banisht thee the country beyond the salt

sea,

And sett thee on shore in the New-founde land;

And there thou and wee most friendly shook hand,

And we were right glad when thou didst refuse us;

For when we wold reape profitt here thou woldst accuse us.

Then had I noe way, but for to goe on

To gentlemens houses of an ancyent name;

Declaring my greeffes, and therè I made moane,

'Telling' how their forefathers held me in fame:

And at letting their farmes 'how always I came'

They sayd, Fye upon thee! we may thee curse:

'Theire' leases continue, and we fare the worse.

And then I was forced a begging to goo

To hushandmens houses, who greved right sure,

And swore that their landlords had plagued them so,

That they were not able to keepe open doore,

Nor nothing had left to give to the poore:

Therefore to this wood I doe me repayre,

Where heppes and hawes, that is my best fare.

V. 76, condicion, MS. V. 77, get a, MS. V. 95, And how MS. V. 101, so sore, MS.

Page 302

274

PLAIN TRUTH AND BLIND IGNORANCE.

Yet within this same desert some comfort I have

Of Mercy, of Pittye, and of Almos-deeds;

Who have vowed to company me to my grave.

Wee are 'all' put to silence, and live upon weeds,

'And hence such cold house-keeping proceeds;'

Our banishment is its utter decay,

The which the riche glutton will answer one day.

Why then, I said to him, me-thinks it were best

To goe to the clergie ; for dailye they preach

Eche man to love you above all the rest ;

Of Mercye, and Pittie,and Almes-'deeds', they teach.

O, said he, noe matter of a pin what they preach,

For their wives and their children soe hange them upon,

That whosoever gives almes thoy will*

Then laid he him down, and turned him away,

And prayd me to goe, and leavc him to rest.

I told him, I haplie might yet see the day

For him and his fellowes to live with the best.

First, said he, banish Pride, then all England were blest ;

For then those wold love us, that now sell their land,

And then good 'house-keeping wold revive' out of hand.

II.

Plain Truth and Blind Ignorance.

This excellent old ballad is preserved in the little ancient miscellany, entitled, "The Garland of Good-will." Ignorance is here made to speak in the broad Somersetshire dialect. The scene-we may suppose to be Glastonbury Abbey.

TRUTH.

Gob speed you, ancient father,

And give you a good daye ;

What is the cause, I praye you,

So sadly here you staye?

And that you keep such gazing

On this decayed place,

The which, for superstition,

Good princes down did raze ?

IGNORANCE.

Chill tell thee, by my vazen,*

That sometimes che have knowne

A vair and goodly abbey

Stand here of bricke and stone;

And many a holy vrier,

As ich may say to theo,

Within those goodly cloysters

Che did full often zeo.

TRUTH.

Then I must tell thoe, father,

In truthe and veritic,

A sorte of greater hypocrites

Thou couldst not likely see ;

Deceiving of the simple

With false and feigned lies:

But such an order truly

Christ never did devise.

IGNORANCE.

Ah! ah! che zmell thoe now, man ;

Che know well what thou art;

A vellow of mean learning,

Thee was not worth a vart:

Vor when we had the old lawe,

A merry world was then ;

  • i. e. faithen: as in the Midland counties they say housen, closen, for houses, closes. Λ.

Ver. 100, ill, MS. V. 110, not in MS.

  • We ought in justice and truth to read "can."

Page 303

PLAIN TRUTH AND BLIND IGNORANCE.

275

And every thing was plenty

Among all zorts of men.

TRUTH.

Thou givest me an answer,

As did the Jewes sometimes

Unto the prophet Jeremy,

When he accus'd their crimes :

'Twas merry, sayd the people,

And joyfull in our rea'me,

When we did offer spice-cakes

Unto the queen of heav'n.

40

IGNORANCE.

Chill tell thee what, good vellow,

Before the vriers went hence,

A bushel of the best wheate

Was zold vor vourteen pence;

And vorty eggos a penny,

That were both good and nowe;

And this che zay my zelf have zeene,

And yet ich am no Jewe.

45

TRUTH.

Within the sacred bible

We find it written plain,

The latter days should troublesome

And dangerous be, certaine;

That we should be self-lovers,

And charity wax colde;

Then 'tis not true religion

That makes thee grief to holde.

55

IGNORANCE.

Chill tell thee my opinion plaine,

And chould that well ye knewe,

Ich care not for the bible booke;

Tis too big to be true.

Our blessed ladyes psalter

Zhall for my money goe;

Zuch pretty prayers, as there bee,*

The bible cannot zhow.

60

TRUTH.

Now hast thou spoken trulye,

For in that book indeed

No mention of our lady,

Or Romish saint we read:

For by the blessed Spirit

That book indited was,

And not by simple persons,

As was the foolish masse.

70

  • Probably alluding to the illuminated psalters, missals,

&c.

IGNORANCE.

Cham zure they were not voolishe

That made the masse, che trowe;

Why, man, 'tis all in Latine,

And vools no Latine knowe.

Were not our fathers wise men,

And they did like it well;

Who very much rejoyced

To heare the zacring bell?

75

80

TRUTH.

But many kinges and prophets,

As I may say to thee,

Have wisht the light that you have,

And could it never see:

For what art thou the better

A Latin song to heare,

And understandest nothing,

That they sing in the quire?

85

IGNORANCE.

O hold thy peace, che pray thee,

The noise was passing trim

To heare the vriers zinging,

As we did enter in:

And then to zee the rood-loft

Zo bravely zet with zaints;

But now to zee them wandring

My heart with zorrow vaints.

90

95

TRUTH.

The Lord did give commandment,

No image thou shouldst make,

Nor that unto idolatry

You should your self betake;

The golden calf of Israel

Moses did therefore spoile;

And Baal's priests and temple

Were brought to utter toile.

100

IGNORANCE.

But our lady of Walsinghame

Was a pure and holy zaint,

And many men in pilgrimage

Did shew to her complaint.

Yea with zweet Thomas Becket,

And many other moe:

The holy maid of Kent* likewise

Did many wonders zhow.

105

110

  • By name Eliz. Barton, executed April 21, 1534. Stow,

p. 570.

Page 304

276

THE WANDERING JEW.

TRUTH.

Such saints are well agreing

To your profession sure;

And to the men that made them

So precious and so pure;

The one for being a traytoure,

Met an untimely death;

The other eke for treason

Did end her hatoful breath.

120

IGNORANCE.

Yea, yea, it is no matter,

Dispraise them how you wille:

But zure they did much goodnesse;

Would they were with us stillo !

We had our holy water,

And holy bread likewiso,

And many holy reliques

We zaw before our eyes.

125

TRUTH.

And all this while they fed you

With vaine and empty showe,

Which never Christ commanded,

As learned doctors knowe:

Search then the holy scriptures,

And thou shalt plainly see

That headlong to damnation

They alway trained thee.

135

IGNORANCE.

If it be true, good vellowye,

As thou dost zay to mee,

Unto my heavenly fader

Alone then will I fle :

140

Belioving in the Gospel,

And passion of his Zon,

And with the subtil papistes

Ich have for ever done.

III.

The Wandering Jew.

The story of the Wandering Jew is of considerable antiquity: it had obtained full credit in this part of the world before the year 1228, as we learn from Matthew Paris.

For in that year, it seems, there came an Armenian archbishop into England, to visit the shrines and reliques preserved in our churches ; who, being entertained at the monastery of St. Albans, was asked several questions relating to his country, &c. Among the rest a monk, who sat near him, inquired " if he had ever seen or heard of the famous person named Joseph, that was so much talked of; who was present at our Lord's crucifixion and conversed with him, and who was still alive in confirmation of the Christian faith." The archbishop answered, That the fact was true. And afterwards one of his train, who was well known to a servant of the abbot's, interpreting his master's words, told them in French, "That his lord knew the person they spoke of very well : that he had dined at his table but a little while before he

left the East : that he had been Pontius Pilate's porter, by name Cartaphilus ; who, when they were dragging Jesus out of the door of the Judgment-hall, struck him with his fist on the back, saying, 'Go faster, Jesus, go faster, why dost thou linger?' Upon which Jesus looked at him with a frown, and said, 'I indeed am going, but thou shalt tarry till I come.' Soon after he was converted, and baptized by the name of Joseph. He lives for ever, but at the end of every hundred years falls into an incurable illness, and at length into a fit or ecstasy, out of which when he recovers, he returns to the same state of youth he was in when Jesus suffered, being then about thirty years of age. He remembers all the circumstances of the death and resurrection of Christ, the saints that arose with him, the composing of the apostles' creed, their preaching, and dispersion ; and is himself a very grave and holy person."

This is the substance of Matthew Paris's account, who was himself a monk of St. Al

Page 305

bans, and was living at the time when the

Armenian archbishop made the above rela-

tion

Since his time several impostors have ap-

peared at intervals under the name and cha-

racter of the "Wandering Jew," whose

several histories may be seen in Calmet's

Dictionary of the Bible. See also the 'Turk-

ish Spy, Vol II, Book 3, Let 1. The story

that is copied in the following ballad is of

one, who appeared at Mamburgh in 1547, and

pretended he had been a Jewish shoemaker

at the time of Christ's crucifixion —The ballad

however seems to be of a later date It is

preserved in black-letter in the Pepys collec-

tion.

When as in faire Jerusalem

Our Saviour Christ did live,

And for the sins of all the worlde

His own deare life did give;

The wicked Jewes with scoffes and scornes

Did dailey him molest,

That never till he left his life,

Our Saviour could not rest.

When they had crown'd his head with thornes,

And scourg'd him to disgrace,

In scornfull sort they led him forthe

Unto his dying place,

Where thousand thousands in the streete

Beheld him passe along,

Yet not one gentle heart was there,

That pityed this his wrong.

Both old and young reviled him,

As in the streete he wente

And nought he found but churlish tauntes,

By every ones consente:

This owne deare crosse he bore himselffe,

A burthen far too great,

Which made him in the streete to fainthe,

With blood and water sweat.

Being weary thus, he sought for rest,

To ease his burthened soule,

Upon a stone; the which a wretch

Did churlishly controule;

And sayd, Awaye, thou King of Jewes,

Thou shalt not rest thee here;

Pass on; thy execution place

Thou seest nowe draweth neare.

And thereupon he thrust him thence,

At which our Saviour sayd,

I sure will rest, but thou shalt walke,

And have no journey stayed

With that this cursed shoemaker,

For offending Christ this wrong,

Left wife and childien, house and all,

And went from thence along.

Where after he had seene the bloude

Of Jesus Christ thus shed,

And to the crosse his bodye nail'd,

Awaye with speed he fled,

Without returning backe againe

Unto his dwelling place,

And wandred up and downe the woilde,

A runnagate most base.

No resting could he finde at all,

No ease, nor hearte content,

No house, nor home nor biding place:

But wandring forth he went

From towne to towne in forieigne landes,

With griev'd conscience still,

Repenting for the heinous guilt

Of his fure-passed ill.

Thus after some fewe ages past

In wandring up and downe;

He much againe desired to see

Jerusale ms renowne,

But finding it all quite destroyed,

Hee wandred thence with woe,

Our Saviours woordes, which he had spoke,

To verifie and showe.

"I'll rest, sayd hee, but thou shalt walke,"

So doth this wandring Jew

From place to place, but cannot rest

For seing countries newe;

Declaring still the power of him,

Whether he comes or goes,

And of all things done in the enst,

Sith Christ his death, he showes.

The world he hath still compast round

And seene those nations strange,

That hearing of the name of Christ,

Their idoll gods doe change:

To whom he hath told wondrous thinges

Of time forepast, and gone,

And to the princes of the worlde

Declares his cause of moane:

Page 306

278

THE LYE.

Desiring still to be dissolv'd,

And yeild his mortal breath ;

But, if the Lord hath thus decreed,

He shall not yet see death.

For neither lookes he old nor young,

But as he did those times,

When Christ did suffer on the crosse

For mortall sinners crimes.

He hath past through many a foreigne place,

Arabia, Egypt, Africa,

Grecia, Syria, and great Thrace,

And throughout all Hungaria,

Where Paul and Peter preached Christ,

Those blest apostles deare ;

There he hath told our Saviours wordes,

In countries far and neare.

And lately in Bohemia,

With many a German towne ;

And now in Flanders, as tis thought,

He wandreth up and downe :

Where learned men with him conferre

Of those his lingering dayes,

And wonder much to heare him tell

His journeyes, and his wayes.

If people give this dow an almes,

The most that he will take

Is not above a great a time :

Which he, for Jesus' sake,

Will kindlye give unto the poore,

And thereof make no spare,

Affirming still that Jesus Christ

Of him hath daily care.

He ne'or was scene to laugh nor smile,

But weepe and make great moane ;

Lamenting still his miseries,

And dayes forpast and gone :

If he heare any one blaspheme,

Or take God's name in vaine,

He telles them that they crucifie

Their Saviour Christo again.

If you had scene his death, saith he,

As those mine eyes have done,

Ten thousand times would yee

His torments think upon :

And suffer for his sake all paine

Of torments, and all woes.

Those are his wordes and eke his life

Whereas he comes or goes.

IV.

The Lye,

BY SIR WALTER RALEIGH,

-Is found in a very scarce miscellany entitld "Davidson's Poems, or a poëtical Rap-sodie divided into sixe books. . . . The 4th impression newly corrected and augmented, and put into a forme more pleasing to the reader. Lond. 1621, 12mo." This poemn is reputed to have been written by its cele-brated author the night before his execution, Oct. 29, 1618. But this must be a mistake, for there were at least two editions of Davidson's pooms before that time, one in 1608,* the other in 1611.† So that unless this poem was an after-insertion in the 4th edit. it must have been written long before the death of

  • Catalogue of T. Rawlinson, 1727.

† Catalogue of Sion coll. library. This is either lost or mislaid.

Sir Walter: perhaps it was composed soon after his condemnation in 1603. See Oldys's Life of Sir Walter Raleigh, p. 173, fol.

Goe, soule, the bodies guest,

Upon a thankelesse arrant ;

Feare not to touche the best,

The truth shall be thy warrant :

Goe, since I needs must dye,

And give the world the lye.

Goe tell the court, it glowes

And shines like rotten wood ;

Goe tell the church it showes

What's good, and doth no good :

If church and court reply,

Then give them both the lye.

Page 307

VERSES BY KING JAMES I.

279

Tell potentates they live

Acting by others actions;

Not lov'd unlesse they give,

Not strong but by their factions;

If potentates reply,

Give potentates the lye.

15

Tell men of high condition,

That rule affairs of state,

Their purpose is ambition,

Their practise onely hate;

And if they once reply,

Then give them all the lye.

Tell them that brave it most,

They beg for more by spending,

Who in their greatest cost

Seek nothing but commanding;

And if they make reply,

Spare not to give the lye.

30

Tell zeale, it lacks devotion;

Tell love, it is but lust;

Tell time, it is but motion;

Tell flesh, it is but dust;

And wish them not reply,

For thou must give the lye.

Tell age, it daily wasteth;

Tell honour, how it alters;

Tell beauty, how she blasteth;

Tell favour, how she falters;

And as they shall reply,

Give each of them the lye.

Tell wit, how much it wrangles

In tickle points of nicenesse;

Tell wisedome, she ontangles

Herselfe in over-wisenesse;

And if they do reply,

Straight give them both the lye.

45

Tell physicke of her boldnesse;

Tell skill, it is protension;

Tell charity of coldness;

Tell law, it is contention;

And as they yield reply,

So give them still the lye.

Tell fortune of her blindnes;

Tell nature of decay;

Tell friendship of unkindnes;

Tell justice of delay;

And if they dare reply,

Then give them all the lye.

60

Tell arts, they have no soundnes,

But vary by ostceaming;

Tell schooles, they want profoundnes,

And stand too much on seeming;

If arts and schooles reply,

Give arts and schooles the lye.

Tell faith, it's fled the citie;

Tell how the countrey erreth;

Tell, manhood shakes off pitie;

Tell, vertue least preferreth:

And if they doe reply,

Spare not to give the lye.

So, when thou hast, as I

Commanded thee, done blabbing,

Although to give the lye

Deserves no less than stabbing,

Yet stab at thee who will,

No stab the soule can kill.

75

V.

Verses by King James I.

In the first edition of this book were inserted, by way of specimen of his Majesty's poetic talents, some punning verses made on the disputations at Stirling; but it having been suggested to the Editor, that the king only gave the quibbling commendations in prose, and that some obsequious court-rhymer put them into metre;* it was thought proper to exchange them for two sonnets of King James's own composition. James was a great versifier, and therefore out of the multitude of his poems, we have here selected

  • See a folio, intituled, "The Muses welcome to King James."

36

Page 308

280

KING JOIN AND THE ABBOT OF CANTERBURY.

two, which (to show our impartiality) are

written in his best and his worst manner.

The first would not dishonour any writer of

that time; the second is a most complete ex-

ample of the Bathos.

A SONNET ADDRESSED BY KING JAMES TO HIS SON

PRINCE HENRY.

From King James's Works in folio : where

is also printed another called his Majesty's

" own Sonnet;" it would perhaps be too cruel

to infer from thence that this was not his

Majesty's own sonnet.

God gives not kings the stile of Gods in vaine,

For on his throne his scepter do they sway:

And as their subjects ought them to obey,

So kings should feare and serve their God

againe.

If then ye would enjoy a happie reigne,

Observe the statutes of our heavenly King;

And from his law make all your laws to

spring;

Since his lieutenant here ye should remaine.

Rewarde the just, be stedfast, true, and

plaine;

Represse the proud, maintayning aye the

right;

Walke always so, as ever in His sight,

Who guardes the godly, plaguing the pro-

phane.

And so ye shall in princely vertues shine,

Resembling right your mightie King divine.

A SONNET OCCASIONED BY THE BAD WEATHER

WHICH HINDERED THE SPORTS AT NEW-

MARKET, IN JANUARY, 1616.

This is printed from Drummond of Haw-

thornden's Works, folio: where also may be

seen some verses of Lord Stirling's upon this

sonnet, which concludes with the finest Anti-

climax I remember to have seen.

How cruelly these catives do conspire!

What loathsome love breeds such a baleful

band

Betwixt the cankered King of Creta land,*

That melancholy old and angry sire,

And him, who wont to quench debate and

iro

Among the Romans, when his ports were

olos'd?†

But now his double face is still dispos'd,

With Saturn's help, to freeze us at the fire.

The earth ore-covered with a shoet of snow,

Refuses food to fowl, to bird, and beast:

The chilling cold lets every thing to grow,

And surfeits cattle with a starving fenst.

Curst be that love and mought‡ continue

short,

Which kills all creatures, and doth spoil

our sport.

VI.

King gofn and the gbbot of Canterburp.

The common popular ballad of "King

John and the Abbot" seems to have been

abridged and modernized about the time of

James I., from one much older, entitled,

" King John and the Bishop of Canterbury."

The Editor's folio MS. contains a copy of this

last, but in too corrupt a state to be reprinted;

it however afforded many lines worth reviv-

ing, which will be found inserted in the ensu-

ing stanzas.

The archness of the following questions

and answers hath been much admired by our

old ballad-makers; for besides the two copies

above mentioned, there is extant another bal-

lad on the same subject (but of no great anti-

quity or merit), entitled, "King Olfrey and the

Abbot."§ Lastly, about the time of the civil

wars, when the cry ran against the bishops,

some puritan worked up the same story into

  • Saturn. ‡ Janus. † i. e. may it.

§ See the collection of Historical Ballads. 3 vols. 1727

Mr. Wilso supposes Olfrey to be a corruptioñ of Alfred, in

his pamphlet concerning the White Horse in Berkshire,

6, 15.

Page 309

KING JOIN AND THE ABBOT OF CANTERBURY.

281

a very doleful ditty, to a solemn tune, concerning "King Henry and a Bishop;" with this stinging moral :

"Unlearned men hard matters out can find,

When learned bishops princes eyes do blind."

The following is chiefly printed from an ancient black-letter copy, to "The tune of Derry down."

An ancient story Ile tell you anon

Of a notable prince, that was called King John ;

And he ruled England with maine and with might,

For he did great wrong, and maintein'd little right.

And Ile tell you a story, a story so merrye,

Concerning the Abbot of Canterbùrye ;

How for his house-keeping, and high renowne,

They rode poste for him to fair London towne.

An hundred men, the king did heare say,

The abbot kept in his house every day ;

And fifty golde chaynes, without any doubt,

In velvet coates waited the abbot about.

How now, father abbot, I heare it of thee,

Thou keepest a farre better house than mee,

And for thy house-keeping and high re- ownowne,

I feare thou work'st treason against my crown.

My liege, quo' the abbot, I would it were knowne,

I never spend nothing, but what is my owne ;

And I trust, your grace will doe me no deere,

For spending of my owne true-gotten geere.

Yes, yes, father abbot, thy fault it is highe,

And now for the same thou needest must dye ;

For except thou canst answer me questions three,

Thy head shall be smitten from thy bodle.

And first, quo' the king, when I'm in this stead,

With my crowne of golde so faire on my head,

Among all my liege-men so noble of birthe,

Thou must tell me to one penny what I am worthe.

Secondlye, tell me, without any doubt,

How soone I may ride the whole world about.

And at the third question thou must not shrink,

But tell me here truly what I do think.

O, these are hard questions for my shallow witt,

Nor I cannot answer your grace as yet :

But if you will give me but three weekes space,

Ile do my endeavour to answer your grace.

Now three weeks space to thee will I give,

And that is the longest thou hast to live ;

For if thou dost not answer my questions three,

Thy lands and thy livings are forfeit to mee.

Away rode the abbot all sad at that word,

And he rode to Cambridge, and Oxenford ;

But never a doctor there was so wise,

That could with his learning an answer devise.

Then home rode the abbot of comfort so cold,

And he mett his shepherd a going to fold :

How now, my lord abbot, you are welcome home ;

What newes do you bring us from good King John?

"Sad newes, sad newes, shepheard, I must give ;

That I have but three days more to live :

For if I do not answer him questions three,

My head will be smitten from my bodle.

The first is to tell him there in that stead,

With his crowne of golde so fair on his head,

Among all his liege men so noble of birth,

To within one penny of what he is worth.

The seconde, to tell him, without any doubt,

How soone he may ride this whole world about :

And at the third question I must not shrinke,

But tell him there truly what he does thinke."

Page 310

282

KING JOHN AND THE ABBOT OF CANTERBURY.

Now cheare up, sire abbot, did you never

hear yet,

That a fool he may learne a wise man witt?

Lend me horse, and serving men, and your

apparerl,

And Ile ride to London to answer your quar-

rel.

Nay frowne not, if it hath bin told unto mee,

I am like your lordship, as ever may bee:

And if you will but lend me your gowne,

There is none shall knowe us in fair London

towne.

Now horses, and serving-men thou shalt have,

With sumptuous array most gallant and

brave;

With crozier, and mitre, and rochet, and

cope,

Fit to appear 'fore our fader the pope.

Now welcome, sire abbot, the king he did say,

'Tis well thou'rt come back to keepe thy day;

For and if thou canst answer my questions

three,

Thy life and thy living both saved shall bee.

And first, when thou seest me here in this stead,

With my crowne of goldle so fair on my head,

Among all my liege-men so noble of birthe,

Tell me to one penny what I am worth.

"For thirty pence our Saivour was sold

Among the false Jewes, as I have bin told :

And twenty-nine is the worth of thee,

For I thinke, thou art one penny worser than

hee."

The king he laugheled, and swore by St. Bittel,*

I did not think I had been worth so littel!

-Now secondly tell me, without any doubt,

How soone I may ride this whole world about.

"You must rise with the sun, and ride with

the same,

Until the next morning he riseth again;

And then your grace need not make any

doubt,

But in twenty-four hours you'll ride it about."

The king he laughed, and swore by St. Jone,

I did not think, it could be gone so soone!

-Now from the third question thou must not

shrinke,

But tell me here truly what I do thinke.

"Yea, that shall I do, and make your grace

merry;

You thinke I'm the abbot of Canterbury;

But I'm his poor shepheard, as plain you may

see,

That am come to beg pardon for him and for

mee."

The king he laughed, and swore by the masse,

Ile make thee lord abbot this day in his place!

"Now naye, my liege, be not in such speede,

For alacke I can neither write, ne reade."

Four nobles a week, then I will give thee,

For this merry jest thou hast showne unto

mee;

And tell the old abbot when thou comest

home,

Thou has brought him a pardon from good

King John.

  • Meaning probably St. Botolph.

Page 311

THE OLD AND YOUNG COURTLIER.

283

VII.

You Meaner Beauties.

This little sonnet was written by Sir Henry Wotton, knight, on that amiable princess, Elizabeth daughter of James I. and wife of the Elector Palatine, who was chosen King of Bohemia, Sept. 5, 1619. The consequences of this fatal election are well known: Sir Henry Wotton, who in that and the following year was employed in several embassies in Germany on behalf of this unfortunate lady, seems to have had an uncommon attachment to her merit and fortunes, for he gave away a jewel worth a thousand pounds, that was presented to him by the emperor, "because it came from an enemy to his royal mistress the queen of Bohemia." See Biog. Britan.

This song is printed from the Reliquiae Wottonianae, 1651, with some corrections from an old MS. copy.

You meaner beauties of the night,

That poorly satisfie our cies

More by your number, than your light;

You common people of the skies,

What are you when the moon shall rise? 5

Ye violets that first appear,

By your pure purple mantles known,

Like the proud virgins of the yeare,

As if the spring were all your own;

What are you when the rose is blown? 10

Ye curious chaunters of the wood,

That warble forth dame Nature's layes,

Thinking your passions understood

By your weak accents: what's your praise,

When Philomell her voyce shall raise? 15

So when my mistris shall be scene

In sweetnese of her looks and minde;

By virtue first, then choyce a queen;

Tell me, if she was not design'd

Th' eclypse and glory of her kind? 20

VIII.

The Old and Young Courtier.

This excellent old song, the subject of which is a comparison between the manners of the old gentry, as still subsisting in the times of Elizabeth, and the modern refinements affected by their sons in the reigns of her successors, is given, with corrections, from an ancient black-letter copy in the Pepys collection, compared with another printed among some miscellancous "poems and songs" in a book entitled, "Le Prince d'Amour," 1660, 8vo.

An old song made by an aged old pate,

Of an old worshipful gentleman, who had a great estate,

That kept a brave old house at a bountiful rate,

And an old porter to relieve the poor at his gate;

Like an old courtier of the queen's,

And the queen's old courtier.

With an old lady, whose anger one word

asswages;

They every quarter paid their old servants

their wages,

And never knew what belong'd to coachmen, nor pages,

But kept twenty old fellows with blue coats

and badges;

Like an old courtier, &c.

Page 312

284

THE OLD AND YOUNG COURTIER.

With an old study fill'd full of learned old books,

With an old reverend chaplain, you might know him by his looks,

With an old buttery hatch worn quite off the hooks,

And an old kitchen, that maintain'd half a dozen old cooks.

Like an old courtier, &c.

Like a flourishing young gallant, newly come to his land,

Who keeps a brace of painted madams at his command,

And takes up a thousand pound upon his father's land,

And gets drunk in a tavern, till he can neither go nor stand;

Like a young courtier, &c.

With an old hall, hung about with pikes, guns, and bows,

With old swords, and bucklers, that had borne many shrewde blows,

And an old frize coat, to cover his worship's trunk hose,

And a cup of old sherry, to comfort his copper nose;

Like an old courtier, &c.

With a new-fangled lady, that is dainty, nice, and spare,

Who never knew what belonged to good house-keeping, or care,

Who buys gaudy-colored fans to play with wanton air,

And seven or eight different dressings of other women's hair;

Like a young courtier, &c.

With a good old fashion, when Christmasse was come,

To call in all his old neighbours with bagpipe and drum,

With good cheer enough to furnish every old room,

And old liquor able to make a cat speak, and man dumb.

Like an old courtier, &c.

With a new-fashion'd hall, built where the old one stood,

Hung round with new pictures, that do the poor no good,

With a fine marble chimney, wherein burns neither coal nor wood,

And a new smooth shovelboard, whereon no victuals ne'er stood;

Like a young courtier, &c.

With an old falconer, huntsman, and a kennel of hounds,

That never hawked, nor hunted, but in his own grounds,

Who, like a wise man, kept himself within his own bounds,

And when he dyed gave every child a thousand good pounds;

Like an old courtier, &c.

With a new study, stuft full of pamphlets, and plays,

And a new chaplain, that swears faster than he prays,

With a new buttery hatch, that opens once in four or five days,

And a new French cook, to devise fine kick-shaws, and toys;

Like a young courtier, &c.

But to his eldest son his house and land he assign'd,

Charging him in his will to keep the old bountifull mind,

To be good to his old tenants, and to his neighbours be kind.

But in the ensuing dirty you shall hear how he was inclin'd;

Like a young courtier of the king's,

And the king's young courtier.

With a new fashion, when Christmas is drawing on,

On a new journey to London straight we all must begone,

And leave none to keep house, but our new porter John,

Who relieves the poor with a thump on the back with a stone;

Like a young courtier, &c.

Page 313

SIR JOHN SUCKLING'S CAMPAIGNE.

285

With a new gentleman-usher, whose carriage

is compleat,

With a new coachman, footmen, and pages to

carry up the meat.

With a waiting-gentlewoman, whose dressing

is very neat,

Who when her lady has din'd, lets the servants

not eat;

Like a young courtier, &c.

With new titles of honour bought with his

father's old gold,

For which sundry of his ancestors old manors

are sold;

And this is the course most of our new gal-

lants hold,

Which makes that good house-keeping is now

grown so cold,

Among the young courtiers of the king,

Or the king's young courtiers. **

IX.

Sir John Suckling's Campaigne.

When the Scottish Covenanters rose up in

arms, and advanced to the English borders in

1639, many of the courtiers complimented

the king by raising forces at their own ex-

pense. Among these none were more distin-

guished than the gallant Sir John Suckling,

who raised a troop of horse, so richly accou-

trel, that it cost him 12,000l. The like ex-

pensive equipment of other parts of the

army, made the king remark, that "the Scots

would fight stoutly, if it were but for the

Englishmen's fine cloath's." [Lloyd's Me-

moirs.] When they came to action, the rug-

ged Scots proved more than a match for the

fine showy English: many of whom behaved

remarkably ill, and among the rest this spleen-

did troop of Sir John Suckling's.

This humorous pasquil has been generally

supposed to have been written by Sir John,

as a banter upon himself. Some of his con-

temporaries, however, attributed it to Sir

John Mennis, a wit of those times, among

whose poems it is printed in a small poetical

miscellany, entitled, "Musarum deliciæ: or

the Muses recreation, containing several

pieces of poetique wit, 2d edition.—By Sir J.

M. [Sir John Mennis] and Ja. S. [James

Smith]. London, 1656, 12mo."—[See Wood's

Athenæ, II., 397, 418.] In that copy is sub-

joined an additional stanza, which probably

was written by this Sir John Mennis, viz.:

"But now there is peace, he's return'd to

increase

His money, which lately he spent-a,

But his lost honour must lye still in the

dust;

At Barwick away it went-a."

Sir John he got him an ambling nag,

To Scotland for to ride-a,

With a hundred horse more, all his own he

swore,

To guard him on every side-a.

No Errant-knight ever went to fight

5

With halfe so gay a bravada,

Had you seen but his look, you'd have sworn

on a book,

Hee'd have conquer'd a whole armada.

The ladies ran all to the windows to see

So gallant and warlike a sight-a,

And as he pass'd by, they said with a sigh,

Sir John, why will you go fight-a?

But he, like a cruel knight, spurr'd on;

His heart would not relent-a,

For, till he came there, what had he to fear?

Or why should he repent-a?

15

The king (God bless him!) had singular

hopes

Of him and all his troop-a:

The borderers they, as they met him on the

way,

For joy did hollow, and whoop-a.

20

Page 314

286

TO ALTHEA FROM PRISON.

None lik'd him so well, as his own colonell,

Who took him for John de Wert-a;

But when there were shows of gunning and

blows,

My gallant was nothing so pert-a.

For when the Scots army came within sight,

And all prepared to fight-a,

He ran to his tent, they ask'd what he meant,

He swore he must needs go sh*te-a.

The colonell sent for him back agen,

To quarter him in the van-a,

But Sir John did swear, he would not come there,

To be kill'd the very first man-a.

To cure his fear, he was sent to the reare,

Some ten miles back, and more-a;

Where Sir John did play at trip and away,

And ne'er saw the enemy more-a.

X.

To Althea from Prison.

This excellent sonnet, which possessed a

high degree of fame among the old cavaliers,

was written by Colonel Richard Lovelace,

during his confinement in the gate-house

Westminster : to which he was committed by

the House of Commons, in April, 1642, for

presenting a petition from the county of

Kent, requesting them to restore the king to

his rights, and to settle the government. See

Wood's Athenæ, Vol. II., p. 228, and Lysons's

Environs of London, Vol. I., p. 109; where

may be seen at large the affecting story of

this elegant writer, who after having been

distinguished for every gallant and polite accomplishment,

the pattern of his own sex,

and the darling of the ladies, died in the lowest

wretchedness, obscurity, and want, in

This song is printed from a scarce volume

of his poems entitled, "Lucasta, 1649, 12mo.,"

collated with a copy in the Editor's folio MS.

When love with unconfined wings

Hovers within my gates,

And my divine Althea brings

To whisper at my grates;

When I lye tangled in her haire;

And fetter'd with her eye,

The birds that wanton in the aire,

Know no such libertye.

When flowing cups run swiftly round

With no allaying Thames,

Our carcloss hands with roses crown'd,

Our hearts with loyal flames;

When thirsty grief in wine we steep,

When healths and draughts goe free,

Fishs, that tipple in the deepe,

Know no such libertie.

When, linnet-like, confined I

With shriller note shall sing

The mercy, sweetness, majestye,

And glories of my king;

When I shall voyce aloud how good

He is, how great should be,

Th' enlarged windes, that curle the flood,

Know no such libertie.

Stone walls doe not a prison make,

Nor iron barres a cage,

Mindes, innocent, and quiet, take

That for an hermitage:

If I have freedom in my love,

And in my soule am free,

Angels alone, that soare above,

Enjoy such libertie.

Ver. 22, John de Wert was a German general of great

reputation, and the terror of the French in the reign of

Loms XIII. Hence his name became proverbial in France,

where he was called De Vert. See Bayle's Dictionary.

Ver. 10, with woe-allaying themes, MS. Thames is used

for water in general.

Page 315

THE DOWNFALL OF CHARING-CROSS.

287

XI.

The Downfall of Charing-Cross.

Charing-Cross, as it stood before the civil wars, was one of those beautiful Gothic obelisks erected to conjugal affection by Edward I., who built such a one wheresoever the hearse of his belovèd Eleanor rested in its way from Lincolnshire to Westminster. But neither its ornamental situation, the beauty of its structure, nor the noble design of its erection (which did honour to humanity), could preserve it from the merciless zeal of the times: For, in 1647, it was demolished by order of the House of Commons, as popish and superstitious. This occasioned the following not unhumorous sarcasm which has been often printed among the popular sonnets of those times.

The plot referred to in verse 17, was that entered into by Mr. Waller the poet, and others, with a view to reduce the city and tower to the service of the king; for which two of them, Nathaniel Tomkins and Richard Chaloner, suffered death, July 5, 1643. Vid. Athen. Ox. II. 24.

Undone, undone the lawyers are,

They wander about the towne,

Nor can find the way to Westminster,

Now Charing-cross is downe :

At the end of the Strand, they make a stand,

Swearing they are at a loss,

And chaming say, that's not the way,

They must go by Charing-cross.

The parliament to vote it down

Conceivèd it very fitting,

For fear it should fall, and kill them all,

In the house, as they were sitting.

They were told, god-wot, it had a plot,

Which made them so hard-hearted,

To give command, it should not stand,

But be taken down and carted.

Men talk of plots, this might have been worse

For anything I know,

Than that Tomkins, and Chaloner

Were hang'd for long agoe.

Our parliament did that prevent,

And wisely them defended,

For plots they will discover still

Before they were intended.

But neither man, woman, nor child,

Will say, I'm confident,

They e'er heard it speak one word

Against the parliament.

An informer swore, it letters bore,

Or else it had been freed ;

I'll take, in troth, my Bible oath,

It could neither write, nor read.

The committee said, that verily

To popery it was bent;

For ought I know it might be so,

For to church it never went.

What with excise, and such device,

The kingdom doth begin

To think you'll leave them ne'or a cross,

Without doors nor within.

Methinks the common-council shou'd

Of it have taken pity,

'Cause, good old cross, it always stood

So firmly to the city.

Since crosses you so much disdain,

Faith, if I were as you,

For feare the king should rule again,

I'd pull down Tyburn too.

    • Whitlocke says, "May 3, 1643, Cheap-side-cross and other crosses were voted down," &c.—But this vote was not put in execution with regard to "Charing-Cross," till four years after, as appears from Lilly's Observations on the Life, &c., of King Charles, viz., "Charing-Cross, we know, was pulled down, 1647, in June, July, and August. Part of the stones were converted to pave before Whitehall. I have seen knife-hafts made of some of the stones, which, being well polish'd, looked like marble." Ed. 1715, p. 18, 12mo.

See an account of the pulling down Cheap-side Cross, in the Supplement to Gent. Mag. 1764.

Page 316

288

LOYALTY CONFINED.

XII.

Loyalty Confined.

This excellent old song is preserved in David Lloyd's "Memoirés of those that suffered

in the cause of Charles I." London, 1668,

fol. p. 96. He speaks of it as the composition of a worthy personage, who suffered

deeply in those times, and was still living

with no other reward than the conscience of

having suffered. The author's name he has

not mentioned, but, if tradition may be credited,

this song was written by Sir Roger

L'Estrange.—Some mistakes in Lloyd's copy

are corrected by two others, one in MS., the

other in the "Westminster Drollery, or a

choice Collection of Songs and Poems, 1671,"

12mo.

BEAT on, proud billows; Boreas blow;

Swell, curled waves, high as Jove's roof;

Your incivility doth show,

That innocence is tempest proof;

Though surly Nereus frown, my thoughts

are calm;

Then strike, Affliction, for thy wounds are

balm.

That which the world miscalls a jail,

A private closet is to me:

Whilst a good conscience is my bail,

And innocence my liberty:

Looks, bars, and solitude, together met,

Make me no prisoner, but an anchorite.

I, whilst I wish't to be retir'd,

Into this private room was turn'd;

As if their wisdoms had conspir'd

The salamander should be burn'd:

Or like those sophists, that would drown a

fish,

I am constrain'd to suffer what I wish.

The cynick loves his poverty;

The pelican her wilderness;

And 'tis the Indian's pride to be

Naked on frozen Caucasus:

Contentment cannot smart, Stoicks we see

Make torments easie to their apathy.

These manacles upon my arm

I, as my mistress' favours, wear;

And for to keep my ancles warm,

I have some iron shackles there:

These walls are but my garrison; this cell,

Which men call jail, doth prove my citadel.

I'm in the cabinet lockt up,

Like some high-prized margarite,

Or, like the great mogul or pope,

Am cloyster'd up from publick sight:

Retiredness is a piece of majesty,

And thus, proud sultan, I'm as great as thee.

Here sin for want of food must starve,

Where tempting objects are not seen!

And these strong walls do only serve

To keep vice out, and keep me in:

Malice of late's grown charitable sure,

I'm not committed, but am kept secure.

So he that struck at Jason's life,*

Thinking t' have made his purpose sure,

By a malicious friendly knifo

Did only wound him to a cure:

Malice, I see, wants wit; for what is meant

Mischief, oft-times proves favour by th' event.

When once my prince affliction hath,

Prosperity doth treason seem;

And to make smooth so rough a path,

I can learn patience from him:

Now not to suffer shews no loyal heart,

When kings want ease subjects must bear a

part.

What though I cannot see my king

Neither in person nor in coin;

Yet contemplation is a thing

That renders what I have, not, mine:

My king from me what adamant can part,

Whom I do wear engraven on my heart!

Have you not seen the nightingale,

A prisoner like, coopt in a cage,

How doth she chaunt her wonted tale,

In that her narrow hermitage!

Even then her charming melody doth prove,

That all her bars are trees, her cage a grove.

  • See this remarkable story in Cicero de Nat. Deorum,

lib. 3, c. 28. Cic. de Offc. Lib. I. c. 30; see also Val. Max.

1, 8.

Page 317

VERSES BY KING CHARLES I.

289

I am that bird, whom they combine

Thus to deprive of liberty;

But though they do my corps confine,

Yet maugre hate, my soul is free: 70

And though immur'd, yet can I chirp, and sing

Disgrace to rebels, glory to my king.

My soul is free, as ambient air,

Althouh my baser part's immew'd,

Whilst loyal thoughts do still repair

T' accompany my solitude: 75

Although rebellion do my body binde,

My king alone can captivate my minde.

XIII.

Verses by King Charles I.

"This prince, like his father, did not confine himself to prose : Bishop Burnet has

given us a pathetic elegy, said to be written

by Charles in Carisbrook castle [in 1648].

The poetry is most uncouth and unharmo-

nious, but there are strong thoughts in it,

some good sense, and a strain of majestic

piety." Mr. Walpole's Royal and Noble Au-

thors, vol. I.

It is in his "Memoirs of the Duke of Hamiliton," p. 379, that Burnet hath preserved

this elegy, which he tells us he had from a

gentleman who waited on the king at the

time it was written, and copied it out from

the original. It is there entitled, "Majesty

in Misery : or an Imploration to the King

of Kings."

Hume hath remarked of these stanzas,

"that the truth of the sentiment, rather than

the elegance of the expression, renders them

very pathetic." See his History, 1763, 4to.

Vol V. pp. 417, 422, which is no bad com-

ment upon them.—These are almost the only

verses known of Charles's composition. In-

deed a little poem "On a Quite Conscience,"

printed in the Poetical Calender, 1763, vol.

VIII., is attributed to King Charles I. ; be-

ing reprinted from a thin 8vo., published by

Nahum Tate, called "Miscellanea Sacra, or

Poems on Divine and Moral Subjects."

Great monarch of the world, from whose

power springs

The potency and power of kings,

Record the royal woe my suffering sings;

And teach my tongue, that ever did confine

Its faculties in truth's seraphick line, 5

To track the treasons of thy foes and mine.

Nature and law, by thy divine decree,

(The only rout of righteous royaltie)

With this dim diadem invested me :

With it, the sacred scepter, purple robe, 10

The holy unction, and the royal globe:

Yet am I levell'd with the life of Job.

The fiercest furies, that do daily trend

Upon my grief, my grey discrowned head,

Are those that owe my bounty for their brea l.

They raise a war, and christen it the cause, 16

While sacrilegious hands have best applause,

Plunder and murder are the kingdom's laws :

Tyranny bears the title of taxation,

Revenge and robbery are reformation, 20

Oppression gains the name of sequestration.

My loyal subjects, who in this bad season

Attend me (by the law of Gud and reason),

They dare impeach and punish for high trea-

son.

Next at the clergy do their furies frown, 25

Pious episcopacy must go down,

They will destroy the crosier and the crown.

Churchmen are chain'd, and schismaticks are

freed,

Mechanicks preach, and holy fathers bleed,

The crown is crucified with the creed. 30

The church of England doth all factions fos-

ter,

The pulpit is usurpt by each impostor,

Extempore excludes the Paternoster.

The Presbyter, and Independent seed

Springs with broad blades. To make religion

blaed

Herod and Pontius Pilate are agreed. 36

Page 318

290

THE SALE OF REBELLIOUS HOUSEHOLD-STUFF.

The corner stone's misplac'd by every pa-

vier :

With such a bloody method and behaviour

Their ancestors did crucifie our Saviour.

My royal consort, from whose fruitfull womb

So many princes legally have come,

Is forc'd in pilgrimage to seek a tomb.

Great Britain's heir is forc'd into France,

Whilst on his father's head his foes advance :

Poor child ! he weeps out his inheritance.

With my own power my majesty they wound,

In the king's name the king himself's un-

crown'd;

So doth the dust destroy the diamond.

With propositions daily they enchant

My people's ears, such as do reason daunt,

And the Almighty will not let me grant.

They promise to erect my royal stem,

To make me great, t' advance my diadem,

If I will first fall down, and worship them !

But refus'd they devour my thrones,

Distress my children, and destroy my bones;

I fear they'll force me to make bread of

stones.

My life they prize at such a slender rate,

That in my absence they draw bills of hate,

To prove the king a traytor to the state.

Felons obtain more privilege than I,

They are allowed to answer ere they die;

'Tis death for me to ask the reason, why.

But sacred Saviour, with thy words I woo

Thee to forgive, and not be bitter to

Such, as thou know'st do not know what

they do.

For since they from their lord are so disjointed,

As to contemn those edicts he appointed,

How can they prize the power of his anointed ?

Augment my patience, nullific my hate,

Preserve my issue, and inspire my mate;

Yet, though we perish, bless this church and

state.

XIV.

The Sale of Rebellious Household-Stuff.

This sarcastic exultation of triumphaut

loyalty is printed from an old black-letter

copy in the Pepys collection, corrected by

two others, one of which is preserved in “ A

choice collection of 120 loyal songs, &c.” 1684,

12mo.—To the tune of Old Simon the king.

Rebellion hath broken up house,

And hath left me old lumber to sell;

Come hither, and take your choice,

I'll promise to use you well;

Will you buy the old speaker's chair ?

Which was warm and easie to sit in,

And oft hath been clean'd I declare,

When as it was fouler than fitting.

Says old Simon the king, &c.

Will you buy any bacon-flitches,

The fattest, that ever were spent ?

They're the sides of the old committees,

Fed up in the long parliament.

Here's a pair of bellows, and tongs,

And for a small matter I'll sell ye 'um;

They are made of the presbyters lungs,

To blow up the coals of rebellion.

Says old Simon, &c.

I had thought to have given them once

To some black-smith for his forge;

But now I have considered on't,

They are consecrate to the church :

So I'll give them unto some quire,

They will make the big organs roar,

And the little pipes to squeeke higher

Than ever they could before.

Says old Simon, &c.

Page 319

THE SALE OF REBELLIOUS HOUSEHOLD-STUFF.

Here's a couple of stools for sale,

One's square, and t'other is round;

Betwixt them both the tail

Of the Rump fell down to the ground.

Will you buy the states council-table,

Which was made of the good wain Scot?

The frame was a tottering Babel

To uphold the Independent plot.

Says old Simon, &c.

Here's the beesome of Reformation,

Which should have made clean the floor,

But it swept the wealth out of the nation,

And left us dirt good store.

Will you buy the states spinning-wheel,

Which spun for the roper's trade?

But better it had stood still,

For now it has spun a fair thread.

Says old Simon, &c.

Here's a glyster-pipe well try'd,

Which was made of a butcher's stump,*

And has been safely apply'd,

To cure the colds of the rump.

Here's a lump of Pilgrimin's-Salve,

Which once was a justice of peace,

Who Noll and the Devil did serve;

But now it is come to this.

Says old Simon, &c.

Here's a roll of the states tobacco,

If any good fellow will take it;

No Virginian had c'er such a smack-o,

And I'll tell you how thoy did make it:

'Tis th' Engagement, and Covenant cookt

Up with the Abjuration oath;

And many of them, that have tookt,

Complain it was foul in the mouth.

Says old Simon, &c.

Yet the ashes may happily serve

To cure the scab of the nation,

Whene'or 't has an itch to swerve

To Rebellion by innovation.

A Lanthorn here is to be bought,

The like was scarce ever gotten,

For many plots it has found out

Before they ever were thought on.

Says old Simon, &c.

Will you buy the Rump's great saddle,

With which it jockey'd the nation?

And here is the bit, and the bridle,

And curb of Dissimulation:

And here's the trunk-hose of the Rump,

And their fair dissembling cloak,

And a Presbyterian jump,

With an Independent smock,

Says old Simon, &c.

Will you buy a Conscience oft turn'd,

Which serv'd the high-court of justice,

And stretch'd until England it mourn'd:

But hell will buy that if the worst is.

Here's Joan Cromwell's kitching-stuff tub,

Wherein is the fat of the Rumpers,

With which old Noll's horns she did rub,

When he was got drunk with false bumpers.

Says old Simon, &c.

Here's the purse of the public faith;

Here's the model of the Sequestration,

When the old wives upon their good troth,

Lent thimbles to ruine the nation.

Here's Dick Cromwell's Protectorhip,

And here are Lambert's commissions,

And here is Hugh Peters his scrip

Cramm'd with the tumultuous petitions.

Says old Simon, &c.

And here are old Noll's brewing vessels,

And here are his dray, and his slings;

Here are Hewson's awl, and his bristles;

With diverse other odd things:

And what is the price doth belong

To all these matters before ye?

I'll sell them all for an old song,

And so I do end my story.

Says old Simon, &c.

  • Alluding probably to Major-General Harrison, a butcher's son, who assisted Cromwell in turning out the Long Parliament, April 20, 1653.

Ver. 80, This was a cant name given to Cromwell's wife by the Royalists, though her name was Elizabeth.

V. 100, 102, Cromwell had in his younger years followed the brewing trade at Huntingdon. Col. Hewson is said to have been originally a cobler.

Page 320

292

THE BAFFLED KNIGHT, OR LADY'S POLICY.

XV.

The Baffled Knight, or Lady's Policy.

GIVEN (with some corrections) from a MS.

copy, and collated with two printed ones in

Roman character in the Pepys collection.

THERE was a knight was drunk with wine,

A riding along the way, sir;

And there he met with a lady fine,

Among the cocks of hay, sir.

Shall you and I, O lady faire,

Among the grass lye down-a :

And I will have a special care

Of rumpling of your gowne-a.

Upon the grass there is a dewe,

Will spoil my damask gowne, sir :

My gowne and kirtle they are newe,

And cost me many a crowne, sir.

I have a cloak of scarlet red,

Upon the ground I'll throwe it;

Then, lady faire, come lay thy head ;

We'll play, and none shall knowe it.

O yonder stands my steed so free

Among the cocks of hay, sir;

And if the pinner should chance to see,

He'll take my steed away, sir.

Upon my finger I have a ring

Its made of finest gold-a,

And, lady, it thy steed shall bring

Out of the pinner's fould-a.

O go with me to my father's hall;

Fair chambers there are three, sir;

And you shall have the best of all,

And I'll your chamberlaine bee, sir.

He mounted himself on his steed so tall,

And her on her dapple gray, sir :

And there they ride to her father's hall,

Fast pricking along the way, sir.

To her father's hall they arrived strait;

She slipped herself within the gate,

And lockt the knight without-a.

Here is a silver penny to spend,

And take it for your pain, sir;

And two of my father's men I'll send

To wait upon you back again, sir.

He from his scabbard drew his brand,

And wiped it upon his sleeve-a !

And cursed, he said, be every man,

That will a maid believe-a !

She drew a bodkin from her haire,

And whip'd it upon her gown-a;

And cursed be every maiden faire,

That will with men lye down-a !

A herb there is, that lowly grows,

And some do call it rue, sir :

The smallest dunghill cock that crows,

Would make a capon of you, sir.

A flower there is, that shineth bright,

Some call it mary-gold-a :

He that would not when he might,

He shall not when he wold-a.

The knight was riding another day,

With cloak and hat and feather :

He met again with that lady gay,

Who was angling in the river.

Now, lady faire, I've met with you,

You shall no more escape me;

Remember, how not long agoe

You falsely did intrap me.

The lady blushed scarlet red,

And trembled at the stranger :

How shall I guard my maidenhead

From this approaching danger?

He from his saddle down did light,

In all his riche attyer;

And cryed, As I am a noble knight,

I do the charma admver.

Page 321

THE BAFFLED KNIGHT, OR LADY'S POLICY.

203

He took the lady by the hand,

Who seemingly consented;

And would no more disputing stand:

She had a plot invented.

75

Tooke yonder, good sir knight, I pray,

Methinks I now discover

A riding upon his dapple gray,

My former constant lover.

80

On tip-toe peering stood the knight,

Fast by the rivers brink-a;

The lady pusht with all her might:

Sir knight, now swim or sink-a.

O'er head and ears he plunged in,

The bottom faire he sounded;

Then rising up, he cried again,

Help, helpe, or else I'm drowned !

85

Now, fare-you-well, sir knight, adieu !

You see what comes of tooling:

That is the fittest place for you ;

Your courage wanted cooling.

90

Ere many days, in her fathers park,

Just at the close of eve-a;

Again she met with her angry sparke ;

Which made this lady grieve-a.

95

False lady, here thou'rt in my powre,

And no one now can hear thee :

And thou shalt sorely rue the hour,

That e'er thou dar'dst to jeer me.

100

I pray, sir knight, be not so warm

With a young silly maid-a:

I row and swear I thought no harm,

'Twas a gentle jest I playd-a.

A gentle jest, in soothe he cry'd,

To tumble me in and leav me !

What if I had in the river dy'd ?

That fetch will not deceive me.

Once more I'll pardon thee this day,

Tho' injured out of measure;

But thou prepare without delay

To yield thee to my pleasure.

Well then, if I must grant your suit,

Yet think of your boots and spurs, sir :

Let me pull off both spur and boot,

Or else you cannot stir, sir.

115

He set him down upon the grass,

And begg'd her kind assistance;

Now, smiling thought this lovely lass,

I'll make you keep your distance.

120

Then pulling off his boots half-way;

Sir knight, now I'm in your letters;

You shall not make of me your prey;

Sit there like a knave in fetters.

The knight, when she had served him soe,

He fretted, fum'd, and grumbled :

For he could neither stand nor goe,

But like a cripple tumbled.

126

Farewell, sir knight, the clock strikes ten,

Yet do not move nor stir, sir :

I'll send you my father's serving men,

To pull off your boots and spurs, sir.

130

This merry jest you must excuse,

You are but a stingless nettle :

You'd never have stood for boots or shoes,

Had you been a man of mettle.

136

All night in grievous rage he lay,

Rolling upon the plain-a;

Next morning a shepherd past that way,

Who set him right again-a.

140

Then mounting upon his steed so tall,

By hill and dale he swore-a:

I'll ride at once to her father's hall ;

She shall escape no more-a.

I'll take her father by the beard,

I'll challenge all her kindred ;

Each dastard soul shall stand affeard ;

My wrath shall no more be hindred.

145

He rode unto her father's house,

Which every side was mounted :

The lady heard his furious vows,

And all his vengeance noted.

Thought shee, sir knight, to quench your rage.

Once more I will endeavour :

This water shall your fury'swage,

Or else it shall burn for ever.

155

Then faining penitence and feare,

She did invite a parley :

Sir knight, if you'll forgive me heare,

Henceforth I'll love you dearly.

160

Page 322

204

OLD TOM OF BEDLAM.

My father he is now from home,

And I am all alone, sir :

'Therefore a-cross the water come;

And I am all your own, sir.

False maid, thou canst no more deceive; 165

I scorn the treacherous bait-a :

If thou would'st have me thee believe,

Now open me the gate-a.

The bridge is drawn, the gate is barr'd,

My father he has the keys, sir ;

170

But I have for my love prepar'd

A shorter way and easier.

Over the moate I'vo laid a plank

Full seventeen feet in measure;

Then step a-cross to the other bank,

175

And there we'll take our pleasure.

These words she had no sooner spoke,

But strait he came tripping over :

The plank was saw'd, it snapping broke;

And sons'd the unhappy lover.

180

XVI.

Why so Pale?

From Sir John Suckling's Poems. This

sprightly knight was born in 1613, and cut

off by a fever about the 29th year of his age.

See above, Song IX. of this book.

Why so pale and wan, fond lover?

Prithee, why so pale ?

Will, when looking well can't move her,

Looking ill prevail ?

Prithee why so pale ?

5

Why so dull and mute, young sinner?

Prithee, why so mute?

Will, when speaking well can't win her,

Saying nothing doe't?

Prithee why so mute?

10

Quit, quit for shame ; this will not move,

This cannot take her ;

If of herself she will not love

Nothing can make her,

The devil take her !

15

XVII.

Old Tom of Bedlam.

MAD SONG THE FIRST.

It is worth attention, that the English have

more songs and ballads on the subject of

madnes, than any of their neighbours. Whe-

ther there be any truth in the insinuation,

that we are more liable to this calamity than

other nations, or that our native gloominess

hath peculiarly recommended subjects of this

cast to our writers ; we certainly do not find

the same in the printed collections of French,

Italian Songs, &c.

Out of a much larger quantity, we have

selected half a dozen "Mad Songs" for this

work. The three first are originals in their

respective kinds; the merit of the three last

is chiefly that of imitation. They were writ-

ten at considerable intervals of time; but we

have here grouped them together, that the

reader may the better examine their compara-

tive merits. We may consider them as so

many trials of skill in a very peculiar sub-

ject, as the contest of so many rivals to shoot

in the bow of Ulysses. The two first were

probably written about the beginning of the

last century ; the third about the middle of

Page 323

it; the fourth and sixth towards the end; and

the fifth within the eighteenth century.

This is given from the Editor's folio MS.

compared with two or three old printed

copies.—With regard to the author of this old

rhapsody, in Walton's Complete Angler, cap.

3, is a song in praise of angling, which the

author says was made at his request "by Mr.

William Basse, one that has made the choice

songs of the 'Hunter in his Career,' and of

'Tom of Bedlam,' and many others of note,"

p.84. See Sir John Hawkins's curious edition,

8vo., of that excellent old book.

Forth from my sad and darksome cell,

Or from the deepe abyss of hell,

Mad Tom is come into the world againe

To see if he can cure his distempered braine.

Feare and cares oppresse my soule;

Marke, howe the angrye Fareys houle!

Pluto laughes, and Proserpine is gladd

To see poore naked Tom of Bedlam madd.

Through the world I wander night and day

To seeke my straggling senses,

In an angry moode I mett old Time,

With his pentarchye of tenses:

When me be spyed,

Away he hyd,

For time will stay for no man:

In vaine with cryes

I rent the skyes,

For pity is not common.

Cold and comfortless I lye:

Helpe, oh helpe! or else I dye!

Marke! I heare Apollo's teame,

The carman 'gins to whistle;

Chast Diana bends her bowe,

The boare begins to bristle.

Come, Vulcan, with tools and with tackles,

To knocke off my troublesome shackles;

Bid Charles make ready his waine

To fetch me my senses againe.

Last night I heard the dog-star bark;

Mars met Venus in the darke;

Limping Vulcan het an iron barr,

And furiouslye made at the gud of war:

Mars with his weapon laid about,

But Vulcan's temples had the gout,

For his broad horns did so hang in his light,

He could not see to aim his blows aright:

Mercurye, the nimble post of heaven,

Stood still to see the quarrell;

Gorrel-bellyed Bachus, gyant-like,

Bestryd a strong-beere barrell.

To mee he drank,

I did him thanke,

But I could get no cyder;

He drank whole butts

Till he burst his guts,

But mine were ne'er the wyder.

Poore naked Tom is very drye:

A little drinke for charitie!

Marke, I hear Acteon's horne!

The huntsmen whoop and hallow:

Ringwood, Royster, Bowman, Jowler,

All the chase do followe:

The man in the moone drinkes clarret,

Eates powder'd beef, turnip, and carret,

But a cup of old Malaga sack

Will fire the bushe at his backe.

Page 324

296

THE DISTRACTED PURITAN.

XVIII.

The Distracted Puritan,

MAD SONG THE SECOND,

—Was written about the beginning of the seventeenth century by the witty bishop Corbet, and is printed from the third edition of his poems, 12mo. 1672, compared with a more ancient copy in the Editor's folio MS.

Am I mad, O noble Festus,

When zeal and godly knowledge

Have put me in hope

To deal with the pope,

As well as the best in the college?

5

Boldly I preach, hate a cross, hate a surplice,

Mitres, copes, and rochets;

Come hear me pray nine times a day,

And fill your heads with crochets.

In the house of pure Emanuel*

I had my education

Where my friends surmise

I dazel'd my eyes

With the sight of revelation.

Boldly I preach, &c.

They bound me like a bedlam,

They lash'd my four poor quarters;

Whilst this I endure,

Faith makes me sure

To be one of Foxes martyrs.

Boldly I preach, &c.

These injuries I suffer

Through antichrist's perswasion:

Take off this chain,

Neither Rome nor Spain

Can resist my strong invasion,

Boldly I preach, &c.

Of the beast's ten horns (God bless us !)

I have knock'd off three already;

If they let me alone

I'll leave him none;

But they say I am too heady,

Boldly I preach, &c.

When I sack'd tho seven-hill'd city,

30

I met the great red dragon;

I kept him aloof

With the armour of proof,

Though here I have never a rag on.

Boldly I preach, &c.

With a fiery sword and target,

35

There fought I with this monster:

But the sons of prido

My zeal deride,

And all my deeds misconstrue.

Boldly I preach, &c.

I un-hors'd the Whore of Babel,

40

With the lance of Inspiration;

I made her stink,

And spill the drink

In her cup of abomination.

Boldly I preach, &c.

I have seen two in a vision

45

With a flying book* between them.

I have been in despair

Five times in a year,

And been cur'd by reading Greenham.†

Boldly I preach, &c.

I observ'd in Perkin's‡ tables

50

The black line of damnation;

Those crooked veins

So stuck in my brains,

That I fear'd my reprobation.

Boldly I preach, &c.

  • Alluding to some visionary exposition of Zech. ch. v. ver. 1; or, if the date of this song would permit, one might suppose it aimed at one Coppe, a strange enthusiast, whose life may be seen in Wood's Athen. vol. II., p. 501. He was author of a book, intituled, “The Fiery Flying Roll;” and afterwards published a Recantation, part of whose title is, “The Fiery Flying Roll's Wings clipt,” &c.

† See Greenham's Works, fol. 1605, particularly the tract intituled “A sweet Comfort for an Afflicted Conscience.”

‡ See Perkin's Works, fol. 1616, vol. I. p. 11; where is a large half sheet folded, containing “A survey, or table, declaring the order of the causes of salvation and damnation,” &c., the pedigree of damnation being distinguished by a broad black zig-zag line.

  • Emanuel College, Cambridge, was originally a seminary of Puritans.

Page 325

THE LUNATIC LOVER.

297

In the holy tongue of Canaan

I plac'd my chiefest pleasure :

'Till I prick'd my foot

With a Hebrew root,

That I bled beyond all measure.

Boldly I preach, &c.

I appear'd before the archbishop,*

And all the high commission ;

55

I gave him no grace,

But told him to his face,

That he favour'd superstition.

Boldly I preach, hate a cross, hate a sur-

plice,

Mitres, copes, and rochets :

Come hear me pray nine times a day,

And fill your heads with crotchets.

65

XIX.

The Lunatic Lover,

MAD SONG THE THIRD,

Grim king of the ghosts, make haste,

And bring hither all your train ;

See how the pale moon does waste,

And just now is in the wane.

Come, you night-hags, with all your charms,

And revelling witches away,

And hug me close in your arms;

To you my respects I'll pay.

6

I'll court you, and think you fair,

Since love does distract my brain :

I'll go, I'll wedd the night-mare,

And kiss her, and kiss her again :

But if she preve peevish and proud,

'Then, a pise on her love ! let her go;

I'll seek me a winding shroud,

And down to the shades below.

15

A lunacy sad I endure,

Since reason departs away ;

I call to those hags for a cure,

As knowing not what I say.

The beauty, whom I do adore,

Now slights me with scorn and disdain ;

I never shall see her more :

Ah ! how shall I bear my pain !

20

I ramble, and range about

To find out my charming saint;

While she at my grief does flout,

And smiles at my loud complaint.

25

Distraction I see is my doom,

Of this I am now too sure ;

A rival is got in my room,

While torments I do endure.

Strange fancies do fill my head,

While wandering in despair,

I am to the desarts lead,

Expecting to find her there.

35

Methinks in a spangled cloud

I see her enthroned on high;

Then to her I cry aloud,

And labour to reach the sky.

40

When thus I have raved awhile,

And wearyed myself in vain,

I lye on the barren soil,

And bitterly do complain.

'Till slumber hath quieted me,

In sorrow I sigh and weep;

The clouds are my canopy

To cover me while I sleep.

45

I dream that my charming fair

Is then in my rival's bed,

Whose tresses of golden hair

Are on the fair pillow bespread.

Then this doth my passion inflame,

I start, and no longer can lye :

Ah ! Sylvia, art thou not to blame

To ruin a lover ? I cry.

55

Grim king of the ghosts, be true,

And hurry me hence away,

My languishing life to you

A tribute I freely pay.

60

To the Elysian shades I post,

In hopes to be freed from care,

Where many a bleeding ghost

Is hovering in the air.

  • Abp. Laud.

Page 326

298

THE DISTRACTED LOVER.

XX

The Lady Distracted with Love,

MAD SONG THE FOURTH,

—Was originally sung in one of Tom D'Urfey's comedies of Don Quixote, acted in 1694, and 1696, and probably composed by himself. In the several stanzas, the author represents his pretty Mad-woman as, 1. sullenly mad, 2. mirthfully mad 3. melancholy mad 4 fantastically mad and, 5 stark mad. Both this and Num. XXII are printed from D'Urfey's "Pills to purge Melancholy" 1719, vol 1

From rosic bowers, where sleeps the god of love,

Hither ye little wanton cupids fly.

Teach me in soft melodious strains to move

With tender passion my heart's dailing joy:

Ah ! let the soul of musick tune my voice, 5

To win dear Strephon, who my soul enjoys.

Or, if more influencing

Is to be brisk and airy,

With a step and a bound,

With a frisk from the ground, 10

I'll trip like any fairy.

As once on Ida dancing

Were three celestial bodies:

With an air, and a fire,

And a shape, and a grace, 15

I'll charm, like beauty's goddess.

Ah ! 'tis in vain ! 'tis all, 'tis all in vain !

Death and despair must end the fatal pain

Cold, cold despair, disguis'd like snow and rain,

Falls on my breast; bleak winds in tempests blow, 20

My veins all shiver, and my fingers glow.

My pulse beats a dead march for lost repose,

And to a solid lump of ice my poor fond heart is froze.

O! say, ye pow'rs, my peace to crown,

Shall I thaw myself, and drown 25

Among the foaming billows?

Inceasing all with tears I shed,

On beds of ooze, and crystal pillows,

Lay down, lay down my lovesick head ?

No, no, I'll strain it run mad, mad, mad; 30

That soon my heart will warm;

When once the sense is fled, is fled,

Love has no power to charm,

Wild thro' the woods I'll fly, I'll fly,

Robes, locks—shall thus—be tore! 35

A thousand, thousand times I'll dye

Ere thus, thus in vain,—ere thus in vain adore.

XXI.

The Distracted Lover,

MAD SONG THE NINTH,

—Was written by Henry Carey, a celebrated composer of music in the beginning of the eighteenth century, and author of several little theatrical entertainments, which are ridiculed in my fault enumerated in the "Companion to the Play-house," & The sprightliness of this songster's fancy could not preserve him from a very melancholy catastrophe, which was effected by his own hand. In his Poems, 4to. Lond. 1729, may be seen another mad song of this author, beginning thus.

"Gods, I can never this endure,

Death alone must be my cure," &c.

Page 327

THE FRANTIC LADY.

209

I go to the Elysian shade,

Where sorrow ne'er shall wound me ;

Where nothing shall my rest invade,

But joy shall still surround me.

I fly from Celia's cold disdain,

From her disdain I fly ;

She is the cause of all my pain,

For her alone I die.

Her eyes are brighter than the mid-day sun,

When he but half his radiant course has run,

When his meridian glories gaily shine,

And gild all nature with a warmth divine.

See yonder river's flowing tide,

Which now so full appears ;

Those streams, that do so swiftly glide,

Are nothing but my tears.

There I have wept till I could weep no more,

And curst mine eyes, when they have wept

their store:

Then, like the clouds, that rob the azure main,

I've drain'd the flood to weep it back again.

Pity my pains,

Ye gentle swains !

Cover me with ice and snow,

I scorch, I burn, I flame, I glow !

Furies, tear me,

Quickly bear me

To the dismal shades below !

Where yelling, and howling,

And grumbling, and growling,

Strike the ear with horrid woe.

Hissing snakes,

Fiery lakes

Would be a pleasure, and a cure:

Not all the hells,

Where Pluto dwells,

Can give such pain as I endure.

To some peaceful plain convey me,

On a mossey carpet lay me,

Fan me with ambrosial breeze,

Let me die and so have ease !

XXII.

The Frantic Lady.

MAD SONG THE SIXTH.

Thus, like Number XX., was originally

sung in one of D'Urfey's Comedies of Don

Quixote (first acted about the year 1694), and

was probably composed by that popular song-

ster, who died Feb. 26, 1723.

This is printed in the "Three, a Collection

of Songs," 4 vols., 1721, 12mo., where may

be found two or three other mad songs not

admitted into these volumes.

I mutter, my brain consumes to ashes !

Fuch eye-ball too like lightning flashes !

Within my breast there glows a solid fire,

Which in a thousand ages can't expire !

Blow, blow, the winds great ruler !

Bring the Po, and the Ganges hither,

'Tis sultry weather ;

Pour them all on my soul,

It will hiss like a coal,

But be never the cooler.

'Twas pride hot as hell,

That first made me rebell,

From love's awful throne a curst angel I fell ;

And mourn now my fate,

Which myself did create:

Fool, fool, that consider'd not when I was well !

Adieu ! ye vain transporting joys !

Off ye vain fantastic toys !

That dress this face—this body—to

allure !

Bring me daggers, poison, fire !

Since scorn is turn'd into desire.

All hell feels not the rage, which I, poor I,

endure.

Page 328

300

LILLI BURLERO.

XXIII.

Lilli Burlcra.

The following rhymes, slight and insignifi-

cant as they may now seem, had once a more

powerful effect than either the Philippics of

Demosthenes or Cicero ; and contributed not

a little towards the great revolution in 1688.

Let us hear a contemporary writer.

"A foolish ballad was made at that time,

treating the Papists, and chiefly the Irish,

in a very ridiculous manner, which had a

burden said to be Irish words, 'Lero, lero,

liliburlero,' that made an impression on the

[king's] army, that cannot be imagined by

those that saw it not. The whole army, and

at last the people, both in city and country,

were singing it perpetually. And perhaps

never had so slight a thing so great an

effect."—Burnet.

It was written, or at least republished, on

the Earl of Tyrconnel's giving a second time

to Ireland in October, 1688. Perhaps it is

unnecessary to mention,that General Richard

Talbot, newly created Earl of Tyrconnel, had

been nominated by King James II. to the

lieutenancy of Ireland in 1686, on account

of his being a furions papist, who had recom-

mended himself to his bigoted master by his

arbitrary treatment of the protestants in the

preceding year, when only lieutenant-general,

and whose subseqnent conduct fully justified

his expectations and their fears. The vio-

lence of his administration may be seen in

any of the histories of those times: particu-

larly in Bishop King's "State of the Pro-

testants in Ireland," 1691, 4to.

Lilliburlero and Bullen-a-lah are said to

have been the words of distinction used

among the Irish Papists in their massacre

of the Protestants in 1641.

Ho ! brother Teague, dost hear de decree ?

Lilli burlero, bullen-a-la,

Dat we shall have a new deputie,

Lilli burlero, bullen a-la.

Lero lero, lilli burlero, lero lero, bullen

a-la,

Lero lero, lilli burlero, lero lero, bullen

a-la.

Ho ! by shaint Tyburn, it is de Talbote;

Lilli, &c.

And he will cut de Englishmen's throate.

Lilli, &c.

10

Dough by my shoul de English do praat,

Lilli, &c.

De law's on dare side, and Creish knows what.

Lilli, &c.

But if dispence do come from de pope,

Lilli, &c.

15

We'll hang Magna Charta and dem in a rope.

Lilli, &c.

For de good Talbot is made a lord,

Lilli, &c.

20

And with brave lads is coming aboard :

Lilli, &c.

Who all in France have taken a sware,

Lilli, &c.

Dat dey will have no protestant heir.

Lilli, &c.

25

Ara ! but why does he stay behind ?

Lilli, &c.

Ho ! by my shoul 'tis a protestant wind.

Lilli, &c.

30

But see de Tyrconnel is now come ashore,

Lilli, &c.

And we shall have commissions gilmore.

Lilli, &c.

And he dat will not go to de mass,

Lilli, &c.

35

Shall be turn out, and look like an ass.

Lilli, &c.

Now, now de hereticks all go down,

Lilli, &c.

40

By Chrish and shaint Patrick, de nation's

our own.

Lilli, &c.

Ver. 7, Ho by my shoul, al. ed.

Page 329

THE BRAES OF YARROW.

301

Dare was an old prophesy found in a bog,

Lilli, &c.

"Ireland shall be rul'd by an ass and a dog."

Lilli, &c.

46

And now dis prophesy is come to pass,

Lilli, &c.

For Talbot's de dog, and Ja

x"x

is de ass.

Lilli, &c.

    • The foregoing song is attributed to

Lord Wharton in a small pamphlet, entitled

"A true relation of the several facts and cir-

cumstances of the intended riot and tumult

on Queen Elizabeth's birth-day, &c.," third

edition, London, 1712, price 2d.—See p. 5,

viz., "A late Viceroy [of Ireland], who has

so often boasted himself upon his talent for

mischief, invention, lying, and for making a

certain Lilliburlero Song; with which, if you

will believe himself, he sung a deluded prince

out of three kingdoms."

XXIV.

The Braes of Yarrow,

IN IMITATION OF THE ANCIENT SCOTS MANNER,

Was written by William Hamilton, of

Bangour, Esq., who died March 25, 1754,

aged 50. It is printed from an elegant edi-

tion of his Poems, published at Edinburgh,

1760, 12mo. This song was written in imi-

tation of an old Scottish ballad on a similar

subject, with the same burden to each stanza.

A. Busk ye, busk ye, my bonny bonny bride,

Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome marrow,

Busk ye, busk ye, my bonny bonny bride,

And think nae mair on the Braes of Yarrow.

B. Where gat ye that bonny bonny bride? 5

Where gat ye that winsome marrow?

A. I gat her where I dare na weil be seen,

Puing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow.

Weep not, weep not, my bonny bonny bride,

Weep not, weep not, my winsome marrow;

Nor let thy heart lament to leave, 11

Puing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow.

B. Why does she weep, thy bonny bonny bride?

Why does she weep, thy winsome marrow?

And why dare ye nae mair weil be seen 15

Puing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow?

A. Lang maun she weep, lang maun she,

maun she weep,

Lang maun she weep with dule and sor-

row;

Ver. 43, What follows is not in some copies.

And lang maun I hae mair weil he seen 19

Puing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow.

For she has tint her luver, luver dear,

Her luver dear, the cause of sorrow;

And I hae slain the comliest swain,

That eir pu'd birks on the Braes of Yar-

row.

Why rins thy stream, O Yarrow, Yarrow,

reid? 25

Why on thy braes heard the voice of sor-

row?

And why yon melancholious weeds

Hung on the bonny birks of Yarrow?

What's yonder floats on the rueful rueful

flude? 29

What's yonder floats? O dule and sorrow!

O 'tis he the comely swain I slew

Upon the duleful Braes of Yarrow.

Wash, O wash his wounds, his wounds in

tears,

If his wounds in tears with dule and sorrow;

And wrap his limbs in mourning weeds, 35

And lay him on the Braes of Yarrow.

Then build, then build, ye sisters, sisters sad,

Ye sisters sad, his tomb with sorrow;

And weep around in wneful wise

His hapless fate on the Braes of Yarrow.

Page 330

302

THE BRAES OF YARROW.

Curse ye, curse ye, his useless, useless shield,

My arm that wrought the deed of sorrow,

The fatal spear that pierc'd his breast,

His comely breast on the Braes of Yarrow.

Did I not warn thee, not to, not to lure?

And warn from fight? but to my sorrow

Too rashly hauld a stronger arm

Thou mett'st, and fell'st on the Braes of

Yarrow.

Sweet smells the birk, green grows, green

grows the grass,

Yellow on Yarrow's bank the gowan,

Fair hangs the apple frae the rock,

Sweet the wave of Yarrow flowan.

Flows Yarrow sweet? as sweet, as sweet

flows Tweed,

As green its grass, its gowan as yellow,

As sweet smells on its braes the birk,

The apple frae its rocks as mellow.

Fair was thy luve, fair fair indeed thy luve,

In flow'ry bands thou didst him fetter;

Tho' he was fair, and weil beluv'd again

Than me he never luv'd thee better.

Busk ye, then busk, my bonny bonny bride,

Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome marrow,

Busk ye, and luve me on the banks of Tweed,

And think nae mair on the Braes of Yar-

row.

C. How can I busk a bonny bonny bride?

How can I busk a winsome marrow?

How hae him upon the banks of Tweed,

That slew my luve on the Braes of Yar-

row?

O Yarrow fields, may never never rain

Nor dew thy tender blossoms cover,

For there was basely slain my luve,

My luve, as he had not been a lover.

The boy put on his robes, his robes of green,

His purple vest, 'twas my own sewing:

Ah! wretched me! I little, little kenn'd

He was in these to meet his ruin.

The boy took out his milk-white, milk-white

steel,

Unheedful of my dale and sorrow:

But ere the toufall of the night

He lay a corps on the Braes of Yarrow.

Much I rejoice'd that waeful waeful day;

I sang, my voice the woods returning:

But lang o'er night the spear was flown,

That slew my luve, and left me mourning.

What can my barbarous barbarous father

do,

But with his cruel rage pursue me?

My luver's blood is on thy spear,

How canst thou, barbarous man, then woo

me?

My happy sisters may be, may be proud

With cruel and ungentle scoffin',

May bid me seck on Yarrow's Braes

My luver nailed in his coffin.

My brother Douglas may upbraid, upbraid,

And strive with threatning words to muve

me:

My luver's blood is on thy spear,

How canst thou ever bid me luve thee?

Yes, yes, prepare the bed, the bed of luve,

With bridal sheets my body cover,

Unbar, ye bridal maids, the door,

Let in the expected husband lover.

But who the expected husband husband is?

His hands, metbinks, are bath'd in slaugh-

ter:

Ah me! what ghastly spectre's yon

Comes in his pale shroud, bleeding after.

Pale as he is, here lay him, lay him down,

O lay his cold head on my pillow;

Take aff, take aff these bridal wo'ids,

And crown my careful head with willow.

Pale tho' thou art, yet best, yet best beluv'd,

O could my warmth to life restore thee!

Yet lye all night between my breists,

No youth lay ever there before thee.

Pale, pale indeed, O luvly luvly youth!

Forgive, forgive so foul a slaughter:

And lye all night between my briests;

No youth shall ever lye there after.

A. Return, return, O mournful mournful

bride,

Return, and dry thy useless sorrow:

Thy luv'r heeds none of thy sighs,

He lyes a corps in the Braes of Yarrow.

Page 331

ADMIRAL HOSIER'S GHOST

XXV

Admiral Hosier's Ghost,

—Was a praty song written by the inge∣nous author of "Leonidas,"* on the taking of Porto Bello from the Spaniards by Admi-

ral Venon, Nov 22, 17 39 —The case of Hosier which is here so pathetically represented,

was lately this In April, 1726, that com-

mander was sent with a strong fleet into the Spanish West Indies, to block up the galleons

in the ports of that country, as should they presume to come out, to save and carry them

into England he wouldly arrived at the Bastimentos near Porto Bello, but being em-

ployed rather to oarwae than to attack the spaniards, with whom it was problably not

our interest to go to war, he continued long inactive on that station, to his own great re-

gret He afterwards removed to Cuthrigena,

and remained cruising in these seas, till fal the greater part of his men perished deplora-

bly by the discase of that unhealthy climate

This brave min, seeing his best officers and men thusdaily swept away, his ships exposed

to inevitable destruction und himself made the sport of the enemy, is sad to have died

of a broken heurt Such is the reccount of Smollett, compuied with that of other less

partial writers

The following song is commonly accompa-

nied with a Second Part, or Answer, which being of inferiior merit and apparently wittun

by anothei hand, hath been ejected

As ne u Porto Bello lying

On the gently swelling flood,

At midnıght with stre imers flying

Out ti umphant nary node,

Theıe while Veınon ste all glonıous

I rom the Spaniards' late defeat

And his crews, with shouts victorıous,

Dhank success to England's fleet

On a sudden shrilly sounding,

Hideous yells and shrıeks weie heard,

Then each he ut w ith feru confounding,

A c ud troop of ghosts appeai'd,

All in dıeıty hammocks shiouded,

Which for winding sheets they wore,

And with looks by sorow clouded

Frowning on that hostile shore

On them gleam'd the moon's wan lustre,

When the shı ade of Hosier bıwe

This pule bunds w is seen to muster

Rising from then we ıdery grave

O'er the glimmering wave he hy'd him,

Whıie the Bııfoıd in ıd his sail,

With three thous und ghosts beside him,

And in groans did Vernon haul

I heed, oh heed our futıl story,

I am Hosier's injur'd ghost,

You who now have purchas'd glory

At this place wheıe I was lost !

Tho' in Porto Bello's ıain

You now triumph free from feırs,

When you think on our undoung,

You will mix your joy with tears

See these mournful spectres sweeping

Ghıastly o'er this hated wave,

Whose wan cheeks are stain'd with weeping,

These weie English captuins bıave

Maık those numbers pale and hoıııd,

Those weie once my sailos bold,

Lo, each hangs his dooping fiıeheıd,

Whıle his dism il tile is told

I, by twenty sail attended,

Did the Spanish town affıight

Nothing then its wealth defended,

But my oders not to fight

Oh ! that in this rolling ocean

I had cast them with disdain,

And obey'd my heıut's wıam motion

To have quell'd the pride of Spain!

For ıesistance I could feı none,

But wıth twency ships had done,

What thou, have and happy Veınon,

I ıst alıey'd with six alone

Then the bastimentos never

Iıd our foul dishonour seen,

Nor the set the sun receıved

Of this gallant train had been

  • An ingenıous correspondent informs the Editor that this I ıal hath been also attributeı to the late Lord Bıth

39

  • Admiral Vernon's ship

Page 332

304

JEMMY DAWSON.

Thus, like thee, proud Spain dismaying,

And her galleons leading home,

Though condemned for disobeying,

I had met a traitor's doom,

To have fallen, my country crying,

He has play'd an English part,

Had been better far than dying

Of a griev'd and broken heart.

Unrepining at thy glory,

Thy successful arms we hail;

But remember our sad story,

And let Hosier's wrongs prevail.

Sent in this foul clime to languish,

Think what thousands fell in vain,

Wasted with disease and anguish,

Not in glorious battle slain.

Hence with all my train attending

From their oozy tombs below,

Thro' the hoary foam ascending,

Here I feed my constant woe :

Here the bastimentos viewing,

We recal our shameful doom,

And our plaintive cries renewing,

Wander thro' the midnight gloom.

O'er these waves for ever mourning

Shall we roam depriv'd of rest,

If to Britain's shores returning

You neglect my just request;

After this proud foe subduing,

When your patriot friends you see,

Think on vengeance for my ruin,

And for England sham'd in me.

XXVI.

Jemmy Dawson.

James Dawson was one of the Manchester

rebels who was hanged, drawn, and quartered,

on Kennington-common, in the county of Sur-

rey, July 30, 1746. This ballad is founded

on a remarkable fact, which was reported to

have happened at his execution. It was

written by the late William Shenstone, Esq.,

soon after the event, and has been printed

amongst his posthumous works, 2 vols. 8vo.

It is here given from a MS. which contained

some small variations from that printed copy.

Come listen to my mournful tale,

Ye tender hearts, and lovers dear;

Nor will you scorn to heave a sigh,

Nor will you blush to shed a tear.

And thou, dear Kitty, peerless maid,

Do thou a pensive ear incline;

For thou canst weep at every woe,

And pity every plaint, but mine.

Young Dawson was a gallant youth,

A brighter never trod the plain;

And well he lov'd one charming maid,

And dearly was he lov'd again.

One tender maid she lov'd him dear,

Of gentle blood the damsel came,

And faultless was her beauteous form,

And spotless was her virgin fame.

But curse on party's hateful strife,

That led the faithful youth astray

The day the rebel clans appear'd:

O had he never seen that day!

Their colours and their sash he wore,

And in the fatal dress was found;

And now he must that death endure,

Which gives the brave the keenest wound.

How pale was then his true love's cheek

When Jemmy's sentence reach'd her ear!

For never yet did Alpine snows

So pale, nor yet so chill appear.

With faltering voice she weeping said,

Oh, Dawson, monarch of my heart,

Think not thy death shall end our loves,

For thou and I will never part.

Yet might sweet mercy find a place,

And bring relief to Jemmy's woes,

O George, without a prayer for thee

My orisons should never close.

The gracious prince that gives him life

Would crown a never-dying flame,

And every tender babe I bore

Should learn to lisp the giver's name.

Page 333

POEMS ON KING ARTHUR.

305

But though, dear youth, thou should'st be dragg'd

To yonder ignominious tree,

Thou shalt not want a faithful friend

To share thy bitter fate with thee.

O then her mourning-coach was call'd,

The sledge mov'd slowly on before;

Thou' borne in a triumphal car,

She had not lov'd her favourite more.

45

She followed him, prepar'd to view

The terrible behests of law;

And the last scene of Jenny's woes

With calm and stedfast eye she saw.

50

Distorted was that blooming face,

Which she had fondly lov'd so long:

And stifled was that tuneful breath,

Which in her praise had sweetly sung:

55

And sever'd was that beauteous neck,

Round which her arms had fondly clos'd:

And mangled was that beauteous breast,

On which her love-sick head repos'd:

60

And ravish'd was that constant heart,

She did to every heart prefer;

For though it could his king forget,

'Twas true and loyal still to her.

Amid those unrelenting flames

She bore this constant heart to see;

But when 'twas moulder'd into dust,

Now, now, she cried, I'll follow thee.

65

My death, my death alone can show

The pure and lasting love I bore:

Accept, O heaven, of woes like ours,

And let us, let us weep no more.

70

The dismal scene was o'er and past,

The lover's mournful hearse retir'd;

The maid drew back her languid head,

And sighing forth his name expir'd.

75

Tho' justice ever must prevail,

The tear my Kitty sheds is due;

For seldom shall she hear a tale

So sad, so tender, and so true.

80

THE END OF THE THIRD BOOK.

SERIES THE THIRD.

BOOK I.

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 recommend it to the most ordinary reader will appear beautiful to the most refined.

Addison, in Spectator, No. 70.

I.

Poems on King Arthur, &c.

The third series being chiefly devoted to romantic subjects, may not be improperly introduced with a few slight strictures on the old metrical romances: a subject the more worthy attention, as it seems not to have been known to such as have written on the nature and origin of books of chivalry, that the first compositions of this kind were in verse, and usually sung to the harp.

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ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES.

ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES, &c.

I. The first attempts at composition among all barbarous nations are ever found to be poetry and song. The praises of their gods, and the achievements of their heroes, are usually chanted at their festival meetings. These are the first rudiments of history. It is in this manner that the savages of North America preserve the memory of past events;* and the same method is known to have prevailed among our Saxon ancestors, before they quitted their German forests.† The ancient Britons had their bards, and the Gothic nations their scalds or popular poets,† whose business it was to record the victories of their warriors, and the genealogies of their princes, in a kind of narrative songs, which were committed to memory, and delivered down from one reciter to another. So long as poetry continued a distinct profession, and while the bard or scald was a regular and stated officer in the prince's court, these men are thought to have performed the functions of the historian pretty faithfully; for though their narrations would be apt to receive a good deal of embellishment, they are supposed to have had at the bottom so much of truth as to serve for the basis of more regular annals. At least succeeding historians have taken up with the relations of these rude men, and, for want of more authentic records, have agreed to allow them the credit of true history.?

After letters began to prevail, and history assumed a more stable form, by being committed to plain simple prose; these songs of the scalds or bards began to be more amusing than useful. And in proportion as it became their business chiefly to entertain and delight, they gave more and more into embellishment, and set off their recitals with such marvellous fictions as were calculated to captivate gross

and ignorant minds. Thus began stories of adventurers with giants and dragons, and witches and enchanters, and all the monstrous extravagances of wild imagination, unguided by judgment and uncorrected by art.* This seems to be the true origin of that species of romance which so long celebrated feats of chivalry, and which at first in metre, and afterwards in prose, was the entertainment of our ancestors, in common with their contemporaries on the Continent, till the satire of Cervantes, or rather the increase of knowledge and classical literature, drove them off the stage, to make room for a more refined species of fiction, under the name of French romances, copied from the Greek.†

That our old romances of chivalry may be derived in a lineal descent from the ancient historical songs of the Gothic bards and scalds, will be shown below, and indeed appears the more evident, as many of those songs are still preserved in the north, which exhibit all the seeds of chivalry before it became a solemn institution.‡ "Chivalry, as a distinct military order, conferred in the way of investiture, and accompanied with the solemnity of an oath, and other ceremonies," was of later date, and sprung out of the feudal constitution, as an elegant writer has clearly shown.§ But the ideas of chivalry prevailed long before in all the Gothic nations, and may be discovered as in embryo in the customs, manners, and opinions of every branch of that people. That fondness of going in quest of adventures, that spirit of challenging to single combat, and that respectful complaisance shown to the fair sex (so different from the manners of the Greeks and Romans), all are of Gothic origin, and may be traced up to the earliest times among all the northern nations.|| These existed long before the feudal ages, though they were called forth and strengthened in a peculiar manner under that constitution, and at length arrived to their full maturity in the times of the Crusades, so replete with romantic adventures.¶

  • Vid. Introd. pp. 4, 5, &c.

† Viz. Astræa, Cassandra, Clelia, &c.

‡ Mallet, North. Antiquities, vol. i. p.318, &c., vol. ii. p. 234, &c.

§ Letters concerning Chivalry, 8vo. 1783.

|| Mallet.

¶ The seeds of chivalry sprung up so naturally out of the original manners and opinions of the northern nations

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ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES.

307

Even the common arbitrary fictions of romance were (as is hinted above) most of them familiar to the ancient scalds of the north, long before the time of the crusades. They believed the existence of giants and dwarfs;* they entertained opinions not unlike the more modern notion of fairies ;† they were strongly possessed with the belief of spells and enchantment;‡ and were fond of inventing combats with dragons and monsters.§

The opinion therefore seems very untenable, which some learned and ingenious men have entertained, that the turn for chivalry, and the taste for that species of romantic fiction, were caught by the Spaniards from the Arabs or Moors after their invasion of Spain, and from the Spaniards transmitted to the bards of Armorica,|| and thus diffused through

Britain, France, Italy, Germany, and the north. For it seems utterly incredible that one rude people should adopt a peculiar taste and manner of writing or thinking from another, without borrowing at the same time any of their particular stories and fables, without appearing to know anything of their heroes, history, laws, and religion. When the Romans began to adopt and imitate the Grecian literature, they immediately naturalized all the Grecian fables, histories, and religious stories: which became as familiar to the poets of Rome as of Greece itself.

Whereas all the old writers of chivalry, and of that species of romance, whether in prose or verse, whether of the northern nations, or of Britain, France, and Italy, not excepting Spain itself,‡ appear utterly unacquainted

that it is not credible they arose so late as after the establishment of the feudal system, much less the crusades. Nor again, that the romances of chivalry were transmitted to other nations, through the Spaniards, from the Moors and Arabians. Had this been the case, the first French romances of chivalry would have been on Moorish or at least Spanish subjects: whereas the most ancient stories of this kind, whether in prose or verse, whether in Italian, French, English, &c., are chiefly on the subjects of Charlemagne, and the Paladins; or of our British Arthur, and his knights of the Round Table, &c., being evidently borrowed from the fabulous Chronicles of the supposed Archbishop Turpin, and of Geoffrey of Monmouth. Not but some of the oldest and most popular French romances are also on Norman subjects, as Richard Sans-peur, Robert le Diable, &c.; whereas I do not recollect so much as one in which the scene is laid in Spain, much less among the Moors, or descriptive of Mahometan manners. Even in Amadis de Gaul, said to have been the first romance printed in Spain, the scene is laid in Gaul and Britain; and the manners are French: which plainly shows that what school this species of fabling was learnt and transmitted to the southern nations of Europe.

  • Mallet, North. Antiq. vol. i. p. 36; vol. ii. passim.

† Olaus Verel. ad Hevarer Saga, pp. 44, 45. Hickes's Thesaur. vol. ii. p. 311. Northern Antiquities, vol. ii. passim.

‡ Ibid. vol. i. pp. 69, 374, &c., vol. ii. p. 216, &c.

§ Rollof's Saga, cap. 35, &c.

|| It is perhaps unfortunate that such as maintain this opinion are obliged to take their first step from the Moorish provinces in Spain, without one intermediate resting-place, to Armorica or Bretagne, the province in France from them most remote, not more in situation than in the manners, habits, and language of its Welsh inhabitants, which are allowed to have been derived from this island, as most have been their traditions, songs, and tales; being doubtless all of Celtic original. See p. ii, of the "Dissertation on the Origin of Romantice Fiction in Europe," prefixed to Mr. Thus. Warton's History of English Poetry, vol. i. 1774, 4to.

If any one could have supported this darling hypothesis of Dr. Warton, that of this ingenious critic would have offered it. But under the general term Oriental it seems to confound the ancient inhabitants of the north and south of Asia as having all the same manners, traditions, and fables; and because the secluded people of Arabia took the lead under the religion and empire of Mahomet, therefore

everything must be derived from them to the northern Asiatics in the remotest ages, &c. With as much reason under the word Celtae, we might represent the early traditions and fables of the north and south of Europe to have been the same; and that the Celtic mythology of Scandiuavia or the Gauls or Celts of Britain, differed not from the rites of Greece and Rome.

There is not room here for a full examination of the minuter arguments, or rather slight criticisms, by which this favourite opinion of Dr. W., who has been blamed* so completely confuted by Mr. Tyrwhitt. (See his notes on "Love's Labour Lost,") But some of his positions it will be sufficient to mention; such as the referring the Gieg from Seripture, to the Jugamonge and Mgiomge of the Arabians and Persians, &c. (p. 13).—That "we may venture to affirm, that this Geoffrey of Monmouth's Chronicle, supposed to contain the ideas of the Welch bards entirely consists of Arabian inventions." (p. 13).—And that, "as Geoffrey's History is the grand repository of the acts of Arthur, so a fabulous history, ascribed to Turpin, is the ground-work of all the chimerical legends which have related some things. The prophecies of Charlemagne and his twelve peers. Its subject is the expulsion of the Saracens from Spain; and it is filled with fictions wildly conjoined to those which characterise Geoffrey's History." (p. 17).—That is, as he afterwards expresses it, "lavishly there rated by the Arabian fabliers." (p. 58) —We should hardly have expected that the Arabian fabliers would have been lavish in decorating a history of their enemy: but what is this singular, as an instance and proof of this Arabian origin of the fictions of Turpin, a passage is quoted from his fourth chapter, which I shall beleave tooflor. as affording irrefiagable evidence that they could not possibly be derived from a Mahometan source. Se. "The Christians under Charles-magne are said to have found in Spain, a golden idel, or image of Mahomet, as big as a lard can fly.—It was framed by Mahomet himself of the purest metal, who, by his knowledge in necromancy, had sealed up within it a legion of diabolic spirits. It held in its hand a prodigious club; and the Saracens had a prophetic tradition, that this club should fall from the hand of the image in that year when a certain king should be born in France," &c. Vid. p. 18, Note.

  • The little narrative songs on Morisco subjects, which the Spaniards have at present in great abundance, and

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ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES.

with whatever relates to the Mahometan nations. Thus with regard to their religion, they constantly represent them as worshipping idols, as paying adoration to a golden image of Mahomet, or else they confound them with the ancient Pagans, &c. And indeed, in all other respects they are so grossly ignorant of the customs, manners, and opinions of every branch of that people, especially of their heroes, champions, and local stories, as almost amounts to a demonstration that they did not imitate them in their songs or romances: for as to dragons, serpents, necromancies, &c., why should these be thought only derived from the Moors in Spain so late as after the eighth century? since notions of this kind appear too familiar to the northern scalds, and enter too deeply into all the northern mythology, to have been transmitted to the unlettered Scandinavian, from so distant a country, at so late a period. If they may not be allowed to have brought these opinions with them in their original migrations from the north of Asia, they will be far more likely to have borrowed them from the Latin poets after the Roman conquests in Gaul, Britain, Germany, &c. For I believe one may challenge the maintainers of this opinion, to produce any Arabian poem or history, that could possibly have been known in Spain, which resembles the old Gothic romances of chivalry half so much as the Metamorphoses of Ovid.

But we well know that the Scythian nations situate in the countries about Pontus, Colchis, and the Euxine Sea, were in all times infamous for their magic arts; and as Odin and his followers are said to have come precisely from those parts of Asia, we can readily account for the prevalence of fictions of this sort among the Gothic nations of the north, without fetshing them from the Moors in Spain, who for many centuries after their irruption lived in a state of such constant hostility with the unsubdued Spanish Christians, whom they chiefly pent up in the mountains, as gave them no chance of learning their music, poetry, or stories; and this, together with the religious hatred of the latter for their cruel invaders, will account for the utter ignorance of the old Spanish romancers in whatever relates to the Mahometan nations, although so nearly their own neighbours.

On the other hand, from the local customs and situations, from the known manners and opinions of the Gothic nations in the North, we can easily account for all the ideas of chivalry, and its peculiar fictions.* For, not to mention their distinguished respect for the fair sex, so different from the manners of the Mahometan nations,† their national and domestic history so naturally assumes all the wonders of this species of fabling, that almost all their historical narratives appear regular romances. One might refer, in proof of this, to the old northern Sagas in general: but, to give a particular instance, it will be sufficient to produce the history of King Regner Lodbrog, a celebrated warrior and pirate, who reigned in Denmark about the year 800.‡ This hero signalized his youth by an exploit of gallantry. A Swedish prince had a beautiful daughter, whom he intrusted (probably during some expedition) to the care of one of his officers, assigning a strong castle for their defence. The officer fell in love with his ward, and detained her in his castle, spite of all the efforts of her father. Upon this he published a proclamation, through all the neighbouring countries, that whosoever would conquer the ravisher, and rescue the lady, should have her in marriage. Of all that undertook the adventure, Regner alone was so happy as to achieve it; he delivered the fair captive, and obtained her for his prize. It happened that the name of this discourteous officer was Orme, which, in the Islandic language, signifies serpent: wherefore the Scalds, to give the more poetical turn to the adventure, represent the lady as detained from her father by a dreadful dragon, and that Regner slew the monster to set her at liberty. This fabulous account of the exploit is given in a poem still extant, which is even ascribed to Regner himself, who was

. li. de 1. have meding In common with their proper romances (or histories) of chivalry; which they call Histories de l'cillernia: these are evidently imitations of the Erom h, and sh w a great ignorance of Moorish manners: and with regard to the Morisco, or romances, they do not seem of very great antiquity: few of them appear, from their subjects, much earlier than the reduction of Granada, in the fifteenth century: from which period, I believe, may be plainly traced, among the Spanish writers, a more perfect knowledge of Moorish customs, &c.

  • See Northern Antiquities, passim.

† Ibid.

‡ Saxon Gram. p. 152. 153.—Mallet, North. Antiq. vol. i p. 321.

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ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES.

309

a celebrated poet, and which records all the

valiant achievments of his life.*

With marvellous embellishments of this

kind, the scalds early began to decorate their

narratives: and they were the more lavish

of these in proportion as they departed from

their original institution; but it was a long

time before they thought of delivering a set

of personages and adventures wholly feigned.

Of the great multitude of romantic tales still

preserved in the libraries of the north, most

of them are supposed to have had some

foundation in truth; and the more ancient

they are, the more they are believed to be

connected with true history.†

It was not probably till after the historian

and the bard had been long disunited, that

the latter ventured at pure fiction. At length,

when their business was no longer to instruct

or inform, but merely to amuse, it was no

longer needful for them to adhere to truth.

Then succeeded fabulous songs and romances

in verse, which for a long time prevailed in

France and England, before they had books

of chivalry in prose. Yet, in both these

countries, the minstrels still retained so much

of their original institution as frequently to

make true events the subject of their songs;‡

and, indeed, as during the barbarous ages,

the regular histories were almost all written

in Latin by the monks, the memory of events

was preserved and propagated among the

ignorant laity, by scarce any other means

than the popular songs of the minstrels.

II. The inhabitants of Sweden, Denmark,

and Norway, being the latest converts to

Christianity, retained their original manners

and opinions longer than the other nations

of Gothic race: and, therefore, they have

preserved more of the genuine compositions

of their ancient poets than their southern

neighbours. Hence the progress among

them, from poetical history to poetical fiction,

is very discernible: they have some old

pieces, that are in effect complete romances

of chivalry.§ They have also (as hath been

  • See a Translation of this poem among "Five Pieces of

Runic Poetry," printed for Dodsley. 1761. 8vo.

† Vid. Mallet, Northern Antiquities, passim.

‡ The Eftirer's MS. contains a multitude of poems of this

latter kind. It was probably from this custom of the min-

strels that some of our first historians wrote their chronicles

in verse, as Robert of Gloucester, Harding, &c.

§ See a specimen in 2d vol. of Northern Antiquities, &c.,

p. 248, &c.

observed) a multitude of sagas,* or histories

on romantic subjects, containing a mixture

of prose and verse of various dates, some of

them written since the times of the crusades,

others long before; but their narratives in

verse only are esteemed the more ancient.

Now, as the irruption of the Normans†

into France under Rollo did not take place

till towards the beginning of the tenth cen-

tury, at which time the Scaldic art was

arrived to the highest perfection in Rollo's

native country, we can easily trace the de-

scend of the French and English romances

of chivalry from the northern sagas. That

conqueror doubtless carried many scalds with

him from the north, who transmitted their

skill to their children and successours. Those,

adopting the religion, opinions, and language

of the new country, substituted the heroes

of Christendóm instead of those of their

pagan ancestors, and began to celebrate the

feats of Charlemagne, Roland, and Oliver;

whose true history they set off and embellished

with the sáldic figments of dwarfs,

giants, dragons, and enchantments. The

first mention we have in song of those heroes

of chivalry, is in the mouth of a Norman

warrior at the conquest of England:‡ and

this circumstance alone would sufficiently

account for the propagation of this kind of

romantic poems among the French and Eng-

lish.

But this is not all; it is very certain that

both the Anglo-Saxons and the Franks had

brought with them, at their first emigrations

into Britain and Gaul, the same fondness for

the ancient songs of their ancestors, which

prevailed among their other Gothic tribes,§ and

that all their first annals were transmitted in

these popular oral poems. This fondness

they even retained long after their conver-

sion to Christianity, as we learn from the ex-

amples of Charlemagne and Alfred.|| Now

  • Eccardi Hist. Stud. Etym. 1711, p. 179, &c. Hickes's

Thesaur. vol. ii. p. 311.

† v. i. Northern Men: being chiefly emigrants from

Norway, Denmark, &c.

‡ See the account of Taillefer in Essay and Note.

§ Ipsi carmina memoriter mandabant, et prœlia initia

decanebant: qua memoria tam fortiter gesta sunt à major-

bus patratorum ad imitationem animius addetur. Jorn-

andes de Gothis.

|| Einhartus de Carlo magno. "Item barbara, et anti-

quissima carmina, quibus veterum regum actus et bella

canebantur, scripsit," &c. a. 29.

Asserius de Alfredo magno. "Rex inter bella, &c....

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ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES.

poetry, being thus the transmitter of facts, would as easily learn to blend them with fictions in France and England, as she is known to have done in the north, and that much sooner, for the reasons before assigned.* This together with the example and influence of the Normans, will easily account to us why the first romances of chivalry that appeared both in England and France† were composed in metre as a rude kind of epic songs. In both kingdoms, tales in verse were usually sung by minstrels to the harp on festival occasions : and doubtless, both nations derived their relish for this sort of entertainment from their Teutonic ancestors, without either of them borrowing it from the other. Among both people, narrative songs, on true or fictitious subjects, had evidently obtained from the earliest times. But the professed romances of chivalry seem to have been first composed in France, whore also they had their name.

The Latin tongue, as is observed by an ingenious writer,‡ ceased to be spoken in France about the ninth century, and was succeeded by what was called the romance tongue, a mixture of the language of the Franks and bad Latin. As the songs of chivalry became the most popular compositions in that language, they were emphatically called Romans or Romants; though this name was at first given to any piece of poetry. The romances of chivalry can be traced as early as the eleventh century.§ I know not if the Roman de Brut, written in 1155, was such : But if it was, it was by no means the first poem of the kind; others more ancient are still extant.|| And we have

already seen, that, in the preceding century, when the Normans marched down to the battle of Hastings, they animated themselves, by singing (in some popular romance or ballad) the exploits of Roland and the other heroes of chivalry.*

So early as this I cannot trace the songs of chivalry in English. The most ancient I have seen is that of Hurnchild, described below, which seems not older than the 12th century. However, as this rather resembles the Saxon poetry than the French, it is not certain that the first English romances were translated from that language.† We have seen above, that a propensity to this kind of fiction prevailed among all the Gothic nations ;‡ and though, after the Norman conquest, this country abounded with French romances, or with translations from the French, there is good reason to believe that the English had original pieces of their own.

The stories of King Arthur and his Round-Table may be reasonably supposed of the growth of this Island; both the French and the Armoricans probably had them from Britain.§ The stories of Guy and Bevis, with some others, were probably the invention of the English minstrels.|| On the other hand,

  • See the account of Taillefer in Essay, and Note. And see Rapin, Carte, &c.—This song of Roland (whatever it was) continued for some centuries to be usually sung by the French in their marches, if we may believe a modern French writer. 'Un jour qu'on chantoit la Chanson de Roland, comme c'etoit l'usage dans les marches.' Il y a long temps, dit il [John K. of France, qui mourut en 1364], qu'on ne voit plus de Rolands, parmi les François. Ou y verroit encore des Rohands, si l'on repondoit un vieux capitaine, s'il avoit un Charlemagne à leur tête." Vid. tom. iii. p. 202, des Essais Hist. sur Paris de M. de Saintefoix. who gives, as his authority, Dethicus in Hist. Sectiorum. This author, however, speaks of the complaint and repartoe as made in an assembly of the states (vocata senatu), and not upon any march, &c. Vid. Boeth. lib. xv., fol. 327. Ed. Paris, 1574.

† See, on this subject, Notes on the Essay on the Ancient Minstrels (s. 2), and (o n).

‡ The first romances of chivalry among the Germans were in metre: they have some very ancient narrative songs (which they call Lieder), not only on the fabulกัน heroes of their own country, but also on those of France and Britain, as Tristram, Arthur, Gawain, and the Knights von der Taffelrunde. Vid. Goldasti Not. in Eginhart. Vid. Car. Magt. 17t1, p. 207.

§ The Welsh have still some very old romances about King Arthur; but as these are in prose, they are not probably their first pieces that were composed on that subject.

|| It is most credible that these stories were originally of English invention, even if the only pieces now extant should be found to be translations from the French. What now pass for the French originals were probably only amplifications, or enlargements of the old English story. That the

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ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES.

311

the English procured translations of such romances as were most current in France: and

in the list given at the conclusion of these remarks, many are doubtless of French ori-

ginal.

The first prose books of chivalry that ap-

peared in our language were those printed by

Caxton;* at least, these are the first I have

been able to discover, and these are all trans-

lations from the French. Wherens romances

of this kind had been long current in metre,

and were so generally admired in the time

of Chaucer, that his rhyme of Sir Thopas

was evidently written to ridicule and bur-

lesque them.†

He expressly mentions several of them by

name in a stanza, which I shall have occa-

sion to quote more than once in this volume.

Men speken of romaunces of pris

Of Horn-Child, and of Ipous

Of Bevis, and Sire Guy

Of Sire Libeux, and Pleindamour,

But Sire Thopas, he bereth the flour

Of real chevalrie.‡

Most, if not all of these, are still extant in

MS. in some or other of our libraries, as I

shall show in the conclusion of this slight

essay, where I shall give a list of such metri-

cal histories and romances as have fallen under

my observation.

As many of these contain a considerable

portion of poetic merit, and throw great light

on the manners and opinions of former times,

it were to be wished that some of the best

of them were rescued from oblivion. A judi-

cious collection of them accurately published,

with proper illustrations, would be an impor-

tant accession to our stock of ancient English

literature. Many of them exhibit no mean at-

tempts at epic poetry: and though full of the

exploded fictions of chivalry, frequently dis-

play great descriptive and inventive powers

in the bards who composed them. They are

at least generally equal to any other poetry

of the same age. They cannot indeed be put

in competition with the nervous productions

of so universal and commanding a genius as

Chaucer; but they have a simplicity that

makes them be read with less interruption,

and be more easily understood; and they are

far more spirited and entertaining than the

tedious allegories of Gower, or the dull and

prolix legends of Lydgate. Yet, while so

much stress was laid upon the writings of

these last, by such as treat of English poetry,

the old metrical romances, though far more

popular in their times, were hardly known to

exist. But it has happened, unluckily, that

the antiquaries, who have revived the works

of our ancient writers, have been, for the

most part, men void of taste and genius, and

therefore have always fastidiously rejected

the old poetical romances, because founded

on fictitious or popular subjects, while they

have been careful to grub up every petty

fragment of the most dull and insipid rly-

mist, whose merit it was to deform morality or

obscure true history. Should the public encou-

rage the revival of some of those ancient epic

songs of chivalry, they would frequently see the

rich ore of an Ariosto or a Tasso, though

buried it may be among the rubbish and

dross of barbarous times.

Such a publication would answer many

important uses: It would throw new light

on the rise and progress of English poetry,

the history of which can be but imperfectly

understood if these are neglected: It would

also serve to illustrate innumerable passages

in our ancient classic poets, which, without

their help, must be for ever obscure. For,

not to mention Chaucer and Spenser, who

abound with perpetual allusions to them, I

shall give an instance or two from Shak-

speare, by way of specimen of their use.

In his play of King John our great drama-

tic poet alludes to an exploit of Richard I.,

which the reader will in vain look for in any

true history. Faulconbridge says to his mo-

ther, act i. sc. 1:

40

  • French romancers borrowed some things from the English,

appears from the Termagant, which they took up

from our minstrels, and corrupted into Tervagaunt. See

p. 19. and Glos. "Termagaunt."

  • Recuyel of the fstoryes of Troy, 1471. Godfrya of

Boloyne, 1481. Le Morte de Arthur, 1485. The Lyfe of

Charlemayne, 1485, &c. As the old minstrelsy wore out,

prose books of chivalry became more admired, especially

after the Spanish romances began to be translated into

English, towards the end of Queen Elizabeth's roigne: then

the most popular motrical romances began to be reduced

into prose, as Sir Guy Deris, &c.

‡ Soo extract from a letter, written by the Editor of these

volumes, in Mr. Warton's Observations, vol. II. p. 136.

‡ Canterbury Tales (Tyrwhitt's Edit.) vol. II. p. 238.

---In all the former editions, which I have seen, the

name at the end of the 4th line is Blandamoure.

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ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES.

"Needs must you lay your heart at his dis-

pose . . .

Against whose furie and unmatched force,

The awlesse lion could not wage the fight,

Nor keepe his princely heart from Richard's

hand:

He that perforce robs lions of their hearts

May easely winne a woman's:"—

The fact here referred to, is to be traced to

its souree only in the old romance of Richard

Cœur de Lyon,* in which his encounter with

a lion makes a very shining figure. I shall

give a large extract from this poem, as a spe-

cimen of the manner of these old rhapsodists,

and to show that they did not in their fictions

neglect the proper means to produce the ends,

as was afterwards so childishly done in the

prose books of chivalry.

The poet tells us, that Richard, in his re-

turn from the Holy Land, having been disco-

vered in the habit of "a palmer in Almaye,"

and apprehended as a spy, was by the king

thrown into prison. Wardrewe, the king's

son, hearing of Richard's great strength, de-

sires the jailor to let him have a sight of his

prisoners. Richard being the foremost, War-

drewe asks him, "if he dare stand a buffet

from his hand?" and that on the morrow he

shall return him another. Richard consents,

and receives a blow that staggers him. On

the morrow, having previously waxed his

hands, he waits his antagonist's arrival.

Wardrewe accordingly, proceeds the story,

"held forth as a trewe man," and Richard

gave him such a blow on the cheek, as broke

his jaw-bone, and killed him on the spot.

The king, to revenge the death of his son,

orders, by the advice of one Eldrede, that a

lion, kept purposely from food, shall be turned

loose upon Richard. But the king's daugh-

ter, having fallen in love with him, tells him

of her father's resolution, and at his request,

procures him forty ells of white silk "ker-

chiers;" and here the description of the com-

bat begins:

The kever-chefest he toke on honde,

And aboute his arme he wounde;

And thought in that ylke while,

To slee the lyon with some gyle.

And syngle in a kyrtyll he stode,

And abode the lyon fyers and wode,

With that came the jaylere,

And other men that wyth him were,

And the lyon thin amouge;

His paws were stiffe and stronge

The chambre dore they undone,

And the lyon to them is gone.

Rycharde sayd, Helpe, Lorde Josu!

The lyon made hym vena,

And wolde hym have all to rente;

Kynge Rycharde besyde him glente*

The lyon on the breste him spurned,

That aboute he tourned,

The lyon was hongry and megre,

And bette his tayle to be egrie;

He loked aboute as he were madde;

Abrode he all his pawes spradde.

He cryde lowde, and yaned† wyde.

Kynge Rycharde bethought hym that tyde

What hym was beste, and to hym sterte,

In at the throte his honde he gerte,

And rente out the herte with his honde,

Lounge and all that he there fonde.

The lyon fell deed to the grounde:

Rycharde felte no wem,‡ ne wounde.

He fell on his knees on that place,

And thanked Jesu of his grace.


What follows is not so well, and therefore I

shall extract no more of this poem.—For the

above feat the author tells us, the king was

deservedly called

Stronge Rycharde Cure de Lyowne.

That distich which Shakespeare puts in the

mouth of his madman in King Lear, act 3,

sc. 4,

Mice and rats and such small deere

Have been Tom's food for seven long yeare,

has excited the attencion of the critics. In-

stead of deere, one of them would substitute

geer; and another cheer.§ But the ancient

reading is established by the old romance of

  • i. e. slipt aside.

† i. e. yawned.

‡ i. e. hurt.

§ Dr. Warburton.—Dr. Grey.

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ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES.

213

Sir Bevis, which Shakespeare had doubtless heard sung to the harp. This distich is part of a description there given of the hardships suffered by Bevis, when confined for seven years in a dungeon :

Rattes and myse and such small dere

Was his meate that seven yere.

Sign. F iii.

III. In different parts of this work, the reader will find various extracts from these old poetical legends; to which I refer him for farther examples of their style and metre. To complete this subject, it will be proper at least to give one specimen of their skill in distributing and conducting their fable, by which it will be seen that nature and common sense had supplied to these old simple bards the want of critical art, and taught them some of the most essential rules of epic poetry. I shall select the romance of Libius Disconius,* as being one of those mentioned by Chaucer, and either shorter or more intelligible than the others he has quoted.

If an epic poem may be defined,† “A fable related by a poet, to excite admiration, and inspire virtue, by representing the action of some one hero, favoured by heaven, who executes a great design, in spite of all the obstacles that oppose him;” I know not why we should withhold the name of epic poem from the piece which I am about to analyse.

My copy is divided into nine parts or cantos, the several arguments of which are as follows.

PART I.

Opens with a short exordium to bespeak attention: the hero is described; a natural son of Sir Gawain a celebrated knight of King Arthur's court, who being brought up in a forest by his mother, is kept ignorant of his name and descent. He early exhibits marks of his courage, by killing a knight in single combat, who encountered him as he was hunting. This inspires him with a desire of seeking adventures; therefore clothing himself in his enemy's armour, he goes to King Arthur's court, to request the order of knighthood. His request granted, he obtains a promise of having the first adventure assigned him that shall offer.—A damsel named Ellen, attended by a dwarf, comes to implore King Arthur's assistance, to rescue a young princess, “the Lady of Sinadone,” their mistress, who is detained from her rights, and confined in prison. The adventure is claimed by the young knight Sir Lybius; the king assents; the messengers are dissatisfied, and object to his youth; but are forced to acquiesce. And here the first book closes with a description of the ceremony of equipping him forth.

PART II.

Sir Lybius sets out on the adventure: he is derided by the dwarf and the damsel on account of his youth: they come to the bridge of Peril, which none can pass without encountering a knight called William de la Braunch. Sir Lybius is challenged: they just with their spears: De la Braunch is dismounted: the battle is renewed on foot: Sir William's sword breaks: he yields. Sir Lybius makes him swear to go and present himself to King Arthur, as the first fruits of his valour. The conquered knight sets out for King Arthur's court: he is met by three knights, his kinsmen; who, informed of his disgrace, vow revenge, and pursue the conqueror. The next day they overtake him: the eldest of the three attacks Sir Lybius; but is overthrown to the ground. The two other brothers assault him: Sir Lybius is wounded; yet cuts off the second brother's arm: the third yields; Sir Lybius sends them all to King Arthur. In the third evening he is awakened by the dwarf, who ha discovered a fire in the wood.

PART III.

Sir Lybius arms himself, and leaps on horseback; he finds two Giants roasting wild boars, who have a fair lady their captive Sir Lybius, by favour of the night, runs on them through with his spear: is assaulted by the other: a fierce battle ensues: he cuts off the giant's arm, and at length his head The rescued lady (an earl's daughter) te him her story; and leads him to her father's castle; who entertains him with a great feast; and presents him at parting with suit of armour and a steed. He sends giant's head to King Arthur.

  • So it is intituled in the Editor's MS. But the true title is Le beau disconue, or le Fair Unknown. See a note on the Canterbury Tales, vol. iv. p. 333.

† Vid. “Discours sur la Poesie Epique,” prefixed to Telemarque.

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312

ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES.

"Needs must you lay your heart at his dis-pose...

Against whose furie and unmatched force,

The awlesse lion could not wage the fight,

Nor keepe his princely heart from Richard's hand:

He that perforce robs lions of their hearts

May easily winne a woman's:"—

The fact here referred to, is to be traced to

its source only in the old romance of Richard

Cœur de Lyon,* in which his encounter with

a lion makes a very shining figure. I shall

give a large extract from this poem, as a specimen of the manner of these old rhapsodists,

and to show that they did not in their fictions

neglect the proper means to produce the ends,

as was afterwards so childishly done in the

prose books of chivalry.

The poet tells us, that Richard, in his return from the Holy Land, having been discovered in the habit of "a palmer in Almaye,"

and apprehended as a spy, was by the king

thrown into prison. Wardrewe, the king's

son, hearing of Richard's great strength, desires the jailor to let him have a sight of his

prisoners. Richard being the foremost, Wardrewe asks him, "if he dare stand a buffet

from his hand?" and that on the morrow he

shall return him another. Richard consents,

and receives a blow that staggers him. On

the morrow, having previously waxed his

hands, he waits his antagonist's arrival.

Wardrewe accordingly, proceeds the story,

"held forth as a trewe man," and Richard

gave him such a blow on the cheek, as broke

his jaw-bone, and killed him on the spot.

The king, to revenge the death of his son,

orders, by the advice of one Eldrede, that a

lion, kept purposely from food, shall be turned

loose upon Richard. But the king's daughter, having fallen in love with him, tells him

of her father's resolution, and at his request,

procures him forty ells of white silk "ker-chers;" and here the description of the combat begins:

The kever-chefest he toke on honde,

And aboute his arme he wonde;

  • Dr. Grey has shown that the same story is alluded to

in Rastell's Chronicle: As it was doubtless originally had

from the romance, this is proof that the old Metrical

Romances threw light on our first writers in prose: many

of our ancient historians have recorded the fictions of

romance.

† i. e. Handkerchiefs. Here we have the etymology of

the word, viz. "Couvre le Chef."

And thought in that ylke while,

To slee the lyon with some gyle.

And syngle in a kyrtyll he stode,

And abode the lyon fyrs and wode,

With that came the jaylere,

And other men that wyth him were,

And the lyon than amonge;

His paws were stiffe and stronge

The chambre dore they undone,

And the lyon to them is gone.

Rycharde sayd, Helpe, Lorde Jesu!

The lyon made to hym venu,

And wolde hym have all to rente;

Kynge Rycharde besyde him glente*

The lyon on the breste him spurned,

That aboute he tourned,

The lyon was hongry and megre,

And bette his tayle to be egre;

He loked aboute as he were madde;

Abrode he all his pawes spradde.

He cryde lowde, and yanedt† wyde.

Kynge Rycharde bethought hym that tyde

What hym was beste, and to hym sterte,

In at the throte his honde he gerte,

And rente out the herte with his honde,

Lounge and all that he there fonde.

The lyon fell deed to the grounde:

Rycharde felto no wem,‡ ne wounde.

He fell on his knees on that place,

And thanked Jesu of his grace.


What follows is not so well, and therefore I

shall extract no more of this poem.—For the

above feat the author tells us, the king was

deservedly called

Stronge Rycharde Cure de Lyowne.

That distich which Shakespeare puts in the

mouth of his madman in King Lear, act 3,

sc. 4,

Mice and rats and such small deare

Have been Tom's food for seven long yeare,

has excited the attention of the critics. Instead of deere, one of them would substitute

geer; and another cheer.§ But the ancient

reading is established by the old romance of

  • i. e. slipped aside.

† i. e. yawned.

‡ i. e. hurt.

§ Dr. Warburton.—Dr. Grey.

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ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES.

313

Sir Bevis, which Shakspcare had doubtless honour. His request granted, he obtains a

often heard sung to the harp. This distich promise of having the first adventure assigned him that shal'd offer.—A damsel named

is part of a description there given of the Ellen, attended by a dwarf, comes to implore

harships suffered by Bevis, when confined in a dungeon :

Rattes and myse and such small dere

Was his meate that seven yere.

Sign. F iii.

III. In different parts of this work, the King Arthur's assitance, to rescue a young

reader will find various extracts from these princess, " the lady of Sinadone," their mistress, who is detained from her rights, and

old poetical legends; to which I refer him for farther examples of their style and metre. confined in prison. The adventure is claimed

To complete this subject, it will be proper at by the young knight Sir Lybius: the king

least to give one specimen of their skill in assents; the messengers are dissatisfied, and

distributing and conducting their fable, by object to his youth; but are forced to acquiesce. And here the first book closes with a

which it will be seen that nature and common description of the ceremony of equipping

sense had supplied to these old simple bards him forth.

the want of critical art, and taught them PART II.

some of the most essential rules of epic Sir Lybius sets out on the adventure: he

poetry. I shall select the romance of Libius is derided by the dwarf and the damsel on

Disconius,* as being one of those mentioned account of his youth : they come to the bridge

by Chaucer, and either shorter or more intelligible than the others he has quoted. of Perill, which none can pass without encountering a knight called William de la

If an epic poem may be defined,† " A fable Braunck. Sir Lybius is challenged: they

related by a poet, to excite admiration, and just with their spears: De la Braunch is

inspire virtue, by representing the action of dismounted: the battle is renewed on foot:

some one hero, favoured by heaven, who executes a great design, in spite of all the obstacles that oppose him !" I know not why we Sir William's sword breaks: he yields. Sir

should withhold the name of epic poem from Lybius makes him swear to go and present

the piece which I am about to analyze. himself to King Arthur, as the first fruits of

My copy is divided into nine parts or cantos, the several arguments of which are as his valour. The conquered knight sets out

follows.

PART I.

Opens with a short exordium to bespeak for King Arthur's court: he is met by three

attention: the hero is described; a natural knights, his kinsmen; who, informed of his

son of Sir Gawain a celebrated knight of King disgrace, vow revenge, and pursue the conqueror. The next day they overtake him:

Arthur's court, who being brought up in a the eldest of the three attacks Sir Lybius;

forest by his mother, is kept ignorant of his but is overthrown to the ground. The two

name and descent. He early exhibits marks other brothers assailt him: Sir Lybius is

of his courage, by killing a knight in single wounded; yet cuts off the second brother's

combat, who encountered him as he was arm: the third yields; Sir Lybius sends

hunting. This inspires him with a desire of them all to King Arthur. In the third even

seeking adventures : therefore clothing himself in his enemy's armour, he goes to King ing he is awakened by the dwarf, who ha

Arthur's court, to request the order of knighthood. * So it is intitulled in the Editor's MS. But the true title discovered a fire in the wood.

is Le livre disconus, or the Fair Unknown. See a note on PART III.

the Canterbury Tales, vol. iv. p. 333.

† Vid. "Discours sur la Poesie Epique," prefixed to Sir Lybius arms himself, and leaps on

Telemarque.

horsback: he finds two Giants roasting wild boar, who have a fair lady their captivity

Sir Lybius, by favour of the night, runs off them through with his spear: is assailted

of them by the other: a fierce battle ensues: he cuts the giant's arm, and at length his head

The resened lady (an earl's daughter) to him her story; and leads him to her father's

castle; who entertains him with a great feast; and presents him at parting with

suit of armour and a steed. He sends the giant's head to King Arthur.

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ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES.

PART IV.

Sir Lybias, maid Ellen, and the dwarf,

renew their journey : they see a castle stuck

round with human heads; and are informed

it belongs to a knight called Sir Gefferon,

who, in honour of his leman or mistress, chal-

lenges all comers: he that can produce a fairer

lady, is to be rewarded with a milk-white

faulcon, but if overcome, to lose his head.

Sir Lybias spends the night in the adjoining

town: in the morning goes to challenge the

faulcon. The knights exchange their gloves:

they agree to just in the market-place: the

lady and maid Ellen are placed aloft in

chairs; their dresses: the superior beauty of

Sir Gefferon's mistress described: the cere-

monies previous to the combat. They engage:

the combat described at large: Sir Gefferon

is incurably hurt; and carried home on his

shield. Sir Lybias sends the faulcon to King

Arthur; and receives back a large present in

florias. He stays forty days to be cured of

his wounds, which he spends in feasting with

the neighbouring lords.

Sinadone, and stays with this bewitching

lady a twelvemonth. This fair sorceress,

like another Alciua, intoxicates him with all

kinds of sensual pleasure; and detains him

from the pursuit of honour.

PART VII.

Maid Ellen by chance gets an opportunity

of speaking to him; and upbraids him with

his vice and folly : he is filled with remorse,

and escapes the same evening. At length he

arrives at the city and castle of Sinadone: is

given to understand that he must challenge

the constable of the castle to single combat,

before he can be received as a guest. They

fight: the constable is worsted: Sir Lybius is

feasted in the castle: he declares his inten-

tion of delivering their lady; and inquires

the particulars of her history. "Two Necro-

mancers have built a fine palace by sorcery,

and there keep her enchanted, till she will

surrender her dually to them, and yield to

such base conditions as they would impose."

PART V.

Sir Lybias proceeds for Sinadone: in a

forest he meets a knight hunting, called Sir

Otes de Lisle: maid Ellen charmed with a

very beautiful dog, begs Sir Lybius to bestow

him upon her; Sir Otis meets them, and

claims his dog: is refused: being unarmed

he rides to his castle, and summons his fol-

lowers: they go in quest of Sir Lybius: a

battle ensues: he is still victorious, and forces

Sir Otes to follow the other conquered knights

to King Arthur.

PART VIII.

Early on the morrow Sir Lybius sets out

for the enchanted palace. He alights in the

court: enters the hall: the wonders of which

are described in strong Gothic painting. He

sits down at the high table: on a sudden all

the lights are quenched: it thunders, and

lightens; the palace shakes; the walls fall

in pieces about his cars. He is dismayed

and confounded: but presently hears horses

neigh, and is challenged to single combat by

the sorcerers. He gets to his steed: a battle

ensues, with various turns of fortune: he

loses his weapon; but gets a sword from one

of the necromancers, and wounds the other

with it: the edge of the sword being secretly

poisoned, the wound proves mortal.

PART VI.

Sir Lybias comes to a fair city and castle

by a river-side, beset round with pavilions or

tents: he is informed, in the castle is a beau-

tiful lady besieged by a giant named Mangys,

who keeps the bridge, and will let none pass

without doing him homage: this Lybius re-

fuses: a battle ensues: the giant described:

the several incidents of the battle; which

lasts a whole summer's day: the giant is

wounded: put to flight; slain The citizens

come out in procession to meet their deli-

verer: the lady invites him into her castle;

falls in love with him: and seduces him to

her embraces. He forgets the princess of

lady.

PART IX.

He goes up to the surviving sorcerer, who

is carried away from him by enchantment:

at length he finds him, and cuts off his head:

he returns to the palace to deliver the lady;

but cannot find her: as he is lamenting, a

window opens, through which enters a horri-

ble serpent with wings and a woman's face:

it coils round his neck, and kisses him ; then

is suddenly converted into a very beautiful

lady. She tells him she is the lady of Sina-

Page 345

ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES.

315

lone, and was so enchanted, till she might kiss Sir Gawain, or some one of his blood : that he has dissolved the charm, and that herself knight (whose descent is by this means discovered) joyfully accepts the offer; makes her his bride, and then sets out with her for King Arthur's court.

Such is the fable of this ancient piece: which the reader may observe, is as regular in its conduct, as any of the finest poems of classical antiquity. If the execution, particularly as to the diction and sentiments, were but equal to the plan, it would be a capital performance; but this is such as might be expected in rude and ignorant times, and in a barbarous unpolished language.

IV. I shall conclude this prolix account with a list of such old metrical romances as are still extant; beginning with those mentioned by Chaucer.

  1. The romance of "Horne Childe" is preserved in the British Museum, where it is entitled pe geste of King Horne. See Catalog. Harl. MSS. 2253, p. 70. The language is almost Saxon, yet from the mention in it of Sarazens, it appears to have been written after some of the Crusades. It begins thus:

All her ben hlype

pat to my song ylype:

A song ychulla ou sing

Of Allof pe gode kynge,* &c.

Another copy of this poem, but greatly altered, and somewhat modernized, is preserved in the Advocates' Library at Edinburgh, in a MS. quarto volume of old English poetry [W. 4, 1], No. xxxiv., in seven leaves or folios,† entitled Hornchild and Maiden Kinivel, and beginning thus:

Mi love frendo dere,

Herken and ye may here.

  1. The Poem of Ipomis (or Ipolis) is preserved in the Cotton Library, Calig. A. 2, fo.

77, but is rather a religious legend, than a romance. Its beginning is,

He pat wyl of wysdome here

Herkeneth now ze may here

Of a tale of holy wryte

Seynt Jwn the Evangelyste wytnesseth hyt.

  1. The Romance of Sir Guy was written before that of Bevis, being quoted in it.* An account of this old poem is given in Series I., Book ii., No. I. To which it may be added, that two complete copies in MS. are preserved at Cambridge,† the one in the public Library,‡ the other in that of Caius College, Class A

8.—In Ames's Typog. p. 153, may be seen the first lines of the printed copy.—The first MS. begins,

Sythe the tyme that God was borne.

  1. Guy and Colbronde, an old romance in three parts, is preserved in the Editor's folio MS. (p. 249). It is in stanzas of six lines, the first of which may be seen in vol. ii. p. 191, beginning thus :

When meate and drinke is great plenty.

In the Edinburgh MS. (mentioned above) are two ancient poems on the subject of Guy of Warwick : viz. No. xxiii. containing twenty-six leaves, and xx. fifty-nine leaves. Both these have unfortunately wanting, otherwise they would perhaps be found to be different copies of one or both the preceding articles.

  1. From the same MS. I can add another article to this list, viz. The Romance of Rein brun son of Sir Guy ; being No. xxi. in nine leaves: this is properly a continuation of the History of Guy: and in art. 3, the Hist. r Rembran follows that of Guy as a necessary part of it. This Edinburgh Romance ? Rembrun begins thus:

Jesu that erst of mighten most

Fader and Sone and Holy Ghost.

  • i. e. May all they be blithe, that to my song listen : A song I shall you sing, of Allof the good king, &c.

† For this and most of the following, which are mentioned as preserved in the public Library, I refer the reader to the Oxon Catalogue of MSS. 1697, vol. ii. p. 594; in Appen to Bishop Moore's MSS. No. 690, 33, since given to University of Cambridge.

Page 346

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ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES.

Before I quit the salject of Sir Guy, I must observe, that if we may believe Dugdale in

his Baronage (vol. i. p. 243, col. 2,) the fame of our English Champion had in the time of

Henry IV. travelled as far as the East, and was no less popular among the Sarazens, than

here in the West among the nations of Chris-tendom. In that reign a Lord Beauchamp

travelling to Jerusalem, was kindly received by a noble person, the Soldan's lieutenant,

who hearing he was descended from the fa-mous Guy of Warwick, "whose story they

had in books of their own language," invited him to his palace; and royally feasting him,

presented him with three precious stones of great value; besides divers cloathes of silk

and gold given te his servants.

  1. The Romance of Sir Bevis is deseribed in Series I. Book iii. No. 1. Two manuscript

copies of this poem are extant at Cambridge; viz. in the public library,* and in that of

Caius Coll. Class A. 9 (5).—The first of these begins,

Lordyngs lystenyth grete and smale.

There is also a copy of this Romance of Sir Bevis of Hamptoun, in the Edinburgh MS.

No. xxii. consisting of twenty-five leaves, and beginning thus:

Lordinges herkneth to mi tale,

Is merier than the nightengale.

The printed copies begin different from both, viz.

Lysten, Lordinges, and hold you styl.

  1. Libeaus (Libeaus, or Lybius) Disconius is preserved in the Editor's folio MS. (pag. 317) where the first stanza is,

Jesus Christ christen kinge,

And his mother that sweete thinge,

Helpe them at their neede,

That will listen to my tale,

Of a Knight I will you tell,

A douglty man of deedle.

An older copy is preserved in the Cotton Library.(Calig. A. 2, fol. 40), but containing

such innumerable variations, that it is appa-rently a different translation of some old

French original, which will account for the title of Le Beaux Disconus, or 'The Fair Un-

known, the first line is,

Jesu Christ our Savyour.

As for Pleindamour, or Blandamoure, no romance with this title has been discovered;

but as the word Blaundemere occurs in the romance of Libius Disconius, in the Editor's

folio MS. p. 319, he thought the name of Blandamoure (which was in all the editions

of Chaucer he had then seen) might have some reference to this. But Pleindamour,

the name restored by Mr. Tyrwhitt, is more remote.

  1. Le Morte Arthure is among the Harl. MSS. 2252, § 49. 'This is judged to be a

translation from the French; Mr. Wanley thinks it no older than the time of Henry

VII., but it seems to be quoted in Syr Bevis (Sign K. ij b.) It begins,

Lordinges that are leffe and deare.

In the Library of Bennet College, Cam-bridge, No. cccii. is a MS. entitled, in the

catalogue, Acta Arthutis Metrico Anglicano, but I know not its contents.

  1. In the Editor's folio MS. are many songs and romances about King Arthur and

his Knights, some of which are very imper-fect, as King Arthur and the King of Corn-

wall, (p. 24) in stanzas of four lines, begin-ning,

'Come here,' my cozen Gawaine so gay.

The Turke and Gawain (p. 38), in stanzas of six lines, beginning thus:

Listen lords great and small.*

but these are so imperfect that I do not make distinct articles of them. See also Series I.

Book I. No. 1, 2, 4, 5.

  • No. 600, sec. 31. Vid. Catalog. MSS. p. 391.

  • In the former editions; after the above, followed men-tion of a frugment in the same MS. intltled. Sir Liruel, in

distichs (p. 32); but this being only a rhert ballad, and not relating to King Arthur, is here omitted.

Page 347

ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES.

317

In the same MS. (p. 203) is the Greene Knight, in two parts, relating a curious adventure of Sir Gawain, in stanzas of six lines, beginning thus :

List : when Arthur he was k :

  1. The Carle of Carlisle is another romantic tale about Sir Gawain, in the same MS. p. 448, in distichs :

Listen : me a little stond.

In all these old poems the same set of knights are always represented with the same manners and characters; which seem to have been as well known, and as distinctly marked among our ancestors, as Homer's heroes were among the Greeks; for, as Ulysses is always represented crafty, and Ajax rough; so Sir Gawain is ever courteous and gentle, Sir Kay rugged and disobliging, &c. "Sir Gawain with his olde courtesie," is mentioned by Chaucer as noted to a proverb, in his Squire's Tales. Canterb. Tales, vol. ii. p. 104.

  1. Syr Launfal, an excellent old romance concerning another of King Arthur's knights, is preserved in the Cotton Library, Calig. A. 2, f. 33. This is a translation from the French, ' made by one Thomas Chestre, who is supposed to have lived in the reign of Henry VI. (See Tanner's Biblioth.) It is in stanzas of six lines, and begins,

Be douzty Arthours dayes.

The above was afterwards altered by some minstrel into the romance of Sir Lambewell, in three parts, under which title it was more generally known.† This is in the Editor's folio MS. p. 60, beginning thus :

Doughty in King Arthures dayes.

  1. Eyer and Grime, in six parts (in the Editor's folio MS. p. 124), is a well invented tale of chivalry, scarce inferior to any of Ariosto's. This, which was inadvertently *

The French original is preserved among the Harl. MSS. No. 718, sec. 112, Lannal.

† Sir Lambham's Letter concerning Queen Elizabeth's entertainment at Killugworth, 1575, 12mo. p. 34.

omitted in the former editions of this list, is in distichs, and begins thus :

It fell sometimes in the land of Beame.

  1. The Romance of Merline, in nine parts, (preserved in the same folio MS. p. 145) gives a curious account of the birth, parentage, and juvenile adventures of this famous British prophet. In this poem the Saxons are called Sarazens; and the thrusting the rebel angels out of Heaven is attributed to "oure Lady." It is in distichs, and begins thus :

He that made with his hand.

There is an old romance Of Arthour and of Merlin, in the Edinburgh MS. of old English poems: I know not whether it has any thing in common with this last mentioned. It is in the volume numbered xxiii., and extends through fifty-five leaves. The two first lines are,

Jesu Crist, heven king, Al ous graunt gode ending.

  1. Sir Isenbras (or as it is in the MS. copies, Sir Isumbras) is quoted in Chaucer's R. of Thop. v. 6. Among Mr. Garrick's old plays is a printed copy; of which an account has been already given in Series I. Book iii. No. 8. It is preserved in MS. in the Library of Caius Coll. Camb. Class A. 9. (2) and also in the Cotton Library, Calig. A. 12. (f. 128.) This is extremely different from the printed copy, E. g.

Gud pat made both erpe and hevene.

  1. Emaré, a very curious and ancient romance, is preserved in the same volume o the Cotton Library, f. 69. It is in stanzas o six lines, and begins thus :

Jesu pat ys kyng in trone.

  1. Chevelere assigne, or, The Knight o the Swan, preserved in the Cotton Librar has been already described in the Essay ' P. Plowman's Metre, &c. Series II. Book i No. 1, as hath also

  2. The Sege of Jerlam (or Jerusalem

Page 348

which seems to have been written after the other, and may not improperly be classed among the romances; as may also the fol-lowing, which is preserved in the same vol-ume; viz.

  1. Ouraine Myles, (fol. 90), giving an ac-count of the wonders of St. Patrick's Purgatory. This is a translation into verse of the story related in Mat. Paris's Hist. (sub ann. 1153.)—It is in distichs beginning thus:

God pat ys so full of myght.

In the same manuscript are three or four other narrative poems, which might be reck-oned among the romances, but being rather religious legends, I shall barely mention them; as Tundale f. 17. Trentale Sci Grego-rii, f. 84. Jerome, f. 133. Eustache, f. 136.

  1. Octavian imperator, an ancient romance of chivalry, is in the same volume of the Cotton Library, f. 20.—Notwithstanding the name, this old poem has nothing in common with the history of the Roman emperors. It is in a very peculiar kind of stanza, whereof 1, 2, 3, and 5, rhyme together, as do 4 and 6. It begins thus:

Ihesu pat was with spere ystonge.

In the public Library at Cambridge,* is a poem with the same title, that begins very differently

Ittyll and mykyll, olde and yonge.

  1. Hylamour of Artoys (or Artois) is preserved in the same volume with the foregoing, both in the Cotton Library, and public Li-brary at Cambridge. It is also in the Editor's folio MS. (p. 295) where it is divided into six parts,—A printed copy is in the Bod-leian Library, C. 39, Art. Seld., and also among Mr. Garrick's old plays, K. vol. x. It is in distichs, and begins thus:

Ihesu Crist of heren kyng.

  1. Syr Tryamour (in stanzas of six lines) is preserved in MS. in the Editor's volume (p. 210), and in the public Library at Cam-

bridge, (690, § 29. Vid. Cat. MSS. p. 394).—Two printed copies are extant in the Bodleian Library, and among Mr. Garrick's plays, in the same volumes with the last article. Both the Editor's MS. and the printed copies begin,

Nowe Jesu Chryste our heven kynge.

The Cambridge copy thus:

Heven blys that all shall wynne.

  1. Sir Degre (Degare, or Degore, which last seems the true title), in five parts, in distichs, is preserved in the Editor's folio MS. p. 371, and in the public Library at Cam-bridge (ubi supra).—A printed copy is in the Bod. Library, C. 39, Art. Seld., and among Mr. Garrick's plays, K., vol. ix. The Editor's MS. and the printed copies begin,

Lordinge, and you wyl holde you styl,

The Cambridge MS. has it,

Lystonyth, lordyngis, gente and fre.

  1. Ipomydon (or Chylde Ipomydon) is preserved among the Harl. MSS. 2252, (44.) It is in distichs, and begins,

Mekely, lordyngis, gentylle and fre.

In the Library of Lincoln Cathedral, Kk. 3, 10, is an old imperfect printed copy, wanting the whole first sheet A.

  1. The Squyr of Lowe Degre, is one of those burlesqued by Chaucer in his Rhyme of Thopas.*—Mr. Garrick has a printed copy of this among his old plays, K. vol. ix. It begins,

It was a squyer of lowe degre,

That loved the king's daughter of Ingre.

  1. Historye of K. Richard Cure [Cœur] de Lyon (Impr. W. de Worde, 1528, 4to.) is preserved in the Bodleian Library, C. 39, Art Seld. A fragment of it is also remaining in the Edinburgh MS. of old English poems
  • An. 400 (29). Vid. Oxen. Catalog. MSS. p. 394.

  • This is alluded to by Shakspeare in his Henry V. (Ac 5), where Flnellyn tells Pistol, he will make him a squir of low degree, when he means to knock him down

Page 349

ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES.

319

No. xxxvii., in two leaves. A large extract from this romance has been given already above (p. 311.) Richard was the peculiar patron of chivalry, and favourite of the old minstrels and Troubadours. See Warton's Observ. vol. i. p. 20, vol. ii. p. 40.

  1. Of the following I have only seen No. xxvii., but I believe they may all be referred to the class of romances.

The Knight of Courtesy and the Lady of Faymel. (Bodl. Lib. C. 90. Art. Sheld. a printed copy.) This Mr. Warton thinks is the story of Concy's Heart, related in Fauchet, and in Howel's Letters (v. i. s. 6, l. 20, See Wart. Obs. v. ii. p. 40.) 'The Editor has seen a very beautiful old ballad on this subject in French.

  1. The four following are all preserved in the MS. so often referred to in the public Library at Cambridge (690. Appendix to Bp. More's MSS. in Cat. MSS. tom. ii. p. 394,) viz. The Lay of Erle of Tholouse, (No. xxviii.) of which the Editor hath also a copy from "Cod. MSS. Mus. Ashmol. Oxon." The first line of both is,

Jesu Chryste in Trynyte.

  1. Roberd Kynge of Cysyll (or Sicily,) showing the fall of pride. Of this there is also a copy among the Harl. MSS. 1703 (3.) The Cambridge MS. begins,

Princis that be prowde in prose.

  1. Le bone Florence of Rome, beginning thus:

As ferre as men rido or gono.

  1. Dioclesian the Emperour, beginning,

Sum tyme ther was a noble man.

  1. The two knightly brothers Amys and Amelion (among the Harl. MSS. 2386, § 42) is an old romance of chivalry; as is also, I believe, the fragment of the Lady Belesant, the duke of Lombardy's fair daughter, mentioned in the same article. See the Catalog. vol. ii.

  2. In the Edinburgh MS. so often referred to (preserved in the Advocates' Library, W. 4, 1,) might probably be found some other articles to add to this list, as well as other copies of some of the pieces mentioned in it; for the whole volume contains not fewer than thirty-seven poems or romances, some of them very long. But as many of them have lost the beginnings, which have been cut out for the sake of the illuminations, and as I have not had an opportunity of examining the MS. myself, I shall be content to mention only the articles that follow ;* viz.

An old romance about Rouland (not I believe the famous Paladine, but a champion named Rouland Loth; query) being in the volume, No. xxvii., in five leaves, and wants the beginning.

  1. Another romance, that seems to be a kind of continuation of this last, entitled, Otuel a Knight (No. xxiiii., in eleven leaves and a half.) The two first lines are,

Herkneth both zinge and old, That willen heren of batailes bold.

  1. The King of Tars (No. iv., in five leaves and a half; it is also in the Bodleian Library, MS. Vernon f. 304), beginning thus:

Horkneth me both eld and zing, For Maries love that swete thing.

  1. A tale or romance (No. i., two leaves) that wants both beginning and end. The first lines now remaining are,

The Erl him graunted his will y-wis. that the knicht him haden y told. The Baromnis that were of mikle pris. befor him they weren y-cald.

  1. Another mutilated tale or romance (No. iii. four leaves). The first lines at present are,

To Mr. Steward will y gon. and tellen him the sothe of the Reseyved bestaw ane anon. gif zou wil serve and with hir be.

  • Some of these I give, though mutilated and diveste of their titles, because they may enable a curious inquirer to complete or improve other copies.

41

Page 350

320

THE BOY AND THE MANTLE.

  1. A mutilated tale or romance (No. xi. in thirteen leaves). The two first lines that occur are,

That riche Dooke his fest gan hold

With Erls and with Barons bold.

I cannot conclude my account of this curious manuscript, without acknowledging that I was indebted to the friendship of the Rev. Dr. Blair, the ingenious professor of Belles Lettres in the University of Edinburgh, for whatever I learned of its contents, and for the important additions it enabled me to make to the foregoing list.

To the preceding articles, two ancient metrical romances in the Scottish dialect may now be added, which are published in Pinkerton's "Scottish poems, reprinted from scarce editions." Lond. 1792, in 3 vols. 8vo. viz.

  1. Gawan and Gologras, a metrical romance, from an edition printed at Edinburgh, 1508, 8vo., beginning,

In the tyme of Arthur, as trew men me tald.

It is in stanzas of thirteen lines.

  1. Sir Gawan and Sir Galaron of Galloway, a metrical romance, in the same stanzas as No. xxxviii., from an ancient MS. beginning thus:

In tyme of Arthur an aunter* betyddé

By the Turnwathelan, as the boke tells ;

Whan he to Carlele was comen, and conqueror kyd, &c.

Both these (which exhibit the union of the old alliterative metre, with rhyme, &c., and in the termination of each stanza the short triplots of the Turnament of Tottenham) are judged to be as old as the time of our King Henry VI., being apparently the production of an old poet, thus mentioned by Dunbar, in his "Lament for the Death of the Makkaris."

"Clerk of Tranent eik he hes take,

That made the aventures of Sir Gawane."

It will scarce be necessary to remind the reader, that Turne-Wadling, celebrated in the old ballad of the Marriago of Sir Gawaine. See the concluding Notes to No. 4, Series I. Book i., and No. 19, Series I. Book iii.

Many new references, and perhaps some additional articles might be added to the foregoing list from Mr. Warton's "History of English Poetry," 3 vols. 4to., and from the notes to Mr. Tyrwhitt's improved edition of "Chaucer's Canterbury Tale," &c., in 5 vols. 8vo., which have been published since this Essay, &c., was first composed ; but it will be sufficient once for all to refer the curious reader to those popular works.

The reader will also see many interesting particulars on the subject of these volumes, as well as on most points of general literature, in Sir John Hawkins's curious "History of Music," &c., in 5 vols. 4to., as also in Dr. Burney's History, &c., in 4 vols. 4to.

THE END OF THE ESSAY.

I.

The 3oy and the 3lantle,

— Is printed verbatim from the old MS. described in the Preface. The Editor believes 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 wivehood true to all that did it beare;

Page 351

THE BOY AND

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, eftsomes 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 exceeding 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, entitled "Morte Arthur," which was translated out of French in the time of King Edward 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 Queene, &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 la 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 lady

or gentlewoman drinke of that horne, but if she were true to her husband: and if shea were false she should spill all the drinke, and drink peaceably: and because of Queene Guenever and in despite of Sir Launcelot du Lake, this horne was sent unto King Arthur."

—This horn is intercepted and brought unto another king named Marke, who is not for he makes "this queene drinke thereof and an hundred ladies more, and there were but foure ladies of all those that drank cleane," of which number the said queene 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 Queene Guenever, she is here represented no otherwize than in the 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.

In the third day of may,

To Carleile did come

A kind curteous child,

That cold much of wisdome

A kirtle and a mantle

This child had uppon,

With 'brouches' and ringes

Full richely bedone.

He had a sute of silke

About his middle drawne;

Without he cold of curtesye

He thought itt much shame.

God speed thee, King Arthur,

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 you for to dread.

Ver. 7, branches, MS. V. 18, heate, MS.

Page 352

322

THE BOY AND THE MANTLE.

He plucked out of his 'porterncr,'

And longer wold not dwcll,

He pulled forth a pretty mantle,

Betweenc two nut-shells.

Have thou here, King Arthur :

Have thou heere of mee :

Give itt to thy comely queene

Shapen as itt is alredye

Itt shall never hecome that wiffe,

That hath once done amisse,

Then every knight in the kings court,

Began to care for 'his.'

Forth came dame Guencrer ;

To the mantle shee her 'liod ;'

The hulyee shee was newfangle,

But yett shee was affrayd.

When shee had taken the mantle;

She stoodc as shee had beenc madd :

It was from the top to the toe

As sheeres had itt shred.

One while was it 'gule ;'

Another while was itt greene;

Another while was it 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.

Shee threw down the mantle,

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 rengeance on his crowne,

That hither hath itt brought.

I had rather he in a wood,

Under a greene tree;

Then in King Arthurs court

Shamed for to bee.

Kay called forth his ladye,

And bade her come nere;

Saies, Madam, and thou be guiltye,

I pray thee hold thee there.

Ver.21, poterver, MS. V. 32, hild wiffe, MS. V. 34, hided,

MS. V. 41, gaule, MS.

Forth came his ladye

Shortlye and anon;

Boldlye to the mantle

Then is shee gone.

When she had tane the mantle,

And cast itt her about;

Then was she bare

'Before all the rout.'

Then ever knight,

That was in the kings court,

Talked, lauged, and showted

Full oft att that sport.

Shee threw downe the mantle,

That bright was of blee ;

Fast, with a red rudd,

To her chamber can shee fleec.

Forth came an old knight

Pattering ore a creede,

And he proferred to this litle boy

Twenty markes to his meede ;

And all the time of the Christmasse,

Willingye to feede ;

For why this mantle might

Doe his wiffe some need.

When she had tane the mantle,

Of cloth that was made,

Shee had no more left on her,

But a tassell and a threed :

Then every knight in tho kings court

Bade evil 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.

Craddocke called forth his ladye,

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.

Ver. 76, lauged.

Page 353

THE BOY AND THE MANTLE.

Forth came Craddokes lady

Shortlye and anon;

But boldlye to the mantle

Then is shee gone.

When she had tane the mantle,

And cast it her about,

Upp at 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 certainye,

When I kist Craddokes mouth

Under a greene tree;

When I kist Cradduckes mouth

Before he marryed mee.

When shee had her shreveen,

And her sinnes shoo had tolde:

The mantle stode about her

Right as shee wold:

Seemelye of coulour

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.

See you not yonder woman,

That maketh her self soe 'cleane'?

I have seene tane out of her bedd

Of men fifteene;

Priests, clarkes, and wedded men

From her bedene:

Yett shee taketh the mantle,

And maketh her self cleane.

Then spake the litle boy,

That kept the mantle in hold;

Sayes, king, chasten thy wilfe,

Of her words shoo is to bold:

Shee is a bitch and a witch,

And a whore bold:

King, in thine owne hall

Thou art a cuckold.

Ver. 134, wright, MS. V. 130, cloare, MS. V. 140, by deone, MS.

The litle boy stoode

Looking out a dore;

'And there as he was lookinge

He was ware of a wyld bore.'

He was ware of a wyld bore,

Would have weryed a man:

He pulld forth a wood kniffe

Fast thither that he ran:

He brought in the bores head,

And quittell him like a man.

He brought in the bores head,

And was wondrous bold:

He said there was never a cuckolds kniffe

Carye itt that cold.

Some rubled their knives

Uppun a whetstone:

Some threw them under the table,

And said they had none.

King Arthur, and the child

Stoud 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 ceourt

Had a morssell.

The litle boy had a horne,

Of red gold that ronge:

Heo said there was noe cuckolde

Shall drinke of my horne;

But he shold it sheede

Either behind or beforne.

Some sheild on their shoulder,

And some on their knec;

He that cold not hitt his mouth,

Put it in his eye:

And he that was a cuckold

Every man might him see.

Craddluke wan the borue,

And tho bores head:

His ladio wan the mantle

Unto her meedoe.

Everye such a borely ladye

God send her well to speede

Ver. 170, them upon, MS. V. 175, or birtled, MS.

Page 354

324

THE MARRIAGE OF SIR GAWAINÉ.

II.

The Marriage of Sir Gawainé,

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 Wife of Bath's Tale. The original

was so extremely mutilated, half of every

leaf being torn away, that without large sup-

plements, &c., it was deemed improper for

this collection : these it has therefore received,

such as they are. They are not here particu-

larly pointed out, because the "Fragment"

itself will now be found printed at the end

of this volume.

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 there with him Queene Guenever,

That bride soe bright in bowre:

And all his barons about him stoode,

That were both stiffe and stowre.

The king a royale Christmase kept,

With mirth and princelye cheare;

To him repaired many a knighté,

That came both farre and neure.

And when they were to dinner sette

And cups went freely round :

Before them came a faire damselle,

And knelt upon the ground.

A boone, a boone, O Kinge Arthùre

I beg a boone of thee;

Avengé me of a carlish knighte,

Who hath shent my love and mee.

At Tearne-Wadling* his castle stands,

Near to that lake so fair,

  • Tearne-Wadling is the name of a small lake near Hes-

keth in Cumberland, on the road from Penrith to Carlile.

There is a tradition, that an old castle once stood near the

lake, the remains of which were not long since visible.

Tearne, in the dialect of that country, signifies a small lake,

and is still in use.

And proudlye rise the battlements,

And streamers deck the air.

Noe gentle knighté, nor ludye gay,

May pass that castle-walle :

But from that foule discurteous knighte,

Mishappe will them befallé.

He's twyce the size of common men,

Wi' thowes, and sinewes strónge,

And on his backe he bears a clubbé,

That is both thicke and longé.

This grimmo baroné 'twas our harde happe,

But yoster morne to see;

When to his bowre he bare my love,

And sore misused mee.

And when I told him, King Arthùre

As lyttlé shold him spare;

Goe tell, sayd hee, that cuckold kingé,

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.

Goe fetch my sword Excalibar :

Goe saddlé mee my steede;

Nowe, by my fayé, that grimmo baròne

Shall rue this ruthfullé deede.

And when he came to Tearné Wadlinge

Beneth the castle walle :

"Come forth; come forth; thou proud bardné,

Or yielde thyself my thrallé."

On magické grounde that castle stoode,

And fenc'd with many a spelle:

Noc valiant knighté could tread thereon,

But straité his courage fellé.

Forth then rush'd that carlish knight,

King Arthur felte the charmé:

His sturdy sinewes lost their strengthe,

Downe sunke his feeble arme.

Page 355

THE MARRIAGE OF SIR GAWAIN

Nowe yieid theo, yieid theo, King Arthùre,

Now yiold thee, unto mee:

Or fighte with mee, or lose thy lande,

Nue better termes maye bee,

Unlesso thou sweare upon the rood,

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 lyre.

King Arthur then holde up his hande,

And swarc upon his faye,

Then took his leave of the grimme barone,

And faste hee rode awaye.

And he rode east, and he rode west,

And did of all inquayre;

What thing it is all women crave,

And what they most desyre.

Some told him riches, pompe, or state;

Some rayment fine and brighte;

Some told him mirthe; some flatterye,

And some a jollye knight.

In letters all King Arthur wrote,

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 sawe a ladye sette

Betwene an oke, and a greene hollèye,

All clad in red scarletto.

Her nese was crookt and turnd outwàrde,

Her chin stoode all awrye;

And where as sholde have been her mouthe,

Lo ! there was set hor eye:

Her hairos, like serpents, clung aboute

Her cheokes of deadlye hewe:

A worse-form'd ladye than she was,

No man mote ever riewe.

  • This was a common phrase in our old writers; so Chaucer in his Prologue to the Cant. Tales, says of the wife of Bath:

Her hosen were of fyne scarlet red.

To hail the king in scemelje sorte

This ladyo was fulle fayno;

But King Arthùre all sore amaz'd,

No aunswere made againo.

What wight art thou, the ladyo sayd,

That wilt not speake to mee;

Sir, I may chance to case thy paine,

Though I bee foule to see.

If thou wilt ease my paine, he sayd,

And holpe me in my noode;

Ask what thou wilt, thou grimmo ladyè,

And it shall bee thy meede.

O sweare mee this upon the roode,

And promise on thy faye;

And here the secrete I will telle,

That shall thy ransome paye.

King Arthnr promis'd on his faye,

And sware upon the roode;

The secrete that the ladyo told,

As lightl'ye woll 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.

Fast then prick'd King Arthùre

Ore hille, and dale, and downe:

And soone he founde the barone's bowre:

And soone the grimme baroùne.

He bare his clubbe upon his backe,

He stoudo bothe stiffe and stronge;

And, when he had the letters reade,

Awaye the lettros flunge.

Nowo yielde theo, Arthur, and thy lands,

All forfait unto mee;

For this is not thy paye, sir king,

Nor may thy ransome bee.

Yet holde thy hand, thou proude barùne,

I praye thee holde thy hand;

And give mee leave to speake onco more

In reskewc of my land.

This morne, as I came over a more,

I sawe a ladye sette

Betwene an oke, and a greene hollàyo,

All clad in red scarletto.

Page 356

326

THE MARRIAGE OF SIR GAWAINE.

Shee sayes, all women will have their wille,

This is their chief desyre;

Now yeld, as thou art a barone truec,

That I have payd mine lyre.

An earlye vengeaunce light on her!

The carlish baron swore :

Shee was my sister tolde thee this,

And shee's a mishapen whore.

But here I will make mine avowe,

To do her as ill a turne:

For an ever I may that foule theofe gettè,

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.

What newes! what newes! thou noble king,

Howe, Arthur, hast thou sped?

Where hast thou hung tine 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.

To bowe to him I was fulle fàine,

And yielde mee to his hand:

And but for a lothly ladyè, there

I sholde have lust my land.

And nowe this fils my hearte with woe,

And sorrowè 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 gentlo knighte:

That lothly ladyè I will wod;

Therefore he merrye and lighte.

Nowe nayè, nowe nayè, good Sir Gawàino;

My sister's sonne yee bee;

This lothlyè ladyè'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 ladyè than shee is

Was never seen with eyeè.

What though her chin stand all awrye,

And shee be foule to see:

I'll marry her, unkè, for thy sake,

And I'll thy ransome bee.

Nowe thankes, nowe thankes, good Sir Ga-

wàine :

And a blessing thee betyde!

To-morrow wee'll have knights and squires,

And wee'll goe fetch thy bride.

And wee'll have hawkès and wee'll have

houndès,

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 dayè;

And foremostè of the companyè

There rode the stewarde Kayè:

Soe did Sir Banièr and Sir Borè,

And eke Sir Garfatte 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 ladyè in red scarlètè

That unseemelye was to see.

Sir Kay beheld that lady's face,

And looked upon her swèere ;

Whoever kisses that ladyè, he sayes,

Of his kisso he stands in feare.

Sir Kay beheld that lady agàine,

And lookèd upon her snout;

Whoever kisses that ladyè, he sayes,

Of his kisse he stands in doubt.

Peace, brother Kay, sayde Sir Gawàine,

And amende theè 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;

Gett mee a wife whereever I mayè,

In sooth shee shall be none.

Then some took up their hawkès in haste,

And somè took up their houndès;

And sayd they wolde not marry her,

For cities, nor for townès.

Page 357

THE MARRIAGE OF SIR GAWAINE.

Then bespake him King Arthure,

And sware there by this daye;

For a little foule sighte and mislikinge,

Yee shall not say her naye.

Peace, lordlings, peace; Sir Gawaine sayd:

Nor make debate and strife;

This lothlye ladyo I will take,

And marry her to my wife.

Now thankes, nowe thankes, good Sir Ga-raine,

And a blessinge be thy meede!

For as I am thine owne lady

'Thou never shalt rue this deede.

Then up they touke that lothly dame,

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 own 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,

He sawe a young lady faire.

Sweete blushes stayn'd her rud-red cheeke,

Her eyen were blacke as sloe :

The ripening cherry 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 knighthe,

The spice was never soe sweate.

Sir Gawaine kiss'd that lady brighte,

Lying there by his side :

"The fairest flower is not so faire :

'Thou never can'st bee my bride."

I am thy bride, mine owne deare lorde,

The same whiche thou didst knowe,

That was soe lothlye, and was wont

Upon the wild mure to goe.

Nowe, gentle Gawaine, cluse, cnoth shoe,

And make thy choice with care;

Whether by night, or also 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."

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 ?

"My faire lady', Sir Gawaine sayd,

I yeld me to thy skille;

Becanse thou art mine owne lady

Thou shalt have all thy wille."

Nowe blessed be thou, sweete Gawaine,

And the daye that I thee see;

For as thou soest mee at this time,

Sue shall I ever bee.

My father was an aged knight,

And yet I chanced soe,

He tooke to a wife a false lady

Whiche brought me to this woe.

Shee witch'd mee, being a faire yonge maide,

In the greene forest to dwelle;

And there to abide in lothelye 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 :

Nor fully to gaine mine owne trewe shape,

Such was her devilish skille;

Until he wolde yelde 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 rupine and wronge.

But now the spelle is broken throughe,

And wronge is turnde to righte;

Henceforth I shall bee a faire lady

And hee be a gentle knighte.

Page 358

328

KING RYENCE'S CHALLENGE.

III.

King Ryence's Challenge.

This song is more modern than many of those which follow it, but it is placed here for the sake of the subject. It was sung before Queen 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 "Minstrel came forth with a sollem song, warranted for story out of King Arthur's acts, whereof I gat a copy, and is this:

"So it fell out ou 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 overiche of them did him homage, and that this was they gave him their beards cleane flayne off,—wherefore the messenger come for King Arthr's beard, for King Ryence had purfeled a mantell with kings beards, and there lacked for one a place of the mantell, wherefore he sent for his beard, or els 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 hast said thy me=age, which is the most villainous and lewdest message that ever man heard sent to a king. Al=o 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 homag on both his knees, or els he shall lense his head." [B. I. c. 24. See al-o the same Romance, B. I. c. 92.]

The thought seems to be originally taken from Jeff. Monmouth's Hist. B. X. c. 3, which is alluded to by Drayton in his Poly-Olb. Song 4. and by Spenser in Faer. Qu. 6. 1. 13, 15. See the observations on Spenser, vol. II. p. 223.

The following text is composed of the best readings selected from three different copies. The first in Euderbrio's Cambria Triumphans, p. 197. The second in the Letter above mentioned. 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 "Camalet," sometimes a famous towne or castle, is situate on a "very high tor or hill, &c." [See an exact descrip-tion in Stow'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, Chevaliars 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.

For his robe of state is a rich scarlet mantle,

With eleven kings beards borderd† about,

And there is room lefte yet in a kuntle,

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 tecth of all thy round table.

  • Largesse, Largesse. The heralds resounded these word as oft as they received of the bounty of the knights. So "Memoires de la Chevalerie," tom. I. p. 90. The expressio is still used in the form of installing knights of the garters gowns of Magistrates.

† i. e. set round the border, as furs are now round th

Page 359

KING ARTHUR'S DEATH.

When this mortal message from his mouth past,

Great was the noyse bothe in hall and in bower:

The king fum'd; the queene screecht; ladies were aghast;

Princes puff'd; 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 deorely was dight;

Of wine and wassal 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 Ryenee, thou dwarf, quoth the king,

That for his bold message I do him defye;

And shortlye with bastins and pans will him ring

Out of North-gales; where he and I

With swords, and not razors, quicklyc shall tryc,

Whether he, or King Arthur will prove the best barber;

And therewith he shook his good sword Escalibor.


  • Strada, in his Prolusions, has ridiculed the story of the Giant's Mantle, made of the beards of kings.

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 reigne in as great authority

as ever." Holinshed, B. 5, c. 14; or, as it is expressed in an old Chronicle printed at

Antwerp, 1493, by Ger. de Leew, "The Bretons supposed, that he [King Arthur] shall

come yet and conquere all Brotaigne, for certes this is the proplieye of Merlyn; He

sayd, that his deth shall be doubteous; and sayd soth, for men thercof yet have doute,

and shullen for ever more,—for men wyt not whether that he lyoth or is dede." See more

ancient testimonies in Selden's Notes on Polyolbion, song 3.

This fragment, being very incorrect and imperfect in the original MS., hath received

some conjectural emendations, and even a supplement of three or four stanzas composed

from the romance of "Morte Arthur."


On Trinitye Mondaye in the morne,

This sore battayle was doom'd to be:

Where manye a knight cry'd, Well-awaye!

Alas! it was the more pittle.

Ere the first crowinge of the cocke,

When as the kinge in his bed lay,

He thoughto Sir Gawaine to him came,*

And there to him these wordes did saye.

Nowe, as you are nine uncle deare,

And as you prize your life, this daye

O meete not with your fo in fighte;

Putt off the battayle, if yee maye.

  • Sir Gawaine had been killed at Arthur's landing on h return from abroad. See the next Ballad, ver. 73.

Page 360

330

KING ARTHUR'S DEATH.

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.

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.

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.

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 king he charged all his hoste,

In readinesse there for to bee :

But noe man sholde no 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 holde 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.

For he durste not his unkles truste,

Nor he his nephewre, sothe to tell;

Alacke ! it was a woefull case,

As ere in Chrystentye befello.

But when they were together mette,

And both to faire accordance broughtte;

And a month's league betwene them sette,

Before the battayle sholde be foughtte;

An addere crept forth of a bushe,

Stunge one o' th' king's knightes on the kne:

Alacke ! it was a woefull chance,

As ever was in Christentie.

When the knightes found him wounded sore,

And sawe the wild-worme hanginge there;

His sworde he from his scabherde drewe :

A piteous case, as ye shall heare.

For when the two hostes sawe the sworde,

They joyned battayle instantlye :

Till of so manye noble knightes,

On one side there were left but three.

For all were slaine that durst abide,

And but some fewe that fled awaye :

Ah mee ! it was a bloodye fielde,

As ere was foughten on summer's daye.

Upon King Arthurs own partyè,

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.

Nowe reste yee all, brave knights, he said,

Soe true and faithful to your trust :

And must yee then, yee valiant hearts,

Be lefte to moulder into dust !

Most loyal have yee been to mee,

Most true and faithful unto deathe :

And, oh ! to rayse yee up againe,

How frelye could I yicld my breathe !

But see the traytor's yet alyve,

Lo where hee stalkes among the deadel

Nowe bitterlye he shall abye :

And vengeance full upon his head.

O staye, my liege, then sayd the duke;

O staye for love and charitle;

Remember what the vision spake,

Nor meeto your foe, if it may bee.

O, staye mee not, thou worthy wight,

This debt my loyal knights I owe :

Betide me life, betide me deatb,

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.

Ver. 41, 42, tha follo reads father . . . . sonne.

Page 361

KING ARTHUR'S DEATH

331

Alas! then sayd the noble king,

That I shold live this sight to see!

To see this good knight here be slaine,

All for his love in helping mee!

100

He put his speare into his reste,

And to Sir Mordred loud gan crye;

Nowe sette thyself upon thy gurde,

For, traitor, nowe thy death is nye.

Sir Mordred lifted up his sworde,

105

And fierce to meet the king ran hee:

The king his speare he through him thrust;

And fathöm thorow his bodie.

When Mordered felt the stroke of death,

And found that he was wounded soe;

110

He thruste himsclfe upon the speare,

And strucķe the king a deadlye blowe.

Then grimmlye dyed Sir Mordercd,

Presentlye upon that tree:

And bloody streamcs ramne from the kingc

Ere to the duke returned hee.

116

Sir Lukyn then he thus bespake,

Sir knyghte, thou hast becomne faithfullc

tryde,

Nowe take my sword Excalibar,*

That hangs so frelyc by my syde:

120

O take my sworl Excalibar,

And there into the river throwe:

For here, hencefurth, hencethe this tree,

All use of weapuns I forgoe.

And firo thee well, thou trustye sworl,

125

A better neer had valiant knightc,

With thee full ofte, and manye a daye,

Have I withstand my foe in fightc.

With this good fauchion in my handc,

Oft have I reapld the bloody feeldc:

130

But now the fatalle houre is comc,

That never morc I may thee weeldc.

The duke to the river side he went,

And there his owne sword in throwe he:

But he kcpt back Excalibar,

135

He kcpt it back in privitie.

  • Morc commonly called Caliburn. In the folio MS.,

Escallord.

For all of coleyne was the blade;

And all the hilte of preciouns stone:

And euer alacke! then sayd the knighte,

Must such a sword awaye be throwne?

141

Then backe he came unto the kingc,

Who sayd, Sir Lukyn, what did yee see?

Nothing, my liege, save that the winde

Blewe oer the waters faire and free.

O goe againc, then sayd the kingc,

145

O good Sir Lukyn, gue againc:

Into the rivere throwc my sword,

Nor keepe me lingering here in paine.

The duke then to the river went,

And the kings scabbard in throwe hee;

But hee kept backe Excalibar,

151

And hid it undcrncthe a tree.

Then backe he came to tell the kingc,

Who sayde, Sir Lukyn, sawe ye oughtc?

Nothing, my liege, save that the winde

155

Nowe with the angrye waters fought.

O Lukyn, Lukyn, said the kingc,

Twice haste thou dealt deceytfullye:

Alacke, whom may wee euer truste,

159

When suchc a knightc soe false can bee?

Saye, wouldst thou have thy master dead;

All for a sword, that wins thine eye:

Nowe goe againc, and throwc it in,

Or here the onc of us shall dye.

165

The duke, all shent with this rebuke,

No answere made unto the kingc:

But to the rivere tooke the sworde,

And throwc it far as he coulde flingc.

A hande and arme did meete the sworde,

And flourisħd threc times in the air;

170

Then sunke henethe the remingc streme,

And of the duke was seen noe mair.

All sore astonied stood the duke;

He stood as still, as still mote hee:

Then hastend backe to tell the kingc;

175

But he was gone from under the tree.

Page 362

332

THE LEGEND OF KING ARTHUR.

But to what place hee cold not tell,

For never after hee did him spye:

But hee sawe a barge goe from the land, 179

And hee heard ladyes howle and crye."

And whother the kingo wero there, or not,

Hee never knewo, nor ever colde:

For from that sad and direfullo daye,

Hee never more was seene on molde.

V.

The Legend of King Arthur.

We have here a short summary of King

Arthur's History as given by Jeff. of Mon-

mouth and the old Chronicles, with the addi-

tion of a few circumstances from the romaunce

Morte Arthur.—The ancient chronicle of

Ger. de Leew (quoted above in p. 329) seems

to have been chiefly followed: upon the au-

thority of which we have restored some of

the names which were corrupted in the MS.,

and have transposed one stanza, which ap-

peared to be misplaced, [viz. that beginning

at v. 49, which in the MS. followed v. 36.]

Printed from the Editor's ancient folio

Manuscript.

Of Brutus' blood, in Brittaine borne,

King Arthur I am to name;

Through Christendome, and Heathynesse

Well knowne is my worthy fame.

In Jesus Christ I doe beleere;

I am a Christyan bore;

The Father, Sone, and Holy Gost

One God, I doe adore.

In the four hundreth eightieth yeere,

Over 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 sat alwayes:

Who for their deeds and martiall feates,

As bookes done yett recorde,

Amongst all other nations

Wer feard throwgh the world.

And in the castle off Tyntayill

King Uthor mee begate

Of Agyana a bewtious ladye,

And come of 'hic' estate.

And when I was fifteon yeere old,

Then was I crowned kinge:

All Brittaine that was att an updre

I did to quiet bringe.

And droue the Saxons from the realme

Who had opprest this land;

All Scotland then throughe manly feates

I conquered with my hand.

Ireland, Denmarke, Norway,

These countryes wan I all;

Iseland, Gothelard, and Swethland;

And 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.

And the ugly gyant Dynabus

Soe terrible to rewe,

That in Saint Barnards mount did lye,

By force of armes I slew:

Ver. 178. see MS. V. 1, Brute. MS. V. 9, He began his

reign, A. D. 515, according to the Chronicles.

  • Not unlike that passage in Virgil:

Sumnisque ulubrumt vertice nymphæ.

Latis was the word our old English writers used for

Neptunis: As in the following lines of an old song in the

Editor's folio MS.

† When searching Venus he did mount,

Then Lady Venus went to hunt:

To whom Diann did resort,

With all the Ladyes of hills, and valleis,

Of springs, and floodles, &c."

Ver. 23. She is namcd Igerna in the old Chronicles. V

24, his. MS. V. 30. Frolland field. MS. Froll, according to

the Chronicles, was a Roman knight, governor of Gaul. V

41, Daulbus, MS.

Page 363

A DYTIE TO IEY DOWNE.

333

And Lucyus the emperour of Rome

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 Grecian emperour

Who alsoe lost his life.

Whose carcase I did send to Rome

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.

One winter there I made abode :

Then word to mee was brought

Howe Mordred had oppressed the crowne;

What treason he had wrought

Att home in Brittaine with my queene ;

Therfore I came with speede

To Brittaine backe, with all my power,

To quitt that traiterous deede :

And soone at Sandwiche I arrive,

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.

Thence chased I Mordred away,

Who fledd to London right,

From London to Winchester, and

To Cornewalle took his flyght.

And still I him pursued with speed

Till at the last wee mett :

Wherby an appointed day of fight

Was there agreed and sett.

Where we did fight, of mortal life

Eche other to deprive,

Till of a hundred thousand men

Scaece one was left alive.

There all the noble chivalrye

Of Brittaine took their end.

O see how fickle is their state

That doe on fertes depend !

There all the traiterous men were slaine,

Not one escape 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.

VI.

A Dytie to Iey Iabour.

Copied from an old MS. in the Cotton Li-

brary, [Vesp. A. 25,] entitled, "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 nature's kinde

To 'change' things frame by cunning skyll :

That man I thinke bestowreth paine,

Though he that his labour be in vaine.

Who strives to breake the sturdy steele,

Or goeth about to staye the sunne;

Who thinkes to cause an oke to reele,

Which never can by force be done :

That man likewise bestoweth paine,

Though he that his labour be in vaine.

Who thinkes to stryve against the streame,

And for to sayle without a maste;

Unlesse he thinkes perhappes to faine,

His travell ys forlorne and waste;

And so in cure of all his paine,

His travell ys his cheffest gaine.

Ver. 49, of Payye, MS. V. 4, causse, MS.

Ver. 92, perhaps fates.

Page 364

334

GLASGERION.

So he lykewise, that goes about

To please eche eye and every care,

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 dowe reward for all our paine.

VII.

Glasgerion.

An ingonious Friend thinks that the fol-

lowing old Ditty (which is printed from the

Editor's folio MS.) may possibly have given

birth to the Tragedy of the "Orphan," in

which Polidore intercepts Monimia's intend-

ed favours to Castalio.

See what is said concerning the hero of

this song (who is celebrated by Chaucer

under the name of Glaskyrión) in the Essay

prefixed to Series the First, Note H.

Glasgerion was a kinges owne sonne,

And a harper he was goode :

He harped in the kinges chambre,

Where cuppe and caudle stoode.

And soe did hee in the queens chamber,

Till ladies waxed 'glad.'

And then bespake the kinges daughter ;

And these wordes thus shee sayd.

Strike on, strike on, Glasgèrion,

Of thy striking doe not blinne :

Theres never a stroke comes oer thy harpe,

But it glads my hart withinne.

Faire might he fall, ladye, quoth hee,

Who taught you nowe to speake !

I have loved you, lady, seven longe yeere

My minde I neere durst breake.

But come to my bower, my Glasgerion,

When all men are att rest :

As I am a ladie true of my promisc,

Thou shalt have a welcome guest.

Home then came Glasgerion,

A glad man, iord ! 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 chambre must I bee

Beffere the cocke have crowen.

O master, master, then quoth hee,

Lay your head downe on this stone :

For I will waken you, master deere,

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

Hee seemed a gentleman.

And when he came to the ladies chamber,

He thrild upon a pinn.*

The lady was true of her promise,

Rose up and lett him in.

He did not take the lady gaye

To boulster nor to bed :

'Nor though hee had his wicked wille,

A single word he sed.'

He did not kisse that ladyes mouthe,

Nor when he came, nor youd :

And sore mistrusted that lady gay,

Hee was of some churls bloud.

But home then came that lither ladd,

And did off his hose and shoone ;

And cast the coller from off his necke :

Hee was but a churlès sonne.

  • This is elsewhere expressed 'twirled the pin' or 'tirtld at the pin' [See B. II. S. VI. v. 3], and seems to refer to the turning round the button on the outskde of a door, by which the latch rises, still used in cottages.

Ver. 6, wool, MS. Ver. 16, harte, MS.

Page 365

Awake, awake, my deero master,

The cock hath woll-nigh crowen.

Awake, awake, my master deero,

I hold it time to be gone.

For I have saddled your horsse, master,

Well bridled I have your steede:

And I have served you a good breakfast

For thereof ye have need.

Up then rose good Glasgerion,

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 chamber,

He thrild upon the pinne :

The ladye was more than true of promise,

And rose and let him inn.

Saies, whether have you left with me

Your bracelett or your glove?

Or are you returned backe againe

To know more of my love?

Glasgerion swore a full great othe,

By oake, and ashe, and thorne;

Lady, I was never in your chamber,

Sith the time that I was borne.

O then it was your lither foot-page,

He hath beguiled moe.

Then shee pulled forth a little pen-knife,

That hanged by her knec:

Sayes, there shall never noe churles blood

Within my bodye spring:

No churles blood shall ever defile

The daughter of a kinge.

Home then went Glasgerion,

And woe, good lord, was bee.

Sayes, come thou hither, Jacke my boy,

Come hither unto mee.

If I had killed a man to night,

Jack, I would tell it to thee :

But if I have not killed a man to-night,

Jacke, thou hast killed three.

And he puld out his bright browne sword,

A dryed it on his sleve,

And he smote off that lither ladds head,

Who did his ladye grieve.

He sett the swords poynt till his brest,

The pummil until a stone :

Throw the falsenesse of that lither ladd,

These three lives were all gone.

VIII.

Old Robin of Portingale.

From an ancient copy in the Editor's folio

MS., which was judged to require consider-

able corrections.

In the former Edition the hero of this piece

had been called Sir Robin, but that title not

being in the MS. is now omitted.

Let never again soe old a man

Marrye soe yonge a wife,

As did old 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.

They scarce were in their wed-bed laid,

And scarce was hee asleepe,

But upp shee rose, and forth shee goes,

To the steward, and gan to weepe.

Sleepe you, wake you, faire Sir Gyles?

Or be you not within?

Sleepe you, wake you, faire Sir Gyles,

Arise and let me inn.

O, I am waking, sweete, he said,

Sweete ladye, what is your will?

I have unbethought me of a wile

How my wed-lord weell spill.

Ver. 19, unbethought [properly oubethought], this word

is still used in the Midland counties in the same sense as

bethought.

Page 366

330

OLD ROBIN OF PORTINGALE.

Twenty-four good knights, sheo sayes,

That dwell about this towne,

Even twenty-four of my next cozèns

Will helpe to dinge him downe.

All that beheard his litle footepage,

As he watered his masters steed;

And for his masters sad porìlle

His very heart did bleed.

He mourned still, and wept full sore

I sweare by the holy roode

The teares he for his master wept

Were blent water and bloude.

And that beheard his deare master

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 of thy good friends dead,

That thou shedst many a teare?

Or, if it be my head bookes-man,

Aggrieved he shal bee:

For no man here 'ithin my howse,

Shall doe wrong unto thee.

O, it is not your head bookes-man,

Nor none of his degree:

But, on to-morrow are it be noone

All deemed to die are yee.

And of that bethank your head steward,

And thank your gay ladie.

If this be true, my litle foot-page,

The heyre of my land thou'st bee.

If it be not true, my deare master,

No good death let me die.

If it be not true, thou litle foot-page

A dead course shalt thou lie.

O call now downe my faire ladye,

O call her downe to mee;

And tell my lady gay how sicke,

And like to die I bee.

Ver. 32, blend, MS. V. 47, or to-morrow, MS. V. 60,

bee, MS.

Downo then camo his lady faire,

All clad in purple and pall:

The rings that were on her fingers,

Cast light thorow the hall.

What is your will, my owne wed-lord?

What is your will with mee?

O see, my ladye deore, how sicke,

And like to die I bee.

And thou be sicke, my own wed-lord,

Soe sore it grieveth me:

But my five maydens and myselfe

Will 'watch thy' bedde for thee.

And at the waking of your first sleepe,

We will a hott drinke make:

And at the waking of your 'next' sleepe,

Your sorrowes we will slake.

He put a silk cote on his backe,

And mail of many a fold:

And hee putt a steele cap on his head,

Was gilt with good red gold.

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 about the middle time of the night,

Came twenty-four traitours inn:

Sir Giles he was the foremost man,

The leader of that ginn.

Old Robin with his bright browne sword,

Sir Gyles hewd soon did winn:

And scant of all those twenty-four,

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.

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.

Ver. 72, make the, MS. V. 75, first, MS.

Page 367

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.

The next thinge that she stumbled on

It was Sir Gyles his heade :

Sayes, Ever, alacke, and woe is me !

Heere lyos my true love deade.

Hee cutt the pappes beside her brest,

And did her body spille;

He cutt the cares 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 countr ye I forsweare.

He shope the crosse on his right shoulde'r,

Of the white 'clothe' and the redde,*

And went into the holy land,

Whereas Christe was quicke and dead.

  • In the foregoing piece, Giles, steward

to a rich old merchant trading to Portugal,

is qualified with the title of Sir, not as being

a knight, but rather, I conceive, as having

received an inferior order of priesthood.

IX.

Childe Waters.

Child is frequently used by our old writers,

as a Title. It is repeatedly given to Prince

Arthur in the " Faerie 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 bal-

lad quoted in " Shakspere's King Lear," the

hero of Ariosto is called Child Roland. Mr.

Theobald supposes this use of the word was

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, Damoyse ls, Bacheliers. The

most noble of the youth were particularly

called Infans." [Vid. Warb. Shakes p.] A

late commentator on Spenser observes, that

the Saxon word cuilh knight, signifies also a

" Child." [See Upton's Gloss. to the F. Q.]

The Editor's folio MS., whence the follow-

ing piece is taken (with some corrections),

affords several other ballads, wherein the

word Child occurs as a title; but in none of

these it signifies " Prince." See the song

entitled Gill 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 wede.

Sayes, Christ you save, good Childe Waters;

Sayes, Christ you save, and save :

My girdle of gold that was too longe,

Is now too short for mee.

And all is with one chyld of yours,

I feele sturre att my side :

My gowne of greene it is too straighte;

Before, it was too wide.

If the child 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.

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 child your heyre.

V. 128, fleshe, MS. V. 13, be inne, MS.

  • Every person, who went on a Crosade to the Holy

Land, usually wore a cross on his upper garment, on the

right shoulder, as a badge of his profession. Different na-

tions were distinguished by crosses of different colours.

The English wore white; the French red; &c. This cir-

cumstance seems to be confounded in the ballad. [V. Spel-

man, Gloss.]

Page 368

338

CHILD WATERS.

Shee saies, I had rather have one kisse,

Child Waters, of thy mouth;

Than I wolde have Cheshire and Lancashire

both,

That lye by north and south.

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.

To morrow, Ellen, I must forth ryde

Farr into the north countrie;

The fairest lady that I can find,

Ellen, must goe with mee.

'Thoughe I am not that lady fayre,

Yet let me goe with thee:'

And ever I pray you, Child Waters,

Your foot-page let me bee.

If you will my foot-page be, Ellen,

As you doe tell to mee;

Then you must cut your gowne of groene,

An inch above your knee:

Sos must you doe your yelowe lockes,

An inch above your ee :

You must tell no man what is my name;

My foot-page then you shall bee.

Shee, all the long day Child Waters rode,

Ran barefuote by his side;

Yett was he never soe courteous a knighte,

To say, Ellen, will you ryde ?

Shee, all the long day Child Waters rode,

Ran barefuote thorow the broome;

Yett hee was never so courteous a knighte,

To say, put on your shoone.

Ridlo softlye, shee sayd, O Childe Waters,

Why doe you ryde soe fast ?

The childe, which is no mans but thine,

My bodye itt will brast.

Itrs sayth, serst thou yonder water, Ellen,

That flows from banke to brimne.—

I trust to Gud, O Child Waters,

You never will see* mee swimme.

  • I. e. permit, suffer, &c.

But when shee came to the waters side,

Shee sayled to the chinne :

Except the Lord of heaven be my speed,

Now must I learne to swimme.

The salt waters bare up her clothes;

Our Lady bare upp her chinne :

Childe Waters was an woe man, good Lord,

To see faire Ellen swimme.

And when shee over the water was,

Shee then came to his knee :

He said, Come hither, thou faire Ellen,

Loe yonder what I see.

Seest thou not yonder hall, Ellen ?

Of redd gold shines the yate :

Of twenty foure faire ladyes there,

The faireest is my mate.

Seest thou not yonder hall, Ellen ?

Of redd gold shines the towre :

There are twenty four faire Indyos there,

The faireest is my paramoure.

I see the hall now, Child Waters,

Of redd gold shines the yate :

God give you good now of yourselfe,

And of your worthye mate.

I see the hall now, Child Waters,

Of redd golde shines the towre :

God give you good now of yourselfe,

And of your paramoure.

There twenty four fyre ladyes were

A playing att the ball :

And Ellen the fairest ladyo there,

Must bring his steed to the stall.

There twenty four fayre ladyes were

A playinge at the chesse;

And Ellen the fuyrest ladye there,

Must bring his horse to gresse.

And then bespoke Childe Waters sister,

These were the wordes said shee :

You have the prettiest foot-page, brother,

That ever I saw with mine ee.

But that his bellye it is soe bigg,

His girdle goes wondrous hie :

And let him, I pray you, Childe Waters,

Goe into the chamber with mee.

Ver. 84, wouldlye, MS.

Page 369

CHILD WATERS.

339

It is not fit for a little foot-page,

105

That has run throughle mosse and myre,

To go into the chamber with any ladye,

That weares soc riche attire.

It is more meete for a little foot-page,

That has run throughle mosse and myre,

To take his supper upon his knee,

111

And sitt downe by the kitchen fyer.

But when they had supped every one,

To bedd they tookc their waye:

He sayd, come hither, my little foot-page,

116

And hearken what I saye.

Goe thee downe into yonder towne,

And low into the street;

The fayrest ladye that thou can finde,

120

Hyer her in mine armes to sleepe,

And take her up in thine armes twaine

For filinge* of her feete.

Ellen is gone into the towne,

And low into the streete:

The fairest ladye that shee cold find,

125

Shee hyred in his armes to sleepe:

And tookc her up in her armes twayne,

For filing of her feete.

I pray you nowe, good Childe Watèrs,

Let me lye at your bedds feete:

For there is noe place about this house,

130

Where I may 'sayet† a sleepe.

'He gave her leave, and faire Ellen

'Down at his beds feet lay:'

This done the nighte drove on apace,

135

And when it was neare the daye,

Hee sayd, Rise up, my little foot-page,

Give my steedo corne and haye;

  • i. e. defiling. See Warton's Obscrv. vol. II. p. 158.

† i. e. essay, attempt.

And soc doe thou the good blacke oats,

140

To carry mee better awaye.

Up then rose the faire Ellen,

And gave his steede corne and hay;

And soc shee did the good blacke oate,

To carry him the better away.

Shee leaned her backe to the manger side,

146

And grievouslye did groane:

She leaned her back to the manger side,

And there shee made her moane.

And that beheard his mother deere,

Shee heard her there monànd.*

150

Shee sayd, Rise up, thou Childe Watèrs,

I think thee a cursed man.

For in thy stable is a ghost,

That griovouslye doth grone:

Or else some woman labours of childe,

155

Shoe is soc woc-begone.

Up then rose Childe Waters soon,

And did on his shirte of silke;

And then he put on his other clothes,

On his body as white as milke.

160

And when he came to the stable dore,

Full still there he did stand,

That hee mightc heare his fayre Ellen,

Howe shee made her monànd.

She sayd, Lullabye, mine owne deere child,

Lullabye, dere child, dere;

166

I wold thy father were a king,

Thy mother layd on a biere.

Peace now, hee said, good faire Ellen,

Be of good cheere, I praye;

170

And the bridal and the churching both

Shall bee upon one day.

  • She in MS. i. e. moaning, bemoaning, &c.

Page 370

340

PHILLIDA AND CORYDON.

X.

Phillida and Corydon.

This Sonnet is given from a small quarto MS. in the Editor's possession, written in the time of Queen Elizabeth. Another copy of it, containing some variations, is reprinted in the Mases Library, p. 205, from an ancient miscellany, entitled 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, entitled "An old man's lesson and a young man's love," 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 second part of "Wit's Commonwealh," 1598, f. 283, and is alluded to in Beaumont and Fletcher's "Scornful Lady," Act 2, and again in "Wit without Money," Act 3.—See Whal-ley's Ben Jonson, vol. III., p. 103.

The present Edition is improved by a copy in "England's Helicon," vol. III., edit. 1614, 8vo.

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:

When anon by a wood side,

Where as Maye was in his pride,

I espied all alone

Phillida and Corydon.

Much adoe there was, god wot;

He wold love, and she wold not.

She sayde, never man was trewe;

He sayes, none was 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,

Tyll they due for good and all.

When she made the sheperde call

All the heav'ns to wytues truthe,

Never loved a truer youthc.

Then with manie a prettie othe,

Yea and nay, and faith and trothe;

Ver. 4, the rode, MS.

Suche as seclie sheppcrdes use

When they will not love abuse;

Love, that had bene long deluded,

Was with kisses sweete concluded;

And Phillida with garlands gay

Was made the lady of the Maye.

†† The foregoing little pastoral of "Phillida and Corydon" is one of the songs in "The Honourable Entertainment gieven to the Qucenes 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 thirdc daies entertainment.

"On Wednesday morning about 9 o'clock,

as her Majestic opened a casement of her gallerie window, ther were 3 excellent musitians, who being disguised in auncient coun-try attire, did greete her with a pleasant song of 'Corydon and Phillida,' made in three parts of purpose. The song, as well for the worth of the dittic, as the aptnesse of the note thereto applied, it pleased her Highnesse after it had been once sung to command it

againe, and highly to grace it with her chacre-full 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 Elvotham, 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.

** Since the above was written, the Public hath been gratified with a most complete work on the foregoing subject, entitled "The Progresses and Public Processions of Queen Elizabeth, &c. By John Nichols, F. A. S., Edinb. and Perth, 1788," 2 vols., 4to.

Page 371

LITTLE MUSGRAVE AND LADY BARNARD.

341

XI.

This ballad is ancient, and has been popular; we find it quoted in many old plays.

Seo Beaum. and Fletcher's Knight of the Burning Pestle, 4to., 1613, Act 5. The Vrietie, a comedie, 12mo., 1649, Act 4, &c.

In Sir William Davenant's play, "The Witts," Act 3, a gallant thus boasts of himself:

"Limber and sound ! besides I sing Musgrave,

And for Chery-chace no lark comes near mee."

In the Pepys Collection, vol. III., p. 314, is an imitation of this old song, in 33 stanzas,

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, with corrections; some of which are from a fragment in the Editor's folio MS. It is also printed in Dryden's Cullection of Miscellaneous Poems.

As it fell out on a highe holy daye,

As many bee in the yeare,

When yong men and maidens 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.

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.

Shee cast an eye on little Musgràve

As bright as the summer sunne;

O then bethought him little Musgràve,

This ladyes heart I have woune.

Quoth she, I have loved thee, little Musgràve,

Full 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 daintlye bedight,

If thou't wand thither, my little Musgrave,

Thoust lig in mine armes all night.

Quoth hee, I thanke yee, ladye faire,

This kindness yee shew to mee;

And whother it be to my weale or woe,

This night will I lig with thee.

All this beheard a little foot-page,

By his ladyes coach as he ranne:

Quoth he, though I am my ladyes page,

Yet Ime my Lord Barnardes manue.

My Lord Barnàrd shall knowe of this,

Although I lose a limbe.

And ever wheras the bridges were broke,

He layd him downe to swimme.

Asleep or awake, thou Lord Barnàrd,

As thou art a man of life,

Lo ! this same night at Bucklesford-Bury

Litle Musgrave's in bed with thy wife.

If it be trew, thou litle foote-page,

This tale thou hast told to mee,

Then all my lands in Bucklesford-Bury

I frelye will give to thee.

But and it be a lye, thou litle foot-page,

This tale thou hast told to mee,

On the highest tree in Bucklesford-Bury

All hangèd shalt thou bee.

Rise up, rise up, my merry men all,

And saddile me my good steede;

This night must I to Bucklesford-Bury;

God wott, I had never more neede.

Then some they whistled, and some the sang,

And some did loudlye saye,

Whenever Lord Barnardes horne it blewè,

Awaye, Musgràve, away.

  • Buckefeld-berry, fol. MS.

Page 372

342

LITTLE MUSGRAVE AND LADY BARNARD.

Mothinkes I heare the throstle cocke,

Methinkes I heare the jay,

Methinkes I heare Lord Barnards horne;

I would I were awaye.

Iye still, lye still, thou little Musgrave,

And huggle me from the cold;

For it is but some shepherdes boye

A whistling his sheepe to the fold.

Is not thy hawko upon the pearche,

Thy horse eating corne and haye?

And thou a gay lady within thine armes:

And wouldst thou be awaye?

By this Lord Barnard was come to the dore,

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 Musgrave,

Dost find my gaye ladye sweete?

I find her sweete, quoth little Musgrave,

The more is my griefe and paine;

Ide gladlye give three hundred poundes

That I were on yonder plaine.

Arise, arise, thou little Musgrave,

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 dere they cust my purse;

And thou shalt have the best of them,

And I will have the worse.

Ver. 61, Is whistling sheepe ore the mold, fol. MS.

The first stroke that little Musgrave strncke,

He hurt Lord Barnard sore;

The next stroke that Lord Barnard strucke,

Little Musgrave never strucke more.

With that bespoke the ladye faire,

In bed whereas she laye,

Althoughe thou art dead, my little Musgrave,

Yet for the 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.

He cut her pappes from off her brest;

Great pitye it was to see

The drops of this fair ladyes bloode

Run trickling downe her kne.

Wo worth, wo worth ye, my merry men all,

You never were borne for my goode:

Why did you not offer to stay my hande,

When you saw me wax so woode?

For I have slaine the fairest sir knight,

That ever rode on a steede;

So have I done the fairest lady,

That ever ware womans weede.

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.

†† That the more modern copy is to be

dated about the middle of the last century,

will be readily conceived from the tenor of

the concluding stanza, viz.

"This said Misohief by Lust was wrought;

Then let us call for Grace

That we may shun the wicked vice,

And fly from Sin a-pace."

Page 373

THE KNIGHT, AND SHEPHERD'S DAUGHTER.

343

XII.

The Ewo-Buights, Marion.

A SCOTTISH SONG.

This sonnet appears to be ancient: that

and its simplicity of sentiment have recom-

mended it to a place here.

Wae 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 theo.

O Marion's a bonnie lass;

And the blyth blinks in her ee:

And fair wad I marrie Marion,

Gin Marion wad marrie mee.

Theire's 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.

Theire's braw lads in Earnslaw, Marion,

Quha gape and glowr wi' their ee

At kirk, quhan they see my Marion;

Bot nane of them luve like mee.

Ive nine milk-ews, my Marion,

A cow and a brawney quay;

Ise gie tham a' to my Marion,

Just on her bridal day.

And zees get a groin sey apron,

And waistcote o' London broun;

And wow but ze will be vaporing

Quhaneir ze gang to the toun.

Ime yong and stout, my Marion,

None dance lik mee on the greine;

And gin ze forsak me, Marion,

Ise e'en gae draw up wi' Jeane.

Sae put on zour pearlings, Murion,

And kirtle oth' cramasie,

And sune as my chin has nae haire on,

I sall cum west, and see zee.

XIII.

The Knight, and Shepherd's Daughter.

This ballad (given from an old black letter

Copy, with some corrections) was popular in

the time of Queen Elizabeth, being usually

printed with her picture before it, as Hearne

informs us in his preface to "Gul. Neubrig,

Hist. Oxon. 1719, 8vo., vol. I., 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.

*Hauss-bane, i. e. the neck-bone. Marion had probably

a silver locket on, tied close to her neck with a ribband, an

usual ornament in Scotland ; where a sore throat is called

"a nair hause," properly halſe.

Good morrowe to you, beauteous maide, &

These words pronounced hee:

O I shall dye this daye, he sayd,

If Ire not my will of thee.

The Lord forbid, the maide reply'd,

That you shold waxe so wodo!

'But for all that shee could do or saye,

He wold not be withstand.'

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?

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.

44

Page 374

344

THE KNIGHT, AND SHEPHERD'S DAUGHTER.

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.

But when she came to the brode water, 25

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? 30

And she was ever too 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 35

To lett this faire maide in.

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. 40

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?

He hath not robbed mee, my leige, 45

Of purple nor of pall :

But he hath gotton my maiden head,

Which grieves mee worst of all.

Now if he be a batchelor,

His bodye Ile give to thee ; 50

But if he be a married man,

High hanged he shall bee.

He called downe his merrye men all,

By one, by two, by three ;

Sir William used to bee the first, 55

But nowe the last came hee.

He brought her downe full fourtye poundes,

Tyd up within a glove :

Faire maide, Ile give the same to thee ;

Go, seeke thee another love. 60

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.

Sir William ranne and fetched her then 65

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, 70

But your own bodye I must have,

The king hath granted mee.

Would I had drank the water cleare,

When I did drinke the wine,

Rather than any shepherds brat 75

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 ! 80

A shepherds brat even as I was,

You mote have let mee bee,

I never had come othe kings faire courte,

To crave any love of thee.

He sett her on a milk-white steede, 85

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, 90

She proved herself a dukes daughter,

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. 96

Ah ! curst bee the gold, he sayd,

If thou hadst not been trewe,

I shold have forsaken my sweet love,

And have changed her for a newe. 100

And now their hearts being linked fast,

They joyned hand in hande :

Thus he had both purse, and person too,

And all at his commaunde.

Ver. 50, His bodye Ile give to thee.] This was agreeable to the feudal customs: the lord had a right to give a wife to his vassals. See Shakspeare's "All's well that ends well."

Page 375

LORD THOMAS AND FAIR ELINOR.

345

XIV.

The Shepheard's Addres to his Muse.

This Poem, originally printed from the small MS. volume mentloned above in No. X., has been improved by a more perfect copy in "England's Helicon," where the author is discovered to be N. Breton.

Good Muse, rocke me aslepe

With some sweete harmony :

This weario 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.

See howe my little flocke,

That lorde 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.

The blacke birde and the thrushe,

That made the woodes to ringe,

With all the rest, are now at hushe,

And not a note they singe.

Swete Philomele, the birde

That hath the heavenly throote,

Doth nowe, alasse ! once afforde

Recording of a note.

The flowers have had a frost,

The herbs have loste their savoure ;

And Phillida the faire hath lost

'For me her wounde' favour.

Thus all these carefull sights

So kill me in conceit :

That now to hope upon delights,

It is but meere deceite.

And therefore, my sweete muse,

That knowest what helpe is best,

Doe nowe thy heavenlie conminge use

To sett my harte at rest :

And in a dreame bewraie

What fate shall be my frende ;

Whether my life shall still decaye,

Or when my sorrowes ende.

XV.

Lord Thomas and faire Ellinor,

-Is given (with corrections) from an ancient copy in black-letter, in the Pepys collection, entitled "A tragically 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 its popularity.

Lord Thomas he was a bold forrester,

And a chaser of the kings deere ;

Faire Ellinor was a fine womàn,

And Lord Thomas he loved his 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 ?

The browne girl she has got houses and lands,

Faire Ellinor she has got none,

And therefore I charge thee on my blessing,

To bring me the browne girl home.

And as it befell on a high holidaye,

As many there are beside,

Lord Thomas he went to faire Ellinòr,

That should have been her bride.

Page 376

346

LORD THOMAS AND FAIR ELINOR.

And when he came to faire Ellinors bower,

He'knocked there at the ring,

And who was so ready as faire Ellinor,

To lett Lord Thomas withinn.

20

What newes, what newes, Lord Thomas, she

sayd?

What newes dost thou bring to mee?

I am come to bid thee to my weddling,

And that is bad news for thee.

O God forbid, Lord Thomas, she sayd,

That such a thing should be done;

I thought to have been the 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 gue to Lord Thomas his

wedding,

Or whether shall tarry at home?

There are manye that are your fiendes,

daughtèr,

And manye a one your foe,

Therefore I charge you on my blessing,

35

To Lord Thomas his wedding don't goe.

There are manye that are my fiendes, mo-

thèr;

But were every one my foe,

Betide me life, betide me death,

To Lord Thomas his wedding I'll goe.

40

She cloathed herself in gallant attire,

And her merryè men all in greene;

And as they rid through every towne,

They took her to be some queene.

But when she came to Lord Thomas his gate,

She kuocked there at the ring;

46

And who was so readye as Lord Thomàs,

To lett faire Ellinor in.

Is this your bride, fair Ellinor sayd?

Methinks she looks wonderous browne;

50

Thou mightest have had as faire a womàn,

As ever trode on the grounde.

Despise her not, fair Ellin, he sayd,

Despise her not unto mee;

For better I love thy little fingèr,

55

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 prick'd faire Ellinor's harte.

60

O Christ thee save, Lord Thomas hee sayd,

Methinkst thou lookst wondrous wan;

Thou usedst to look with as fresh a colour,

As ever the sun shone on.

Oh, art thou blind, Lord Thomas? she sayd,

Or canst thou not very well see?

66

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,

70

He cut off his brides head from her shoul-

dèrs,

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.

76

** The reader will find a Scottish song

on a similar subject to this, towards the end

of this volume, entitled "Lord Thomas and

Lady Annet."

Ver. 20, It shouid probably bo Reado me, read, &c, i. e.

Advise me, adrise.

Page 377

THE LADY TURNED SERVING-MAN.

347

XVI.

Cupid and Campaspe.

This elegant little sonnet is found in the third act of an old play, entitled "Alexander and Campaspe," written by John Lilye, a celebrated writer in the time of Queen Elizabeth. That play was first printed in 1591; but this copy is given from a later edition.

Cupid and my Campaspe playd

At cardes fur kisses; Cupid payd:

He stakes his quiver, bow and arrows,

His mothers doves, and tenne of sparrows;

Loves 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 brome,

And then tho dimple of his chinne;

All these did my Campaspe winne.

At lust he set her both his eyes,

She won, and Cupid blind did rise.

O Love ! has she done this to theo?

What shall, alas ! become of mee ?

XVII.

The Lady turnd Serving-Man.

-Is given from a written copy, containing some.improvements (perhaps modern ones), upon the popular ballad, entitled, "The famous flower of Serving-men; or the Lady turnd 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 was by birth a lady faire,

An ancient barons only heire,

And when my good old father died,

Then I became a yong 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

Than my true love did build for mee.

And there I liv'd a lady gay,

Till fortune wrought our loves decay;

For there came fues so force a band,

That soon they over-run the land.

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 escaped away.

20

In the midst of this extremitie,

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 dispair,

Wherefore in haste I chang'd my name

From fair Elise, to sweet Williame :

And therewithall I cut my haire,

Resoly'd my man's attire to weare;

And in my beaver, hose and band,

I travell'd far through many a land.

30

At length all wearied with my toil,

I sate me down to rest awhile;

My heart it was so fill'd with woe,

That downe my cheeke the teares did flow.

35

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.

40

Page 378

348

THE LADY TURNED SERVING-MAN.

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.

Stand up, faire youth, the king reply'd,

For thee a service I'll prouyde:

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?

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 ?

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.

The king then smiling gave consent,

And straitwaye to his court I went;

Where I behavde so faithfullie,

That hee great favour shewd to mee.

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.

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.

And meeting with a ladyes vest,

Within the same my self 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 same did sing,

As made both hall and chamber ring.

" My father was as brave a lord

As ever Europe might afford;

My mother was a lady bright;

My husband was a valiant knight:

" And I my self a ladye gay

Bedeckt with gorgeous rich array;

The happiest ladly in the land

Had not more pleasure at command.

" I had my musicke every day

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 fetching many a tender sigh,

As thinking no one then was nigh,

In pensive mood I laid me lowe,

My heart was full, the teares did flowe.

The king, who had a huntinge gone,

Grew 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 melodiouslie.

Thus heard he everye word I sed,

And saw the pearlye teares I shed,

And found to his amazement there,

Swete William was a ladye faire.

Then stepping in, Faire ladye rise,

And dry, said he, those lovelye eyes,

For I have heard thy mournful tale,

The which shall turn 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.

But to be briefe, his royall grace

Grewe so enamour'd of my face,

The richest gifts he proffered mee,

His mistresse if that I would bee.

Ah ! no, my liege, I firmely sayd,

I'll rather in my grave be layd,

And though your grace hath won my heart,

I ne'er will act so base a part.

Page 379

Faire ladye, pardon me, sayd hee,

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,

Hee tooke sweet William to his wife.

The like before was never seene,

A serving-man became a queene.

XVIII.

Gil Morrice.

A SCOTTISH BALLAD.

The following piece hath run through two

editions in Scotland : the second was printed

at Glasgow in 1755, 8vo. 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 manu-

script, which are here inserted in their pro-

per places : (these are from verse 109 to verse

121, and from verse 124 to verse 129, but are

perhaps, after all, only an ingenious interpo-

lation.)

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 consi-

derable 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 addi-

tional sttokes are thrown in, that it is evi-

dent the wholo 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. 337.

Gil Morrice was an earles son,

His name it waxed wide;

It was nae for his great riches,

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 shoon;

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 nae 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 sall be obeyd.

Bot, O my master dear! he cryd,

In grene wod ze're zour lair;

Gi owre sic thocht, 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.

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 lair:

And there it is, a silken sark,

Hir ain hand sewd the sleive;

And bid hir cum to Gill Morrice,

Speir nae bauld barons leave.

Ver. 11. somethin g seems wanting here. V. 32, and 68,

perhaps, 'but the hem.

Page 380

Yes, I will gae zour black errand,

Though it be to zour cost;

Sen ze by me will nae be warn'd,

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'll mak a vow and keep it trow,

It sall be done for ill.

And when he came to broken brigue,

He bent his bow and swam;

And when he came to grass growing,

Set down his feet and ran.

And when 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 stade 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.

And there it is, a silken sark,

Your ain hand sewd the sleive;

Zo maun gae speik to Gill Morice:

Speir nae bauld barons leave.

The lady stamped wi' hir foot,

And winked wi' hir ee;

Bot a' that she coud say or do,

Forbiddin he wad nae bee.

Its surely to my bow'r-womàn;

It neir cumd be to me.

I brocht it to Lord Barnards lady;

I trow that ze he she.

Then up and spak the wylie nursè,

(The bairn upon hir knee)

If it be cum frae Gill Morice,

It's deir welcome to mee.

Ze leid, ze leid, ze filthy nurse,

Sae lond I heird ze lee;

I brocht it to Lord Barnards lady;

I trow ze be nae shee.

Then up and spak 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 'mazer'* disht

In flinders he gard flee.

Gae bring a robe of zour cliding,

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 violenee,

That neir wate ze wi' nane.

Gil Morice stait in gude grene wode,

He whistled and he sang:

O what mean a' the folk coming,

My mother tarries lang.

His hair was like the threeds of gold,

Drawne frae Minerva's 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 ean like azure stream.

The boy was clad in robes of grene,

Sweet 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 Morice

Kamoing his zellow hair:

That sweetly wawd around his face,

That face beyond compare:

He sang sae sweet it might dispel

A' rage but fell despair.

V. 88 Perhaps, loud say I hefre.

Ver. 123. So Milton,

Vernal delight and joy: able to drive

All sadness but despair.

B. iv. v. 155.

*1. e. a drinking cup of maple; other edit. read ecan.

Page 381

GIL MORRICE.

351

Nac wonder, nac wonder, Gill Morice,

My lady loed thee weel,

The fairest part of my bodie

Is blacker than thy heel.

Zet neir the less now, Gill Morice,

For a' thy great beautie,

Ze's rew the day ze eir was born;

That head sall gae wi' me.

Now he has drawn his trusty brand,

And slated on the strae;

And thro' Gill Morice' fair body

It's gar cauld iron gac.

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 wra',

Beheld baith dale and doun;

And there she saw Gill Morice' head

Cum trailing to the toun.

Far better I loe that bluidy head,

Both 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.

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;

But now I gue about thy grave,

The saunt tears fur to weip.

And syne she kissd his bluidy cheik,

And syne his bluidy chin:

O better I loe my Gill Morice

That a' my kith and kin !

Away, away, ze ill womàn,

And an ill deith mait ze dee:

Gin I had ken'd he'd bin your son,

He'd neir bin slain for mee.

Obraid me not, my Lord Barnard!

Obraid me not for shame!

Wi' that saim spein 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.

To me nae after days nor nicht

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 your death frae mee;

I rather lurd it had been my sel'

Than either him or thee.

With waefu' woe I hear your plaint;

Sair, sair I rew the deid,

That eir this cursed hand of mine

Had gart his body bleid.

Dry up your tears, my winsome dame,

Ze neir can heal the wound;

Ze see his head upon the speir,

His heart's blude on the ground.

"* * This little pathetic tale suggested the

plot of the tragedy of "Douglas."

Since it was first printed, the Editor has

been assured that the foregoing ballad is still

current in many parts of Scotland, where the

hero is universally known by the name of

"Child Maurice," pronounced by the common

people Cheild or Cheeld; which occasioned

the mistake.

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.

Page 382

352

THE LEGEND OF SIR GUY.

SERIES THE THIRD.

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 entitled "A plensant song of the valiant deeds

of chivalry achieved by that noble knight Sir

Guy of Warwick, who, for the love of fair

Phelis, became a hermit, and dyed in a cave

of craggy rocke, a mile distant from Warwick."

The history of Sir Guy, though now very

properly resigned to children, was once admired by all readers of wit and taste: for

taste and wit had once their childhood. Although of English growth, it was early a

favourite with other nations: it appeared in

French in 1525; and is alluded to in 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. 12mo.

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 spcken of romances of price,

Of Horne childe and Ipotis,

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, 4to., 1589.

This ancient romance is not wholly lost.

An imperfect copy in black letter, "Imprynted at London—for William Copland,"

in 34 sheets 4to. 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 foule;

His bodye from the navill upwarde

No man may it pierce it is so harde;

His neck is great as any summere;

He roneth as swifte as any distrerie;

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."

Sir William Dugdale is of opinion that the

story of Guy is not wholly apocryphal, though

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 926, ætat.

Guy 67. 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.

It is here published 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.

Page 383

THE LEGEND OF SIR GUY.

353

WAs ever knight for Indyces sake

Soe tost in love, as I Sir Guy

For Pheilis fuyre, that lady bright

As ever man beheld with eye?

She gave me leare myself to try,

The valiant knight with sheold and speare,

Ere that her love she wold grant me;

Which made mee venture far and neare.

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 fieild to fight.

An English man I was by birth:

In faith of Christ a christian true:

The wicked laws of infidells

I souglt by prowesse to subdue.

'Nine' hundered twenty yeere and odde

After our Saviour Christ his birth,

When King Athelstane wore the crowne,

I lived heere upon the earth.

Sometime I was of Warwicke erle,

And, as I sayd, of very truth

A ludyes love did me constraine

To seeke strange ventures in my youth.

To win me fume by featcs of armes

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 Almaine,

From manye a vallyant worthy knight.

Then passed I the seas to Greece

To helpe the emperour in his right;

Against the mightye souldans hoaste

Of puissant Persians for fight.

Where I did slay of Sarazens,

And heathen pagans, manye a man;

And slew the souldans cozen deore,

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.

Ver. 9, The proud Sir Guy, PG. v. 17, Two hundred,

MS. and P.

I went into the souldans hoast,

Being thither on embassage sent,

And brought his head awaye with mee;

I having shaine him in his tent.

There was a dragon in that land

Most fiercely mett me by the waye

As hee a lyon did pursue,

Which I myself did alsoe slay.

Then soon I past the seas from Greece,

And came to Pavyo land aright:

Where I the duke of Paryo killed,

His hainous treason to requite.

To England then I came with speede,

To wedd faire Phelis lady bright:

For love of whome I travelled far

To try my manhocd and my might.

But when I had espoused her,

I stayd with her but fourtye dayes,

Ere that I left this ladye faire,

And went from her beyond the seas.

All cladd in gray, in pilgrim sort,

My voyange 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 beenc.

I slew the gyant Amarânt

In battel fiercelye hand to hand:

And doughty Barknârd killed I,

A treacherous knight of Parye land.

Then I to England came againc,

And here with Colbronde fell I fought:

An ugly gyant, which the Danes

Had for tfeir champion hither brought.

I overcame him in the feild,

And slew him soone right valiant'yc;

Wherebye this land I did redeeme

From Danish tribute utterlyc.

And afterwards I offered upp

The use of weapons solemnlye

At Winchester, whereas I fought,

In sight of manye farr and nye.

Page 384

354

GUY AND AMARANT.

' But first,' neare Winsor, I did slaye

A bore of passing might and strength; 90

Whose like in England never was

For hugenesse both in bredth and length.

Some of his bones in Warwicke yett

Within the castle there doe lye;

One of his sheeld-bones to this day

Hangs in the cittye of Coventrye.

On Dunsmore heath I alsoe slewe

A monstruous 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,

And there exposde to lookers viewe

As wondrous strange, they may espye.

A dragon in Northumberland

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 pilgrim poore, and was not knowne;

And there I lired a hermitts 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:

And daylye came to begg my bread,

Of Phelis att my castle gate;

Not knowne unto my loved wife,

Who dailye mourned for her mate.

Till att the last I fell sore sicke,

Yea sicke soe sore that I must dyo;

I sent to her a ring of golde,

By which she knew 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.

Thus dreadful death did me arrest,

To bring my corps 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 fair 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

deroid of merit, its insertion here will be

pardoned.

Although this piece seems not imporfect,

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 compar-

ing 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 entirely his own.

Guy journeyes towards that sanctifyed

ground,

Whereas the Jewes fayre citye sometime

stood,

Wherein 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.

Ver. 91, 102, doth lye, MS.

Page 385

GUY AND AMARANT.

355

With tedious miles he tyred his wearye feet,

And passed desart places full of danger,

At last with a most woefull wightd did meet,

A man that unto sorrow was noe stranger:

For he had fifteen sonnes, made captives all

Tu slavish bondage, in extremest thrall. 12

A gyant called Amarant detain'd them,

Whom noe man durst encounter for his strength :

Who in a castle, which he held, had chaind

them :

Guy guestions, where? and understands at length

The place not farr.—Lend me thy sword,

quoth hee,

He lend my manhood all thy sonnes to free.

With that he goes, and lays upon the dore,

Like one that sayes, I must, and will come

in:

The gyant never was soe rowz'd before :

For noe such knocking at his gate had bin :

Soe takes his keyes, and clubb, and cometh

out,

Staring with ireful countenance about.

Sirra, quoth hee, what business hast thou

heere?

Art come to feast the crowes about my

walls?

Didst never heare, noe ransome can him cleere,

That in the compass of my furye fall's:

For making me to take a porters paines,

With this same clubb I will dash out thy

braines.

Gyant, quoth Guy, y'are quarrelsome I see,

Choller and you seem very neere of kin :

Most dangerous at the clubb belike you bee;

I have bin better armd, though nowe goe

thin;

But shew thy utmost hate, enlarge thy spight,

Keenc is my weapon, and shall doe me right.

Soe draws his sword, salutes him with the same

About the head, the shoulders, and the

side:

Whilst his erected clubb doth death proclaine,

Standinge with huge Colossus' spacious

stride,

  • Erie Jonas, mentioned in the foregoing ballad.

Putting such vigour to his knottye brane,

That like a furnac he did smoke extreame.

But on the ground he spent his strokes in vaine,

For Guy was nimble to avoyde them still,

And ever ere he heav'd his clubb againe,

Did brush his plated coat against his will:

Att such advantage Guy wold never fayle,

To bang him soundlye in his coate of mayle.

Att last through thirst the gyant 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 smalller thing,

Thau to graunt life, thats given by the spring.

I graunt thee leave, quoth Guye, goe drink

thy last,

Goe pledge the dragon, and the salvage

bore:~

Succced the tragedyes that they have past,

But never thinke to taste 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 extreemly like

Some wracked shipp that on a rocke is burst,

Whose forced hulke against the stone doth

stryke;

Scooping it in soc fast with both his hands,

That Guy admiring to behold it stands.

Come on, quoth Guy, let us to wurke 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 see their satisfaction made,

With gyants blood they must, and shall be

payd.

Villainc, quoth Amarant, Ile crush thee

streight;

Thy life shall pay thy daring toungs offence:

Ver. 64, bulke, MS. and PCC.

  • Which Guy had slain befora

Page 386

356

GUY AND AMARANT.

This clubb, which is about some hundred weight,

Is 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 by these bold pagan bostes,

Which worthye Guy cold ill endure to heare,

He hewes upon those big supporting postes,

Which like two pillars did his body beare :

Amarant for those wounds in choller growes

And desperatlye att Guy his clubb he throwes :

Which did directly on his body light,

Soe violent, and weighty there-withall,

That downe to ground on sudden came the knight ;

And, ere he cald recover from the fall,

The gyant gott his clubb againe in fist,

And aimd a stroke that wonderfull ye mist.

Traytor, quoth Guy, thy falshood Ile repay,

This coward act to intercept my bloode.

Sayes Amarant, Ile murther any way,

With enemyes all vantage are good :

O could I poyson in thy nostrills blowe,

Besure of it I wold dispatch thee soe.

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, hatefull unto men.

But breathe thy selfe a time, while I goe drinke,

For flaming 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 rejoyce 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 vainos.

Relceve 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 of breathing I'll not grant.

And with these words heaving aloft his clubb

Into the ayre, he swings the same about :

Then shakes his lookes, and doth his temples rubb,

And, like the Cyclops, in his pride doth strout :

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, that will doe thy thirst much good ;

Take noe more care for drinke before I end thee,

And then wee'll have carouses of thy blood ;

Here's at thee with a butcher's downright blow,

To please my furye with thine overthrow.

Infernall, false, obdurate feend, said Guy,

That seemst a lump of cruelt ye 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-scorch skin be weapon proof :

Farewell my thirst ; I doe disdain 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 :

Page 387

GUY AND AMARANT.

357

You cunnat chuse but like the groeting 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 vengeaunce downe.

150

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. 155

Then Guy tooke keyes, and to the castle went,

Where manye woefull captives he did find,

Which had boene tyred with extremityes;

Whom he in freindly manner did unbind,

And reasoned with them of their miseryes;

Eche told a tale with teares, and sighes, and cryes,

161

All weeping to him with complaining eyes.

There tender ladyes in darke dungeons lay,

That were surprised in the desart wood,

And had noe other dyett everye day,

165

But 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 :

170

And, as he searcheth, doth great clamours heare,

By which sad sound's direction on he goes,

Untill he findes a darksome obscure gate,

Arm'd strongly ouer all with iron plate.

That he unlookes, ana enters, where appeares

The strangest object that he ever saw :

176

Men that with famishment of many yeares,

Were like deathes picture, which the painters draw;

Diuers of them were hanged by eche thombe;

Others head-downward : by the middle some.

With diligence he takes them from the walle,

With lybertye their thraldome to acquaint:

Then the perplexed knight their father calls,

And sayes, Receive thy sonnes though poore and faint:

184

I promisd you their lives, accept of that;

But did not warrant you they shold be fat.

The castle I doe give thee, heere's the keyes,

Where tyranye for many yeeres did dweli:

Procure the gentle tender ladyes ease,

189

For pitt yes sake, use wronged women well:

Men easilye revenge the wrongs men do;

But poore weake women have not strength thereto.

The good old man, even overjoyed with this,

Fell on the ground, and wold have kist

Guys feete :

194

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 earle of Warwicke, by Samuel Rowlands, London, printed

by J. Bell, 1649" 4to., in xii. cantos, beginning thus:

"When dreadful Mars in armour every day."

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 Queen Elizabeth and James I. and

perhaps later. His other poems are chiefly

of the religious kind, which makes it probable that the history of Guy was one of his

earliest performances.—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." [Anes Typ. p. 428.]—(2.) A

Theatre of delightfull 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 two in Bod. Cat.]

In the present edition the foregoing poem

has been much improved from the printed

copy.

Page 388

358

FAIR MARGARET AND SWEET WILLIAM.

III.

The Auld Good-Man.

A SCOTTISH SONG.

I 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 erening 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 iu 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 was large and tall, and comely withall;

Thou'lt nevir be like mine auld goodman.

HE.

Why dost thou pleoin ? 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.

Of houshold stuff thou hast enough;

Thou wants for ncither pot nor pan;

Of sicklike ware be left thee bare;

Sae tell nae mair of thy auld goodman.

SHE.

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.

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.

My heart, alake! is liken to break,

Whan I think on my winsome John,

His blinkin ee, and gait sae free,

Was naithing like the, thou dosend drone;

Wi' his rosie face, and flaxen hair,

And skin as white as ony swan,

Then coming was the night sae dark,

And gane was a' the light of day :

The carle was feard 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 I mine auld gudman.

IV.

Fair Margaret and Sweet William.

This seems to be the old song quoted in Fletchers " Knight of the Burning Pestle," Acts 2d and 3d ; although 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 giren from a mo-

dern printed copy picked up on a stall. Its full title is, " Fair Margarets 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,

Page 389

FAIR MARGARET AND SWEET WILLIAM.

359

"You are no love for me, Margaret,

I am no love for you."

And the following stanza,

"When it was grown to dark midnight,

And all were fast asleep,

In came Margaret's grimly ghost,

And stood at William's feet.

Those lines have acquired an importance

by giving birth to one of the most beautiful

ballads in our own or any other language.

See the song entitled "Margaret's Ghost," at

the end of this volume.

Since the first edition some improvements

have been inserted, which were communicated by a lady of the first distinction, as

she had heard this song repeated in her infancy.

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.

I see no harm by you, Margaret,

And you see none by me;

Before to-morrow at eight o' the clock

A rich wedding you shall see.

Fair Margaret sat in her bower-window,

Combing her yellow hair;

There she spied 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.

When day was gone, and night was come,

And all men fast asleep,

Then came the spirit of fair Margaret,

And stood at William's feet.

Are you awake, sweet William? shea said;

Or, sweet William, are you asleep?

God give you joy of your gay bride-bed,

And me of my winding-sheet.

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.

46

I dreamt a dream, my dear lady,

Such dreams are never good:

I dreamt my bower was full of red 'wine,

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 'wine,

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'ret's bower,

By the leave of my ladle.

And when he came to fair Marg'ret's bower

He knocked at the ring;

And who so ready as her seven brethren

To let sweet William in.

Then he turned up the covering-sheet,

Pray let me see the dead:

Methinks she looks all pale and wan,

She hath lost her cherry red.

I'll do more for thee, Margaret,

Than any of thy kin;

For I will kiss thy pale wan lips,

Though a smile I cannot win.

With that bespake the seven brethren,

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.

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.

Fair Margaret dyed to-day, to-day,

Sweet William dyed the morrow:

Fair Margaret dyed for pure true love,

Sweet William dyed for sorrow.

Margaret was buried in the lower chancel,

And William in the higher:

Out of her brest there sprang a rose,

And out of his a briar.

Ver. 31, 35, swine, PCC.

  • Alluding to the dole anciently given at funerals.

Page 390

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.

76

Then came the clerk of the parish,

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

black-letter copy, entitled, "Barbary Allen's

cruelty, or the Young Man's Tragedy."

I cannot keep you from your death;

Farewell, sayd Barbara Allen.

In Scarlet towne, where I was borne,

There was a faire maid dwellin,

Made every youth crye, Wel-awaye!

Her name was Barbara Allen.

He turnd his face unto the wall,

As deadlye pangs he fell in:

Adieu ! adieu ! adieu to you all,

Adieu to Barbara Allen.

5

As she was walking ore the fields,

She heard the bell a knellin;

And every stroke did seem to saye,

Unworthy Barbara Allen.

All in the merrye month of May,

When greene buds they were swellin,

Yong Jemnye Grove on his death-bed lay,

For love of Barbara Allen.

She turnd her bodye round about,

And spied the corps a coming:

Laye down, laye down the corps, she sayd,

That I may look upon him.

He sent his man unto her then,

To the towne where shee was dwellin;

You must come to my master deare,

Giff your name be Barbara Allen.

With scornful eye she looked downe,

Her cheekes with laughter swallin :

Whilst all her friends cryd out amaine;

Unworthye 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.

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.

Though death be printed on his face,

And ore his harte is stealin,

Yet little better shall he bee

For bonny Barbara Allen.

20

Hard-harted creature him to slight,

Who loved me so dearye :

O that I had beene more kind to him,

When he was alive and neare me!

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.

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.

He turned his face unto her strait,

With deadlye sorrow sighing;

O lovely maid, come pity mee,

Ime on my deth-bed lying.

Farewell, she sayd, ye virgins all,

And shun the fault I fell in:

If on your death-bed you doe lye,

What needs the tale you are tellin;

Henceforth take warning by the fall

Of cruel Barbara Allen.

30

60

35

40

45

50

55

Page 391

SWEET WILLIAM'S GHOST.

361

VI.

Swcet Wllllam's Ghost.

A SCOTTISH BALLAD.

From Allan Ramsay's Tea-table Miscellany. The concluding stanza of this piece seems modern.

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.

Is this my father Philip?

Or is't my brother John?

Or is't my true love Willio

From Scotland new come home?

'Tis not thy father Philip ;

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

She stretcht out her lily-white hand,

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 shue.

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 ?

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.

Then up and crew the red red cock,

And up then crew the gray :

'Tis time, tis time, my dear Margret,

That 'I' were gane away.

No more the ghost to Margret said,

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 closed her een,

Stretch'd her saft limbs, and died.

Page 392

362

THE BAILIFF'S DAUGHTER OF ISLINGTON.

VII.

Sir John Grehme and Barbara Allan.

A SCOTTISH BALLAD.

Printed, with a few conjectural emendations, from a written copy.

It was in and about the Martinmas time,

When the grene leaves wer a fallan;

That Sir John Grehme o' the west countrie,

Fell in luve wi' Barbara Allan.

He sent his man down throw the towne,

To the plaice where she was dwellan:

O haste and cum to my minster deare,

'Gin ye bin Barbara Allan.

O haoly, haoly raise she up,

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 Allen.

O the better for me ye'se never be,

Though your harts blue wer spillan.

Remember ye nat in the tavern, sir,

Whan ye the cups wer fillan;

How ye made 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.

Then hooly, hooly rais she up,

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 gied,

Cried, Wae to Barbara Allan!

O mither, mither, mak my bed,

O mak it saft and narrow:

Since my love died for me to day,

Ise die for him to morrowe.

**

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 Bailiff's

daughter of Islington.'

Islington in Norfolk is probably the place

here meant.

  • An ingenious friend thinks the rhymes Dyand and Ly-

and ought to be transposed: as the taunt, Young man, I

thluk ye're lyand, would be very characteristical.

There was a youth, and a well-beloved youth,

And he was a squire's son:

He loved the bailiffes daughter deare,

That lived in Islington.

Yet she was coy, and would not believe

That he did love her soe,

Noe nor at any time would she

Any countenance to him showe.

But when his friends did understand

His fond and foolish minde,

They sent him up to faire London

An apprentice for to binde.

Page 393

THE WILLOW TREE.

363

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.

Then all the maids of Islington

Went forth to sport and playe,

All but the bayliffes daughter deare :

She secretly stole away.

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 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.

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.

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.

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.

If she be dead, then take my horse,

My saddle and bridle also;

For I will into some farr countrye,

Where no man shall me knowe.

O staye, O staye, thou goodlye youth,

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 therfore;

For nowe I have foule mine owne true love,

Whom I thought I should never see more.

IX.

The ddillow Uree.

A PASTORAL DIALOGUE.

From the small black-letter collection, entitled "The Golden Garland of princely Delights," collated with two other copies, and corrected by conjecture.

Shee that lov'd the long and best,

Is her love turned to a jest ?

CUDDY.

Shee that long true love profest,

She hath rob'd my heart of rest :

For she a new love loves, not mee;

Which makes me wear the willowe-tree.

WILLY.

How now, shepherd, what meanes that ?

Why that willowe in thy hat ?

Why thy scarffes of red and yelowe

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.

Philllis ! shee that lov'd thee long ?

Is shee the lass hath done thee wrong ?

Come then, shepherd, let us joine,

Since thy happ is like to mine :

For the maid I thought most true

Mee hath also bid adieau.

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.

Page 394

304

THE LADY'S FALL.

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.

25

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.

30

X.

The 3ladr's JFall,

—Is given (with corrections) 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 Pesco'd Time, &c."—The ballad here referred to is preserved in the " Muses Library," 8vo., p. 281. It is an allegory or vision, entitled " The Shepherd's Slumber," and opens with some pretty rural images, viz.:

" In pescod time when hound to horn Gives eare till buck be kil'd,

And little lads with pipes of corne Sate keeping beastes 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 breast A gallant ladyes fall.

Long was she wooed, ere shee was wonne, To lead a wedded life,

But folly wrought her overthrowe Before shee was a wife.

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 alter'd quite, Her hright 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 greived hart, perceived herselfe To have conceived with childe.

20

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 wulking 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, Tho none thereof doth knowe.

30

The litlo babe springs in my wombe To heare its fathers voyce,

Lett it not be a bastard called, Sith I made thee my choyce:

Come, come, my love, performe thy vowe And wed me out of hand ;

O leave me not in this extreme Of griefe, alas ! to stand.

40

Think on thy former promises, Thy othes and vowes eche one ;

Remembor with what bitter teares To mee thou madest thy moane.

Convey mee to some secrett place, And murye me with speede ;

Or with thy rapyer end my life, Ere further shame procede.

45

Alacke ! my beauteous love, quoth shee, My joye, and only deare ;

Which way can I convey thee hence, When dangers are so neare?

Thy friends are all of bye degree, And I of mean estate :

Full hard it is to gett thee forthe Out of thy fathers gate.

55

Page 395

Dread not thy life to save my fame,

For if thou taken bee,

My selfe will stop betwene the swords,

And take the harme on mee :

Soe shall I scape dishonour quite;

And if I shoulde be slaine,

What could they say, but that true love

Had wrought a ladyes bane.

But feare not any further harme;

My selfe will soe devisce,

That I will ryde away with thee

Unknowen of mortall eyes :

Disguised like some pretty page

Ile meete thee in the durke,

And all alone Ile come to thee

Hard by my fathers parke.

And there, quoth hee, Ile meete my deare

If Gud so lend me life,

On this day month without all fayle

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.

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 espied

Come ryding ore the plaine,

Shee hop'd it was her owne true love :

But all her hopes were vaine.

Then did shee weepe and sore bewraylo

Her most unhappy fate;

Then did shee speake these woefull words,

As succeurles she sate;

O false, forsworne, and faithlesse man,

Dislayall in thy love,

Hast thou forgott thy promise past,

And wilt thou perjured 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 :

Wold God that I had never seene

The teares of thy false eyne.

And thus with many a sorrowful sigh,

Homewards shee went againe :

Noe rest came to her waterye eyes,

Shee felt such privye paine.

In travail strong shee fell that night,

With many a bitter throwe;

What woefull paines 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 fasto to weepe.

Weepe not, saide 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 may you speed.

Call not my mother fur thy life,

Nor fetch no woman here;

The midwifes helpe comes all too late,

My death I doe not feare.

With that the babe sprang from her wombe,

No creature being nye,

And with one sighe, which brake her hart,

This gentle dame did dye.

The lovely litle infant younge,

The mother being dead,

Resigned its new receiv'd breath

To him that had it made.

Next morning came her owne true love,

Affrighted at the newes,

And hee for sorrow slow himselfe,

Whom eche one did accuse.

The mother with her new borne babe,

Were laide both in one grave;

Their parents overworne with woe,

No joy thencefurth cold have.

Take heed, you dayntye damsells all,

Of flattering words beware,

And to the honour of your name

Have an especiall care.

Too true, alas ! this story is,

As many one can tell :

By others harmes learn to be wise,

And you shall do full well.

Page 396

366

THE BRIDE'S BURIAL.

XI.

Waly, Waly, Love be Bonny.

A SCOTTISH SONG.

This is a very ancient song, but we could only give it from a modern copy. 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 a'w',

Than sall my love prove true to me."

See the Orpheus Caledonius, &c.

Arthur's-seat, mentioned in ver. 17, is a hill near Edinburgh; 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 low'd and syne it brak,

Sae my true love did lichtly me.

O waly waly, gin love be bonny,

A little time while it is new ;

But when its auld, it wraxeth 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 forssook,

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.

Martimas wind, when wilt thou blaw,

And shake the green leaves aff the tree ?

O gentle death, when wilt thou cum ?

For my life I am wearle.

'Tis not the frost, that freezeth fell,

Nor brawling snaws inclemencie ;

'Tis not sic cauld, that makes me cry,

But my loves heart grown cauld to me.

When we came in by Glasgowe town,

We were a comely sight to see,

My love was clad in black velvet,

And I my sell in cramasie.

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.

And, 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 I see never be.

XII.

The Bride's Burial.

From two ancient copies in black-letter : one in the Pepys Collection; the other in the British Museum.

To the tune of "The Lady's Fall."

Come mourne, come mourne with mee,

You loyall lovers all ;

Lament my loss in weeds of woe,

Whom griping grief doth thrall.

Like to the dropping vine,

Cut by the gardener's knife,

Even so my heart, with sorrow slaine,

Doth bleed for my sweet wife.

By death, that grislye ghost,

My turtle dove is slaine,

And I am left, unhappy man,

To spend my dayes in paine.

Page 397

THE BRIDE'S BURIAL.

Her beauty late so bright,

Like roses in their prime,

Is wasted like the mountain snowe,

Before warme Phœbus' shine.

Her faire red colour'd cheeks

Now pale and wan ; her eyes

That late did shine like crystal stars,

Alas, their light it dies :

Her prettye liliy hands,

With fingers long and small,

In colour like the earthly clay,

Yea, cold and stiff withall.

When as the morning-star

Her golden gates had spred,

And that the glittering sun arose,

Forth from fair Thetis' bed ;

Then did my love awake,

Most like a liliy-flower

And as the lovely queene of heaven,

So shone shoo in her bower.

Attired was shoo then

Like Flora in her pride,

Like one of bright Dian's nymphs,

So look'd my loring bride.

And as fair Helens face

Did Grecian dames besmirche,

So did my dear exceed in sight

All virgins in the church.

When we had knitt the knott

Of holy wedlock-band,

Like alabaster joyn'd to jett,

So stood we hand in hand.

Then lo ! a chilling cold

Strucke every vital part,

And griping griefe, like pangs of death,

Seiz'd on my true love's heart.

Down in a swoon she fell,

As cold as any stone ;

Like Venus picture lacking like,

So was my love brought home.

At length her rosye, red,

"Throughout her comely face,

As Phœbus beames with watry cloudes

Was cover'd fur a space.

When with a grievious groane,

And voice both hoarse and drye,

Farewell, quoth she, my loving friend,

For I this daye must dye ;

The messenger of God

With golden trumpe I see,

With manye other angels more,

Wbich sound and call for me.

Instead of musicke sweet,

Go toll my passing-bell ;

And with sweet flowrs strow my grave,

That in my chamber smell.

Strip off my bride's arraye,

My cork shoes from my feet ;

And, gentlo mother, be not coy

To bring my winding-sheet.

My wedding-dinner drest,

Bestowe upon the poor,

And on the hungry, needy, maimde,

Now craving at the door.

Instead of virgins yong,

My bride-bed for to see,

Go cause some cunning carpenter,

To make a chest for mee.

My bride laces of silk

Bestow'd, for maidens meet,

May fitly serve, when I am dead,

To tye my hands and feet.

And thou, my lover true,

My husband and my friend,

Let me intreat thee here to staye,

Until my life doth end.

Now leave to talk of love,

And humblye on your knee,

Direct your prayers unto God :

But mourn no more for me.

In love as we have liv'd,

In love let us depart ;

And I, in token of my love,

Do kiss thee with my heart.

O staunch those bootless teares,

Thy weeping tis in vaine ;

I am not lost, for wee in heaven

Shall one daye meet againe.

Page 398

368

DULCINA.

With that shee turn'd aside,

As one dispos'd to sleep,

And like a lamb departed life :

Whose friends did sorely weep.

Her true love seeing this,

Did fetch a grievous groane,

As tho' his heart would burst in twane,

And thus he made his moane.

O darke and dismal daye,

A daye of grief and care,

That hath bereft the sun so bright,

Whose beams refresh the air.

Now woe unto the world,

And all that therein dwell,

O that I were with thee in heaven,

For here I live in hell.

And now this lover lives

A discontented life,

Whose bride was brought unto the grave

A maiden and a wife.

A garland fresh and faire

Of lillies there was made,

In sign of her virginitie,

And on her coffin laid.

Six maidens all in white,

Did beare her to the ground:

The bells did ring in solemne sort,

And made a dolefull sound.

In earth they laid her then,

For hungry wormes a preye;

So shall the fairest face alive

At length be brought to clay.

XIII.

Dulcina.

Given from two ancient copies, one in black-print, in the Pepys Collection, the other in the Editor's folio MS. Each of these contained a stanza not found in the other. What seemed the best readings were selected from both.

This song is quoted as very popular in "Walton's Compleat Angler," chap. 2. It is more ancient than the ballad 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 lap to sleepe an hour.

But from her looke

A wound he tooke

So deepe, that for a further boone

The nymph he prayes.

Wherto shee sayes,

Forgoe me now, come to mee soone.

But in vayne shee did conjure him

To depart her presence soo :

Having a thousand tongues to allvre him,

And but one to bid him goe:

Where lipps invite,

And eyes delight,

And cheekes, as fresh as rose in June,

Persuade delay ;

What boots, she say,

Forgoe 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 leysure,

Which the day can not allow.

He sayes, the sight

'Improves delight.

Which she denies : Nights mirkie noone

In Venus' playes

Makes bold, shee sayes ;

Forgoe me now, come to mee scune.

But what promise or profession

From his hands could purchase scope?

Who would sell the sweet possession

Of suche beautye for a hope?

Or for the sight

Of lingering night

Forgoe the present joyes of noone?

Though ne're soe faire

Her speeches were,

Forgoe me now, come to mee soone.

How, at last, agreed these lovers?

Shee was fayre, and he was young:

The tongue may tell what th' eye discoveres;

Joyes unseene are never sung.

Did shee consent,

Or he relent;

Accepts he night, or grants shee noone;

Left he her a mayd,

Or not; she sayd

Forgoe me now, come to me soone.

Page 399

THE LADY ISABELLA'S TRAGEDY.

369

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. II. 263, folio. It is there entitled, "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, entitled, "The Dutchess's and Cook's Lamentation."

Twas a lord of worthy fame,

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 bóth sport and playe;

His ladye went, as she did feigne,

Unto the church to praye.

This lord he had a daughter deare,

Whose beautee 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.

Therefore her cruel step-mothèr

Did envy 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.

Go home, sweet daughter, I thee praye,

Go hasten presentlie;

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,

Thera's none so faire to showe.

This ladye fearing of no harme,

Obey'd her mothers wilt;

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.

Now, 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.

Then streight his cruell bloodye hands

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.

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 !

For pittyes sake do not destroye

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.

Now when this lord he did come home

For to sitt down and eat;

He called for his daughter deare,

To wume and carve his meat.

Page 400

370

A HUE AND CRY AFTER CUPID.

Now sit you downe, his ladye sayd,

O sit you downe to meat;

Into some nunnery she is gone;

Your daughter deare forget.

Then solemnlye he made a vowe,

Before the companle :

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 :

Wherein her fleshe is minced small,

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 heart's blood,

From death to set her frec.

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.

Likewise he judg'd the master-cook

In boiling lead to stand ;

And made the simple scullion-boye

The heire of all his land.

XV.

A HUE AND CRY after CUPID.

This song is a kind of Translation of a

pretty poem of Tasso's, called Amore fuggi-

tivo, generully printed with his "Aminta,"

and originally imitated from the first Idyl-

lium of Moschus.

It is extracted from Ben Jonson's Masque

at the marriage of Lord Viscount Haddington,

on Shrove-Tuesday, 1608. One stanza, full

of dry mythology, is here omitted, as it had

been drupped in a copy of this song printed

in a small volume called "Le Prince

d'Amour. Lond. 1660," 8vo.

Beauties, have ye seen a toy,

Called Love, a little boy.

Almost naked, wanton, blindle;

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.

Markes he hath about him plentie;

You may know him amongst 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.

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 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.

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.

Trust him not: his words, though sweet,

Seldome with his heart due meet:

All his practice is deceit;

Everie gift is but a bait :

Not a kisse but poyson beares;

And most treason's in his teares.

Page 401

Idle minutes are his raigne;

Then the straggler makes his game,

By presenting maidens with toyes

And would have yee thinke them 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'l not abhde 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, Forester 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 hap-

pened about A. D. 863.—See Rapin, Henault,

and the French Historians.

The following copy is given from the Edit-

or's ancient folio MS. collated with another

in black-letter in the Pepys Collection, en-

titled, "An excellent Ballad of a prince of

England's courtship to the King's Daughter

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 rhyme; an attempt is here made 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,

Wi'ne deels 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 prov'd,

Sorelyo he was mov'd,

And tormented in his minde.

He souglt 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 disdnaine,

Which their joyes withstood:

Tho lady soon 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 forest 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 princess, 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;

Page 402

372

THE KING OF FRANCE'S DAUGHTER.

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 angry bee

For my long delaying;

For thy courteous staying

Soone amends I'e make to thee.

55

60

Passing thus alone

Through the silent forest,

Many a grievous groan

Sounded in her ears:

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 at an end,

Through villaaines crueltie:

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.

65

70

75

80

With that a grone he sends

Which did burst in sunder

All the tender bands

Of his gentle heart.

She, who knew 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,

Smeard with gore a ghastlye stroame.

Which his lady spying,

Shrioking, 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.

85

90

95

100

His pale lippes, alas!

Twentye times she kissed,

And his face did wash

With her trickling tearres:

Every gaping wound

Tenderlye she pressed,

And did wip 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 deure eyes,

Listen to my cryes,

Thinke in what sad griefe I live.

105

110

All in vain she sued,

All in vain she wooed,

The prince's life was flod and gone.

There stood she still mourning,

Till the suns retourning,

And bright day was coming on.

115

120

In this great distresse

Weeping, wayling ever,

Oft she cryed, alas!

What will become of mee?

To my fathers court

I returne will never:

But in lowlye sort

I 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.

125

130

Moved with her sorrowe,

Maid, quoth hee, good morrowe,

What hard happ has brought thee here?

Harder happ did never

Two kinde hearts dissever:

Here lyes slaine my brother deare.

135

140

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.

145

150

Page 403

THE KING OF FRANCE'S DAUGHTER.

373

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 clotb'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 those woods the hart to chase.

The children then they bring,

So their mother will'd it,

  • 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 velvet, with

the following motto:

"Cloth of Gold, do not despise,

Tho' thou art matcht with Cloth of Frize,

Cloth of Frize, be not too bold,

Thou' thou art matcht with Cloth of Gold."

See Sir W. Temple's Misc. vol. III. p. 320.

155

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 sue 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,

We'Il 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 kace,

I am that child, quoth shee ;

Pardon mee, my soveraigne liege.

The king perceiving this,

His daughter deare did kiss,

While joyfull tournes 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 sorowes put to flight.

  • i. e. describing. See Gloss.

185

190

195

200

205

210

215

219

**

161

165

170

175

180

Page 404

374

THE CHILDREN IN THE WOOD.

XVII.

The Sweet Neglect.

This little madrigal (extracted from Ben Jonson’s Silent Woman, act 1, sc. 1, first acted

in 1600) 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. II., p. 420.

Still to be poud’red, 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.

Still to be neat, still to be drest,

As you were going to a feast:

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.

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, entitled “Two lamentable

Tragedies; the one of the murder of Maister

Boech, 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 wards, under pretence of sending

them to school: their choosing 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 he 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 com-

pares 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 through the whole

performance, that, had the ballad been writ-

ten first, there is no doubt but every circum-

stance of it would have been receiv’d 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.

Its title.at large is, “The Children in the

Wood: or, the Norfolk Gentleman’s Last Will

and Testament: to the tune of Rogero, &c.”

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.

Sore sicke he was, and like to dye,

No helpe his life could save;

His wife by him as sicke did lye,

And both posset one grave.

No love betwteen these two was lost,

Each was to other kinde,

In love they liv’d, in love they dyed,

And left too babes behinde:

Page 405

THE CHILDREN IN THE WOOD.

375

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.

20

The father left his little son,

As plainlye doth appeare,

When he to perfect age should come,

Three hundred poundes a yeare.

And to his little daughter Jane

25

Five hundred poundes in gold,

To be paid downe on marriage-day,

Which might not be controll'd:

But if the children chanc'd to dye,

Ere they to age should come,

30

Their uncle should possesse their wealth ;

For so the will did run.

Now, brother, said the dying man,

Look to my children deare;

Be good unto my boy and girl,

35

No friendes else have they here :

To God and you I recommend

My children deare this daye;

But little while he sure we have

Within this world to staye.

40

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,

45

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 ;

50

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.

55

These speeches then their brother spake

To this sicke couple there,

The keeping of your little ones

Sweet sister, do not feare :

60

God never prosper me nor mine,

Nor aught olse that I have,

If I do wrong your children deare,

When you are layd in grave.

48

The parents being dead and gone,

65

The children home he takes,

And brings them straite unto his house,

Where much of them he makes.

He had not kept these pretty babes

A twelvemonth and a daye,

70

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.

75

He told his wife an artful tale,

He would the children send

To be brought up in faire London,

With one that was his friend.

80

Away then went those pretty babes,

Rejoycing at that tide,

Rejoycing with a merry minde,

They should on cock-horse ride.

They prate and prattle pleasantly,

85

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 :

90

And they that undertooke the deed,

Full sore did now repont.

Yet one of them more hard of heart,

Did vowe to do his charge,

Because the wretch, that hired him,

95

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 :

100

And he that was of mildest mood,

Did slaye the other there,

Within an unfrequented wood ;

The babes did quake for feare !

He took the children by the hand,

105

Tenres 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 :

110

Staye here, quoth he, I'll bring you bread,

When I come back againe.

Page 406

376

A LOVER OF LATE.

These protty babes, with hand in hand,

Went wandering up and downe;

But never more could see the man

Approaching from the towne:

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.

And now the heavy wrache 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.

And in a voyage to Portugal

Two of his sonnes did dye ;

And to conclude, himselfe was brought

To want and misorye:

He pawn'd and mortgaged all his land

Ere seven years came about.

And now at length this wicked act

Did by this meannes come out:

The felowe, that did take in hand

These children for to kill,

Was for a robbery judg'd to dye,

Such was God's 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 exccutors 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 misorye

Your wicked minds requite.

XIX.

A Mother of Late.

Printed with a few slight corrections, from

the Editor's folio MS.

A lover of late was I,

For Cupid would have it soe,

The boy that hath never an eye,

As every man doth know :

I sighed and sobbed, and cryed, alas!

For her that laught, and called me ass.

Then knew not I what to doe,

When I saw itt was in vaine

A lady soe coy to wooe,

Who gave me the asse soe 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 kind as I,

What payre cold have made, as wee,

Soe prettye a sympathey:

I was as kind as shee was faire,

But for all this wee cold not paire.

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 Ile leave to her disdaine;

And now I am my selfe againe.

Ver. 125, those ... babes, PP.

Ver. 13, faine, MS.

Page 407

THE KING AND MILLER OF MANSFIELD.

377

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 King Henry and the Soldier; King James I. and the 'Tinker ; King William III. and the Forester, &c. Of the latter sort, are King Alfred and the Shepherd; King Edward IV. and the Tanner ; King Henry VIII. and the Collier, &c.—A few of the best of these are 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, entitled, "John the Reeve," which is built on an adventure of the same kind, that happened between King 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 chooses to defer its publication, in hopes that some time or other he shall be able to remove them.

The following is printed, with corrections from the Editor's folio MS. collated with an old black-letter copy in the Pepys Collection, entitled, " A pleasant ballad of King 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.

All a long summers day rode the king plean-santiye, With all his princes and nobles eche one ; Chasing the hart and hind, and the buck gal-lantiye, 'Till the dark evening forc'd all to turn home.

Then at last, riding fast, he had lost quite All his lords in the wood, late in the night.

Wandering thus wearily, all alone, up and downe, With a rude miller he mett at the last; Asking the ready way unto faire Notting-ham; 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 mean 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 crack thy knaves crowne.

Thou dost abuse me much, quoth the king, saying thus ; I am a gentleman ; lodging I lacke. Thou hast not, quoth th' miller, one groat in thy purse ; All thy inheritance hangs on thy backe. *I have gold to discharge all that I call ; If it be fourty 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 do a sprite.

*The king says this.

Page 408

378

THE KING AND MILLER OF MANSFIELD.

Better I'll know thee, ere hands we will shake; 35

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 smokye a house. 40

Now, quoth hee, let me see hereo what you are.

Quoth the 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 wife, by my troth, it is a handsome youth,

Yet it's best, husband, to deal warilye.

Art thou no run away, prythee, youth, tell?

Show 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.

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 turn him out certainelye, 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 sheets likewise, quoth shee.

Aye, quoth the good man ; and when that is done,

Thou shalt lye with no worso 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.

This caus'd the king, suddenlye, to laugh most heartilye,

T'ill 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 'cuckholds, whereever 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, fetoh me forth lightfoote,

And of his sweetnosse a little we'll 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 eat so daintye a thing. 90

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 :

Var. 80, courtnalls, that courteous be, MS. and P.

Page 409

THE KING AND MILLER OF MANSFIELD.

379

From merry Sherwood we fetch it home here;

Now and then we make bold with our kings deer.

96

Then I thinke, sayd our king, that it is veni-

son.

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: 100

But, prythee, say nothing whereever thou goe;

We would not, for two peace, 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,

105

And to their hedds 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 espyd him out,

As he was mounting upon his faire steede;

To whom they came presently, falling down on their knee;

111

Which made the millers heart wofully bleede;

Shaking and quaking, before him he stood,

Thinking he should have been hang'd, by the rood.

114

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 courteisye for to requite,

Gave him great living, and dubb'd him a knight.

120

PART THE SECONDE.

When as our royall king came home from Nottingham,

And with his nobles at Westminster lay;

Reeounting the sports and pastimes they had taken,

In 'his late progress along on the way;

4

Of them all, great and small, he did protest,

The miller of Mansfield's sport likened him best.

And now, my lords, quoth the king, I am determind

Against St. Georges next sumptuous feast,

That this old miller, our new confirm'd knight,

With his son Richard, shall here be my guest:

10

For, in this merrymoment, '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 straighte on the busines,

15

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 own hearts desire;

20

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. George's day;

24

Therfore, in any case, faile not to be in place.

I wis, quoth the miller, this is an old jest:

What should we doe there? faith, I am halfe afraied.

I doubt, quoth Richard, to be hang'd at the least.

Nay, quoth the messenger, you doe mistake;

Our king he provydes a great feast for your sake.

30

Then sayd the miller, By my troth, messen-

ger,

Thou hast contented my worshippe full well.

Hold here are three farthings, to quite thy gentleness,

For these happy tydings, which thou dost tell.

31

Page 410

380

THE KING AND MILLER OF MANSFIELD.

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 his leave taking with great humilitye

'To the kings court again he repaired ; 40

Shewing unto his grace, merry and free,

The knighte 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 twenty things more.

Tushe, Sir John, quoth his wife, why should

you frett, or frowne?

You shall ne'er be at no charges for mee;

For I will turne and trim up my old russet gowne,

With every 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, for good hap, a cocks feather in

his cap,

And so they jotted 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;

Welceme, sir knight, quoth he, with your

gay lady :

Good Sir John Cockle, once welcome againe :

And so is the squire of courage soe free. 65

Quoth Dicke, A bots on you do you know mee?

Quoth our king gentlye, how should I forget thee?

That wast my owne bed-fellowe, well it I wot.

Yea, sir, quoth Richard, and by the same token,

Thou with thy farting didst make the bed hot.

Thou whoreson unhappy knave, then quoth the knight,

Speake cleanly to our king, or else go sh**#.

The king and his courticrs laugh heartily,

While the king taketh them both by the hand;

With the court-dames, and maids, like to the qucen of spades

The millers wife did soe orderly stand.

A milk-maids courtesye at every word;

And downe all the folkes were set to the board.

There the king royally, in princelye majestye,

Sate at his dinner with joy and delight;

When they had eaten well, then he to jesting fell,

And in a bowl of wine drank to the knight:

Here's to you both, in wine, ale and beere;

Thanking you heartilye for my good cheere.

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.

Why art thou angrye ? quoth our king merilye;

In faith, I take it now very unkind:

Page 411

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.

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.

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 places the king did advance.

Here with the ladies 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 ladies 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 yearelye:

Take heed now you steale no more of my deare :

And once a quarter let's here have your view;

And now, Sir John Cockle, I bid you adieu.

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 satirical strokes rendered him extremely popular in his lifetime: so afterwards, when these were no longer relished, 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 influence; and giving vent to his chagrin in libels on the court, was long a prisoner in Newgate and the Tower.

He died at length on the 2d of May, 1667.

During the whole course of his life, Wither

Page 412

382

QUEEN DIDO.

was a continual publisher ; having generally

for opponent, Taylor the Water-poet. The

long list of his productions may be seen in

W uod's Athenæ Oxon. vol. II. His most

popular satire is entitled "Abuses whipt and

stript," 1613. His most poetical pieces were

cologues, entitled, "The Shepherd's Hunt-

ing," 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, entitled "The

Mistresse of Philarete," 1622, 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 dispair,

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 be not so to me,

What care I how faire shee be ?

Shall my foolish heart be 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 ?

Shall a woman's virtues movo

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 seems 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 how great she be ?

Great or good, or kind or faire,

I will no'r 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:

If shee be not fit for me,

What care I for whom she be ?

XXII.

Queen 9ido.

Such is the title given in the Editor's folio

MS. to this excellent old ballad, which, in

the common printed copies, is inscribed,

'Eneas wandering Prince of Troy.' It is

here given from that 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 conclu-

sion 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 yeeres 'past,'

Withstood the Greekes in manfull wise,

Then did their foes encrense soe fast,

That to resist none could suffice:

Wast lye those walls, that were soe good,

And corne now growes where Troy towne

stoode.

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 queene, with sumptuous feast,

Did entertaine that wandering guest.

Ver. 1, 21, war, MS. and Pp.

Page 413

QUEEN DIDO.

383

And, as in hall at ments they sate,

The quene, desirous newes to heare,

Says, of thy Troys unhappy fate'

15

Declare to me thou Trojan deare:

The heavy hap and chance soe bad,

That thou, poore wandering prince, hast had.

And then anon this comely knight,

With words demure, as he cold well,

20

Of his unhappy ten yeares 'fight,'

Soe true a tale began to tell,

With wordes soe sweete, and sighs soe deepe,

That oft he made them all to weep.

And then a thousand sighes he fet,

25

And every sigh brought teares amnine;

That where he sate the place was wett,

As though he had seene those warrs

again:

Soe that the quene, with ruth therfore,

Said, Worthy prince, enongh, no more.

30

And then the darksome night drew on,

And twinkling starres the skye bespred;

When he his dolefull tale had done,

And every one was layd in bedd:

35

Where they full sweetly tooke their rest,

Save ouly Dido's boyling brest.

This silly woman never slept,

But in her chamber, all alone,

As one unhappy, alwayes wept,

And to the walls shee made her mone;

41

That she shold still desir'e in vaine

The thing, she never must obtaine.

And thus in grieffe she spent the night,

Till twinkling starres the skye were fled,

And Phebus, with his glistening light,

45

Through misty cloudes appeared red;

Then tidings came to her anon,

That all the Trojan ships were gone.

And then the queene with bloody knife

Did arme her hart as hard as stone,

50

Yet, somthing loth to loose her life,

In woefull wise she made her mone;

And, rowling on her carefull bed,

With sighes and sobs, these words she sayd:

O wretched Dido queene! quoth shee,

55

I see thy end approacheth neare;

For hee is fled away from thee,

Whom thou didst love and hold so deare:

What is he gone, and passed by ?

O hart, prepare thy solfe to dye.

49

Though reason says, thou shouldst forbeare,

And stay thy hand from bloudy stroke;

15

Yet fancy bids thee not to feare,

Which fetter'd thee in Cupids yoke.

C4

Come death, quoth shee, resolve my smart!—

And with those words shee poerc'd her hart.

When death had pierced the tender hart

Of Dido, Carthaginian queene;

Whose bloudy knife did end the smart,

Which shee sustain'd in mournfull teene;

Æneas being shiplt and gone,

71

Whose flattery caused all her mone;

Her funerall most costly made,

And all things finisht mournfullye;

75

Her body fine in mold was laid,

Where itt consumed speedilyo:

Her sisters teares her tombe bestrewde;

Her subjects griefe their kindnesse shewed.

Then was Æneas in an ile

In Grecia, where he stayd long space

80

Whereas her sister in short while

Writt to him to his vile disgrace;

In speeches bitter to his mind

Shee told him plaine he was unkind.

84

False-harted wretch, quoth shee, thou art;

And traiterouslye thou hast betrayd

Unto thy lure a gentle hart,

Which unto thee much welcome made;

My sister deare, and Carthage' joy,

Whose fully bred her deere annoy.

90

Yett on her death-bed when shee lay,

Shee prayd for thy prosperitye,

Beseeching god, that every day

Might breed thy great felicitye:

Thus by thy meanes I lost a friend;

95

Heaven send thee such untimely end.

When he these lines, full fraught with gall,

Perused had, and wayed them right,

His lofty courage then did fall;

And straight appeered in his sight

100

Qucene Dido's ghost, both grim and pale:

Which made this vaillant souldier quail.

Æneas, quoth this ghastly ghost,

My whole delight when I did live,

105

Thee of all men I loved most;

My fancy and my will did give;

For entertainment I thee gave,

Unthankefully thou didst me grave.

60

49

Page 414

384

THE WITCHES' SONG.

Therfore prepare thy flitting soule

To wander with me in the aire: 110

Where deadlye griefe shall make it howle,

Because of me thou tookest no care:

Delay not time, thy glasse is run,

Thy date is past, thy life is done.

O stay a while, thou lovely sprite,

Be not soe hasty to convay

My soule into eternall night,

Where itt shall ne're behold bright day:

O doe not frowne ; thy angry looke

Hath 'all my soule with horror shooke.' 120

But, woe is me ! all is in vaine,

And bootless is my dismall crye;

Time will not be recalled againe,

Nor thou surcease before I dye.

O lett me live, and make amends

To some of thy most dearest friends. 125

But seeing thou obdurate art,

And wilt no pittie on me show,

Because from thee I did depart,

And left unpayd what I did owe: 130

I must content myselfe to take

What lott to me thou wilt partake.

And thus, as one being in a trance,

A multitude of uglye feinds

About this woffull prince did dance; 135

He had no helpe of any friends:

His body then they touke away,

And no man knew his dying day.

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 bal-

lads; 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

classical antiquity, than a display of the opin-

ions of our own vulgar. But let it be obser-

ved, that a parcel of learned wisenacres had

just before busied themselves on this subject,

in compliment to King James I., whose weak-

ness on this head is well known: 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 dis-

tinguished.

By good luck the whimsical belief of fairies

and goblins could furnish no pretence for

torturing our fellow-creatures, and therefore

we have this handed down to us pure and

unsophisticated.

1 WITCH.

I have been all day looking after

A raven feeding upon a quarter:

And, soone as she tarn'd her beak to the

south,

I snatch'd this morsell out of her mouth.

2 WITCH.

I have beene gathering wolves haircs,

5 The madd dogges foames, and adders cares;

The spurging of a deadmans eyes:

And all since the evening starre did rise.

3 WITCH.

I last night lay all alone

9 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.

Ver. 120, MS. Hath made my breathe my lifu forsooke.

Page 415

ROBIN GOOD-FELLOW.

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.

I have been geting; and made of his skin

A pursat, to keepe Sir Cranion in.

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.

9 witch.

And I ha' beene plucking (plants among)

Hemlock, henbane, adders-tongue,

Night-shade, moone-wort, libbard's-bane ;

And twise by the dogges was like to be tane.

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 hade him again blow wind i' the taile.

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 again,

Kill'd the blacke cat, and here is the braine.

7 witch.

A murderer, yonder, was hung in chaines;

The sunne and the wind had shrunk his

veines :

I bit off a sinew ; I clipp'd his haire;

I brought off his ragges, that danc'd i' the

ayre.

11 witch.

I went to the toad, breedles 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 ?

8 witch.

The scriet-owles egges and the feathers blacke,

The bloud of the frogge, and the bone in his

backe

DAME.

Yes: I have brought, to helpe your rows,

Horned poppie, cypresse boughes,

The fig-tree wild, that growes on tombes,

And juice, that from the larch-tree comes,

The basiliskes bloud, and the vipers

skin :

And now our orgies let's begin.

XXIV.

Robin Goodfellow,

—Alias Pucke, alias Hobgoblin, in the

creed of ancient superstition, was a kind of

merry sprite, whose character and achieve-

ments 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 creame-bowle duly set:

When in one night, ere glimpse of morn,

His shadowy flail hath thresh'd the corn

That ten day-labourers could not end;

Then lies him down the lubber 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 everywhere have been so unani-

Page 416

ROBIN GOOD-FELLOW.

mousely agreed concerning those arbitrary

notions, if they had not prevailed among

them for many ages. Indeed, a learned friend

in Wales assures the Editor, that the exist-

once 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 which signifies "The spirits of

the mountains." See also Preface to Song

XXV.

This song, which Peck attributes to Ben

Jonson (though it is not found among his

works) is chiefly printed from an ancient

black-letter copy in the British Museum. It

seems to have been originally intended for

some Masque.

This ballad is entitled, in the old black-

letter copies, "The merry Pranks of Robin

Goodfellow. To the tune of Dulcina," &c.

(See No. XIII. above.)

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! 10

More swift than lightening can I flye

About this nery 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! 20

Whence'er such wanderers I meete,

As from their night-sports they trudge

home;

With counterfeiting voice I greete,

And call them on, with mee 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! 30

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 windo away I go,

O're hedge and lands,

Thro' pools and ponds

I whirry, laughing, ho, ho, ho! 40

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! 50

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 threeds 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! 60

When house or harth doth sluttish lye,

I pinch the maidens black and blue;

The bed-clothes from the bedd I pull

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! 70

When any need to borrow 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! 80

Page 417

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 glazé,

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 loope holes, where the verminæ creepe,

Who from their fildes 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 laub 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,

And elfe in bed

We leave instead,

And wend us lauging, ho, ho, ho!

From hag-bred Merlin's time have I

This nightly revell'd to and fro:

And for my pranks men call me by

The name of Robin good-fellow.

Fiends, ghosts, and sprites,

Who haunt the nightes,

The hags and goblins do me know;

And bedlamés 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 a kind of diminutive demons, or middle species between men and spirits, whom they called Duergar or Dwarfs, and to whom they attributed many wonderful performances, far exceeding human art. Vid. Hervarer Saga Olaj Verelj. 1675. Hickes Thesaur. &c.

This Song is given (with some corrections by another copy) from a book entitled "The Mysteries of Love and Eloquence, &c." Lond. 1648. 8vo.

Come, follow, follow me,

You, fairy elves that be:

Which circle on the greene,

Come follow Mab your queene.

Hand in hand let's dance around,

For this place is fairye ground.

When mortals are at rest,

And snoring in their nest;

Unheard, and unespide,

Through key-holes we do glide;

Over tables, stools and shelves,

We trip it with our fairy elves.

And, if the house be foul

With platter, dish, or bowl,

Up stairs we nimbly creep,

And find the sluts asleep:

There we pinch their armes and thighes;

None escapes, nor none espies.

Page 418

388

THE FAIRIES FAREWELL.

But if the house be swept,

And from uncleanness kept,

We praise the houschold maid,

And duly she is paid:

For we use before we goe

To drop a tester in her shoe.

Upon a mushromes head

Our table-cloth we spread;

A grain of rye, or wheat,

Is manchet, which we eat;

Pearly drops of dew we drink

In acorn cups fill'd to the brink.

The brains of nightingales,

With unctuous fat of snails,

Between two cockles stow'd,

Is meat that's easily chew'd;

20

Tails of worms, and marrow of mice

Do make a dish, that's wonderous nice.

The grasshopper, gnat, and fly,

Serve for our minstrelsie;

Grace said, we dance a while,

And so the time beguile:

And if the moon doth hide her head,

The glow-worm lights us home to bed.

25

On tops of dewie grasse

So nimbly do we passe,

The young and tender stalk

Ne'er bends when we do walk:

Yet in the morning may be seen

Where we the night before have been.

30

40

45

XXVI.

The Jfairits Jfarewell.

This humorous old song fell from the hand

of the witty Dr. Corbet (afterwards Bishop

of Norwich, &c.), and is printed from his

Poëtica Stromata, 1648, 12mo. (compared

with the third edition of his poerns, 1672).

It is there called "A proper new Ballad, en-

titled, 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 his "Wife of Bath's Tale."

"In olde dayes of the King Artour,

Of which that Bretons spoken gret honour,

All was this lond fulfild of faerie;

The elf-quene, with hire joly compaignie

Danced ful oft in many a grene mede.

This was the old opinion as I rede;

I speke of many hundred yeres ago;

But now can no man see non elves mo,

For now the grete charitee and prayeres

Of limitoures and other holy freres,

That serchen every land and every streme,

As thikke as motes in the sonne beme,

Blissing halles, chambres, kichenes, and

boures,

Citees and burghes, castles high, and toures,

Thropes and bernes, shepenes and dairies,

This maketh that ther ben no faeries:

For ther as wont to walken was an elf,

Ther walketh now the limitour himself,

In undermelos and in morwenings,

And sayth his Matines and his holy thinges,

As he goth in his limitatioun.

Women may now go safely up and doun,

In every bush, and under every tree,

Ther is non other incubus but he,

And he ne will don hem no dishonour."

Tyrwhitt's Chaucer, I. p. 255.

Dr. Richard Corbet, having been bishop

of Oxford about three years, and afterwards

as long bishop of Norwich, died in 1635,

ætæt 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 les

Than mayds were wont to doe,

Yet who of late for cleaneliness

Finds sixe-pence in her shoe ?

Page 419

THE FAIRIES FAREWELL.

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.

At morn and at eavening both

You merry were and glad,

So little care of sleep and sloth,

These prettie ladies had.

When Tom came home from labour,

Or Ciss to milking rose,

Then merrily went their labour,

And nimbly went their toes.

Witness those rings and roundelayes

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.

A toll-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-wealth doth need

Such justices as you!

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.

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.

** 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 imposters, among their other secrets, affected to have a power over Fairies: and that they were commonly expected to be seen in a crystal glass appears from that extraordinary book, "The Relation of Dr. John Dee's action with Spirits, 1659," folio.

"An excellent way to gett a Fayrie. (For my self 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 three inches. Then lay that glasse or christall in the bloud of a white hen, three Wednes-dayes, or three Fridayes. Then take it out, yeare groth; pill thom fayre and white; and make 'them' sue longe, as you write Spirits name, or Fayries name, whilch you call, three times on every sticke being made flatt on one side. Then bury them under some hill, wheras you suppose fayries haunt, the Wednesday before you call her: and the Friday followinge take them uppe, and call her at eight or three or ten of the clocke, which be good planetts and houres for that turne: but when you call, be in cleane

Page 420

life, and turne thy face towards the east. three dayes in the sunne, and then keep it

And when you have her, bind her to that for thy use; ut supra."

stone or glasse."

"An unguent to annoynt under the eyelids, and upon the eyelids eveninge and morn-

inge: but especially when you call ; or inge: but especially when you call ; or

find your sight not perfect.

"R. A pint of sallet-oyle, and put it into After this receipt for the unguent follows

a viall glasse: but first wash it with rose- a Form of Incantation, wherein the Alchy

water, and marygold-water: the flowers 'to' mist conjures a Fairy, named Elaby Gathon,

bo gathered towards the east. Wash it till to appeur to him in that chrystall glass,

the oyle come white; then put it into the meekly and mildly ; to resolve him truly in

glasse, ut supra: and then put thereto the all manner of questions; and to be obedient

budds of holyhocke, the flowers of marygold, to all his commaunds, under pain of damna-

the flowres or toppes of wild thime, the tion, &c.

budds of young hazle: and the thime must One of the vulgar opinions about Fairies is,

be gathered neare the side of a hill where that they cannot be seen by human eyes,

Fayries use to be: and 'take' the grasse of without a particular charm exerted in favour

a fayrie throne, there. All these put into of the person who is to see them : and that

the oyle, into the glasse: and set it to dissolvo they strike with blindness such as, having

THE END OF BOOK THE SECOND.

SERIES THE THIRD.

BOOK III.

I.

The ,lirty of §t. (Beorge.

The incidents in this, and the other ballad lar romance were written so early as the

of "St. George and the Dragon," are chiefly Faery Queen.

taken from the old story-book of the Seven The author of this book of the Seven

Champions of Christendome; which, though Champions was one Richard Johnson, who

now the plaþthing of children, was once in lived in the reigns of Elizabeth and James,

high repute. Bp. Hall, in his satires, pub- as we collect from his other publications;

lished in 1597, ranks viz.—"The nine worthies of London: 1592,"

"St. George's sorell, and his cross of blood," 4to.—"The pleasant walks of Mour fhelds:

among the most popular stories of his time; 1607," 4to.—"A crown garland of Goulden

and an ingenious critic thinks that Spenser Roses, gathered, &c.: 1612," 8vo.—"The lifo

himself did not disdain to borrow hints from and deuth of Rob. Cecil, E. of Salisbury,

it;* though I much doubt whether this popu- 1612," 4to.—"The Hist of Tom of Lincoln,"

  • Mr. Wharton. Vid. Observations on the Fairy Queen, 2 vol. 1762, 12mo. passim.

4to., is also by R. J., who likewise reprinted "Don Flores of Greece," 4to.

The Seven Champions, though written in a wild inflated style, contains some strong

Page 421

THE BIRTH OF ST. GEORGE.

301

Gothic painting; which seems for the most part, 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 "Sir Bevis of Hampton."

This very antique poem was in great fame in Chaucer's time [see above pag. 352], and is so continued till the introduction of printing, when it ran through 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 rhymist, 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 fauie is, Had a syght of Syr Bevis, He cast up a laude 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 fourty 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 be 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."

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 Morglaye yode Throuygh harte, lyver, bone, and bloude; To the ground fell the dragon, Great joye Syr Bevis began. Under the scales al on hight: He smote off his head forth right, And put it on a spere: &c." Sign K. iv. 50

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 two of St. George's ribs were so 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 picht 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 de Hantonne" was published at Paris in 1502, 4to., Let. Gothique.

The learned Selden tells us, that about the time of the Norman invasion was Bevis famous with the title of Earl of Southamp-ton, whose residence was at Duncton in Wiltshire: but he observes, that the monkish enlargements of his story have made his very existence doubted. See Notes on Poly-Olbion, Song III.

This hath also been the case of St. George himself, whose martial history is allowed to be apocryphal. But, to prove that there really existed an orthodox Saint of this name (although little or nothing, it seems, is known of his genuine story), is the subject of "An Historical and Critical Inquiry into the Existence and Character of St. George, &c. By the Rev. J. Milner, F.S.A., 1792, 8vo."

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 on this subject the inquisitive reader may consult "A Dissertation on the Original

Page 422

life, and turne thy face towards the east. And when you have her, bind her to that stone or glasse."

three dayes in the sunne, and then keep it for thy use; ut supra."

"An unguent to annoynt under the eyelids, and upon the eyelids eveninge and morninge; but especially when you call; or find your sight not perfect.

After this receipt for the unguent follows a Form of Incantation, wherein the Alchy mist conjures a Fairy, named Elaby Gathon, to appear to him in that chrystall glass, meekly and mildly, to resolve him truly in all manner of questions ; and to be obedient to all his commands, under pain of damna-

"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 grusse of a fayrie throne, there. All these put into the oyle, into the glasse : and set it to dissolve | incantations.

tion, &c.

One of the vulgar opinions about Fairies is, that they cannot be seen by human eyes, without a particular charm exerted in favour of the person who is to see them; and that they strike with blindness such as, having the gift of seeing them, take notice of them mal a-propos.

As for the hazle sticks mentioned above, they were to be probably of that species called the "Witch Hazle;" which received its name from this manner of applying it in

THE END OF BOOK THE SECOND.

SERIES THE THIRD.

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 Christendom; which, though now the plaything of children, was once in high repute. Bp. Hall, in his satires, published in 1597, ranks

"St. George's surell, and his cross of blood,"

among the most popular stories of his time; and an ingenious critic thinks that Spenser himself did not disdain to borrow hints from it;* though I much doubt whether this popu-

  • Mr. Wharton. Vid. Observations on the Fairy Queen, 2 vol. 1792, 12mo. passim.

lar 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 and James, as we collect from his other publications; viz.—"The nine worthies of London: 1592," 4to.—"The pleasant walks of Moor fields: 1607," 4to.—"A crown garland of Goulden Roses, gathered, &c.: 1612," 8vo.—"The life and death of Rob. Cecil, E. of Salisbury, 1612," 4to.—"The Hist. of Tom of Lincolin," 4to., is also by R. J., who likewise reprinted "Don Flores of Greece," 4to.'

The Seven Champions, though written in a wild inflated style, contains some strong

Page 423

THE BIRTII OF ST. GEORGE.

301

Gothic painting ; which seems for the most part, 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 "Sir Bovis of Hamptun."

This very antique poem was in great fame in Chaucer's time [see above pag. 352], and is so continued till the introduction of printing, when it ran through several editions, two of which are in black-letter, &c., "imprinted by Wyllyam Copland," without date; containing great variations.

As a specimen of the poetic powers of this very old rhymist, 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 londe 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 shyrers 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.

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 egon.

Under the scales at on hight :

He smote off his head forth right,

And put it on a spere : &c."

Sign K. iv.

50

Sir Bevis's dragon is ovidently 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 shouklers 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 released he from his den, &c. . . . The champion gave the dragon such a thrust with his spear, that it shivered in a thousand piecers: whereat the furious dragon so fiercely smote him with his venomous tail, that down fell man and horse: in which fall two of St. George's ribs were so 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 de Hantonné" was published at Paris in 1502, 4to., Let. Gothique.

The learned Selden tells us, that about the time of the Norman invasion was Bevis famous with the title of Earl of Southamptshire: but he observes, that the monkish enlargements of his story have made his very existence doubted. See Notes on Poly-Olbion, Song III.

This hath also been the case of St. George himself, whose martial history is allowed to be apoeryphal. But, to prove that there really existed an orthodox Saint of this name (although little or nothing, it seems, is known of his genuine story), is the subject of "An Historical and Critical Inquiry into the Existance and Character of St. George, &c. By the Rev. J. Milner, F.S.A., 1792, 8vo."

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 on this subject the inquisitive reader may consult "A Dissertation on the Original

Page 424

392

THE BIRTH OF ST. GEORGE.

of the Equestrian Figure of the George and

of the Garter, ensigns of the most noble order

of that name. Illustrated with copper-plates.

By John Pettingal, A.M., Fellow of the So-

ciety of Antiquaries, London, 1753," 4to.

This learned and curious work the author of

the Historical and Critical Inquiry would have

done well to have seen.

It cannot be denied, but that the following

ballad is for the most part 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 :

Distressed ladies to relieve

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 Albert was his name.

He had to wife a princely dame,

Whose beauty did excell.

This virtuous lady, being with child,

In sudden sadness fell:

For thirty nights no sooner sleep

Had clos'd her wakeful eyes,

But lo ! a foul and fearful dream

Her fancy would 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.

All woe-begone, and sad was she;

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 pain,

And soon that pain partook.

And when to him the fearful cause

She weeping did impart,

With kindest speech he strove to heal

The anguish of her heart.

Be comforted, my lady dear,

Those pearly drops refrain;

Betide me weal, betide me woe,

I'll try to ease thy pain.

And for this foul and fearful dream,

That causoth 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 weird lady of the woods,

He purpos'd to repaire.

To the weird lady of the woods,

Full long and many a day,

Thro' lonely shades, and thickets rough

He winds his weary way.

At length he reach'd a dreary dell

With dismal yews o'erhung;

Where cypress spred its mournful boughs,

And pois'nous nightshade sprung.

No chearful gleams here pierc'd the gloom,

He hears no chearful sound;

But shrill night-ravens' yelling scream,

And serpents hissing round.

The shriek of fiends and damned ghosts

Ran howling thro' his ear:

A chilling horror froze his heart,

Tho' all unus'd to fear.

Three times he strives to win his way,

And pierce those sickly dews:

Three times to bear his trembling corso

His knocking knees refuse.

At length upon his beating breast

He signs the holy crosse;

And, rouzing up his wonted might,

He treads th' unhallowed mosse.

Beneath a pendent craggy cliff,

All vaulted like a grave,

And opening in the solid rock,

He found the inchanted cave.

Page 425

THE BIRTH OF ST. GEORGE.

393

An iron gate clos'd up the mouth,

All hideous and forlorne;

And, fasten'd by a silver chaine,

Near hung a brazed horne.

80

Then offering up a secret prayer,

Three times he blowes amaine:

Three times a deepe and hollow sound

Did answer him againe.

"Sir knight, thy lady beares a son,

Who, like a dragon bright,

Shall prove most dreadfull to his foes,

And terrible in fight.

"His name advanc'd in future times

On banners shall be worn :

But lo ! thy lady's life must passe

Before he can be born."

90

All sore opprest with fear and doubt

Long time Lord Albart stood ;

At length he winds his doubtfull way

Back thro' the dreary wood.

95

Eager to clasp his lovely dame

Then fast he travels back :

But when he reach'd his castle gate,

His gate was hung in black.

100

In every court and hall he found

A sullen silence reigne;

Save where, amid the lonely towers,

He heard her maidens 'plaine;

And bitterlye lament and weep,

With many a grievous grone:

105

Then sore his bleeding heart misgave,

His lady's life was gone.

With fault'ring step he enters in,

Yet half afraid to goe;

With trembling voice asks why they grieve,

Yet fears the cause to knowe.

110

"Three times the sun hath rose and set;"

They said, then stopt to weep :

Since heaven hath laid thy lady deare

In death's eternal sleep.

"For, ah ! in travel sore she fell

So sore that she must dye;

Unless some shrewd and cunning leech

Could ease her presentlyc.

120

"But when a cunning leech was fet,

Too soon declared he,

She, or the babe must lose its life;

Both saved could not be.

"Now take my life, thy lady said,

My little infant save :

And O commend me to my lord,

When I am laid in grave.

125

"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.

"Then calling still upon thy name,

And praying still for three;

Without repining or complaint,

Her gentle soul did flee."

135

What tongue can paint Lord Albret's woe,

The bitter tears the shed,

The bitter pangs that wrung his heart,

To find his lady dead ?

140

He beat his breast: he tore his hair;

And shedding many a tear,

At length he askt to see his son;

The son that cost so dear.

New sorrowc seiz'd the damsells all :

At length they faultering say :

"Alas ! my lord, how shall we tell?

Thy son is stolne away.

145

"Fair as the sweetest flower of spring,

Such was his infant mien;

And on his little body stampt

Three wonderous marks were seen :

"A blood-red cross was on his arm;

A dragon on his breast:

A little garter all of gold

Was round his leg exprest.

155

"Three carefull nurses we provide

Our little lord to keep:

One gave him sucke, one gave him food,

And one did lull to sleep.

160

"But lo ! all in the dead of night,

We heard a fearful sound:

Loud thunder clapt; the castle shook;

And lightning flasht around.

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394

ST. GEORGE AND THE DRAGON.

"Dead with affright at first we lay;

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."

O grief on grief ! Lord Albret said :

No more his tongue could 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 know.

So withers on the mountain top

A fair and stately oak,

165

170

175

180

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.

There up and downe he wandered far,

Clad in a palmer's gown :

Till his brown locks grew white as wool,

His beard as thistle down.

At length, all wearied, down in death

He laid his reverend head.

Meantime amid the lonely wilds

His little son was bred.

There the weird lady of the woods

Had borne him far away,

And train'd him up in feates of armes,

And every martial play.

185

190

195

200

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 12mo., 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.

Against the Sarazens so rude

Fought he full long and many a day;

Where many graunts 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 country 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.

The grief whereof did grow so great

Throughout the limits of the land,

That they were wise men did intreat

To shew their cunning out of hand;

What way they might this fiend destroy,

That did the country 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.

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 is bred,

The living scarce could bury the dead.

No means there were, as they could hear,

For to appense the dragon's rage,

But to present some virgin clear,

Whose blood his fury might asswage;

5

10

15

20

25

31

35

40

Page 427

ST. GEORGE AND THE DRAGON.

395

Each daye he would a maiden eat,

For to allay his hanger great.

This thing by art the wise-men found,

Which truly must observed be;

Wherefore throughout the city roand

A virgin pure of good degree

Was by the king's 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.

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.

Then rose the people presently,

And to the king in rage they went;

They said his daughter dear should dye,

The dragon's fury to prevent:

Our daughters all are dead, quoth they,

And have been made the dragon's prey;

And by their blood we rescued were,

And thou hast sav'd thy life thereby;

And now in sooth it is but fair,

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 fur 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.

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.

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.

Nay stay, dear daughter, quoth the queen,

And as thou art a virgin bright,

That lust for vertue famous boen,

So let me clonth 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.

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.

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.

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?

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 stoud,

The dragon issued from the wood.

Page 428

390

ST. GEORGE AND THE DRAGON.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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,

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.

Those kings together did devise

To make the Christian knight away,

With letters him in curious wise

They straightway sent to Persia:

But wrote to the sophy him to kill,

And treacherously his blood to spill.

Thus they for good did him reward

With evil, and most subtilly

By such vile means they had regard

To work his death most cruelly;

Who, as through Persia land he rode,

With zeal destroy'd each idol god.

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 digg'd 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.

Towards Christendom he made his flight,

But met a giant by the way,

With whom in combat he did fight

Most valiantly a summers 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.

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, v'ercume in field,

Unto saint George did quickly yield.

Than 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.

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.

Page 429

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.

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, sho 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.

230 Their rage did him no whit dismay,

Who, like a stout and valiant knight,

Did both the hungry lyons slay

Within the Lady Sabra' sight:

Who all this while sad and demure,

235 There stood most like a virgin pure.

Now when St. George did surely know

This lady was a virgin true,

255 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.

Where being in short space arriv'd

260 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.

Lobe will find out the Way.

This excellent song is ancient: but we

could only give it from a modern copy.

Over the mountains,

And over the waves;

Under the fountains,

And under the graves;

Under floods that are deepest,

5 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,

15 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.

Some think to lose him,

25 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,

30 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 phœnix of the east;

The lioness, ye may move her

To give o'er her prey:

But you'll ne'er stop a lover,

40 He will find out his way.

Page 430

298

LORD THOMAS AND FAIR ANNET.

IV.

Iord 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 au-

thors of those 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.

Lord Thomas said a word in jest,

Fair Annet took it ill:

A'l I will nevir wed a wife

Against my ain friends will.

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:

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?

The nut-browne bride haes gowd and gear,

Fair Annet she has gat nane;

And the little beauty fair Annet has,

O it wull soon be gane!

And he has till his brother gane:

Now, brother, rede ye mee;

A' sall 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.

Her oxen may dyo i' the house, Billie,

And her kye into the byre;

And I sall hae nothing to my sell,

Bot a fat fudge by the fyre.

And he has till his sister gane:

Now, sister, rede ye mee;

O sall I marrie the nut-browne bride,

And set fair Annet free?

Iso rede ye tak fair Annet, Thomas,

And let the browne bride alane;

Lest ye soud sigh and say, Alas!

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.

Up then rose fair Annets father

'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 sllkon shoene;

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-cir ye laid a plait before,

See ye lay ten times muir.

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.

The horse fair Annet rade upon

Heamblit like the wind,

Wi' siller he was shod before,

W' burning gowd behind.

Page 431

Four and twanty siller bells

Wer a' tyed till his mane,

And yae tilt o' the norland wind,

They tinkled ane by ane.

Four and twanty gay gude knichts

Rade by fair Annet's 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.

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 sat her by the nut-browne bride,

And her een they wor sae clear,

Lord Thomas he clean forgat the bride,

Whan fair Annet she drew near.

He had a rose into his hand,

And he gave it kisses three,

And reaching by the nut-browne bride,

Laid it on fair Annet's 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 ?

65 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.

The bride she drew a long bodkin,

Frae out her gay head-gear,

And strake fair Annet unto the heart,

That word she never 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.

He drew his dagger, that was sae sharp,

That was sae sharp and meet,

And drave 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 ;

Then strake the dagger untill his heart,

And fell deid by her side.

Lord Thomas was buried without kirk-wa,

Fair Annet within the quire ;

And o' the tane thair grew a birk,

The other a bonny biere.

And ay they grew, and ay they threw,

As they wad faine be neare ;

And by this ye may ken right weil,

They were twa luvers deare.

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 pri-

vie-chamber, and sewer in ordinary to his

majesty (Charles I.) Lord. 1640." This ele-

gant and almost forgotten writer, whose

poems have been deservedly 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.

51

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.

But a smooth and stedfast mind,

Gentle thoughts, and calme desires,

Hearts with equal love combin'd,

Kindlo never-dying fires :

Where these are not, I despise

Lovely cheekes, or lips, or eyes.

Page 432

400

GEORGE BARNWELL.

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 entitled, “ An excellent ballad of George Barnwell, an apprentice of London, who . . . thrice robbed his master and murdered his uncle 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 youth of fair England 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.

Take heed of harlots then, 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.

A gallant, dainty dame 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,

Fair mistress, then quoth I, 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.

Good Barnwell, then quoth she, 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.

Thus parted we in peace, 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 ;

And knocking at the door, 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.

Page 433

GEORGE BARNWELL.

401

She took me by the hand,

And with a modest grace,

Welcome, sweet Barnwell, then quoth she,

Unto this homely place.

60

Call me no mistress now,

But Sarah, thy true friend,

Thy servant, Millwood, honouring thee,

Until her life hath end.

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.

65

If thou wouldst here alledge,

Thou art in years a boy;

So was Adonis, yet was he

Fair Venus' only joy.

O pardon me, quoth I,

Fair mistress, I you pray;

For why, out of my master's house,

So long I dare not stay.

Thus I, who ne'er before

Of woman found such grace,

But seeing now so fair a dame

Give me a kind embrace.

Alas, good sir, she said,

Are you so strictly ty'd,

You may not with your dearest friend

One hour or two abido?

I supt with her that night,

With joys that did abound;

And for the same paid presently,

In money twice three pound.

Faith, then the case is hard;

If it be so, quoth she,

I would I were a prentice bound,

To live along with thee:

An hundred kisses then,

For my farewel she gave;

Crying, Sweet Barnwell, when shall I

Again thy company have?

Therefore, my dearest George,

List well what I shall say,

And do not blame a woman much,

Her fancy to bewray.

O stay not hence too long,

Sweet George, have me in mind.

Her words bewitched my childishnesse,

She uttered them so kind:

Let not affection's force

Be counted lewd desire;

Nor think it not immodesty,

I should thy love require.

So that I made a vow,

Next Sunday without fail,

With my sweet Sarah once again

To tell some pleasant tale.

With that she turn'd aside,

And with a blushing red,

A mournful motion she bewray'd

By hanging down her head.

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.

A handkerchief she had

All wrought with silk and gold

Which she to stay her trickling tears

Before her eyes did hold.

Though long, yet loe ! at last,

The appointed day was come,

That I must with my Sarah meet;

Having a mighty sum

This thing unto my sight

Was wondrous rare and strange;

And in my soul and inward thought

It wrought a sudden change:

Of money in my hand,*

Unto her house went I,

Whereas my love upon her bed

In saddest sort did lye.

That I so hardly grew,

To take her by the hand:

Saying, Sweet mistress, why do you

So dull and pensive stand?

  • The having a sum of money with him on Sunday, &c.

shows this narrative to have been penned before the civil

wars: the strict observance of the Sabbath was owing to

change of manners at that period

Page 434

402

GEORGE BARNWELL.

What ails my heart's delight,

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.

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

Unto a cruel wretch;

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.

All blithe and pleasant then,

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.

And thus I did pass on;

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.

Then from my master straight

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 wily 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.

Our master to accompts

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 remain,

In safety here with thee.

With that she knit her brows,

And looking all aquoy,

Quoth she, What should I have to do

With any pratice boy?

And seeing you have purloyn'd

Your master's goods away,

The case is bad, and therefore here

You shall no longer stay.

Why, dear, thou know'st, I said,

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.

Therefore I tell thee flat,

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?

Now fie on subtle shrews!

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.

Page 435

GEORGE BARNWELL.

403

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.

Dost think for all my speech,

That I would let thee go?

Faith, no, said she, my love to thee

Iwiss 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;

Thou shalt not go-to-night,

What chance soc're befall;

But man we'll have a bed for thee,

Or else the devil take all.

So I by wiles bewitcht

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.

Whilst in her company,

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.

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.

I've a sister richly wed,

I'll rob her ere I'll want.

Nay then, quoth Sarah, they may well

Consider of you scant.

Nay, I an uncle have:

At Ludlow he doth dwell:

He is a grazier, which in wealth

Doth all the rest excel.

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:

Was I a man, ere I

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.

For shouldst thou be pursued

With twenty hucs 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.

And so carousing both

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.

And once he thought to take

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

One fortnight's space he stayed

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,

  • i. e. for stopping and apprehending him at his father's.

Page 436

404

THE STEDFAST SHEPHERD.

Sudden within a wood,

He struck his uncle down,

And beat his brains out of his head ;

135

So sore he crackt his crown.

To the constable she sent,

To have him apprehended ;

And shewed how far, in each degree,

He had the laws offended.

160

Then seizing fourscore pound,

To London straight he hyed,

And unto Sarah Millwood all

The cruell fact descryed.

140

When Barnwell saw her drift,

To sea he got straightway ;

Where fear and sting of conscience

Continually on him lay.

Tush, 'tis no matter, George,

So we the money have

To have good cheer in jolly sort,

And deck us fine and brave.

Unto the lord mayor then,

165

He did a letter write ;

In which his own and Sarah's fault

He did at large recite.

Thus lived in filthy sort,

145

Until their store was gone:

When means to get them any more,

I wis, poor George had none.

Whereby she seized was

And then to Ludlow sent:

170

Where she was judg'd, condem'd, and hang'd,

For murder incontinent.

Therefore in railing sort,

150

She thrust him out of door :

Which is the just reward of those,

Who spend upon a whore.

There dyed this gallant quean,

Such was her greatest gains :

For murder in Polonia,

175

Was Barnwell hang'd in chains.

O ! do me not disgrace

In this my need, quoth he.

She called him thief and murderer,

155

With all the spite might be :

Lo ! here's the end of youth,

That after harlots haunt;

Who in the spoil of other men,

About the streets do flaunt.

180

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 entitled "The Shepherd's Resolution," Book II. Song XXI. In the first edition of this work only a small fragment of this Sonnet was inserted. It was afterwards rendered more complete and entire by the addition of five stanzas more, extracted from Wither's pastoral poem, entitled, "The Mistress of Philarete," of which this song makes a part. It is now given still more correct and perfect by comparing it with another copy, printed by the author in his improved edition of "The Shepherd's Hunting," 1620, 8vo.

Hence away, thou Syren, leave me,

Pish ! unclasp these wanton armes;

Sugred words can ne'er deceive me,

(Though thou prove a thousand charmes).

Fie, fie, forbeare ;

5

No common snare

Can ever my affection chaine:

Thy painted baits,

And poore deceits,

Are all bestowed on me in vaine.

10

I'me no slave to such, as you be;

Neither shall that snowy brest

Rowling eye, and lip of ruby

Ever rob me of my rest.

Page 437

THE SPANISH VIRGIN, OR EFFECTS OF JEALOUSY.

Goe, goe, display

Thy beauty's ray

To some more-soone enamour'd swaine:

Those common wiles

Of sigts and smites

Are all bestow'd on me in vaine.

I have elsewhere rowed a dutie;

Turne away thy tempting eye:

Shew not me a painted beautie;

These impostures I defie:

My spirit loathes

Where gawdy clothes

And fained othos 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 virgin roses

From their never-touched thorne?

I can goe rest

On her sweet brest,

That is the pride of Cynthia's traine:

Then stay thy tongue;

Thy mermaid song

Is all bestowed on me in vaine.

Hee's a foole, that basely dallies,

Where each peasant mates with him :

15 Shall I haunt the thronged vallies,

Whilst ther's noble hills to climbe?

No, no, though clownes

Are scar'd with frownes,

I know the best can but disdaine :

And these Ile prove :

So will thy love

Be all bestowed on me in vaine.

I doe scorn to row 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 captivate 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 hear 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, entitled, "The theatre of God's judgments, by Dr. Beard and Dr. Taylor, 1642." Pt. 2, p. 89.

-The text is given (with 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 nurs't in hell: Depart from hence, and therein dwell."

Ah, tender hearts, that ake to hear

Of those that suffer wrong;

All you, that never shed a tear,

Give heed unto my song.

Fair Isabell's tragedy

My tale doth far exceed :

Alas, that so much cruelty

In female hearts should breed !

In Spain a lady lird of late,

Who was of high degree;

Whose wayward temper did create

Much woe and misery.

Page 438

406

THE SPANISH VIRGIN, OR EFFECTS OF JEALOUSY.

Strange jealousies so filled her head

With many a vain surmize,

She thought her lord had wrong'd her bed,

And did her love despise.

16

A gentlewoman passing fair

Did on this lady wait;

With bravest dames she might compare ;

Her beauty was compleat.

20

Her lady cast a jealous eye

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.

25

In vain in humble sort she strove

Her fury to disarm ;

As well the meekness of the dove

The bloody hawke might charm.

30

Her lord, of humour light and gay,

And innocent the while,

As oft as she came in his way,

Would on the damsell smile.

35

And oft before his lady's face,

As thinking her her friend,

He would the maiden's modest grace

And comeliness commend.

40

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.

45

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.

And charging her with great offence

And many a grievous fault;

She bade her servants drag her thence,

Into a dismal vault,

50

That lay beneath the common-shore:

A dungeon dark and deep :

Where they were wont, in days of yore,

Offenders great to keep.

55

There never light of cheerful day

Dispers'd the hideous gloom ;

But dank and noisome vapours play

Around the wretched room :

60

And adders, snakes, and toads therein,

As afterwards was known,

Long in this loathsome vault had bin,

And were to monsters grown.

Into this foul and fearful place,

65

The fair one innocent

Was cast, before her lady's face;

Hor 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.

70

Soon from their holes the vipers creep,

And fiercely her assail;

Which makes the damsel sorely weep,

And her sad fate bewail.

75

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.

80

A servant listning near the door,

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.

85

Again he to his lady hies

With all the haste he may :

She into furious passion flies,

And orders him away.

90

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.

95

In grief, and horror, and affright,

He listens at the walls ;

But finding all was silent quite,

He to his Indy calls.

100

Page 439

JEALOUSY, TYRANT OF THE MIND.

407

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.

She starts to hear her sudden fate,

105

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:

110

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,

115

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,

120

Thus with their pray 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.

Let me advise you, ladies all,

125

Of jealousy beware:

It causeth many one to fall,

And is the devil's snare.

IX.

Jealousy, Tyrant of the Mind.

This song is by Dryden, being inserted in

his Tragi-Comedy of "Love Triumphant,"

&c.—On account of the subject, it is inserted

here.

What state of life can be so blest,

As love that warms the gentle brest;

Two souls in one; the same desire;

o grant the bliss, and to require?

5

If in this heaven a hell we find,

'Tis all from thee,

O Jealousie!

Thou tyrant, tyrant of the mind.

All other ills, though sharp they prove,

Serve to refine and perfect love:

10

In absence, or unkind disdain,

Sweet hope relieves the lovers paine:

But, oh, no cure but death we find

To sett us free

From jealousie,

15

Thou tyrant, tyrant of the mind.

False in thy glass all objects are,

Some sett too near, and some too far:

Thou art the fire of endless night.

The fire that burns, and gives no light.

20

All torments of the damn'd we find

In only thee,

O Jealousie!

Thou tyrant, tyrant of the mind.

52

Page 440

408

CONSTANT PENELOPE.

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 entitled "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, beauty's 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.

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.

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.

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 :

Thon 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.

Then straight the ships with nimble snails Were all convey'd out of her sight: Her cruel fate she then bewails, Since she had lost her hearts delight. 40 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.

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, That she no company 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, Come flocking; for to tempt his wife : For she was lovely, young, and fair, No lady might with her compare.

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.

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, Hoping 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.

Page 441

VALENTINE AND URSINE.

409

She in her needle took delight,

And likewise in her spinning-wheel; 80

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.

Sometimes she would bewail the loss

85

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.

90

At length the ten years siege of Troy

Did end ; in flames the city burned;

And to the Grecians was great joy,

To see the towers to ashes turn'd:

Then came Ulysses home to see

95

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,

100

A long time absent thou hast been :

The wars shall never more deprive

Me of my lord whilst I'm alive.

Fair ladies all, example take ;

And hence a worthy lesson learn,

All youthful follies to forsake,

105

And vice from virtue to discern :

And let all women strive to be

As constant as Penelope.

XI.

To Lucasta, or Going to the Wars.

By Col. Richard Lovelace: from the vol-

ume of his poems, entitled "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.

True, a new mistresse now I chace,

5

The first foe in the field;

And with a stronger faith imbrace

A sword, a horse, a shicld.

Yet this inconstancy is such,

As you too shall adore ;

10

I could not love thee, deare, so much,

Lov'd I not honour more.

XII.

Valentine and Orson.

The old story-book of Valentine and Orson

(which suggested the plan of this tale, but 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 are,

"Over the dyke a bridge there lay,

That man and beest might passe away:

Under the bridge where sixty belles ;

Right as the Romans tellis;

That there might no man passe in,

But all they rang with a gyn."

  • Sign. E. iv.

In the Editor's fulio MS., was an old poem

on this subject, in a wretched currupt state,

Page 442

inworthy the press: from which were taken

uch particulans as could be adopted.

PART THE FIRST.

When Flora 'gins to decke the fields

With colours fresh and fine,

Then holy clerks their mattins sing

To good Saint Valentine!

The King of France that morning fair

He would a hunting ride:

To Artois forest prancing forth

In all his princelye pride.

To grace his sports a courtly train

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;

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.

The sudden sight surpriz'd them all;

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.

Now, by the rood, King Pepin says,

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 :

And look me out some cunning nurse ;

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 he;

Nor ought was wanting that became

A bairn of high degree.

Thus grewe the little Valentine,

Belov'd of king and poers;

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.

And now the early downe began

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 moe.

The first adventure shall be thine;

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.

Within those deep and drearye woods

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.

To more than savage strength he joins

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.

Page 443

VALENTINE AND URSINE.

411

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:

To Artoys forest he repairs

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.

Like eagles' talons grew his nails:

His limbs were thick and strong;

And dreadful was the knotted oak

He bare with him along.

Soon as Sir Valentine approach'd,

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 sarage 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.

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.

The watchful warrior bent his head,

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 threw

To wrest it from his hand.

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.

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.

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.

But soon the knight with active spring,

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.

But brutal force and savage strength

To art and skill must yield:

Sir Valentine at length prevail'd

And won the well-fought field.

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.

To court his hairy captive soon

Sir Valentine doth bring;

And kneeling down 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.

And 'cause with beares he erst was bred,

Ursine they call his name;

A name which unto future times

The Muses shall proclaim.

PART THE SECOND.

In high renown with prince and peer

Now liv'd Sir Valentine :

His high renown with prince and peer

Made envious hearts repine.

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.

Page 444

412

VALENTINE AND URSINE.

Amid their cups, that freely flowed,

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.

Then bidding king and peers adieu,

Early one summer's day,

With faithful Ursine by his side,

From court he took 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.

Beyond it rose a castle fair,

Y-built of marble stone :

The battlements were gilt with gold,

And glittred in the sun.

Beneath the bridge, with strange device,

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 bedeaft their ears,

And rung from shore to shore.

Quick at the sound the castle gates

Unlock'd and opened wide,

And strait a giant huge and grim

Stalk'd forth with stately pride.

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.

Vain boaster, said the youthful knight,

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 giant glanc'd,

And caus'd the blood to burst.

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.

It haply mist ; and now the knight

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.

As when tho boughs with hideous fal

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.

Then smiling forth a hideous grin,

The gyant strides in haste,

And, stooping, nims a second stroke :

"Now caytiff breathe thy last !"

But ere it fell, two thundering blows

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.

Quickly Sir Valentine reviv'd

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.

Her gentle eyes were dim'd with tears;

Her cheeks were pale with woe :

And long Sir Valentine besought

Her doleful tale to know.

Ver. 23, i e. a lake that served for a moat to a castle.

Page 445

"Alas! young knight," she weeping said,

Condole my wretched fate;

A childless mother here you see;

A wife without a mate.

"These twenty winters here forlorn

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.

"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.

"His seeming goodness won him pow'r;

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 horror I repuls'd,

And from my presence drove.

"He feign'd remorse, and pitious beg'd

His crime I'd not reveal:

Which, for his seeming penitence,

I promis'd to conceal.

"With treason, villainy, and wrong,

My goodness he repay'd:

With jealous doubts he fill'd my lord,

And me to woe betray'd.

"He had a slave within my bed,

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 had me instant quit the realm,

One trusty knight my guard.

"Forth on my journey I depart,

Oppress'd with grief and woe;

And towards my brother's distant court,

With breaking heart, I go.

"Long time thro' sundry foreign lands

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.

"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.

"But here afresh begin my woes:

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.

"But all forewaried, weak and spent,

I quickly swoon'd away;

And there beneath the greenwood shado

Long time 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 while in search we wander'd far,

We met that tyrant grim:

Who ruthless slew my trusty knight,

And bare me off with him.

"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."

Now, surely, said the youthful knight,

You are Lady Bellisance,

Wife to the Grecian emperor;

Your brother's King of France.

"For in your royal brother's court

Myself my mournful had;

Where oft the story of your woees

Hath made my bosom sad.

Page 446

414

THE DRAGON OF WANTLEY.

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.

185

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.

190

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?

195

But, madam, said Sir Valentine,

And knelt upon his knee;

Know you the cloak that wrapt your babe,

If you the same should see?

200

And pulling forth the cloth of gold

In which himself was found ;

The lady gave a sudden shriek

And fainted on the ground.

But by his pious care reviv'd,

205

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 :

210

The bear devour'd my youngest son,

Or sure that son were he.

Madam, this youth with bears was bred,

And rear'd within their den.

But recollect ye any mark

215

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!

220

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.

What pen can paint King Pepin's joy,

225

His sister thus restor'd!

And soon a messenger was sent

To cheer her dropping lord:

Who came in haste with all his peers,

To fetch her home to Greece;

230

Where many happy years they reign'd

In perfect love and peace.

To them Sir Ursine did succeed,

And long the sceptre bare.

Sir Valentine he stay'd in France,

235

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

although the satire is thus general, the sub-

ject of this ballad is local and peculiar; so

that many of the finest strokes of humour

are lost for want of our knowing the minute

circumstances to which they allude. Many

of them can hardly now be recovered, although

  • Collection of Historical Ballads in 3 vols. 1727.

we have been fortunate enough to learn the

general subject to which the satire referred,

and shall detail the information with which

we have been favoured, in a separate memoir

at the end of the poem.

In handling his 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

choosing his armour—his being dressed for

  • See above, p. 352, and p. 390.

Page 447

fight by a youngs damsel—and most of the circumstances of the battle and victory (al- lowing 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 rhyming 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 rygt therein. * * * 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 floung: It was venymous y-wis.

This seems to be meant by the Dragon of Wantley's stink, ver. 110. As the politic knight's creeping out, and attacking the dragon, &c., seems evidently to allude to the following :

Bovis blessed himselffe, and forthe 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 fyglit 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 Beyde the well to hold batayle; He thought he would, wyth some wyle, Out of that place Bevis begyyle; He woulde have flown then awaye, But Bevis lepte after with good Morglaye, And flyt him under the wynge, As he was in his flyenge, &c.

Sign. M. jy. L. j. &c.

After all, perhaps the writer of this ballad was acquainted with the above incidents only through 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 I., Canto 11, where the Dragon's " two wynges like sayls—huge clawes—and yron teeth—his breath of 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.

Although this ballad must have been written early in the last century, we have met with none but such as were comparatively modern copies. It is here printed from one in Roman letter, in the Pepys Collection, collated with such others as could be procured.

Old stories tell how Hereules A dragon slew at Lerna, With seven heads, and fourteen eyes, To see and well discerne-a: But he had a club this dragon to drub, Or he had ne'er done it, I warrant ye : 5 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 ; 10 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 tooth 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. 20 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.

All sorts of cattle this dragon did eat, 25 Some say he ate up trees, And that the forests sure he would Devour up by degrees :

Page 448

416

THE DRAGON OF WANTLEY.

For houses and churches were to him geese and turkies;

He ate all, and left none behind,

30

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;

36

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.

40

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,

45

In a well that he did stand by;

Which made it look just like a brook

Running with burning brandy.

Hard by a furious knight there dwelt,

Of whom all towns did ring,

50

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.

56

These children, as I told, being eat;

Men, women, girls, and boys,

Sighing and sobbing, came to his lo g'ing,

And made a hideous noise:

60

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.

Tat, tut, quoth he, no goods I want;

65

But I want, I want, in sooth,

A fair maid of sixteen, that's brisk and keen,

With smiles about the mouth;

Hair black as sloe, skin white as snow,

With blushes her cheeks adorning;

70

To anoynt me o'er night, ere I go to fight,

And to dress me in the morning.

This being done, he did engage

To hew the dragon down;

But first he went, new armour to

75

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 ail

o'er,

Some five or six inches long.

80

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,

85

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,

90

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,

95

And a quart of aqua-vitae.

It is not strength that always wins,

For wit doth strength excell;

Which made our cunning champion

Creep down into a well;

100

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,

105

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;

110

Thou son of a whore, thou stink'st so sore,

Sure thy diet is unwholesome.

Fer. 29, were to him gorse and birches. Other copies.

Page 449

THE DRAGON OF WANTLEY.

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 fuot, and so they went to 't;

And the word it was, Hey boys, hey !

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;

Though 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 . . .

Oh, quoth the dragon, with a deep sigh,

And turn'd six times together,

Subbing and tearing, cursing and swearing

Out of his throat of leather;

More of More-hall ! O thou rascal !

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.

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 shook, 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.

      • A description of the supposed scene of the foregoing ballad, which was communicated to the Editor in 1767, is here given in the words of the relator :

" 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, named Warn-cliff Lodge, but vulgarly called Wantley :

here lies the scene of the song. I was there about 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 cave; then asked my opinion of the place, and pointing to one Moor of Moor-Hall: here lay the Dragon killed by Moor-Hall; here lay his head; here 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 one described in the ballad.

†† Since the former editions of this humorous old song were printed, the following " Key to the Satire," hath been communicated by Godfrey Bosville, Esq., of Thorp, near Malton, in Yorkshire ; who, in the most obliging manner, gave full permission to sub-join it to the poem.

Wancliffe Lodge, and Wancliffe Wood (vulgarly pronounced Wantley), are in the parish of Penniston, in Yorkshire. The rectory of Penniston was part of the dissolved monastery of St. Stephen's, Westminster ; and was granted to the Duke of Norfolk's family : who therewith endowed an hospital, which he built at Sheffield, for women. The trustees let the impropriation of the great tithes of Penniston to the Wortley family, who got a great deal by it, and wanted to get still more : for Mr. Nicholas Wortley attempted to take the tithes in kind, but Mr. Francis Bosville opposed him, and there was a decree in favour of the modus in 37th Eliz. The vicar-age of Penniston did not go along with the rectory, but with the copyhold rents, and was

Page 450

418

ST. GEORGE FOR ENGLAND.

part of a large purchase made by Ralph Bosville, Esq., from Queen Elizabeth, in the 2d year of her reign: and that part he sold in 12th Eliz. to his elder brother Godfrey, the father of Francis; who left it, with the rest of his estate, to his wife, for her life, and then to Ralph, 3d son of his uncle Ralph. The widow married Lyonel Rowlestone, lived eighteen years, and survived Ralph.

This premised, the ballad apparently relates to the lawsuit carried on concerning this claim of tithes made by the Wortley family. " Houses and churches were to him geese and turkeys:" which are titheable things, the Dragon chose to live on. Sir Francis Wortley, the son of Nicholas, attempted again to take the tithes in kind: but the parishioners subscribed an agreement to defend their modus. And at the head of the agreement was Lyonel Rowlestone, who is supposed to be one of " the Stones, dear Jack, which the Dragon could not crack." The agreement is still preserved in a large sheet of parchment, dated 1st of James I., and is full of names and seals, which might be meant by the coat of armour, "with spikes all about, both within and without." More of More-hall was either the attorney, or counsellor, who conducted the suit. He is not distinctly remembered, but More-hall is still extant at the very bottom of Wantley [Warncliff] Wood, and lies so low, that it might be said to be in a well: as the Dragon's den [Warncliff Lodge] was at the top of the wood, "with Matthew's

house hard by it." The keepers belonging to the Wortley family were named, for many generations. Matthew Northall: the last of them left this lodge, within memory, to be keeper to the Duke of Norfolk. The present owner of More-hall still attends Mr. Bosville's Manor Court at Oxspring, and pays a rose a year. "More of More-hall, with nothing at all, slew the Dragon of Wantley." He gave him, instead of tithes, so small a modus, that it was in effect, nothing at all, and was slaying him with a vengeance. "The poor children three," &c., cannot surely mean the three sisters of Francis Bosville, who would have been coheiresses, had he made no will? The late Mr. Bosville had a contest with the descendants of two of them, the late Sir Geo. Saville's father, and Mr. Copley, about the presentation to Penniston, they supposing Francis had not the power to give this part of the estate from the heirs at law; but it was decided against them. The Dragon (Sir Francis Wortley) succeeded better with his cousin Wordsworth, the freehold lord of the manor (for it is the copyhold manor that belongs to Mr. Bosville) having persuaded him not to join the refractory parishioners, under a promise that he would let him his tithes cheap: and now the estates of Wortley and Wordsworth are the only lands that pay tithes in the parish.

N. B. The "two days and a night," mentioned in ver. 125, as the duration of the combat, was probably that of the trial at law.

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 do you boast of Arthur and his knighthood, 'well' how many men have endangered fights?

For besides King Arthur, and Lancelot du lake,

Or Sir Tristram de Lionel, that fought for ladies sake;

Page 451

ST. GEORGE FOR ENGLAND.

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 rescued Lot

Only with his household, what conquest there he got:

David was elected a prophet and a king,

He slow the great Goliath, with a stone within a sling:

Yet these were not knights 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 ass,

And eke he threw a temple downe, and did a mighty spoyle:

But 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 monarchs it were too long to tell,

And likewise of the Romans, how farre they did excell;

Hannyball and Scipio in many a fielde did fight:

Orlando Furioso he was a worthy knight:

Remus and Romulus, were they that Rome did builde:

But St. George, St. George the dragon made to yelde.

St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France;

Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense.

The noble Alphonso, that was the Spanish king,

The order of the red scarfles and bandrolles in did bring:*

He had a troupe of mighty knightes, when first he did begin,

Which sought adventures farre and neare, that conquest they might win;

The ranks 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' Oliver

In the forest of Acron slew both woolfe and beare:

Besides that noble Hollander, 'Sir' Goward with the hill;

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 knights 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.

  • 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 ribband of three fingers breadth,' &c. See Ames' Typog. p. 347.

Page 452

420

ST. GEORGE FOR ENGLAND.

Bevis conquered Aseapart, and after slew the boare,

Besides his famous actes done in the holy lande :

And then he crost beyond the seas to combate with the moore :

But St. George, St. George the dragon did withstande.

Sir Isenbras and Eglamore, they were knightes most bold ;

St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis was for France ;

And good Sir John Mandeville of travel much hath told :

Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense.

There were many English knights that Pagans did convert :

Henry the fifth he conquered all France,

But St. George, St. George pluckt out the dragon's heart.

And quarter'd their arms, his honour to advance ;

St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis was for France ;

Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense.

Ile their cities razed, and threw their castles downe,

The noble Earl of Warwick, that was call'd Sir Guy,

And his head he honoured with a double crowne :

The infidels and pagans stoutlie did defie ;

Ile thumped the French-men, and after home he came ;

He slew the giant Brandimore, and after was the death

But St. George, St. George he did the dragon tame.

Of that most ghastly dun cowe, the divell of Dunsmore heath ;

St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis was for France ;

Besides his noble deeds all done beyond the seas :

Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense.

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.

St. David of Wales the Welsh-men much advance :

Richard Cœur-de-lion, erst king of this land,

St. Juques of Spaine, that never yet broke lance :

He the lion gored with his naked hand :

St. Patricke of Ireland, which was St. Georges boy,

The false Duke of Austria nothing did he feare ;

Seven yeares he kept his horse, and then stole him away :

But his son he killed with a boxe on the eare ;

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.

XV

St. (George for England,

THE SECOND PART.

—Was written by John Grubb, M.A., of | had formed themselves into a Club, all the

Christ Church, Oxford. The occasion of its | members of which were to be of the name of

being is said to have been as fol-| George; their anniversary feast was to be

lows. A set of gentlemen of the university | held on St. George's day. Our Author soli-

cited strongly to be admitted ; but his name

being unfortunatly John, this disqualification was dispensed with only upon this condi-

  • Alluding to the fubulous expluits attributed to this | tion was dispensed with only upon this condi-

king in the old romances. See the Dissertation prefixed to | tion.

the Third Series.

Page 453

tion, that he would compose a song in honour

of their Putron Saint, and would every year

produce one or more new stanzas, to be sung

on their unual festival. This gave birth to

the following humorous performance, the

several stanzas of which were the produce

of many successive anniversaries.*

This diverting poem was long handed about

in manuscript; at length a friend of Grubb's

undertouk to get it printed, who, not keep-

ing pace with the impatience of his friends,

was addressed in the following whimsical

mearonic lines, which, in such a collection

as this, may not improperly accompany the

poem itself.

Expostulatiuncuia, sive Querimoniun-

cula ad Antonium [Atherton] ob Poema

Johannis Grub

Viri tou oavu ingeniosissimi in lucem non-

dum edit.

Toni ! Tune sines divina poemata Grubbi

Intomb'd in secret thus still to remain any

longer,

Towoμa oou shall last, Ω Γρυββε διαμπερεϛ

aεt,

Grubbe tuum nomen vivet dum nobilis ale-a

Efficit heroa, dignamque heroe puellam.

Est genus heroum, quos nobilis efficit ale-a

Qui pro niperkin clamant, quaternique liquoris

Quem vocitant Homines, Brandy, Superi

Cherry-brandy,

Sæpe illi long-cut, vel small-cut flare Tobacco

Sunt soliti pipos. Ast si generosior herba

(Per varios casus, per tot discrimina rerum)

Mundungus dosit, tum non funere recusant

Brown-paper tosta, vel quod fit arundine bed-

mat.

Hie labor, hoc opus est heroum ascedere

sedes !

Ast ego quo rapiar? quo me feret enthous

ardor,

Grubba tui memoram ? Divinum expande

poema.

Quæ mora? quæ ratio est, quin Grubbi pro-

tinas anser

Virgilii, Flacrique simul canat inter olores?

  • To this circumstance it is owing that the Editor has

never met with two copies in which the stanzas are ar-

ranged alike: he has therefore thrown them into what

a ppeared the most natural order. The verses are properly

long Alexandrines, but the narrowness of the page made

it necessary to subdivide them: they are here printed

with many improvements.

At length the importunity of his friends

prevailed, and Mr. Grubb's song was pub-

lished at Oxford under the following title:

The British Heroes,

A New Poem in honour of St. George,

By Mr. John Grubb,

School-master of Christ-Church.

Oxon. 1688.

Farete linguis: carmina non prius

Audita, musarum succrdos

Canto._

Sold by Henry Clements. Oxon.

IIon.

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

5

A circle sate, d'ye see:

And altogether made up one

Large hoop of chivalry.

He had a sword, both broad and sharp,

10

Y-cleped Caliburn,

Would cut a flint more easily

Than pen-knife cuts a corn ;

As case-knife dues a capon carve,

So would it carve a rock

And split a man at single slash,

15

From nuddle down to nock.

As Roman Augur's steel of yore

'Dissected Tarquin's riddle,

So this would cut both conjurer

And whetstone thru' the middle.

20

He was the cream of Brecknock,

And flower of all the Welsh:

But George he did the dragon fell,

And give him a pluggy squelsh

St. George he was for England; St. Dennis

was for France;

25

Sing, Honi soil qui mal y pense.

Pendragon, like his father Jore,

Was fed with milk of goat;

And like him made a noble shield

Of she-gnat's shuggy coat:

:il

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 fire;

36

If' was ting'd with brimstone, like a match,

And would as soon take fire,

Page 454

422

ST. GEORGE FOR ENGLAND.

As brimstone he took inwardly

When scurf gave him occasion,

His posterior puff of wind was a

Sulphureous exhalation.

'The Briton never tergivers'd,

But was for adverse drubbing,

And never turn'd his back to 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 anabaptizo 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 stroight came out the unwieldy 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 Dusset† she'd knock down as flat,

As John knocks down her kindred:

Her heels would lay pre all along,

And kick into a swoon;

Frewin's‡ cow-heels keep up your corpse,

But hers would beat you down.

  • Men of bulk answerable to their places, as is well known

at Oxford.

† A butcher that then served the college.

‡ A cook, who on fast nights was famous for selling

cow-heel and tripe.

She vanquisht many a sturdy wight,

And proud was of the honour;

Was puff 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 winyard o'er sir-loyn,

As if he'd gone to knight him.

He let her blood, 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.

Tamerlánu, with Tartarían bow,

The Turkish squadrons slow;

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 strangling, 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 spear, as on a sign-post:

He coop'd in cage Bajazet the prop

Of Mahomet's religion,

As if't 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 amazon Thalestris was

Both beautiful and bold;

She scar'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.

Page 455

ST. GEORGE FOR ENGLAND.

And melt the rapier of his soul,

135

He'd pound a giant, till the blood,

In its corporal scabbard.

And milk till butter came,

Her beauty, and her drum to foes

Often he fought with huge battalion,

Did cause amazement double;

And oftentimes he box'd;

As timorous larks amazed are

Tapt a fresh monster once a month,

With light and with a low-bell :

140

As Hervey* doth fresh hogs-head.

With beauty, and that lapland charm,*

He gave Anteus such a blow,

Poor men she did bewitch all;

As wrestlers give in Cornwall:

Still a blind whining lover had,

But George he did the dragon kill,

As Pallas had her serich-owl.

As dead as any door-nail.

She kept the chastness of a nun

145

St. George he was for England; St. Dennis

In armour, as in cloyster :

was for France;

But George undid the dragon just

Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense.

As you'd undo an oister.

150

The Gemini, sprung from an egg,

St. George he was for England; St. Dennis

Were put into a cradle:

was for France;

Their brains with knocks and bottled-ale,

Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense.

Were often-times fulladdle :

200

Stout Hercules was offspring of

And, scarcely hatched, these sons of him,

Great Jove and fair Alcmene :

That hurls the bolt trisnlate,

One part of him celestial was,

With helmet-shell on tender head,

One part of him terrene.

Did tustle with red-ey'd pole-cat,

To scale the hero's cradle walls

155

Castor a horseman, Pollux tho'

Two fiery snakes combin'd,

A boxer was, I wist :

And, curling into swaddling cloaths,

The one was fam'd for iron heel :

About the infant twin'd;

Th' other for leaden fist.

But he put out these dragons' fires,

Pollux to shew he was a god,

And did their hissing stop;

When he was in a passion

As red-hot iron with hissing noise

210

Is quenched in blacksmith's shop.

With fist made noses fall down flat

He cleans'd a stable, and rubb'd down

By way of aduration :

The horses of new-comers;

This fist, as sure as French disease,

And out of horse-dung he rais'd fame

Demolish'd noses' ridges :

165

He, like a certain lord† was fam'd

As Tom Wrench† does cucumbers.

For breaking down of bridges.

He made a river help him through;

Castor the flame of fiery steed

Alpheus was under-groom :

With well-spur'd boots took down;

The stream, disgust at office mean,

As men, with leathern buckets, quench

Ran murmuring thro' the room :

A fire in country town.

170

His famous horse, that liv'd on oats,

This liquid oster to prevent

Is sung on oaten quill;

Being tired with that long work,

By bard's immortual provender

His father Neptune's trident took,

The was surviv'dh still.

Instead of three-tooth'd dung-fork.

This shelly brood on none but knaves

This Hereules, as souldier, and

225

Employ'd their brisk artillery :

As spinster, could take pains;

And flew as naturally at rogues,

His club would sometimes spin ye flax,

As eggs at thief in pillury.‡

And sometimes knock out brains :

  • A noted drawer at the Vermand taveru In (h.ard.

Il' was forc'd to spin his miss a shift

† Lord Lovelace broke down the bridges at oxf.rd. at

By Juno's wrath and her-spite;

the begimung of the Rebellion. See on this subject a

Fair Omphale whipt him to his wheel,

ballad in Smith's Poems, p. 102. Lond. 1713.

As cook whips barking turn-spit.

‡ It has been suggested by an ingenleus correspondent,

From man, or churn, he well knew how

that this was a popular subject at that time :

To get him lasting fame :

Not curtid Dawd, or Din de Foe,

In wooden Ruffs ere bluster'd so.

Smith's Poems, p. 117

Page 456

424

ST. GEORGE FOR ENGLAND.

Much sweat they spent in furious fight,

Much blood they did effund: 230

Their whites they vented thro' the pores;

'Their yolks thro' gaping wound;

Then both were clenns'd from blood and

dust

To make a heavenly sign;

The lads were, like their armour, scowr'd,

And then hung up to shine; 236

Such were the heavenly double-Dicks

The sons of Jove and Tyndar:

But George he cut the dragon up,

As he had bin duck or windar. 240

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 perig, 245

And curling snakes did powder.

These snakes they made stiff challengings

Of all the folks they hist on;

They turned barbars into hones,

And masons into free-stone: 250

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 stores unmans,

And Pyrrha's work unravels; 260

And stores 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 fix.

St. George he was for England; St. Dennis

was for France;

Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense.

By boar-spear Meleager got

An everlasting name, 270

And out of haunch of basted swine,

He hew'd eternal fame.

This beast each hero's trouners ript,

And rudely shew'd his bare-breech,

  • See the account of Rolright Stones, in Dr. Plott's Hist.

of Oxfordshire.

Priekt but the wen, and out there came 275

Heroic guts and garbadge.

Legs were secur'd by iron boots

No more than pens by peascods:

Brass holmets, with inelos'd sculls,

Wou'd crackle in't mouth like chesnuts.

His tawny hairs erect were 281

By rage, that was resistless;

And wrath, instead of cobler's wax,

Did stiffen his rising bristles.

His tusks lay'd dogs so dead asloop, 285

Nor born, nor whip cou'd wake 'um:

It made them vent both their last blood,

And their last album-greennm.

But the knight gor'd him with his spear,

To make of him a tume one, 290

And arrows thick, instead of cloves,

He stuck in monster's gammon.

For monumental pillar, that

His victory might be known,

He raised up, in cylindric form, 295

A collar of the brawn.

He sent his shade to shades below,

In Stygian mud to wallow;

And cke the stout St. George eftsooon,

He made the dragon follow. 300

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, 305

The binnible to bestride.

Bright silver feet, and shining face

Had that stout hero's mother;

As rapier 's silver'd at one end,

And wounds you at the other. 310

Her feet were bright, his feet were swift,

As hawk pursuing sparrow:

Her's had the metal, his the speed

Of Braburn's* silver arrow.

Thetis to double pedagnue 315

Commits her dearest boy;

Who bred him from a slender twig

To be the scourge of Troy;

But ere he lash the Trojans, h' was

In Stygian waters steept; 320

As birch is soaked first in piss,

When boys are to be whipt.

  • Bradburn, a gentleman commoner of Lincoln college,

gave a silver arrow to be shot for by the archers of the

university of Oxford.

Page 457

ST. GEORGE FOR ENGLAND.

With skin exceeding hard, he rose

From lake, so 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 unhell'd heel

Dig pieces of the knight.

His myrmidons robbl'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-breecb'd

To pedant Rhadamanthus, in

A posture to be switch'd.

But George he made tho 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 valour of Domitian,

It must not be forgotten :

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 hind'ring mount:

Who, baffled by the massy rock,

Took vinegar for relief;

Like plowmen, when they hew their way

Thro' stubborn ramp of beef.

As dancing louts from humid toes

Cast atoms of ill savour

To blinking Hyatt,† when on vils crowd

He merriment does endeavour,

And saws from suffering timber out

Some wretched tune to quiver:

So Romans stunk and squenk'd at sight

Of African 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 valour of Domitian,

Who from the jaws of worm-blowing flies,

Protected real 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 brazon 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 both big and brawny,

And slash'd 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 not 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.

John Grubb, the facetious writer of the

foregoing song, makes a distinguished figura

among the Oxford wits so humorously enumerated in the following distich:

Alma novem genuit celebres Rhodueina

poetas

Bub, Stubb, Grubb, Crabb, Trap, Young,

Carey, Tickel, Evans.

These were Bub Dodington (tho late Lord

Melcomb†), Dr. Stubbes, our poet Grubb, Mr.

Crabb, Dr. Trapp, the poetry-professor, Dr.

Edw. Young, the author of Night-Thoughts,

Walter Carey, Thomas Tickel, Esq., and Dr.

Evans, the epigrammatist.

  • Hannibal had but one eye.

† A one-eyed fellow, who pretended to make fidlles, as

well as play on them; well known at that time in Oxford.

  • The name of St. George's sword.

Page 458

learn further of him, is contained in a few

extracts from the University Register, and

from his epitaph. It appears from the for-

mer that he was matriculated in 1667, being

the son of John Grubb, " de Acton Burnel in

comitatu Salop. pauperis." He took his de-

gree of Bachelor of Arts, June 28, 1671; and

became Master of Arts, June 28, 1675. He

was appointed Head Master of the Grammar

School at Christ Church; and afterwards

chosen into the same employment at Glou-

cester, where he died in 1697, as appears

from his monument in the church of St.

Mary de Crypt in Gloucester, which is in-

scribed with the following epitaph :

H. S. E.

Johannes Grubb, A. M.

Natus apud Acton Burnel in agro Salopiensi

Anno Dom. 1645.

Cujus variam in linguis notitiam,

et felicem crudendis pueris industriam,

grata adhuc memoria testatur Oxonium.

Ibi enim Ædi Christi initiatus,

artes excoluit:

Pueros ad easdem mox excolendas

acmentè formavit.

Hinc demum

unanimi omnium consensu accitus,

eandem suscepit provinciam,

quam feliciter adeo absolvit,

ut nihil optandum sit

nisi ut diutius nobis interfuisset?

Fuit enim

propter festivum ingenii suavitatem,

simplicem morum candorem, et

præcipuam erga cognatos benevolentiam

omnibus desideratissimus,

Obiit 2do die Aprilis, Anno D'ni, 1697,

Ætatis suæ 51.

XVI.

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 page 359,

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 writ-

ten 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.

" Twas at the silent solemn hour,

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.

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.

Her bloom was like the springing flower,

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 carly 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.

Page 459

"This is the dark and dreary hour

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.

"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 ?

"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 ?

"Why did you say my lip was sweet,

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.

"The hungry worm my sister is;

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 died for love of you."

The lark sung loud ; the morning smil'd

With beams of rosy red:

Pale William shook in every limb,

And raving left his bed.

He hy'd him to the fatal place

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.

    • In a late publication, entitled "The

Friends, &c." Lond., 1775, 2 vols. 12mo. (in

the first volume), is inserted a copy of the

foregoing ballad, with very great variations,

which the Editor of that work contends was

the original ; and that Mallet adopted it for

his own, and altered it, as here given.—But

the superior beauty and simplicity of the pre-

sent copy gives it so much more the air of an

original, that it will rather be believed that

some transcriber altered it from Mallet's, and

adapted the lines to his own taste; than which

nothing is more common in popular songs

and ballads.

XVII.

LUCY AND COLIN

—Was written by Thomas Tickell, Esq.,

the celebrated friend of Mr. Addison, and

Editor of his works. He was the 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.

It is a tradition in Ireland, that this song

was written at Castletown, in the county of

Kildare, at the request of the then Mrs.

Conolly—probably on some event recent in

that neighbourhood.

Of Leinster, fam'd for maidens fair,

Bright Lucy was the grace;

Page 460

8

LUCY AND COLIN.

Nor e'er did Liffy's limpid stream

Reflect so fair a face.

"To-morrow in the church to wed,

Impatient, both prepare

Till luckless love and pining care

But know, fond maid, and know, false youth,

Impair'd her rosy hue,

That Lucy will be there.

Her coral lip, and damask cheek,

"Then, bear my corse, yo comrades, bear,

And eyes of glossy blue.

The bridegroom blithe to meet:

Oh ! have you seen a lily pale,

He in his wedding-trim so gay,

When beating rains descend ?

I in my winding-sheet."

So droop'd the slow-consuming maid ;

She spoke, she died ;—her corse was borne,

Her life now near its end.

The bridegroom blithe to meet;

By Lucy warn'd, of flattering swains

He in his wedding-trim so gay,

Take heed, ye easy fair:

She in her winding-sheet.

Of vengeance due to broken vows,

Then what were perjured Colin's thoughts ?

Ye perjured swains beware.

How were those nuptials kept ?

Three times, all in the dead of night,

The bride-men flock'd round Lucy dead,

A bell was heard to ring ;

And all the village wept.

And at her window, shrieking thrice,

Confusion, shame, remorse, despair,

The raven flap'd his wing.

At once his bosom swell ;

Too well the love-lorn maiden knew

The damps of death bedew'd his brow,

That solemn boding sound ;

He shook, he groan'd, he fell.

And thus in dying words, bespoke

From the vain bride (ah, bride no more !)

The virgins weeping round.

The varying crimson fled,

"I hear a voice you cannot hear,

When, stretch'd before her rival's corse,

Which says, I must not stay ;

She saw her husband dead.

I see a hand you cannot see,

Then to his Lucy's new-made grave,

Which beckons me away.

Convey'd by trembling swains,

"By a false heart, and broken vows,

One mould with her beneath one sod,

In early youth I lie.

For ever now remains.

Am I to blame, because his bride

Oft at their grave the constant hind

Is thrice as rich as I ?

And plighted maid are seen;

"Ah Colin ! give not her thy vows ;

With garlands gay, and true-love knots,

Vows due to me alone :

They deck the sacred green.

Nor thou, fond maid, receive his kiss,

But, swain forsworn, whoe'er thou art,

Nor think him all thy own.

This hallow'd spot forbear ;

Remember Colin's dreadful fate,

And fear to meet him there.

Page 461

THE BOY AND THE MANTLE.

429

XVIII.

The 3boy and the 3lantle.

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 entitled "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 enchanted 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 King 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 the "Fabliaux ou Contes," 1781, 5 tom. 12mo., of M. Le Grand (tom. I., p. 54), is printed a modern Version of the Old Tale Le Court Mantel, under a new title, Le Manteau maltaillé, which contains the story of this Ballad much enlarged, so far as regards the Mantle, but without any mention of the Knife or the Horn.

In Carleile dwelt King Arthur,

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 appear.

A kirtle and a mantle

This boy had him upon,

With brooches, rings, and owehes,

Full daintily bedone.

He had a sarke of silk

About his middle meet;

And thus with seenely curtesy,

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.

"Ye gallant lords, and lordings,

I wish you all take heed,

Lest, what you deem a blooming rose

Should prove a cankred weed."

Then straitway from his bosome

A little wand he drew;

And with it cke a mantle

Of wondrous shape and hew.

"Now have thou here, King Arthur,

Have this here of mee,

And give unto thy comely queen,

All-shapen as you see.

"No wife it shall become,

That once hath been to blame."

Then every knight in Arthur's court

Slye glannced at his dame.

And first came Lady Guenever,

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 tue 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 must unseemly sort,

Page 462

430

THE BOY AND THE MANTLE.

Now green, now red it seemed,

Then all of sable hue.

"Beshrew me quoth King Arthur,

I think thou beest not true."

Down she threw the mantle,

No longer would not stay;

But storming like a fury,

To her chamber flung away.

She curst the whoreson weaver,

That had the mantle wrought:

And doubly curst the forward 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."

Sir Kay call'd forth his lady,

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.

When she had tane the mantle,

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.

Downe she threw the mantle,

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 proffered to the little boy

Five nobles to his mead ;

"And all the time of Christmas

Plumb-parridge shall be thine,

If thou wilt let my lady fair

Within the mantle shine."

50

55

60

65

70

75

80

85

90

A saint his lady seemed,

With stop demure and slow,

And gravely to the mantle

With mincing pace doth go.

When she the same had taken,

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.

Down she threw the mantle,

With terror and dismay,

And, with a face of scarlet,

To her chamber hyd away.

Sir Craddock call'd his lady,

And bade her to come ncare ;

"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."

The lady gently blushing,

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.

"Lye still," she cryed, "O mantle !

And shame me not for nought,

I'll freely own whate'er amiss,

Or blameful I have wrought."

"Once I kist Sir Cradocke

Beneathe the green wood tree :

Once I kist Sir Cradocke's mouth

Before he inarried mee."

When thus she had her shriven,

And her worst fault had told,

The mantle soon became her

Right comely as it shoid.

95

100

105

110

115

120

125

130

135

Page 463

THE BOY AND THE MANTLE.

Most rich and fair of colour,

Like gold it glittering shone:

And much the knights in Arthur's court

Admir'd her every one.

140

Then towards King Arthur's table

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."

Then some their whittles rubbed

On whetstone, and on hone:

Some threw them under the table,

And swore that they had none.

150

Sir Craddock had a little knife,

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.

160

The boy brought forth a horne,

All golden was the rim:

Said he, "No cuckolde ever can

Set mouth unto the brim.

"No cuckold can this little horne

Lifft fairly to his head;

But or on this, or that side,

He shall the liquor shed."

165

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.

Thus he that was a cuckold,

Was known of every man:

But Craddock liftted easily,

And wan the golden can.

170

Thus boar's head, horn and mantle,

Were this fair couple's meed;

And all such constant lovers,

Tid send them well to speed.

180

Then down in rage came Guenever,

And thus could spightful say,

55

"Sir Craddock's wife most wrongfully

Hath borne the prize away.

"See yonder shameless woman,

That makes herselfe so clean:

Yet from her pillow taken

Thrice five gallants have been.

185

"Priests, clerkes, and wedded men,

Have her lowd pillow prest:

Yet she the wonderous prize forsooth

Must beare from all the rest."

Then bespoke the little boy,

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.

190

200

"All frolick light and wanton

She hath her carriage borne:

And given thee for a kingly crown

To wear a cuckold's horne."

** The Rev. Evan Evans, editor of the

Specimens of Welsh Poetry, 4to., affirmed

that the story of the "Boy and the Mantle,"

is taken from what is related in some of the

old Welsh MSS., of Tegan Eurfron, 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 Bal-

lads of King 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 King Arthur's chief residence; but he is

now convinced that it is no other than Car-

lisle, in Cumberland; the old English Min-

strels, 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; as Tearne-Waulling, &c.

Near Penrith is still seen a large circle,

surrounded by a mound of earth, which re-

tains the name of Arthur's Round Table.

Page 464

432

THE ANCIENT FRAGMENT OF

XIX.

The Ancient Fragment of the Murringe of Sir Ginturine.

The Second Poem in the Third Series, entitled "The Marriage of Sir Gawaine, having been offered to the reader with large conjectural Supplements and Corrections, the old Fragment itself is here literally and exactly printed from the Editor's folio MS. with all its defects, inacouracies, and errata; that such austere Antiquaries as complain that the ancient copies have not been always rigidly adhered to may see how unfit for publication many of the pieces would have been if all the blunders, corruptions, and nonsense of illiterate Reciters and Transcribers had been superstitiously retained, without some attempt to correct and amend them.

This Ballad had most unfortunately suffered by having half of every leaf in this part of the MS. torn away; and, as about nine stanzas generally occur in the half-page now remaining, it is concluded that the other half contained nearly the same number of stanzas.

King Arthur liues in merry Carleile

and seemely is to see

and there he hath wᵗʰ him Queene Geneyᵛ

yᵗ bride so bright of blee

And there he hath wᵗʰ him Queene Genever

yᵗ bride soe bright in bower

& all his barons about him stoode

yᵗ were both stiffe and stowre

The K. kept a royall Christmassc

of mirth & great honor

.. when ..

[About Nine Stanzas wanting.]

And bring me word what thing it is

ye a woman most desire

this shalbe thy ransome Arthur he sayes

for Iln haue noe other hier

K. Arthur then held vp his hand

according thene as was the law

he tooke his leane of the baron there

and homword can he draw

And when he came to Merry Carlile

to his chamber he is gone

And ther came to him his Cozen Sᵣ Gawaine

as he did make his mone

And there came to him his Cozen Sᵣ Gawaine*

yᵗ was a curteous knight

why sigh.yᵒ soe sore vnckle Arthur he said

or who hath done the vnright

O peace o peace thou gentle Gawaine

yᵗ faire may thee be fall

for if thou knew may sighing soe deope

thou wold not meruaile att all

Ffor when I came to tearne wadling

a bold barron there I fand

wᵗʰ a greatt club vpon his backe

standing stiffe & strong

And he asked me wether I wold fight

or from him I shold be gone

o* else I must him a ransome pay

& soe dep't him from

To fight wᵗʰ him I saw noe cause

me thought it was not meet

for he was stiffe and strong wᵗʰ all

his strokes were nothing sweete

Therfor this is my ransome Gawaine

I ought to him to pay

I must come againe as I am sworne

vpon the Newyeers day

And I must bring him word what thing it is

[About Nine Stanzas wanting.]

Then King Arthur drest him for to ryde

in one soe rich array

towards the forsaid Tearne wadling

yᵗ he might keepe his day

And as he rode over a more

hee see a lady where shee sate

  • Sic.

Page 465

betwixt an oke and a greene hollen

she was cladd in red scarlett

Then there as shold have stood her mouth

then there was sett her eye

the other was in her forehead fast

the way that she might see

Her nose was crooked & turnd outward

her mouth stood foule a wry

a worse formed lady theoe shee was

neuer man saw wth his eye

To haletћ vpon him k. Arthur

this lady was full faine

but k. Arthur had forgott his lesson

what he should say againe

What knight art thou the lady sayd

that wilt not speake tome

of me thou nothing dismayd

tho I be vgly to see

for I haue halched yo˘ courteouslye

& yu˘ will not me againe

yett I may happen S˘ knight shee said

to ease thee of thy paino

Giue thou ease me lady be said

or helpe me any thing

thou shalt haue gentle Gawaine my cozen

& marry him wth a ring

Why if I helpe thee not thou noble k. Arthur

of thy owne hearts desiringe

of gentle Gawaine . . . .

[About Nine Stanzas wanting.]

And when he came to the tearne wadling

the haron there coud he srinde*

w˚th a great wapon on his backe

staundinge stiffe & stronge

And then he tooke k. Arthurs letters in his

hands

& away he cold them fling

& then he puld out a good browne sword

& cryd himsel˘e a k.

And he sayd I haue thec & and thy land Ar-

thur

to doe as it pleaseth me

for this is not thy ransome sure

thurfore yeeld thee to me

  • She MS.

And then bespake him nohle Arthur

& bade him hold his hands

& giue me leaue to speake my mind

in defence of all my land

the˘ said as I came ouer a More

I see a lady where shee sate

betwene an oke & a green hollen

shee was clad in red scarlette

And she says a woman will haue her will

& this is all her cheef desire

doo me right as thou art a baron of seckill

this is thy ransome & all thy hyer

He sayes an early vengeaunce light on her

she walkes on yonder more

it was my sister that told thee this

she is a misshapen hore

But heere He take mine arow to god

to do hier an euill turne

for an euer I may thate fowle theefe get

in a fyer I will her burne

[About Nine Stanzas wanting.]

THE SECOND PART.

Sir Lancelott & s˘ Steven bold

they rode wth them that day

and the formost of the company

there rode the stewart Kay

Soe did S˘ Banier & S˘ Boro

S˘ Garrett wth them so gay

soe did S˘ Tristeram y˘ gentle kt

to the forrest fresh & gay

And when he came to the greene forrest

vnderneath a greene holly tree

their sate that lady in red scarlet

yt vnseemly was to see

S˘ Kay beheld this Ladys fare

& looked vpon her suire

whosoeuer kisses this lady he sayes

of his kisso he standls in feare

S˘ Kay beheld the lady againe

& looked vpon her snout

whosoeuer kisses this lady he saies

of his kisso he stands in doubt

  • She MS.

Page 466

404

THE MARRIAGE OF SIR GAWAINE.

Peace coz. Kay then said Sr Gawaine

amend thee of thy life

for there is a knight amongst us all

yt must marry her to his wife

What wold her to wiffe then said Sr Kay

in the divells name anon

gett me a wiffe where ere I may

for I had rather be slaine

Then soome tooke vp their hawkes in hast

& some tooke vp their hounds

& some sware they wold not marry her

for Citty nor for towne

And then he spake him noble k. Arthar

& sware there by this day

for a litle foule sight & misliking

[About Nine Stanzas wanting.]

Then shee said choose thee gentle Gawaine

truth as I doe say

wetber thou wilt haue me in this liknosse

in the night or else in the day

And then bespake him Gentle Gawaine

wth one soe mild of moode

sayes well I know what I wold say

god grant it may be good

To haue thee fowle in the night

when I wth thee shold play

yet I had rather if I might

haue thee fowlo in the day

What when Lords goe wth ther seires* shee

said

both to the Ale and wine

alas then I must hyde my selfo

I must not goe withinne

And then bespake him gentle gawaine

said lady thats but a skill

And because thou art my owne lady

thou shalt haue all thy will

Then she said hlesed be thou gentle Gawaine

this day-yt I thee see

for as thou-see me att this time

from henceforth I wille be

My father was an old knight

& yett it chanced soe

that he married a younge lady

yt brought me to this woe

Shee witched me being a faire young Lady

to the greene forrest to dwel

& there I must walke in womans liknosse

most like a feind of hell

[About Nine Stanzas wanting.]

that looked soe foule & that was wont

on the wild more to goe

Come kisse her Brother Kay then said Sr Gawaine

& amend the of thy liffe

I swere this is the same lady

yt I married to my wiffe.

Sr Kay kissed that lady bright

standing vpon his feete

he swore as he was trew knight

the spice was neuer so sweete

Well Coz. Gawaine says Sr Kay

thy chance is fallen aright

for thou hast gotten one of the fairest maids

I euer saw wth my sight

It is my fortune said Sr Gawaine

for my Vnckle Arthurs sake

I am glad as grasse wold be of raine

great Joy that I may take

Sr Gawaine took the lady by the one arme

Sr Kay took her by the tother

they led her straight to k. Arthur

as they were brother & brother

K. Arthur welcomed them there all

& soe did lady Geneuer his queene

wth all the knights of the round table

most seemly to be seene

K. Arthur beheld that lady faire

that was soe faire & bright

he thanked christ in trinity

for Sr Gawaine that gentle knight

  • She In MS. pro feires, i. e. Mates.

Page 467

Soe did the knights both more and lesse reioyced all that day

for the good chance y

hapened was

to S

Guwaino & his lady gay. Finis

In the Fae Simile Copies, after all the care which has been taken, it is very possible that

a redundant e, &c., may have been added or omitted.

The Hermit of Warkworth.

This ballad, together with that already printed, entitled "The Friar of Orders Gray,"

forming what may be considered the whole of Bishop Percy's original compositions, is

here appended as a necessary addition to the foregoing collection.

FIT I.

Dark was the night, and wild the storm,

And loud the torrent's roar ;

And loud the sea was heard to dash

Against the distant shore.

Musing on man's weak hapless state,

The lonely Hermit lay;

When, lo ! he heard a female voice

Lament in sore dismay.

With hospitable haste he rose,

And wak'd his sleeping fire ;

And snatching up a lighted brand,

Forth hid the rev'rend sire.

All sad beneath a neighbouring tree

A beauteous maid he found,

Who beat her breast, and with her tears

Bedew'd the mossy ground.

"O weep not, lady, weep not so ;

Nor let vain feurs alarm ;

My little cell shall shelter thee,

And keep thee safe from harm."

"It is not for myself I weep,

Nor for myself I fear;

But for my dear and only friend,

Who lately left me here:

"And while some shelt'ring bower he

bought

"O ! trust in heaven," the Hermit said,

"And to my cell repair !

Doubt not but I shall find thy friend,

And ease thee of thy care."

Then climbing up his rocky stairs,

To scales the cliff so high ;

And calls aloud, and waves his light

To guide the stranger's eye.

Among the thickets long he winds,

With careful steps and slow :

At length a voice return'd his call,

Quick answering from below :

"O tell me, father, tell me true,

If you have chanc'd to see

A gentle maid, I lately left

Beneath some neighbouring tree.

"But either I have lost the place,

Or she hath gone astray :

And much I fear this fatal stream

Hath snatch'd her hence away."

"Praise Heaven, my son," the Hermit said;

"The lady's safe and well :"

And soon he join'd the wandering youth,

And brought him to his cell.

Then well was seen, these gentle friends,

They lov'd each other dear :

The youth he press'd her to his heart;

The maid let fall a tear.

Ah ! seldom had their host, I ween,

Beheld so sweet a pair :

The youth was tall, with manly bloom;

She, slender, soft, and fair.

Page 468

430

THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH.

She in a silken robe and scarf,

'Snatch'd up in hasty flight.

"Sit down, my children," says the sage;

"Sweet rest your limbs require:"

Then heaps fresh fuel on the hearth,

And mends his little fire.

"Partake," he said, "my simple store,

Dried fruits, and milk, and curds;"

And spreading all upon the board,

Invites with kindly words.

"Thanks, father, for thy bountcous fare ;"

The youthful couple say :

Then freely ate, and made good cheer,

And talk'd their cares away.

"Now say, my children (for perchance

My counsel may avail),

What strange adventure brought you here

Within this lonely dale?"

"First tell me, father," said the youth

"(Nor blame mine eager tongue),

What town is near? Whose lands are these?

And to what lord belong?"

"Alas! my son," the Hermit said,

"Why do I live to say,

The rightful lord of these domains

Is banish'd far away ?

"Ten winters now have shed their snows

On this my lowly hall,

Since valiant Hotspur (so the North

Our youthful lord did call)

"Against Fourth Henry Bolingbroke

Led up his northern powers,

And, stoutly fighting, lost his life

Near proud Salopia's towers.

"One son he left, a lovely boy,

His country's hope and heir;

And, oh! to save him from his foes

It was his grandsire's care.

"In Scotland safe be plac'd the child

Beyond the reach of strife,

Nor long before the brave old Earl

At Braham lost his life.

"And now the Percy name, so long

Our northern pride and boast,

Lies hid, alas! beneath a cloud;

Their honours reft and lost.

"No chieftain of that noble house

Now leads our youth to arms;

The bordering Scots despoil our fields,

And ravage all our farms.

"Their halls and castles, once so fair,

Now moulder in decay;

Proud strangers now usurp their lands,

And bear their wealth away.

"Not far from hence, where yon full stream

Runs winding down the lea,

Fair Warkworth lifts her lofty towers,

And overlooks the sea.

"Those towers, alas! now lie forlorn,

With noisome weeds o'erspread,

Where feasted lords and courtly dames,

And where the poor were fed.

"Meantime far off, 'mid Scottish hills,

The Percy lives unknown:

On strangers' bounty he depends,

And may not claim his own.

"O might I with these aged eyes

But live to see him here,

Then should my soul depart in bliss!"—

He said, and dropt a tear.

"And is the Percy still so lov'd

Of all his friends and thee?

Then, bless me, father," said the youth,

"For I, thy guest, am he."

Silent he gazed, then turn'd aside

To wipe the tears he shed;

And lifting up his hands and eyes,

Pour'd blessings on his head:

"Welcome, our dear and much-lov'd lord,

Thy country's hope and care:

But who may this young lady be,

That is so wondrous fair?"

"Now, father! listen to my tale,

And thou shalt know the truth:

And let thy sage advice direct

My inexperienced youth.

Page 469

THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH.

437

"In Scotland I've been nobly bred

Beneath the Regent's* hand,

In feats of arms and every lore

To fit me for command.

"With fond impatience long I burn'd

My native land to see :

At length I won my guardian friend,

To yield that boon to me.

"Then up and down in hunter's garb

I wander'd as in chase,

Till in the noble Neville's† house

I gain'd a hunter's place.

"Some time with him I liv'd unknown,

Till I'd the hap so rare

To please this young and gentle dame,

That Baron's daughter fair."

"Now, Percy," said the blushing maid,

"The truth I must reveal;

Souls great and generous, like to thine,

Their noble deeds conceal.

"It happen'd on a summer's day,

Led by the fragrant breeze,

I wander'd forth to take the air

Among the greenwood trees.

"Sudden a band of rugged Scots,

That near in ambush lay,

Moss-troopers from the border-side,

There seiz'd me for their prey.

"My shrieks had all been spent in vain;

But Heaven, that 'stuw my grief,

Brought this brave youth within my call,

Who flew to my relief.

"With nothing but his hunting spear,

And dagger in his hand,

He sprung like lightning on my foes,

And caus'd them soon to stand.

"He fought till more assistance came:

The Scots were overthrown :

Thus freed me, captive, from their bands,

To make me more his own."

  • Robert Stuart, Duke of Albany. So the continuation

of Fordun's Scot'chronicon, cap. 18, cap. 25, &c.

† Ralph Neville, first Earl of Westmoreland, who chiefly

resid d at his two castles of Brancepeth and Raby, both in

the Bishopric of Durham.

"O happy day!" the youth replied;

"Blest were the wounds I bear !

From that fond hour she deign'd to smile,

And listen to my prayer.

"And when she knew my name and birth.

She vow'd to be my bride ;

But oh ! we fear'd (alas, the while !)

Her princely mother's pride :

"Sister of haughty Bolingbroke,*

Our house's ancient foe,

To me, I thought, a banish'd wight,

Could ne'er such favour show.

"Despairing then to gain consent,

At length to fly with me

I won this lovely tim'rous maid ;

To Scotland bound are we.

"This evening, as the night drew on,

Fearing we were pursued,

We turn'd adown the right-hand path,

And gain'd this lonely wood :

"Then lighting from our weary steeds

To shun the pelting shower,

We met thy kind conducting hand,

And reach'd this friendly bower."

"Now rest ye both," the Hermit said ;

"Awhile your cares forego :

Nor, Lady, scorn my humble bed :

-We'll pass the night below."†

FIT II.

Lovely smil'd the blushing morn,

And every storm was fled :

But lovelier far, with sweeter smile,

Fair Eleanor left her bed.

She found her Henry all alone,

And cheer'd him with her sight;

The youth consulting with his friend

Had watch'd the livelong night.

  • Joan, Countess of Westmoreland, mother of the young

lady, was daughter of Joan of Gaunt, and half-sister of

King Henry IV.

† Adjoining to the cliff which contains the Chapel of

the Hermitage, are the remains of a small building, in which

the Hermit dwelt. This consisted of one lower apartment,

with a little bedchamber over it, and is now in ruins

whereas the Chapel, cut in the solid rock, is still very en

tire and perfect.

Page 470

436

THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH.

She in a silken robe and scarf,

Snatch'd up in hasty flight.

"Sit down, my children," says the sage;

"Sweet rest your limbs require:"

Then heaps fresh fuel on the hearth,

And mends his little fire.

"Partake," he said, "my simple store,

Dried fruits, and milk, and curds;"

And spreading all upon the board,

Invites with kindly words.

"Thanks, father, for thy bounteous fare;"

The youthful couple say:

Then freely ate, and made good cheer,

And talk'd their cares away.

"Now say, my children (for perchance

My counsel may avail),

What strange adventure brought you here

Within this lonely dale?"

"First tell me, father," said the youth

"(Nor blame mine eager tongue),

What town is near? Whose lands are these?

And to what lord belong?"

"Alas! my son," the Hermit said,

"Why do I live to say,

The rightful lord of those domains

Is banish'd far away?

"Ten winters now have shed their snows

On this my lowly hall,

Since valiant Hotspur (so the North

Our youthful lord did call)

"Against Fourth Henry Bolingbroke

Led up his northern powers,

And, stoutly fighting, lost his life

Near proud Salopia's towers.

"One son he left, a lovely boy,

His country's hope and heir;

And, oh! to save him from his foes

It was his grandsire's care.

"In Scotland safe he plac'd the child

Beyond the reach of strife,

Nor long before the brave old Earl

At Braham lost his life.

"And now the Percy name, so long

Our northern pride and boast,

Lies hid, alas! beneath a cloud;

Their honours reft and lost.

"No chieftain of that noble house

Now leads our youth to arms;

The bordering Scots despoil our fields,

And ravage all our farms.

"Their halls and castles, once so fair,

Now moulder in decay;

Proud strangers now usurp their lands,

And bear their wealth away.

"Not far from hence, where yon full stream

Runs winding down the lea,

Fair Warkworth lifts her lofty towers,

And overlooks the sea.

"Those towers, alas! now lie forlorn,

With noisome weeds o'erspread,

Where feasted lords and courtly dames,

And where the poor were fed.

"Meantime far off, 'mid Scottish hills,

The Percy lives unknown:

On strangers' bounty he depends,

And may not claim his own.

"O might I with these aged eyes

But live to see him here,

Then should my soul depart in bliss!"

He said, and dropt a tear.

"And is the Percy still so lov'd

Of all his friends and thee?

Then, bless me, father," said the youth,

"For I, thy guest, am he."

Silent he gazed, then turn'd aside

To wipe the tears he shed;

And lifting up his hands and eyes,

Pour'd blessings on his head:

"Welcome, our dear and much-lov'd lord

Thy country's hope and care:

But who may this young lady be,

That is so wondrous fair?"

"Now, father! listen to my tale,

And thou shalt know the truth:

And let thy sage advice direct

My inexperien'd youth.

Page 471

THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH.

437

"In Scotland I've been nobly bred

Beneath the Regent's* hand,

In feats of arms and every lore

To fit me for command.

"With fond impatience long I burn'd

My native land to see:

At length I won my guardian friend,

To yield that boon to me.

"Then up and down in hunter's garb

I wander'd as in chase,

Till in the noble Nevill's† house

I gain'd a hunter's place.

"Some time with him I liv'd unknown,

Till I'd the hap so rare

To please this young and gentle dame,

That Baron's daughter fair."

"Now, Percy," said the blushing maid,

"The truth I must reveal;

Souls great and generous, like to thine,

Their noble deeds conceal.

"It happen'd on a summer's day,

Led by the fragrant breeze,

I wander'd forth to take the air

Among the greenwood trees.

"Sudden a band of rugged Scots,

That near in ambush lay,

Moss-troopers from the border-side,

There seiz'd me fur their prey.

"My shrieks had all been spent in vain;

But Heaven, that say my grief,

Brought this brave youth within my call,

Who flew to my relief.

"With nothing but his hunting spear,

And dagger in his hand,

He sprung like lightning on my foes,

And caus'd them soon to stand.

"He fought till more assistance came:

The Scots were overthrown:

Thus freed me, captive, from their hands,

To make me more his own."

"O happy day!" the youth replied:

"Blest were the wounds I bear!

From that fond hour she deign'd to smile,

And listen to my prayer.

"And when she knew my name and birth,

She vow'd to be my bride;

But oh! we fear'd (alas, the while!)

Her princely mother's pride:

"Sister of haughty Bolingbroke,*

Our house's ancient foe,

To me, I thought, a banish'd wight,

Could ne'er such favour show.

"Despairing then to gain consent,

At length to fly with me

I won this lovely timorous maid;

To Scotland bound are we.

"This evening, as the night drew on,

Fearing we were pursued,

We turn'd adown the right-hand path,

And gain'd this lonely wood:

"Then lighting from our weary steeds

To shun the pelting shower,

We met thy kind conducting hand,

And reach'd this friendly bower."

"Now rest ye both," the Hermit said;

"Awhile your cares forego:

Nor, Lady, scorn my humble bed:

—We'll pass the night below."†

FIT II.

Lovely smil'd the blushing morn,

And every storm was fled:

But lovelier far, with sweeter smile,

Fair Eleanor left her bed.

She found her Henry all alone,

And cheer'd him with her sight;

The youth consulting with his friend

Had watch'd the livelong night.

  • Robert Stuart, Duke of Albany. See the continuation

of Poutan's Scoti Chronicon, cap. 18, cap. 23, &c.

† Ralph Nevill, first Earl of Westmoreland, who chiefly

resided at his two castles of Brancepeth and Raby, both in

the Bishopric of Durham.

  • Joan, Countess of Westmoreland, mother of the young

lady, was daughter of John of Gaunt, and half-sister of

King Henry IV.

† Adjoining to the cliff which contains the Chapel of the

Hermitage, are the remains of a small building, in which

the Hermit dwelt. This consisted of one lower apartment,

with a little bedchamber over it, and is now in ruins

whereas the Chapel, cut in the solid rock, is still very en

tire and perfect.

Page 472

438

THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH.

What sweet surprise o'erpwower'd her breast!

Her cheek what blushes dyed,

When fundly he besought her there

To yield to be his bride !—

"Within this lonely hermitage

There is a chapel meet :

Then grant, dear maid, my fond request

And make my bliss complete."

"O Henry, when thou deign'st to sue,

Can I thy suit withstand ?

When thou, lov'd youth, hast won my heart,

Can I refuse my hand ?

"For thee I left a father's smiles,

And mother's tender care;

And whether weal or woe betide,

Thy lot I mean to share."

"And wilt thou then, O generous maid !

Such matchless favour show,

To share with me, a banish'd wight,

My peril, pain, or woe ?

"Now Heaven, I trust, hath joys in store

To crown thy constant breast :

For know, fond hope assures my heart

That we shall soon be blest."

"Not far from hence stands Coquet Isle*

Surrounded by the sea;

There dwells a holy friar, well known

To all thy friends and thee ;

"'Tis Father Bernard, so rever'd

For every worthy deed;

To Raby Castle he shall go,

And for us kindly plead."

"To fetch this good and holy man

Our reverend host is gone;

And soon, I trust, his pious hands

Will join us both in one."

Thus they in sweet and tender talk

The lingering hours beguile :

At length they see the hoary sage

Come from the neighbouring isle.

With pious joy and wonder mix'd

He greets the noble pair,

And glad consents to join their hands

With many a fervent prayer.

Then strait to Raby's distant walls

He kindly wends his way :

Meantime in love and dalliance sweet

They spend the livelong day.

And now, attended by their host,

The Hermitage they view'd,

Deep-hewn within a craggy cliff,

And overhung with wood.

And near a flight of shapely steps,

All cut with nicest skill,

And piercing through a stony arch,

Ran winding up the hill :

There deck'd with many a flower and herb

His little garden stands;

With fruitful trees in shady rows,

All planted by his hands.

Then, scoop'd within the solid rock,

Three sacred vaults he shows :

The chief, a chapel, neatly arch'd,

On branching columns rose.

Each proper ornament was there,

That should a chapel grace;

The lattice for confession fram'd,

And holy-water vase.

O'er either door a sacred text

Invites to godly fear;

And in a little scutcheon hung

The cross, and crown, and spear.

Up to the altar's ample breadth

Two easy steps ascend;

And near, a glimmering solemn light

Two well-wrought windows lend.

Beside the altar rose a tomb

All in the living stone;

On which a young and beauteous maid

In goodly sculpture shone.

A kneeling angel, fairly carv'd,

Lean'd hovering o'er her breast;

A weeping warrior at her feet;

And near to these her crest.*

  • In the little island of Coquet, near Warkworth, are still seen the ruins of a cell, which belonged to the Benedictine monks of Tynemouth-Abbey.

  • This is a Bull's Head, the crest of the Widdrington family. All the figures, &c., here described, are still visible, only somewhat effaced with length of time.

Page 473

THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH.

The clift, the vault, but chief the tomb

Attract the wondering pair:

Eager they ask, "What hapless dame

Lies sculptur'd here so fair?"

"That heart," she said, "is lightly priz'd,

Which is too lightly won;

And long shall rue that easy mind

Who yields her love too soon."

The Hermit sigh'd, the Hermit wept,

For sorrow scarce could speak:

At length he wip'd the trickling tears

That all bedew'd his cheek.

"Alas! my children, human life

Is but a vale of woe;

And very mournful is the tale

Which ye so fain would know!"

THE HERMIT'S TALE.

Young lord, thy grandsire had a friend

In days of youthful fame;

Yon distant hills were his domains,

Sir Bertram was his name.

Where'er the noble Percy fought,

His friend was at his side;

And many a skirmish with the Scots

Their early valour tried.

Young Bertram lov'd a beauteous maid,

As fair as fair might be;

The dew-drop on the lily's cheek

Was not so fair as she.

Fair Widdrington the maiden's name,

Yon towers her dwelling-place;

Her sire an old Northumbrian chief,

Devoted to thy race.

Many a lord, and many a knight,

To this fair damsel came;

But Bertram was her only choice;

For him she felt a flame.

Lord Percy pleaded for his friend,

Her father soon consents;

None but the beauteous maid herself

His wishes now prevents.

But she, with studied fond delays,

Defers the blissful hour;

And loves to try his constancy,

And prove her maiden power.

  • Widdrington Castle is about five miles south of Warkworth.

Lord Percy made a solemn feast

In Alnwick's princely hall;

And there came lords, and there came

knights,

His chiefs and barons all.

With wassail, mirth, and revelry,

The castle rang around:

Lord Percy call'd for song and harp,

And pipes of martial sound.

The minstrels of thy noble house,

All clad in robes of blue,

With silver crescents on their arms

Attend in order due.

The great achievements of thy race

They sung: their high command:

How valiant Malinfred o'er the seas

First led his northern band.*

Brave Galfred next to Normandy

With venturous Rollo came;

And, from his Norman castles won,

Assum'd the Percy name.†

They sung how in the Conqueror's fleet

Lord William shipp'd his powers,

And gain'd a fair young Saxon bride

With all her lands and towers.‡

Then journeying to the Holy Land,

There bravely fought and died;

But first the silver crescent won,

Some paynim Sultan's pride.

  • See Dugdale's Baronage, p. 209, &c.

† In Lower Normandy are three places of the name of

Percy: whence the family took the surname of the Percy.

‡ William de Percy (fifth in descent from Ildufond or

Gofrey de Percy, son of Malinfred) assisted in the con-

quest of England, and had given him the lordship of

Snape, in Yorkshire, of Emmald de Porte (or the Serjeant

wellers name her) whose a great sacrifice to the holy

been slain fighting along with Harold. This young lady

William, from a principle of honour and generosity, mar-

ried: for having had all her lands bestowed upon him by

the Conqueror, (who to use the words of the old Whitby

Chronicle) yielded her bye to them, in

discharging of his conscience." See Hart. Was rid 1261.

He died at Mountjoy, near Jerusalem, in the first crusada.

Page 474

440

THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH.

They sung how Agnes, beauteous heir,

The Queen's own brother wed,

Lord Josceline, sprung from Charlemagne,

In princely Brabant bred;*

How he the Percy name reviv'd,

And how his noble line,

Still foremost in their country's cause,

With godlike ardour shine.

With loud acclaims the list'ning crowd

Applaud the master's song,

And deeds of arms and war became

The theme of every tongue.

Now high heroic acts they tell,

'Their parils past recall :

When, lo! a damsel young and fair

Stepp'd forward through the hall.

She Bertram courteously address'd;

And, kneeling on her knee,—

"Sir knight, the lady of thy love

Hath sent this gift to thee."

Then forth she drew a glittering helm,

Well plaited many a fold;

The casque was wrought of temper'd steel,

The crest of burnish'd gold.

"Sir knight, thy lady sends thee this,

And yields to be thy bride,

When thou hast prov'd this maiden gift

Where sharpest blows are tried.

Young Bertrarn took the shining helm,

And thrice he kiss'd the same:

"Trust me, I'll prove this precious casque

With deeds of noblest fame."

Lord Percy and his Barons bold,

Then fix upon a day

To scour the marches, late opprest,

And Scottish wrongs repay.

The knights assembled on the hills

A thousand horse or more :

  • Agnes de Percy, sole heiress of her house, married Josceline de Louvaine, youngest son of Godfrey Barbatus, Duke of Brabant, and brother of Queen Adeliva, second wife of King Henry I. He took the name of Percy, and was ancestor of the earls of Northumberland. His son, lord Richard de Percy, was one of the twenty-six barons chosen to see the Magna Charta duly observed.

Brave Widdrington, though sunk in years

The Percy standard bore.

Tweed's limpid current soon they pass,

And range the borders round :

Down the green slopes of Tiviotdale

Their bugle-horns resound.

As when a lion in his den

Hath heard the hunters' cries,

And rushes forth to meet his foes;

So did the Douglas rise.

Attendant on their chief's command

A thousand warriors wait:

And now the fatal hour drew on

Of cruel keen debate.

A chosen troop of Scottish youths

Advance before the rest;

Lord Percy mark'd their gallant mien,

And thus his friend address'd:

"Now, Bertram, prove thy lady's helm,

Attack yon forward band;

Dead or alive I'll rescue thee,

Or perish by their hand."

Young Bertram bow'd, with glad assent

And spurr'd his eager steed,

And calling on his lady's name,

Rush'd forth with whirlwind speed.

As when a grove of sapling oaks

The livid lightning rends;

So fiercely 'mid the opposing ranks

Sir Bertram's sword descends.

This way and that he drives the steel,

And keenly pierces through;

And many a tall and comely knight,

With furious force he slew.

Now closing fast on every side,

They hem Sir Bertram round:

But dauntless he repels their rage,

And deals forth many a wound.

The vigour of his single arm

Had well nigh won the field;

When ponderous fell a Scottish axe,

And clave his lifted shield.

Another blow his temples took,

And reft his helm in twain;

Page 475

That beauteous helm, his lady's gift!

—His blood bedew'd the plain.

Lord Percy saw his champion fall

Amid th' unequal fight;

"And now, my noble friends," he said,

"Let's save this gallant knight."

Then rushing in, with stretch'd-out shield,

He o'er the warrior hung,

As some fierce eagle spreads her wing

To guard her callow young.

Three times they strove to seize their prey,

Three times they quick retire;

What force could stand his furious strokes,

Or meet his martial fire?

Now gathering round on every part

The battle rag'd amain;

And many a lady wept her lord,

That hour untimely slain.

Percy and Douglas, great in arms,

There all their courage show'd;

And all the field was strew'd with dead,

And all with crimson flow'd.

At length the glory of the day

The Scots reluctant yield,

And, after wondrous valour shown,

They slowly quit the field.

All pale, extended on their shields,

And weltering in his gore,

Lord Percy's knights their bleeding friend

To Wark's fair castle bore.*

"Well hast thou earn'd my daughter's love,"

Her father kindly said;

"And she herself shall dress thy wounds,

And tend thee in thy bed."

A message went; no daughter came,

Fair Isabel ne'er appears;

"Betshrew me," said the aged chief,

"Young maidens have their fears.

"Cheer up, my son, thou shalt her see,

So soon as thou canst ride;

  • Wark Castle, a fortress belonging to the English, and

of great note in ancient times, stood on the southern banks

of the River Tweed, a little to the east of Tiviotdale, and

not far from Kelso. It is now entirely destroyed.

And she shall nurse thee in her bower,

And she shall be thy bride."

Sir Bertram at her name reviv'd,

He bless'd the soothing sound;

Fond hope supplied the nurse's care,

And heal'd his ghastly wound.

FIT III.

One early morn, while dewy drops

Hung trembling on the tree,

Sir Bertram from his sick-bed rose;

His bride he would go see.

A brother he had in prime of youth,

Of courage firm and keen;

And he would tend him on the way,

Because his wounds were green.

All day o'er moss and moor they rode,

By many a lonely tower;

And 'twas the dew-fall of the night

Ere they drew near her bower.

Most drear and dark the castle seem'd

That wont to shine so bright;

And long and loud Sir Bertram call'd

Ere he beheld a light.

At length her aged nurse arose,

With voice so shrill and clear,—

"What wight is this, that calls so loud,

And knocks so boldly here?

"'Tis Bertram calls, thy lady's love,

Come from his bed of care;

All day I've ridden o'er moor and moss

To see thy lady fair."

"Now 'ont, alas!" she loudly shriek'd;

"Alas! how many this be?

For six long days are gone and past

Since she set out to thee."

Sad terror seiz'd Sir Bertram's heart,

And ready was he to fall;

When now the drawbridge was let down,

And gates were opened all.

"Six days, young knight, are past and gone,

Since she set out to thee;

And sure, if no sad harm had happ'd,

Long since thou wouldst her see.

Page 476

442

THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH.

"For when she heard thy grievous chance,

She tore her hair, and cried,

"Alas ! I've slain the comeliest knight,

All through my folly and pride !

"And now to atone for my sad fault

And his dear health regain,

I'll go myself and nurse my love,

And soothe his bed of pain.'

"Then mounted she her milk-white steed

One morn at break of day ;

And two tall yeomen went with her,

To guard her on the way."

Sad terror smote Sir Bertram's heart,

And grief o'erwhelm'd his mind :

"Trust me," said he, "I ne'er will rest

Till thy lady find."

That night he spent in sorrow and care;

And with sad-boding heart

Or ever the dawning of the day

His brother and he depart.

"Now, brother, we'll our ways divide

O'er Scottish hills to range ;

Do thou go north, and I'll go west ;

And all our dress we'll change.

"Some Scottish carl hath seiz'd my love,

And borne her to his den;

And ne'er will I tread English ground

Till she's restor'd again."

The brothers straight their paths divide,

O'er Scottish hills to range ;

And hide themselves in quaint disguise

And oft their dress they change.

Sir Bertram, clad in gown of gray,

Most like a palmer poor,

To halls and castles wanders round,

And begs from door to door.

Sometimes a minstrel's garb he wears,

With pipe so sweet and shrill;

And wends to every tower and town,

O'er every dale and hill.

One day as he sat under a thorn,

All sunk in deep despair,

An aged pilgrim pass'd him by,

Who mark'd his face of care.

"All minstrels yet that ere I saw

Are full of game and glee;

But thou art sad and woe-begone !

I marvel whence it be !"

"Father, I serve an aged lord,

Whose grief afflicts my mind;

His only child is stolen away,

And fain I would her find."

"Cheer up, my son ; perchance," he said,

"Some tidings I may bear :

For oft when human hopes have fail'd,

Then heavenly comfort's near.

"Behind yon hills so steep and high,

Down in a lowly glen,

There stands a castle fair and strong,

Far from the abode of men.

"As late I chanc'd to crave an alms,

About this evening hour,

Methought I heard a lady's voice

Lamenting in the tower."

"And when I ask'd what harm had happ'd,

What lady sick there lay ?

They rudely drove me from the gate,

And bade me wend away."

These tidings caught Sir Bertram's ear,

He thank'd him for his tale;

And soon he hasted o'er the hills,

And soon he reach'd the vale.

Then drawing near those lonely towers,

Which stood in dale so low,

And sitting down beside the gate,

His pipes he 'gan to blow.

"Sir Porter, is thy lord at home,

To hear a minstrel's song ;

Or may I crave a lodging here,

Without offence or wrong ?"

"My lord," he said, "is not at home,

To hear a minstrel's song ;

And, should I I lend thee lodging here,

My life would not be long."

He play'd again so soft a strain,

Such power sweet sounds impart,

He won the churlish porter's ear,

And mov'd his stubborn heart.

Page 477

"Minstrel," he said, "thou play'st so sweet,

Fair entrance thou should'st win;

But, alus! I'm sworn upon the rood

To let no stranger in.

"Yet, minstrel, in yon rising cliff

Thou'lt find a sheltering cave;

And here thou shalt my supper share,

And there thy lodging have."

All day he sits beside the gate,

And pipes both loud and clear:

All night he watches round the walls,

In hopes his love to hear.

The first night, as he silent watch'd

All at the midnight hour,

He plainly heard his lady's voice

Lamenting in the tower.

The second night, the moon shone clear,

And gilt the spangled dew;

He saw his lady through the grate,

But 'twas a transient view.

The third night, wearied out, he slept

'Till near the morning tide;

When, starting up, he seiz'd his sword,

And to the castle hied.

When, lo! he saw a ladder of ropes

Depending from the wall:

And o'er the moat was newly laid

A popular strong and tall.

And soon he saw his love descend

Wrapt in a tartan plaid,

Assisted by a sturdy youth

In Highland garb y-clad.

Amaz'd, confounded at the sight,

He lay unseem'd and still;

And soon he saw them cross the stream,

And mount the neighbouring hill.

Unheard, unknown of all within,

The youthful couple fly:

But what can 'scapeth the lover's ken,

Or shun his piercing eye?

With silent step he follows close

Behind the flying pair.

And saw her hang upon his arm

With end familiar air.

"Thanks, gentle youth," she often said;

"My thanks thou well hast won:

For me what wiles hast thou contriv'd!

For me what dangers run!

"And ever shall my grateful heart

Thy services repay."—

Sir Bertram would no further hear,

But cried, "Vile traitor, stay!

"Vile traitor! yield that lady up!

And quick his sword be drew;

The stranger turn'd in sudden rage,

And at Sir Bertram flew.

With mortal hate their vigorous arms

Gave many a vigorous blow;

But Bertram's stronger hand prevail'd,

And laid the stranger low.

"Die, traitor, die!"—A deadly thrust

Attends each furious word.

Ah! then fair Isabel knew his voice

And rush'd beneath his sword.

"O stop," she cried, "O stop thy arm!

Thou dost thy brother slay!"—

The Hermit paus'd and wept:

His tongue no more could say.

At length he cried, "Ye lovely pair,

How shall I tell the rest?

Ere I could stop my piercing sword,

It fell, and stabb'd her breast."

"Wert thou thy self that hapless youth?

Ah! cruel fate!" they said.

The Hermit wept, and so did they:

They sigh'd; he hung his head.

"O blind and jealous rage," he cried,

"What wils from thee flow?"

The Hermit paus'd; they silent mourn'd:

He wept, and they were woe.

Ah! when I heard my brother's name

And saw my lady bleed,

I raved, I wept, I cursed my arm

That wrought the fatal deed.

In rain I clasp'd her to my breast,

And clos'd the ghastly wound;

In rain I press'd his bleeding corpse,

And rais'd it from the ground.

Page 478

444

THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH.

My brother, alas! spake never more,

His precious life was flown:

She kindly strove to soothe my pain,

Regardless of her own.

"Bertram," she said, "be comforted,

And live on me;

May we in heaven that union prove,

Which here was not to be!

"Bertram," she said, "I still was true;

Thou only hadst my heart:

May we hereafter meet in bliss!

We now, alas! must part.

"For thee I left my father's hall,

And flew to thy relief,

When, lo! near Cheviot's fatal hills

I met a Scottish chief,

"Lord Malcolm's son, whose proffer'd love

I had refus'd with scorn;

He slew my guards, and seiz'd on me

Upon that fatal morn;

"And in these dreary hated walls

He kept me close confin'd;

And fondly sued, and warmly press'd,

To win me to his mind.

"Each rising morn increas'd my pain,

Each night increas'd my fear!

When, wandering in this northern garb,

Thy brother found me here.

"He quickly form'd the brave design

To set me, captive, free;

And on the moor his horses wait,

Tied to a neighbouring tree.

"Then haste, my love, escape away,

And for thyself provide;

And sometimes fondly think on her

Who should have been thy bride."

Thus, pouring comfort on my soul,

E'en with her latest breath,

She gave one parting, fond embrace,

And clos'd her eyes in death.

In wild amazement, in speechless woe,

Devoid of sense, I lay :

Then sudden, all in frantic mood,

I meant myself to slay.

And, rising up in furious haste,

I seiz'd the bloody brand:*

A sturdy arm here interpos'd,

And wrench'd it from my hand.

A crowd, that from the castle came,

Had miss'd their lovely ward :

And seizing me, to prison bare,

And deep in dungeon barr'd.

It chanc'd that on that very morn

Their chief was prisoner ta'en;

Lord Percy had was soon exchang'd,

And strove to soothe my pain.

And soon those honour'd dear remains

To England were convey'd;

And there within their silent tombs,

With holy rites, were laid.

For me, I loath'd my wretched life,

And long to end it thought;

Till time, and books, and holy men,

Had better counsels taught.

They rais'd my heart to that pure source

Whence heavenly comfort flows :

They taught me to despise the world

And calmly bear its woes.

No more the slave of human pride,

Vain hope, and sordid care,

I meekly vow'd to spend my life

In penitence and prayer.

The bold Sir Bertram, now no more

Impetuous, haughty, wild:

But poor and humble Benedict,

Now lowly, patient, mild.

My lands I gave to feed the poor,

And sacred altars raise;

And here, a lonely anchorite,

I came to end my days.

This sweet sequester'd vale I chose,

These rocks and hanging grove;

For oft beside that murmuring stream,

My love was wont to rove.

My noble friend approv'd my choice;

This blest retreat he gave:

*i. e. sword.

Page 479

THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH.

445

And here I carv'd her beauteous form,

And scoop'd this holy cave.

Full fifty winters, all forlorn,

My life I've linger'd here;

And daily o'er this sculptur'd saint

I drop the pensive tear.

And thou, dear brother of my heart!

So faithful and so true,

The sad remembrance of thy fate

Still makes my bosom rue!

Yet not unpitied pass'd my life,

Forsaken or forgot,

The Percy and his noble sons

Would grace my lowly cot;

Oft the great Earl, from toils of state

And cumbrous pomp of power,

Would gladly seek my little cell,

To spend the tranquil hour.

But length of life is length of woe!

I liv'd to mourn his fall:

I liv'd to mourn his godlike sons

And friends and followers all.

But thou the honours of thy race,

Lov'd youth, ah! now restore:

And raise again the Percy name

More glorious than before.

He cens'd; and on the lovely pair

His choicest blessings laid:

While they, with thanks and pitying tears,

His mournful tale repaid.

And now what present course to take

They ask the good old sire;

And, guided by his sage advice,

To Scotland they retire.

Meantime their suit such favour found

At Raby's stately hall,

Earl Neville and his princely spouse

Now gladly pardon all.

She, suppliant at her nephew's* throne

The royal grace implor'd:

To all the honours of his race

The Percy was restor'd.

The youthful Earl still more and more

Admir'd his beauteous dame:

Nine noble sons to him she bore,

All worthy of their name.

  • King Henry V. Anno 1414

Page 480

Addenda.

In the following additions the Editor has endeavoured to form a selection that shall be agreeable and interesting to the general reader, and not unsatisfactory to the antiquary or the scholar.

It has been an essential part of his design to collect only the ballads that appeared most worthy of preservation, and not to reprint those which have no stronger recommendation than their rarity—rejecting none because they are sufficiently known—and accepting none because they are merely scarce. He has omitted no opportunities of consulting available sources of information, whether accessible to all readers or to be obtained only by patient industry and careful search. It will be perceived he has not modernized the orthography, believing that these “old and antique Songs,” will be most readily welcomed in their ancient dress.

“The garb our Muses wore in former years.”

His leading purpose was, so to arrange these pieces as to obtain variety of style without regard to the period at which they were written, or the sources in which they originated—prefacing each by such explanatory remarks as should communicate all the information he was able to obtain concerning its history.

Robin Hood's Death and Burial.

We copy this ballad from Ritson's “Collection of all the Ancient Poems, Songs, and Ballads, now extant, relative to that celebrated English Outlaw, Robin Hood.” A brief notice of him has been already given ; the notes we here introduce concern exclusively his “Death and Burial:” for the “facts” concerning which we are indebted to the indefatigable collector, who seems to have gathered together, by immense labour, every item of information that exists upon the subject. The old chronicles are somewhat circumstantial touching the final exit of the hero. “The king att last,” says the Harleian MS., “sett furth a proclamation to have him apprehended,” &c. Grafton, after having told us that he “practised robberyes, &c.,” adds, “The which beyng certefyed to the king, and he, beyng greatly offended therewith, caused his proclamation to be made that whosoever would bryng him quicke or dead, the king would give him a great summe of money, as by the recordes in the Exchequer is to be seene: But this promise no man enjoyed any benefite;” for as long as he had his “bent bow in his hand,” it was scarcely safe to meddle with the “archer good.” Time, however, subdued his strength and spirit. Finding the infirmities of old age increase upon him, and being “troubled with a sicknesse,” according to Grafton, he “came to a certain nonry in Yorkshire called Bircklies [Kirklies], where desirying to be let blood, he was betrayed and bled to death.” The Sloune MS. says, that “[being] dystempered with cowld and age, he had great payne in his lymmes, his bloud being corrupted; therfore, to be eased of his payne by letting bloud, he repayred to the priores of Kyrkesly, which some say was his aunt, a woman very skylful in physicke & surgery ; wh, perceyving him to be Robyn Hood, & waying howe fel an enemy he was to religious persons, toke reveng of him for her owne

(446)

Page 481

howse and all others by letting him bleed to

death. It is also sayd that one sir Roger of

Doncaster, bearing grudge to Robyn for some

injury, incyted the priores, with whome he

was very familiár, in such a manner to dis-

patch him." The Harleian MS., after men-

tioning the proclamátion "set furth to have

him apprehended," adds, "at which time it

happened he fell sick at a nummery in York-

shire called Birkleys [Kirkleys] ; & desiring

there to be let bloud, hee was betrayed &

made bleed to death."

According to the Sloane MS. the prioress,

after "letting him bleed to death, buried

him under a great stone by the hywayes

syde:" which is agreable to the account in

Grafton's Chronicle, where it is said that

after his death, "the prioresse of the same

place caused him to be buried by the high-

way side, where he had used to rob and

spoylé those that passed that way. And

upon his grave the sayd prioresse did lay a

very fayre stone, wherein the names of Robert

Hood, William of Goldesborough, and others

were graven. And the cause why she buried

him there was, for that the common passen-

gers and travailers, knowyng and seeyng him

there buried, might more safely and without

feare take their journeyes that way, which

they durst not do in the life of the sayd out-

lawes. And at eyther ende of the sayd tombe

was erected a crosse of stone, which is to be

seene there at this present."

There appears to be reasonable ground for

the belief that Robín Hood was thus treach-

erously dealt with. The circumstance is dis-

tinctly referred to in the ballad entitled "A

Lytell Geste of Robine Hode,"—a long met-

rical narration, consisting of eight fyttes or

cantos, and contaíning no feweŕ than four

hundred and fifty stanzas. It beaŕs conclu-

sive evidence of antiquity, and may be consi-

dered at leást as old as the time of Chaucer.

The ballad—" Robín Hood's Death and

Burial"—although its style is comparatively

modérn, is cleárly based upon one much

oldér:—it contains passages of two "genuine"

a chatacter to have been the production of an

age much later than that in which thourished

the hero of the grene-woode.

The reader will, no doubt, desire to know

something concerning the career of Robin's

famous lieutenant, "Little John." "There

standeth," as Stanihurst relates, "in Ostman-

towne greene (now in the centre of the city

of Dublin), an hillocke, named Little John

his Shot. The occasion," he says, "pro-

ceeded of this. In the yeere one thousand

ranged three robbers and outlaws in England,

among which Robert Hood and Little John

weere cheefeteins, of all theves doubtelesse

the most courteous. Robert Hood being be-

trayed at a nunrie in Scótland called Brick-

lies, the remnant of the crue was scattered,

and everie man forced to shift for himselffo.

Whereapon Little John was faine to flee the

realme by sailing into Irelánd, where he jo-

urned for a few dayes at Dublin. The citi-

zens being doone to undérstand the wander-

ing outcast to be an excellent archer, request-

ed him hartilie to trie how far he could shoot

at rándom; who yeelding to their behest,

stood on the bridge of Dublin, and shot to

that mole hill, leaving behind him a monu-

ment, rather by his posteritie to be wounder-

ed, than possiblie by anie man living to be

counterscored. But as the repaire of so no-

torious a champion to anie countrie would

soone be published, so his abode could not

be long conceáled : and therefore to eschew

the dánger of [the] lawes, he fled into Scot-

land, where he died at a towne or village

called Moravie."

When Robin Hood and Little John,

Went o'er you bank of broom,

Said Robin Hood to Little John,

We have shot for many a pound:

But I am not able to shoot one shot more,

5

My arrows will not flee;

But I have a cousin lives down below,

Please God, she will bleed me.

Now Robin is to fair Kirkley gone,

As fast as he can win;

But before he came there, as we do hear,

10

He was taken very ill.

And when that he came to fair Kirkley-hall,

He knocked'd all at the ring,

But none was so ready as his cousin herself

16

For to let bold Robin in.

"Will you please to sit down, Cousin Robin,"

she said,

"And drink some beer with me?"

Page 482

448

ROBIN HOOD'S DEATH AND BURIAL.

"No, I will neither eat nor drink,

Till I am blooded by thee."

"Well, I have a room, cousin Robin," she said,

"Which you did never see,

And if yòu please to walk therein,

You blooded by me shall be."

She took him by the lilly-white hand,

And let him to a private room,

And there she blooded bold Robin Hood,

Whilst one drop of blood would run.

She blooded him in the vein of the arm,

And locked him up in the room;

There did he bleed all the live-long day,

Untill the next day at noon.*

He then bethought him of a casement door,

Thinking for to be gone,

He was so weak he could not leap,

Nor he could not get down.

He then bethought him of his bugle-horn,

Which hung low down to his knee,

He set his horn unto his mouth,

And blew out weak blasts three.

Then Little John, when hearing him,

As he sat under the tree,

"I fear my master is near dead,

He blows so wearily."

*The following stanzas are from the poem referred to in the Introduction—"A Lytell Geste of Robyn Hode":—

"Yet he was becryled I wys,

Through a wycked womàn,

The pryoresse of Kyrkesly,

That nye was of his kyne.

"They toke togyder theyr counsell

Robyn Hode for to sle,

And how they myght best do that dede,

His banis for to be."

Then Little John to fair Kirkley is gone,

As fast as he can dree;

But when he came to Kirkley-hall,

He broke locks two or three;

Untill he came bold Robin to,

Then he fell on his knee;

"A boon, a boon," cries Little John,

"Muster, I beg of thee."

"What is that boon," quoth Robin Hood,

"Little John, thou begs of me?"

"It is to burn fair Kirkley-hall,

And all their nunnery."

"Now nay, now nay," quoth Robin Hood,

"That boon I'll not grant theo;

I never 'hurt' woman in all my life,

Nor man in woman's company.

"I never hurt fair maid in all my time,

Nor at nor end shall it be;

But give me my bent bow in my hand,

And a broad arrow I'll let flee;

And where this arrow is taken up,

There shall my grave digg'd be.

"Lay me a green sod under my head,

And another at my feet;

And lay my bent bow by my side,

Which was my music sweet;

And make my grave of gravel and green,

Which is most right and meet.

"Let me have length and breadth enough,

With a green sod under my head;

That they may say, when I am dead,

Here lies bold Robin Hood."

These words they readily promis'd him,

Which did bold Robin please:

And there they buried bold Robin Hood,

Near to the fair Kirkleys.

LORD SOULIS.

This ballad is the composition of John Leyden and accomplished writer. The hero of

Leyden: it was first published in the "Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border," and subsequently, in the collected works of the estima-

ted, with several other nobles of rank,

Page 483

into a conspiracy against Robert de Bruce, of such a hasty declaration: but they only

the object of which was the elevation of Soulis to the Scottish throne.*

" Local tradition," writes Sir Walter Scott, " more faithful to the popular sentiment than

history, has recorded the character of the chief, and attributed to him many actions

which seem to correspond with that character.

His portrait is by no means flattering; uniting every quality which could render strength

formidable, and cruelty detestable. Combining prodigious bodily strength with cruelty, avarice, dissimulation, and treachery, is

it surprising that a people, who attributed every event of life, in a great measure, to the

interference of good or evil spirits, should have added to such a character the mystical

horrors of sorcery? Thus, he is represented as a cruel tyrant and sorcerer ; constantly

employed in oppressing his vassals, harassing his neighbours, and fortifying his Castle of

Hermitage against the King of Scotland ; for which purpose he employed all means, human

and infernal ; invoking the fiends by his incantations, and forcing his vassals to drag

materials, like beasts of burden. Tradition proceeds to relate, that the Scottish King,

irritated by reiterated complaints, peevishly exclaimed to the petitioners, 'Boil him if you

please, but let me hear no more of him.' Satisfied with this answer, they proceeded

with the utmost haste to execute the commission ; which they accomplished by boiling

him alive on the Nine-stane Rig, in a cauldron said to have been long preserved at Skelfhill,

a hamlet betwixt Hawick and the Hermitage.

  • One of his accomplices, David de Brekaldn, was executed was mplew to the king, and his body was

he has ing concealed the treason in which he disdained to participate. " As the people thronged to the execution of

the gallant youth. they were bitterly rebuked by Sir Ingram de Umfraville, an English or Norman knight, then a

favourite follower of Robert Bruce. " Why press ye," said he, " to see the dismal catastrophe so lamentable a

knight? I have seen ye throng as eagerly around him to share his bounty, as now to behold his death." With these

words he turned from the scene of blood, and, repairing to the king, craved leave to sell his Scottish possessions, and

to retire from the country. 'My heart,' said Umfraville, ' will not, for the wealth of the world, permit me to dwell

any longer where I have seen such a knight die by the hands of the executioner.' With the king's leave, he

interred the body of David de Brekaldn, and his lands, and left Scotland for ever. The story is beautifully told by

Barbour, Book Iuith."

arrived in time to witness the conclusion of the ceremony. The Castle of Hermitage,

unable to support the load of iniquity which had been long accumulating within its walls,

is supposed to have partly sunk beneath the ground; and its ruins are still regarded by

the peasants with peculiar aversion and terror. The door of the chamber, where Lord

Soulis is said to have held his conferences with the evil spirits, is supposed to be

opened once in seven years, by that demon to which, when he left the castle never to

return, he committed the keys, by throwing them over his left shoulder, and desiring it to

keep them till his return. Into this chamber, which is really the dungeon of the castle, the

peasant is afraid to look; for such is the active malignity of its inmate, that a willow inserted

at the chinks of the door, is found peeled, or stripped of its bark, when drawn back. The

Nine-Stane Rig, where Lord Soulis was boiled,

is a declivity, about one mile in breadth and four in length, descending upon the Water of

Hermitage, from the range of hills which separate Liddesdale and Teviotdale. It derives its name from one of those circles of

large stones, which are termed Druidical, nine of which remained to a late period.

Five of these stones are still visible; and two are particularly pointed out, as those which

supported the iron bar upon which the fatal cauldron was suspended."

The ruins of the Castle of Hermitage still exist; and still, according to Stephen Oliver—

" Ramble in Northumberland, and on the Scottish Border,"—the neighbouring peasantry whisper of the evil spirit believed to

haunt it there, and who, after locking the door of the dungeon, had thrown the key

over his shoulder into the stream. The author also states that the cauldron, the muckle pot

in which Soulis was reported to have been boiled, is an old kettle, of no very extraordinary size, which was purchased by some

of the rebel army in 1715. The castle is now the property of the Duke of Buccleugh. It

was, in 1546, the residence of the Earl of Bothwell; and here Queen Mary is said to

have visited him, riding from Jedburgh to Hermitage, and back again, in one day. The

Earl was lying ill of a wound received from John Elliot of the Park, a desperate freebooter, whom he had attempted to apprehend.

Page 484

450

LORD SOULIS.

Sir Walter Scott considers that the idea of Lord Soulis' familiar was derived from the curious story of the "Spirit Orthono and the Lord of Corasse," which he prints in a note to the ballad, "in all its Gothic simplicity, as translated from Froissart, by the Lord of Borners." Orthono enters the service of the knight:-

"So this spyrite Orthonone lored so the knyght, that oftentymes he would come and vysyte him, whyle he lay in his bedde aslepe, and outher pull him by the care, or els stryke at his chambre dore or windewe. And whan the knyght awoke, than he would saye, 'Or-thone, lat me slepe.' 'Nay,' quod Orthono, 'that I will nat do, tyll I have shewed thee such tydinges as are fallen a-late.' The lady, the knyghtes wife, wolde be sore afrayd, that her heor wald stand up, and hyde hirself under the clothes. Than the knyght wolde saye, 'Why, what tydinges hast thou brought me?' Quod Orthono, 'I am come out of England, or out of Hungary, or some other place, and yesterclay I came hens, and such things are lallen, or such other.'"

The connexion between them was broken by the knight unwisely desiring to see the form of the spirit, with whose voice he had become familiar. Orthono appeared before him in the semblance of "a leane and yvell favoured sow." The knight set his hounds upon it, at which the spirit took offence, and never afterwards came to the "bedde syde" of the lord.

"The formation of ropes of sand, according to popular tradition, was a work of such difficulty, that it was assigned by Michael Scott to a number of spirits, for which it was necessary far him to find some interminable employment. Upon discovering the futility of their attempts to accomplish the work assigned, they petitioned their taskmaster to be allowed to mingle a few handfuls of barleychaff with the sand. On his refusal, they were forced to leave untwisted the ropes which they had shaped. Such is the traditionary hypothesis of the vermicular ridges of the sand on the shore of the sea."

Lord Soulis he sat in Hermitage Castle,

And beside him Old Redcap sly:-

"Now, tell me, thou sprite, who art meikle of might,

The death that I must die?"-

"While thou shalt bear a charmed life,

And hold that life of me,

'Gainst lance and arrow, sword and knife,

I shall thy warrant be.

"Nor forged steel, nor hempen band,

Shall e'er thy limbs confine,

Till threefold ropes of sifted sand

Aroand thy body twine."

"If danger press fast, knock thrice on the chest,

With rusty padlocks bound;

Turn away your eyes, when the lid shall rise,

And listen to the sound."

Lord Soulis he sat in Hermitage Castle,

And Redcap was not by :

And he called on a page, who was witty and sage,

To go to the barnkin high.

"And look thou east, and look thou west,

And quickly come tell to me,

What troopers haste along the waste,

And what may their livery be."

He looked over fell, and he looked o'er flat,

But nothing, I wist, he saw,

Save a pyot on a turret that sat

Beside a corby craw.

The page he looked at the skrieh of day,

But nothing, I wist, he saw,

Till a horseman gray, in the royal array,

Rode down the Hazel-shaw.

"Say, why do you cross o'er moor and moss?"

So loudly cried the page;

"I tidings bring, from Scotland's King,

To Soulis of Hermitage."

"He bids me tell that bloody warden,

Oppressor of low and high,

If ever again his lieges complain,

The cruel Soulis shall die."

By traitorous sleight they seized the knight,

Before he rode or ran,

And through the keystone of the vault

They plunged him both horse and man.


O May she came, and May she gaed,

By Goranberry green;

Page 485

And May she was the fairest maid

That ever yet was seen.

O May she came, and May she gaed,

By Goranberry tower;

And who was it but cruel Lord Soulis

That carried her from her bower?

He brought her to his castle gray,

By Hermitage's side;

Says—" Be content, my lovely May,

For thou shalt be my bride."

With her yellow hair, that glittered fair,

She dried the trickling tear;

She sighed the name of Branxholm's heir,

The youth that loved her dear.

" Now, be content, my bonny May,

And take it for your hame;

Or ever and aye shall ye rue the day

You heard Young Branxholm's name.

" O'er Branxholm tower, ere the morning hour,

When the lift is like lead sae blue,

The smoke shall roll white on the weary night,

And the flame shall shine dimly through."

Syne he's ca'd on him Ringan Red,

A sturdy kemp was he;

From friend, or foe, in Border feid,

Who never a foot would flee.

Red Ringan sped, and the spearmen led

Up Goranberry slack;

Ay, many a wight, unmatched in fight,

Who never more came back.

And bloody set the westering sun,

And bloody rose he up;

But little thought young Branxholm's heir

Where he that night should sup.

He shot the roebuck on the lee,

The dun deer on the law;

The glumour sure was in his ee

When Ringan nigh did draw.

O'er heathy edge, through rustling sedge,

He sped till day was set;

And he thought it was his merry men true,

When he the spearmen met.

Far from relief, they seized the chief;

His men were far away;

Through Hermitage slack they sent him back

To Soulis' castle gray;

Syne onward fare for Branxholm tower

Where all his merry-men lay.

" Now, welcome, noble Branxholm's heir!

Thrice welcome," quoth Soulis, "to me!

Say, dost thou repair to my castle fair,

My wedding guest to be?

And lovely May deserves, per fay,

A bride-man such as thee!"

And broad and bloody rose the sun,

And on the barnkin shone,

When the page was aware of Red Ringan

Who came riding all alone.

To the gate of the tower Lord Soulis he

speeds,

As he lighted at the wall,

Says—" Where did ye stable my stalwart steeds,

And where do they tarry all?"

" We stabled them sure, on the Tarras Muir;

We stabled them sure," quoth he—

" Before we could cross the quaking moss

They all were lost but me."

He clenched his fist, and he knocked on the

chest,

And he heard a stifled groan;

And at the third knock each rusty lock

Did open one by one.

He turned away his eyes as the lid did rise,

And he listened silentlie;

And he heard breath'd slow, in murmurs low,

" Beware of a coming tre!'"

In muttering sound the rest was drowned,

No other word heard he;

But slow as it rose, the lid did close

With the rusty pallucks three.

Now rose with Branxholm's ae brother

The Teviot, high and low;

Bauld Walter by name, of meikle fame,

For none could bend his bow.

Page 486

452

LORD SOULIS.

O'er glen and glade, to Soulis there sped

The fame of his array,

And that Teviotdale would soon assail

His towors and castle gray.

With clenchèd fist, he knocked on the chest,

And again he heard a groan ;

And he raised his eyes as the lid did rise,

But answer heard he none.

136

The charm was broke, when the spirit spoke,

And it murmured sullenlie,—

"Shut fast the door, and for evermore

Commit to me the key.

140

"Alas ! that ever thou raisedst thine eyes,

Thine eyes to look on me !

Till seven years are o'er, return no more,

For here thou must not be."

Think not but Soulis was woe to yield

145

His warlock chamber o'er ;

He took the keys from the rusty lock,

That never were ta'en before.

He threw them o'er his left shoulder,

With meikle care and pain ;

150

And he bade it keep them fathoms deep,

Till he returned again.

And still, when seven years are o'er,

Is heard the jarring sound ;

When slowly opes the charmed door

155

Of the chamber under ground.

And some within the chamber door

Have cast a curious eye ;

But none dare tell, for the spirits in hell,

The fearful sights they spy.

160


When Soulis thought on his merry-men now,

A woeful wight was he ;

Says—"Vengeance is mine, and I will not repine,

But Branxholm's heir shall die !

Says—"What would you do, young Branx-

holm,

165

Gin ye had me, as I have thee !"—

"I would take you to the good greenwood

And gar your ain hand wale the tree."

"Now shall thine ain hand wale the tree,

For all thy mirth and meikle pride ;

170

And May shall choose, if my love she refuse,

A serog bush the beside."

They carried him to the good greenwood

Where the green pines grew in a row ;

And they heard the cry, from the branches

high,

175

Of the hungry carrion crow.

They carried him on from tree to tree,

The spiry boughs below ;

"Say, shall it be thine, on the tapering pine

To feed the hooded crow ?'"

180

"The fir-tops fall by Branxholm wall,

When the night blast stirs the tree,

And it shall not be mine to die on the pine

I loved in infancie."

Young Branxholm turned him and oft looked

back,

185

And aye he passed from tree to tree ;

Young Branxholm peep'd, and puirly spake,

"O sic a death is no for me !"

And next they passed the aspin gray,

'Its leaves were rustling mournfullie ;

190

"Now choose thee, choose thee, Branxholm

gay !

Say, wilt thou never choose the tree ?"—

"More dear to me is the aspin gray,

More dear than any other tree ;

195

For, beneath the shade that its branches made,

Have pass'd the vows of my love and me."

Young Branxholm peep'd, and puirly spake,

Until he did his main men see,

With witches' hazel in each steel cap,

In scorn of Soulis' grumarye ;

200

Then shoulder-height for glee he lap,—

"Methinks I spy a coming tree !"—

"Ay, many may come, but few return :"

Quo' Soulis, the lord of gramarye ;

"No warrior's hand in fair Scotland

205

Shall ever dint a wound on me !"—

"Now, by my sooth," quo' bold Walter,

"If that be true we soon shall see."—

His bent bow he drew, and his arrow was

true,

But never a wound or scar had he.

210

Page 487

LORD SOULIS.

453

Then up bespake him true Thomas,

He was the lord of Ersytoun;

"The wizard's spell no steel can quell,

Till once your lances bear him down."—

They bore him down with lances bright, 215

But never a wound or scar had he;

With hempen hands they bound him tight,

Both hands and feet, on the Nine-stane

leo.

That wizard accurst, the bands he burst:

They moultdered at his magic spell; 220

And neck and heel, in the forged steel,

They bound him against the charms of

hell.

That wizard accurst, the bands he burst:

No forged steel his charms could bide:

Then up bespake him true Thomas, 225

"We'll bind him yet, whate'er betide."

The black spac-book from his breast he took,

Impressed with many a warlock spell,

And the book it was wrote by Michael Scott,

Who held in awe the fiends of hell. 230

They buried it deep, where his bones they sleep,

'That mortal man might never it see;

But Thomas did save it from the grave

When he returned from Faërie. 234

The black spac-book from his breast he took,

And turned the leaves with curious hand;

No ropes, did he find, the wizard could bind,

But threefold ropes of sifted sand.

They sifted the sand from the Nine-stane

burn,

And shaped the ropes sae curionslie; 240

But the ropes would neither twist nor twine

For Thomas true and his gramarye.

The black spac-book from his breast he took,

And again he turn'd it with his hand

And he bade each lad of Teviot add 245

The barley chaff to the sifted sand.

The barley chaff to the sifted sand

They added still by handfuls nine:

But Redcap sly unseen was by,

And the ropes would neither twist nor

twine. 250

And still beside the Nine-stane burn,

Lith'd like the sand at mark of sea,

The ropes that would not twist nor turn

Shaped of the sifted sand you see.

The black spac-book true Thomas he took,

Again its magic leaves he spread; 256

And he found that to quell the powerful

spell,

The wizard must be boiled in lead.*

On a circle of stones they placed the pot,

On a circle of stones but barely nine ; 260

They heated it red and fiery hot,

Till the burnished brass did glimmer and

shine.

They roll'd him up in a sheet of lead,

A sheet of lead for a funeral pall;

They plunged him in the cauldron red, 265

And melted him, lead, bones, and all.

At the Skelf-hill, the cauldron still

The men of Liddesdale can shew;

And on the spot, where they boiled the pot,

The spreat and the deer-hair ne'er shall

grow. 270

  • "The tradition concerning the death of Lord Soulis,"

will be sir Walter Scott's "not without a parallel in the oral

history of Scotland." Melville, in his Memoirs, chief of the

Marquis, was delighted by the Baron of his family's having been made to

James 1, the monarch answered, in a moment of ungracious impatience, "Sorrow gin the sheriff were a lair, and sippit in his drink !" The words were construed literally

The barons prepared a fire and a boiling cauldron, into

which they plunged the unlucky sheriff.

Page 488

454

THE FRERE AND THE BOYE.

The frere and the boye: A Mery Gestc.

This well-known tale is furnished, in its present dress, by a copy in the public library of the University of Cambridge, "Enprynted at London in Flote strete at the sygne of the sonne by Wynkyn de Worde;" compared with a later edition in the Bodleian library, "Imprinted at London at the long shop adionyning vnto Saint Mildreds Church in the Pultrie by Edward Alde;" both in quarto and black-letter, and of singular rarity, no duplicate of either being known to exist.* There is, indeed, a very old, though at the same time a most vulgar and corrupted copy extant in the first of those libraries (MSS. More, Ea. 4, 35), under the title of "The Cheylde and his step-dame," of which, besides that almost every line exhibits a various reading, the concluding stanzas are entirely different, and have, on that account, been thought worth preserving. But the most ancient copy of all would probably have been one in the Cotton library, if the volume which contained it had not unfortunately perished, with many things of greater importance, in the dreadful fire which happened in that noble repository, anno 1731. Vide Smith's Catalogue, Vitellius D. XII.

From the mention made in verse 429 of the city of "Orlyaunce," and the character of the "Offycal," it may be conjectured that this poem is of French extraction; and, indeed, it is not at all improbable that the original is extant in some collection of old Fabliaux. A punishment similar to that of the good wife in this story, appears to have been inflicted on the widow of a St. Gongulph, for presuming to question the reality of her husband's miracles. See Heywood's History of Women, p. 196.

God that dyed for vs all, And dranke both eysell and gall Brynge vs out of bale, And gyue them good lyfo and longe That lysteneth to my songe, Or tendeth to my tale.

  • There was once a copy of one or other of the above editions, or some different impression, with divers other curious pieces, in the printed library of Anthony à Wood (No. 65); but the article, with others of the like nature, appears to have been clandestinely taken out.

There dwelled an husbonde in my countre That had wynes thre, By proces of tyme, By the fyrst wyfe a sone he had, That was a good sturdy ladde, And an happy lyne. His fader loued hym weel, So dyde his moder neuer a dele, I tell you as I thinke ; All she thought was lost, by the rode, That dyde the lytell boye ony good, Other mete or drynke. And yet y wys it was but badde, And therof not halfo ynough he had, But euermore of the worste: Therfore cuyll mote she fare, For cuer she dyde the lytell boye care, As ferforth as she dorste. The good wyfe to her husbonde gan saye, I wolde ye wolde put this boye awaye, And that ryght soone in haste ; Truly he is a cursed ladde, I wolde some other man bym had, That wolde hym better chaste. Then sayd the good man agayne, Dame, I shall to the sayne, He is but tendor of age ; He shall abyde with me this yere, Tyll he be more strongere, For to wynne better wage. We haue a man, a stoute freke, That in the felde kepeth our nete, Slepynge all the daye, He shall come home, so god me shelde, And the boye shall into the felde, To kepe our beestes yf he may. Then sayd the wyfe, verament, Therto soone I assent, For that me thinketh moost nedy. On the morowe whan it was daye, The lytell boye wente on his waye, To the felde full redy ; Of no man he had no care, But sung, hey howe, awaye the mare,* And made ioye ynough ; Forth he wente, truly to sayne,

  • This seems to have been the beginning or title of some old ballad. Maystress Tylly of Brentford takes notice of it in her "Testament," fto. b. 1.

"Ah syrra, mary a way the mare."

Page 489

THE FRERE AND THE BOYE.

455

Tyll he came to the plaync,

Hys dyner furth he drough:

Whan he sawe it was but bad,

Ful lyttell lust ther to he had,

But put it vp agayne;

Therfore he was not to wyte,

He sayd he wolde ete but lytell

Fyll nyght that he home came.

And as the boye sate on a hyll,

An olde man came hym byll,

Walkynge by the waye;

Sone, he sayde, god the se.

Syr, welcom mote ye be,

The lyttell boye gan saye.

The olde man sayd, I am an hungred sore,

Hast thou ony mete in store,

That thou mayst gyue me?

The chylde sayd, so god me saue,

To suche vytayle as I haue

Welcom shall ye be.

Therof the olde man was gladde,

The boye drewe furth suche as he had,

And sayd, do gladly.

The olde man was easy to please,

He ete and made hym well at ease,

And sayd, sone, gramercy.

Sone, thou haste gyuen mete to me,

I shall the gyue thynge thre,

Thou shalt them neuer forgete.

Then sayd the boye, as I trowe,

It is best that I haue a bowe,

Byrdes for to 'shete.'

A bowe, sone, I shall the gyue,

That shall last the all thy lyue,

And euer a lyke mote,

Shote therin whan thou good thynke,

For yf thou shote and wytake,

The pryke thou shalte byte.

Whan he the bowe in hande felte,

And the boltes vnder his belte,

Lowde than he laughe;

He sayd, now had I a pype,

Though it were neuer so lyte,

Than were I gladde ynough.

A pype, sone, thou shalte haue also,

In true musyke it shal go,

I put thec out of doute;

All that may thy 'pype' here

Shall not themself stere.

But laugh and lep abonte.

What shall the thy ryle be?

For I wyll gyue the gyftes thre,

Ver. 60, came home, Ha W. V. 81. shote, Do W. shoute,

A. V. 99, I do the well wyte, Do W.

As I haue sayd before.

The lyttell boye on hym lough,

And sayd, syr, I haue ynowgh,

I wyll desyre no more.

The olde man sayd, my trouthe I plyght,

Thou shalte haue that I the hyghte;

Say on now and let me se.

Than sayd the boye anone,

I haue a stepdame at home,

She is a shrewe to me:

Whan my fader gyueth me mete,

She wold therof that I were reke,

And stareth me in the face;

Whan she loketh on me so,

I wold she sholde let a ruppe go,

That it myght rynge ouer all the place,

Than sayd the olde man tho,

Whan she loketh on the so

She shall begyn to blowe;

All that euer it may here

Shall not themself stere,

But laugh on a rowe.

Farewell, quod the olde man.

God kepe the, sayd the chylde than,

I take my leue at the;

God, that most bost may,

Kepe the bothe nyght and day.

Gramercy, sone, sayd he.

Than drewe it towarde the nyght,

Iacke hym hyded home full ryght,

It was his ordyinance;

He toke his pype and began to blowe,

All his bestes on a rowe,

Aboute hym they can daunce.

Thus wente he pypinge through the towne,

His bestes hym followed by the sonne,

Into his fadres close;

He wente and put them vp echone,

Homewarde he wente anone,

Into his fadres hall he go.

His fader at his super sat,

Lytell lacke spyed well that,

And sayd to hym anone,

Fader, I haue kepte your mete,

I praye you gyue me some mete,

I am an hungred, by sayut thone

I haue sytten mete lese

All this daye kepynge your bestes,

My dyner fole it was.

His fader toke a cupful wyn,

And at the boye he gan it flynge,

And badde hym ete apace.

Ver. 105, to the before. Idem.

Page 490

456

THE FRERE AND THE BOYE.

That greued his stepmodors herte sore,

As I tolde you before,

She stared hym in the face,

With that she let go a blaste,

That they in the hall were agaste,

It range ouer all the place.

All they laughed and had good game,

The wyfe waxed red for shame,

She wolde that she had ben gone.

Quod the boye, well I wote,

That gonne was well shote,

As it had ben a stone.

Cursedly she loked on him tho,

Another blaste she let go,

She was almoost reute.

Quod the boye, wyll ye se

How my dame letteth pelletes fle,

In fayth or euer she stynte ?

The boye sayde vnto his dame,

Tempre thy bombe, he sayd, for shame :

She was full of sorowc.

Dame, sayd the good man, go thy waye,

For I swere to the by my faye,

Thy gere is not to borowe.

Afterwarde as ye shall here,

To the hous there came a frere,

To lye there all nyght;

The wyfe loued him as a saynt,

And to hym made her complaynt,

And tolde hym all aryght :

Wee haue a boye within ywys,

A shrewe for the nones he is,

He dooth me moche care;

I dare not loke hym vpon

I am ashamed, by Saynt Iohn,

To tell you how I fare :

I praye you mete the boy tomorowe,

Bete hym well and gyue hym sorowe,

And make the boye lame.

Quod the frere, I shall hym bete.

Quod the wyfe, do not forgete,

He dooth me moche shame :

I trowe the boye be some wytche.

Quod the frere, I shall hym teche,

Haue thou no care;

I shall hym teche yf I may.

Quod the wyfe, I the praye,

Do hym not spare.

On the morowe the boye arose,

Into the felde soune he gose,

His beestes for to dryue :

The frere ranne out at the gate,

He was a ferdo leest he came to late,

He ranne fast and blyue.

Whan he came vpon the londe,

Lytoll Iacke there he fonde,

Dryuynge his beestes all alone ;

Boye, he sayd, god gyue the shame,

What hast thou done to thy dame ?

Tell thou me anone ;

But yf thou canst excuse the well,

By my trouthe bete the I wyll,

I wyll no lenger abyde.

Quod the boye, what eyleth the ?

My dame fareth as well as ye,

What nedeth ye to chide ?

Quod the boye, wyll ye wete

How I can a byrde shete,

And other thynge withall ?

Syr, he sayd, though I be lyte,

Yonder byrde wyll I smyte,

And gyue her the I shall.

There sate a byrde vpon a brere,

Shote on boy, quod the frere,

For that me lysteth to se.

He hytt the byrde on the heed,

That she fell downe deed,

No ferder myght she flee.

The frere to the busshe went,

Vp the byrde for to hente,

He thought it best for to done.

Iacke toke his pyype and began to blowe,

Then the frere, as I trowe,

Began to daunce soone ;

As soone as he the pype herd,

Lyke a wood man he fared,

He lepte and daunced aboute ;

The breres scratched hym in the face,

And in many an other place,

That the blode brast out ;

And tare his clothes by and by,

His cope and his seapalary,

And all his other wede.

He daunced amonge thornes thycke,

In many places they dyde hym prycke,

That fast gan he blede.

Iacke pyped and laughed amonge,

The frere among the thornes was thronge,

He hoppyd wunders hye ;

Ver. 211, So A. and MS. a londe. De W.

Ver. 255.

A hoppyd wonderlay hey ;

The boy seyde, and lowhe with all,

Thys ys a sport ryall,

For a lord to se. MS. More.

Ver. 180, So A. and MS. all omitted in De W.

Page 491

THE FRERE AND THE BOYE.

At the last he held vp his honde,

And sayd I haue daunced so longe,

That I am lyke to dye;

Gentyll Jacke, holde thy pype styll,

And my trouthe I plyght the tyll,

I will do the no woo.

Jacke sayd, in that tide,

Frere skyppe out on the ferder syde,

Lyghtly that thou were goo.

The frere out of the busshe wente

All to ragged and to rente,

And torne on euery sydc;

Unnethes on hym he had one clonte,

His bely fur to wrappe aboute;

His harneys for to hyde.

The breres had hym seratched so in the face,

And [in] many an other place,

He was all to bledde with blode;

All that myght the frere se,

Were fayne awaye to flee,

They wende he had ben wode.

Whan he came to his host,

Of his iourney he made no boost,

His clothes were rente all;

Moche sorowe in his herte he had,

And euery man hym dradde,

Whan he came in to the hall.

The wyfe sayd, where hast thou bene?

In an euyll place I wene,

Me thynketh by thyn arraye.

Dame, I haue hen with thy sone,

The deuyll of hell hym ouercome,

For no man elles may.

With that came in the good man,

The wife sayd to hym than,

Here is a foule araye;

Thy sone that is the lefe and dere,

Hath almoost slayno this holy frere,

Alas! and welawaye!

The good man sayd, benedicite!

What hath the boye done frere to the?

Tell me withoute lette.

The frere sayd, the deuyll hym spede,

He hath made me daunce, maugre my hede,

Amongc the thornes, hey go betto.*

The good man sayd to hym tho,

Haddest thou lost thy lyfe so,

It had ben grete synne.

The frere sayd, by our lady,

The pype went so meryly,

That I coude neuer blynne.

Whan it drewe towarde the nyght,

The boye came home full ryght,

As he was wont to do;

Whan he came into the hall,

Soone his fader gan hym call,

And badde hym to come hym to.

Boye, he sayd, tell me here,

What hast thou done to the frere?

Tell me without lesynge.

Fader, he sayd, by my fye,

I dycle nought elles, as I you saye,

But pyped him a sprynge.

That pype, sayd his fader, wold I here.

Mary, god forbidde sayd the frere;

His handes he dyde wrynge.

Yes, sayd the good man, by goddes grace.

Then, sayd the frere, out alas!

And made grete mouraynge.

For the loue of god, quod the frere,

If ye wyll that pype here,

Bydde me to a messe;

For I knoure nune other rede,

And I daunce I am but deed,

Well I wote my lyfe is lost.

Stronge ropes they toke in honde,

The frere to the poste they bonde,

In the myddle of the halle;

All that at the souper sat

Laughed and had good game thereat,

And sayd the frere wolde not fall.

Than sayd the good man,

Pype sonne, as thou can,

Hardely whan thou wylle.

Fader, he sayd, so mote I the,

Hane ye shall ynowgh of gle,

Tyll ye bydcle me to stylle.

As suon as Iacke the pype hent,

All that there were verament,

Began to daunce and lepe;

Whan they gun the pype here,

They myght not themselfe stere,

But hurled on an hepe.

The good man was in no dyspayre,

But lyghtly lepte out of his chayre,

All with a good chere;

Some lepte ouer the stocke,

Some stombled at the blocke,

And some fell flatte in the fyre.

The good man had grete game,

How they daunced all in same;

The good wyfe after gull steppe,

*The name, it is probable, of some old daunce. To

"dance hy go mad," is still a common expression in the North.

Ver. 312, His fadir dyde hym sone call, Dn W. V. 337,

that he pype, Do W. V. 309, Pype on good sone, Dn W.

Page 492

458

THE FRIERE AND THE BOYE.

Euermore she kest her eye at Iacke,

And fast her tayle began to cracke,

Lowder than they coude speke.

The frere hymselfe was almoost lost,

For knockynge his heed ayenst the post,

He had none other grace;

The rope rubbed hym vnder the chyne,

That the blade downe dyde ryne,

In many a dyuers place.

Iacke ranue into the strete,

After hym fast dyde they lepe,

Truly they coude not stynte;

They went out at the dore so thycke,

That oche man fell on others necke,

So prettely out they wente.

Neyghbours that were fast by,

Herde the pype go so meryly,

They ranno into the gate;

Some left ouer the latche,

They had no time to drawe the latche,

They wende they had come to late.

Some laye in theyr bedde,

And helde vp theyr hedo,

A none they were waked;

Some sorte in the ware,

Truly as I you saye,

Stark bely nakid.

By that they were gadred aboute,

I wys there was a grete route,

Dauncynge in the strete;

Some were lame and myght not go,

But yet ywys they daunced to,

On handes and on fete.

The boye ayd, now wyll I rest.

Quod the good man, I holde it best,

With a mery chere;

Sease, son, whan thou wylte,

In fayth this is the meryest fytte

That I herde this souen yere.

Thoy daunced all in same,

Some laughed and had good game

And some had many a fall.

Thou cursed boye, quod the frere,

Hera I somon that thou apper

Before the offyeyall;

Loke thou be there on Frydaye,

I wyll the mote and I may,

For to ordeyne the sorowe.

The boye sayd, by god anoure,

Frere, I am as redy as thou,

And Frydaye were to morowe.

Ver. 361, Lowde, De W. V. 302, They, W. V. 402, 403,

V som' the affor the comserey, MS.

Frydaye came as ye may here,

Iackes stepdame and the frere

Togedor thoro they mette;

Folke gadered a grete pase,

To here euery mannes case,

The offyeyall was sette.

There was moche to do,

Maters more than one or two,

Both with preest and clerke;

Some had testamentes for to preue,

And fayre women, by your leue,

That had strokes in the derke.

Euery man put forth his case,

Then came forth frere Topyas,

And Iackes stepdame also;

Syr offyeyall, said he,

I haue brought a boye to thee,

Which hath wrought me moche woe;

He is a grete nygromancere

In all Orlyaunce is not his pere,

As by my trouthe I trowde.

He is a wytche, quod the wyfe;

Than, as I shall tell you blythe,

Lowde coude she blowe.

Some laughed without fayle,

Some sayd, dame, tempre thy tayle,

Yo wreste it all amysse.

Dame, quod the offyeyall,

Tel forth on thy tale,

Lette not for this.

The wyfe was afrayed of an other cracke,

That no worde more she spakke,

She durste not for drede.

The frere sayd, so mote I the,

Knaue, this is long of the

That euyll mote thou spede.

The frere sayd, syr offyoyall,

The boye wyll cumbre vs all;

But yf ye may him chaste;

Syr, he hath a pype truly,

Wyll make you daunce and lepe on hye,

Tyll your herte braste.

The offyeyall sayd, so mot I the,

That pype wolde I fayne se,

Ver. 423, Than cam sorot capias, MS. V. 432, blyue, A

That pype wely so,

He seyde, boye, hest thou her?

Ye seer, be mey ffay,

Anon pype we as lay,

And make vs al cher.

The offyciall the pype bent,

And blow tell his brow hen bent,

Bot therof cam no glo;

Tho offyciall seyde, this ys nowth,

Be god that me der bowthe,

Page 493

THE FRERE AND THE BOYE.

459

And knowe what myrth that he can make.

Mary, god forbede, than sayd the frere,

That he sholde pype here,

456

Afore that I hens the waye take.

Pype on, Iacke, sayd the offyeyall,

I wyll here now how thou canst playe.

Iacke blewe vp, the sothe to saye,

460

And made them soone to daunce all.

The offyeyall lepte ouer the deske,

And daunced aboute wonder faste,

Tyll bothe his shynnys he all to brest,

465

Hym thought it was not of the best,

Than cryed he vnto the chylde,

To pype no more within this place,

But to holde stylle for gudles grace,

And for the loue of Mary mylde.

470

Than sayd Iacke to them echone,

If ye wolde me graunte with herte fre,

That he shall do me no vylany,

But hens to departe euen as I come.

475

Therto they answerd all anone,

And promysed him anone ryght,

In his quarell for to fyght,

And defende hym from his foon,

Thus they departed in that tyde,

The offyeyall and the sompnere,

His stepdame and the frere,

480

With great ioye and mochel pryde.

And a nethe the meyt hope.

The offyciall began to star,

And sayde, loke for they heyr,

Stent of they lay,

And boldely haske of me,

What thou wolt haue for thy gle,

Y schall the redey pay.

Then to stend Jake began,

The offyciall was a wery man,

Mey trowet y pleyt y the,

Thys was a gret gle,

And serde the worst that euer they se,

For but was er myth.

Then bespake the offyciall,

And ley tley Gake can call,

Hes pype he be hent,

And gaffe hem xx. s.

And euer mor hes blesyng,

For that mercyey fet.

Whan Gake had that money hent,

Anon homard he went,

Glad shorof was he;

He waxed a worldely marchand,

A man of gret dycre.

Hes stepdame, y dur say,

Dorot neuer after that day,

Nat wondy ones dysples.

They loydy beryd all thre,

Hes father, hes stepdame and he,

After yn gret eya.

And that they ded, wyt to say,

Tho hewyn they toke the way,

Withowtyn ony mus.

Now god that dyed for os all,

And drankte ayeld and gall,

Bryng them all to they blys.

That belouel on the name Jhē

Page 494

460

KEMPION.

K e m p i o n .

We copy this ballad from the "Minstrelsy | the stream carried away the dissevered parts,

of the Scottish Border;" where it is given | and thus prevented their subsequent adhesion.

"chiefly" from "Mrs. Brown's MS." with | The knight had promised, however, that he

"corrections from a recited fragment." Sir | would slay the first living thing that met him

Walter Scott, in some prefatory remarks, re- | after his victory; this chanced to be his

fers to several traditionary anecdotes, still | father, and, as he refused to keep his vow,

current in Scotland and on the borders, con- | it was decreed that no chief of his family

cerning huge and poisonous snakes, or | should die in his bed for nine generations.

"worms," destroyed by gallant knights in | Popular tradition continues to point out the

the olden time. The manor of Sockburne, | scene of the encounter. Stories of men and

in the bishopric of Durham, is held of the | women transformed into monsters are suffi-

bishop by the service of presenting to him | ciently numerous, and have been found

on his first entrance into his diocese, an an- | among every people. Many such exist in

tique sword or falchion, to commemorate the | England, in Scotland, and in Ireland; in the

slaying of a monstrous creature that devoured | latter country they are invariably supposed

men, women, and children,—by Sir John | to occupy lakes of unfathomed depth, out of

Conyers, who received the manor as a reward | which they occasionally arise and make ex-

for his bravery. Pollard's lands, near Bishop | cursions among adjacent mountains, bearing

Auckland, are held by a similar tenure; and | with them to their "palaces" beneath the

is said to have performed a deed as wonder- | waters, the cattle of some unhappy "neigh-

ful—by thrusting down the throat of the | bour," and not unfrequently the neighbour

snake a burning peat, "bedabbled with pitch, | himself. The origin of the superstition is

rosett, and brimstone." A rude sculpture | believed to have been Danish. The tradi-

carved above the entrance to the ancient | tions of Denmark are full of such romances;

church at Linton in Roxburghshire, is said | and it is more than probable, that it may

to represent this exploit; of which "the val- | have been introduced, by its sea-kings, into

gar tell us,"—

The wode Laird of Larieston | The ballad of Kempion," writes Sir Wal-

Slew the wode worm of Wormiestoune, | ter Scott, "seems, from the names of the per-

And wan all Lintaun parochine. | sonages and the nature of the adventure, to

The story of the "Lambton worm" as re- | have been an old real romance degraded

corded in Surtees' "History of Durham," is | into a ballad by the lapse of time, and the

still more remarkable. The heir of Lambton, | corruption of reciters." The allusion to the

profanely fishing on a sabbath day, hooked a | "arblast bow" would seem to affix the com-

small worm or elf, which he carelessly threw | position to a remote date.* Two ballads

into a well; in process of time it grew to a | which relate to a similar incident have been

huge size, and made prey of the whole country, | preserved; one entitled "Kemp Owyne," by

levying a contribution daily of "nine cows' | Mr. Motherwell, and another "The Laidly

milk," and, in default of payment, devouring | Worm of Spindleston-Heugh," affirmed to

man and beast. The heir who had wrought | have been composed, in 1270, by Duncan

the mischief, returning from the crusades, | Frazier, "living on Cheviot," but supposed

determined to destroy it; and, by the advice | to have been, at least re-written, by Mr.

of a witch, or wise woman, clad himself in a | Robert Lambe, vicar of Norham. In "Kemp

coat of mail studded with razor blades: select- | Owyne," 'dove Isabel' is transformed into a

ing as the scene of battle the middle of a river, | monster by her stepmother, and doomed to

so that as fast as the worm was cut to pieces | retain her savage form—

  • The string of the arbalast, or arbalist, was drawn to | * The string of the arbalast, or arbalist, was drawn to

the notch in the centre by means of a wheel, which was | the notch in the centre by means of a wheel, which was

usually hung to the girdle of the archer. | usually hung to the girdle of the archer.

Page 495

Till Kemp Owyne come ower the sea

And borrow her with kisses three.

"Cum heir, cum heir, ye freely fee'd,

And lay your head low on my knee,

The heaviest weirld I will you read,

That ever was read to gay ladye.

"O meikle dolour sall ye dree,

And aye the salt seas o'er ye'se swim;

And far mair dolour sall ye dree

On Estmere crags, when ye them climb.

The three kisses are of course given; when, instead of the beast "whose breath was

etrang, whose hair was lang,"—

Her breath was sweet, her hair grew short,

And twisted nane about the tree;

And, smilingly, she came about,

As fair a woman as fair could be.

"I weirld ye to a fiery beast,

And relieved sall ye never be,

Till Kempion, the kingis son,

Cum to the crag, and thrice kiss thee."—

The ballad of the "Laidly (loathsome) Worm" was no doubt greatly altered by Mr.

Lambe, but there is evidence that the story was "generally known in Northumberland"

long before he printed the version attributed to Duncan Frazier; and it is to be regretted

that he did not communicate it as he received it—stripi of its "amendments and enlargements."

In this ballad, the daughter of the King of Bamborough is metamorphosed by her step-mother, and restored to her natural

shape by her brother "Childy Wynd," who avenges the wrong done to his sister by converting the foul witch into a toad.

As in "Kempion," and "Kemp Owyne," the restoration to humanity is effected by "kisses three:"—

"O, quit thy sword and bend thy bow,

And give me kisses three;

For though I am a poisonous worm,

No hurt I'll do to thee.

"O, quit thy sword and bend thy bow,

And give me kisses three;

If I'm not wun, ere the sun goes down,

Won I shall never be."

O meikle dolour did she dree,

And aye the salt seas o'er she swam;

And far mair dolour did she dree

On Estmere crags, when she them clamb:

He quitted his sword and bent his bow,

And gave her kisses three;

She crept into a hole a worm,

But out stept a lady.

And aye she cried for Kempion,

Gin he would but come to her hand.

Now word has gane to Kempion,

That sicken a beast was in his land.

Percy prints the ballad of the "Witch of Wokey," written in 1748, by the ingenious

Dr. Harrington of Bath. She "blasted every plant around;" and was encountered, not by a knight, but by a "lerned wight," who having chauntede out a goodlie booke, and

sprinkled, plentifully, holy water,—

Lo, where stood a hag before,

Now stood a ghastly stone!

"Now, by my sooth," said Kempion,

"This fiery beast I'll gang and see."—

"And by my sooth," said Segramour,

"My ae brother, I'll gang wi' thee."

Then bigged hae they a bonny boat,

And they hae set her to the sea;

But a mile before they reached the shore,

Around them she gared the red fire flee.

"O Segramour, keep the boat afloat,

And let her na the land o'er hear;

For this wicked beast will sure gae mad,

And set fire to a' the land and mair."—

Syne has he bent an arblast bow,

And aimed an arrow at her head;

And swore if she didna quit the land,

Wi' that same shaft to shoot her dead.

"O out of my stythe I winna rise,

(And it is not for the awe o' thee,)

Till Kempion, the kingis son,

Cum to the crag, and thrice kiss me."—

He has lounted him o'er the dizzy crag,

And gien the monster kisses ane;

Awa she gaed, and again she cam,

The fieryest beast that ever was seen.

Page 496

432

THE DEMON LOVER.

"O out o' my stythe I winna rise,

(And not for a' thy bows nor thee,)

Till Kempion, the kingis son,

Cum to the crag, and thrice kiss me."—

He's louted him o'er the Estmere crag,

And he has gi'en her kisses twa :

Awa she gaed, and again she cam,

The fieryeset beast that ever you saw.

"O out of my den I winna rise,

Nor flee it for the fear o' thee,

Till Kempion, that courteous knight,

Cum to the crag, and thrice kiss me."—

He's louted him o'er the lofty crag,

And he has gi'en her kisses threo :

Awa she gaed, and again she cam,

The loveliest ladye e'er could be !

"And by my sooth," says Kempion,

"My ain true love, (for this is she,)

They surely had a heart o' stane,

Could put thee to such misery.

42

"O was it warwolf* in the wood ?

Or was it mermaid in the sea ?

Or was it man or vile woman,

My ain true love, that mis-shaped thee ?"—

"It wasna warwolf in the wood,

Nor was it mermaid in the sea :

But it was my wicked step-mother,

And wae and weary may she be !"—

"O, a heavier weird shall light her on,

Than ever fell on vile woman ;

Her hair shall grow rough,

And her teeth grow lang,

And on her four feet shall she gang.

"None shall take pity her upon ;

In Wormeswood she aye shall wan ;

And relieved shall she never be,

Till St. Mungo come over the sea."—

And sighing said that weary wight,

"I doubt that day I'll never see !"

65

50

70

55

60

75

80

The Demon Lover.

This ballad first appeared in the "Min-strelsy of the Scottish Border ;" it was communicated to Sir Walter Scott by Mr. William Laidlaw, by whom it was "taken down from recitation." Mr. Motherwell, by whom it was reprinted in his valuable volume, "Min-strelsy, Ancient and Modern," surmises that, "although it would be unfair for a moment to imagine that Sir Walter Scott made any addition to it, Mr. Laidlaw may have improved upon its naked original." That he did so, is by no means unlikely ; nor is it very improbable that, in passing through the alembic of the great Magician of the North, it received additional purity, without losing aught of its intrinsic worth. Mr. Motherwell, "with all his industry, was unable to find it in a more perfect state than this,"—which the reader will be interested in comparing with the appended copy from the "Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border :"—

"I have seven ship upon the sea

Laden with the finest gold,

And mariners to wait us upon—

All these you may behold.

"And I have shoes for my love's feet,

Beaten of the purest gold,

And lined with the velvet soft,

To keep my love's feet from the cold

"O how do you love the ship," he said,

"Or how do you love the sea ?

Or how do you love the bold mariners,

That wait upon thee and me ?"

"O I do love the ship," she said,

"And I do love the sea :

But woe be to the dim mariners,

That nowhere I can see."

They had not sailed a mile awa',

Never a mile but one,

When she began to weep and mourn,

And to think on her little wee son,

  • Warwolf signifies a magician, possessing the power of transforming himself into a wolf, for the purpose of ravage and destruction.

Page 497

"O hold your tongue, my dear," he said,

"And let all your weeping abee,

For I'll soon show to you how the lilies grow

On the banks of Italy."

They had not sailed a mile awa',

Never a mile but two,

Until she espied his cloven foot,

From his gay robes sticking thro'.

They had not sailed a mile awa',

Never a mile but three,

When dark dark grew his eerie looks,

And raging grew the sea.

They had not sailed a mile awa',

Never a mile but four,

When the little wee ship ran round about

And never was seen more.

If this be, in reality, the skeleton which

Mr. Laidlaw clothed in sinews and flesh, he

has given unquestionable proof of genius of

a very rare order. There is, however, little

doubt that he had actually "taken down,

from recitation," a much more perfect copy,

to which he gave some "finishing touches"

of his own; for the composition bears un-

equivocal marks of old time; and a collateral

proof of its antiquity, in a more extended

form, is supplied by an authority, to which

reference is made by the accomplished editor

of the latest edition of the "Border Min-

strelsy." Mr. Buchan, in his "Ancient

Ballads and Songs of the North of Scotland,

hitherto unpublished," prints another version

of the story, under the title of "James Her-

ries;" with this difference, however, that

here, the lover, who wreaks his vengeance on

the "false woman," is not a demon with a

"cloven foot," but the ghost of a "first true

love;"—the other incidents are precisely

similar, and many of the lines are exactly

the same; although as a whole it is far less

grand, touching, and dramatic, than the ver-

sion as preserved by Sir Walter Scott. Mr.

Buchan gives three additional stanzas, de-

scriptive of the misery of the betrayed hus-

band; they are fine and effective, and contri-

bute strongly to impress the moral of the

tale:—

50

"O woe be to the ship, the ship,

And woe be to the sea;

And woe be to the mariners

Took Jeanie Douglas frae me!

"O bonny, bonny was my love,

A pleasure to behold;

The very hair o' my love's head

Was like the threads of gold.

"O bonny was her cheek, her cheek,

And bonny was her chin;

And bonny was the bride she was,

The day she was made mine."

The legend contained in the ballad is, ac-

cording to Sir Walter Scott, "in various

shapes current in Scotland;" but it is by no

means peculiar to that country. Similar

stories are told in many of the English coun-

ties; and in Ireland it is very common; the

moral conveying a warning against the crime

of infidelity. Sir Walter says, "I remember

to have heard a ballad, in which a fiend is

introduced paying his addresses to a beauti-

ful maiden; but, disconcerted by the holy

herbs she wore in her bosom, makes the fol-

lowing lines the burthen of his courtship;—

'Gin ye wish to be leman mine,

Lay aside the St. John's wort, and the ver-

vain.'"

The same power of keeping away evil spirits

is attributed to the vervain in Ireland; where,

when it is pulled by village mediciners, while

the morning dew is on the ground, this verse

is generally repeated:—

"Vervain, thou growest upon holy ground,

In Mount Calvary thou wert found;

Thou curest all sores and all diseases,

And in the name of Holy Jesus,

I pull you out of the ground."

The unhappy lady whose fate is described

in the accompanying ballad had no such

"protection," and was without that surer

safeguard, to which the great poet refers as

a possession, "'er which

No goblin or swart fairy of the mine

Hath hurtful power.

Page 498

464

THE DEMON LOVER.

"O where have you been my long, long love,|This long seven years and mair?"

"O I'm come to seek my former vows,|Ye granted me before."

"O hold your tongue of your former vows,|For they will breed sad strife;

O hold your tongue of your former vows,|For I am become a wife."

He turned him right and round about,|And the tear blinded his e'e;

"I wad never hae trodden on Irish ground,|If it had not been for thee."

"I might have had a king's daughter,|Far far beyond the sea;

I might have had a king's daughter,|Had it not been for love o' thee."

"If ye might have had a king's daughter,|Yersell ye had to blame;

Ye might have taken the king's daughter,|For ye kend that I was nane."

"O false are the vows o' womankind,|But fair is their false bodie;

I never would hae trodden on Irish ground,|Had it not been for love o' thee."

"If I was to leave my husband dear,|And my two babes also,

O what have you to take me to,|If with you I should go?"

"I have seven ships upon the sea,|The eighth brought me to land;

With four and twenty bold mariners,|And music on every hand."

She has taken up her two little babes,|Kissed them baith cheek and chin:

"O fare ye weel, my ain two babes,|For I'll never see you again."

She set her foot upon the ship,|No mariners could she behold;

But the sails were o' the taffetie,|And the masts o' the beaten gold.

She had not sailed a league, a league,|A league but barely three,

When dismal grew his countenance,|And drumlie grew his e'e.

The masts that were like the beaten gold,|Bent not on the heaving seas;

And the sails, that were o' the taffetie,|Fillod not in the eastland breeze.

They had not sailed a league, a league,|A league but barely three,

Until she espied his cloven foot,|And she wept right bitterlie.*

"O hold your tongue of your weeping," says he,|"Of your weeping now let me be;

I will show you how the lilies grow|On the banks of Italy."

"O what hills are yon, yon pleasant hills,|That the sun shines sweetly on?"

"O yon are the hills of heaven," he said,|"Where you will never win."

"O whaten a mountain is yon," she said,|"All so dreary wi' frost and snow?"

"O yon is the mountain of hell," he cried,|"Where you and I will go."

And ayo when she turn'd her round about,|Aye taller he seemed to be;

Until that the tops o' the gallant ship|Næ taller were than he.

The clouds grew dark, and the wind grew loud,|And the levin filled her e'e;

And wæsome wailed the snow-white sprites,|Upon the garlie sea.

He struck the top-mast wi' his hand,|The foremast wi' his knee;

And he brake that gallant ship in twain,|And sank her in the sea.

  • In Mr. Buchan's ballad, reinorse is made to visit the heroine, not by the sight of the "cloven foot," but by a feeling more natural and more worthy :-

She minded on her dear husband,|Her little son tae.

And, at the same time,-

The thoughts o' grief came in her mind,|And she langed for to be hame;

While the miserable womank thus pray'd:-

"I may be buried in Scottish ground,|Where I was bred and born."

Page 499

HOW A MERCIANDE DYD HYS WYFE BETRAY.

465

how a Merchande dyd hys Wyte betray.

The story of this ancient poem seems to l That was foly he my fay,

have appeared in all possible shapes. It is l That fayrenes schulde tru loue betray.

contained in a tract entitled "Penny-wise, l So hyt happenyd, as he wolde,

pound-foolish"; or a Bristow diamond, set in l The marchand ouer the see he schulde;

two rings, and both crack'd. Profitable for l To hys leman ys he gon,

married men, pleasant for young men, and a l Leue at hur for to tane;

rare example for all good women," London, l With elypryng and with kyssyng swete,

1631, 4to. b. 1., and is well known, at least in l When they schulde parte bothe dyl they

the North, by the old ballad called "The l wepe.

Pennyworth of Wit." It likewise appears, l Tyll hys wyfe ys he gon,

from Langham's letter, 1575, to have been l Leue at her then hath he tan;

them in print, under the title of "The Chap-l Dume, he seyde, be goddys are,

man of a Pennyworth of Wit;" though no l Haste any money thou woldyst ware?

edition of that age is now known to exist. l Whan y come bezonde the see

'The following copy is from a transcript made l That y myzt the bye some ryche drewrè.

by the late Mr. Baynes from one of Bp. More's l Syr, sche seyde, as Crist me saue,

manuscripts in the public library at Cam-l Ye haue all that euyr y haue;

bridge (Ff. 2. 38, or 690), written apparently l Ye schall haue a peny here,

about the reign of Edward the Fourth, or l As ye ar my trewe fere,

Richard the Third; carefully but unnecessa-l Bye ye me a penyworth of wytt,

rily examined with the original. The poem l And in youre hert kepe wele hyt.

itself, however, is indisputably of a greater age, l Styll stode the marchand tho,

and seems from the language and orthography l Lotbe he was the peny to forgoo,

to 'ye of Scottish, or at least of North country l Certen sotbe, as y yow say,

extraction. The fragment of a somewhat l He put hyt in hys purse and yede hys way.

different copy, in the same dialect, is con-l A full gode wyfe god hath hym sende,

tained in a MS. of Henry the Sixth's time in l Yn Fraunce hyt can hym brynge;

the British Museum (Bib. Har. 5396). It has l A full gode schypp arrayed he

evidently been designed to be sung to the harp. l Wyth marchaundyse and spycerye.

Lysteneth now, lordyngys, y yow pray, l Certen sotbe, or he wolde reste,

How a merchand dyd hys wyfe betray, l He boght hys ladiys of the beste,

Bothe be day and be nyght, l He boght hur bodyes, brochys and ryngys;

Yf ye wyll herkyn aryght. l Nowchys of golde, and many feyre thyngys;

Thys songe ys of a merchand of thys countre, l He boght hur purry to hur hedd,

That had a wyfe feyre and free: l Of safurs and of rubyes redd;

The marchand had a full gode wyfe, l Hys wyfe, that was so trew as ston,

Sche louyd hym trewly as hur lyfe, l He wolde ware nothyng vpon:

What that euyr he to hur sayde, l That was foly he my fay,

Euyr sche helde hur wele apayde: l That fayrenes schulde trew loue betray.

The marchand, that was so gay, l When he had boght all that he wolde,

By another woman he lay; l The marchand ouer the see he schulde.

He boght hur gownys of grete pryce, l The marchandy's man to his mayster speke,

Furryd with menyvere and with grysse, l Oure dameys peny let vs not forgete.

To hur heold ryall atyre, l The marchand swore, he seynt Anne,

As any lady myght desyre l Yyt was that a lewde bargan,

Hys wyfe, that was so trewe as ston, l To bye owre dame a penyworth of wytt,

He wolde ware no thyng vpon: l In all Fraunce y can not fynde hyt.

Page 500

466

HOW A MERCHAUNDE DYD HYS WYFE BETRAY.

'An' olde man in the halle stode,

The marchandys speche he undur­zode :

The olde man to the marchand can say,

A worde of counsell yow pray,

And y schall telle yow a penyworth of wyt,

Yf ye take gode hede to hyt :

'Tell me marchand, be thy lyfe,

Whether haste thou a leman or a wyfe?

Syr, y haue both, as haue y reste,

But my paramour loue I beste.

Then seyde the olde man, withowten were,

Do now as y teche the here;

When thou eouyst ouyr the salte fome,

Olde clothys then do the vpon,

To thy lemman that thou goo,

And telle her of all thy woo ;

Syke sore, do as y the say,

And telle hur all thy gode ys loste away,

Thy schyp ys drownyd in the fom,

And all thy god ys loste the from ;

Whan thou hast toold hur soo,

Then to thy weddyd wyle thou go ;

Whether helpyth the bottur yn thy node,

Dwelle with hur, as Cryste the spede.

The marchand seyde, wele must thou fare,

Have here thy peny, y haue my ware.

When he come ouer the salte fome,

Olde clothys he dyd hym vpon,

Hys lemman lokyd furthe on hym see,

And seyde to hur maydyn, how lykyth the ?

My love ys comyn fro beyonde the see,

Come hedur, and see hym wyth thyn eye.

The maydyn seyde, be my fay,

He ys yn a febull array.

Go down, maydyn, in to the halle,

And yf he spyrre aftyr me,

Say, thou sawe me wyth non eye;

Yf he wyll algatys wytt,

Say in my chaumbyr y bye sore syk,

Out of hyt y may not wynne,

To speke wyth none ende of my kynne,

Nother wyth hym nor wyth none other,

Thowe he ware myn own brother.

Alas ! seyde the maydyn, why sey ye soo ?

Thynke how he helpyed yow owt of moche

wo.

Fyrst when ye mett, wyth owt lesynge,

Youre gode was not worthe xx s.,

Now hyt ys worthe the cce pownd,

Of gode and saluyr that ys rounde ;

65

Gode ys but a lante lone,

Some tyme men haue hyt, and some tyme none ;

Thogh all hys gode be gon hym froo,

Neuyr forsake hym in hys woo.

Go down, m y dyn, as y bydd the,

Thou schalt no lengor ellys dwelle with me.

The maydyn wente in to the halle,

There sche met the marchand wythall.

Where ys my lemman ? where is sche ?

Why wyll sche not come speke wyth me ?

Syr, y do the wele to wytt,

Yn hyr chaumbyr sche lyeth full syke,

Out of hyt sche may not wyune,

To speke wyth non ende of hur kynne,

Nother wyth yow nor wyth none other,

Thowe ye were hur owne brother.

Maydyn, to my lemman that thou go,

And telle hur my gode ys loste me fro,

My schyp ys drownyd in the fom,

And all my gode ys loste me from ;

85

A gentylman have y shawe,

Y dar not abyde the londys lawe ;

Pray hur, as sche louyth me dere,

As y have ben to hur a trewe fere,

To kepe me preuy in hur chaumbyr,

That the kyngys baylyes take me neuyr.

Into the chaumbyr the maydyn ys goon,

'Thys tale sche tolde hur dame anone.

In to the halle, maydyn, wynde thou downe,

And bydd hym owt of my halle to goon,

Or y schall send in to the towne,

And make the kyngys baylyes to come ;

Y swere, be gud of greto renown,

Y wyll neuyr harbour the kyngys feloun.

The maydyn wente in to the halle,

And thus sche tolde the merchand alle ;

The marchand sawe none other spede,

He toke hys leve and forthe he yede.

Lystenyth, lordyngys, curtes and hende,

For zyt ys the better fytt behynd.

THE SECOND FITT.

Lystenytia, lordyngys, great and small :

The marchand ys now to hys own halle ;

Of hys comyng hys wyfe was fayne,

Anone sche come hym agayne.

Husbond, sche seyde, welcome ye be,

How haue ye fare beyonde the see ?

Daune, he seyde, be goddys are,

All full febyll hath be my fare ;

All the gode that euer was thyn and myn

Hyt ys loste be seynt Martyn ;

Ver. 63. And. V. 70. 80. These two lines are in the MS.

Inserted after tha four following

Page 501

HOW A MERCIANDE DYD HYS WYFE BETRAY.

467

In a storme y was bestadde,

Was y neuyr halfe so sore adrad,

Y thanke hyt god, for so y may,

That eu'r y skapyd on lyve away ;

My schyp ys drownyd in the fom,

And all my gode ys loste me from ;

A gentylman haue y slawe,

I may not abyde the londys lawe;

I pray the, as thou louest me dere,

As thou art my trewe weddyd fere,

In thy chaumber thou woldest kepe me dern.

Syr, sche seyde, no man schall me warne:

Be stylle, husbonde, sygh not so sore,

He that hathe thy gode may sende the more ;

Thowe all thy gode be fro the goo,

I wyll neuyr forsake the in thy woo ;

Y schall go to the kyng and to the quene,

And knele befor them on my kneen,

There'e to knele and neuyr to cese,

Tyl of the kyng y haue getyn thy pees :

I can bake, brewe, carde and spynne,

My maydenys and y can syluyr wynne,

Euyr whyll y am thy wyfe,

To maynten the a trewe mannys lyfe.

Certen sothe, as y yow say,

All nyght be hys wyfe he lay,

On the morne, as he forthe yede,

He kaste on hym a ryall wede,

And bestrode a full gode stede,

And to hys lemmans hows he yede.

Hys lemman lokyd forthe and on hym see,

As he come rydyng ouyr the lee,

Sche put on hur a garment of palle,

And mett the marchaund in the halle,

T'wyes or thryes, or eu'r he wyste.

Trewly sche had hym kyste.

Syr, sche seyde, be seynt Joln,

Ye were neuyr halfe so welcome home.

Sche was a schrewe, as haue y hele,

There sche currayed faule well.

Dame, he seyde, be seynt John

Zyt ar not we at oon ;

Hyt was tolde me beyonde the see,

Thou haste another lemman then me,

All the gode that thyn and myne,

Thou haste geuyn hym, be seynt Martyn.

Syr, as Cryste bryng me fro bale,

Sche lyeth falsely that teld the that tale ;

Hyt was thy wyfe, that olde trate,

That neuyr gode worde ly me spake ;

Were sche ded! (god lene hyt wolde!)

Of the haue all my wylle y schulde ;

Erly, late, lowde and stylle,

Of the schulde y haue all my wylle :

165

Ye schall see, so muste y the,

That sche lyeth falsly on me.

Sche leyde a canuas on the flore,

Longe and large, stylfe and store,

Sche leyde theron, wythowten lyte,

Fyfty schetys waschen whyte,

Peys of syluyr, masters of golde ;

The marchaunt stode hyt to be holde :

He put hyt in a wyd sackk,

And leyde hyt on the hors bakk ;

He had hys chyld go bely ue,

And lde thys home to my wyue.

The chyld on hys way ys gon,

The marchaunt com aftyr anon :

He caste the pakk doune in the flore,

Longe and large, styf and store,

As hyt lay on the grounde,

Hyt was wele worthe cec pownd :

They on dedyn the mouth wryght.

There they sawe a ryall syght.

Syr, sayde hys wyfe, be the rode,

Where had ye all thys ryall goode ?

Dame, he seyde, be goddys are,

Here ys thy penyworth of ware ;

Yf thou thynke hyt not wele besett,

Gyf hyt another cam be ware hytt bett :

All thys wyth thy pony boght y,

And therfor y gyf hyt the frely ;

Do wyth all what so eu'r ye lyste,

I wyll neuyr aske yow acowntys, be Cryste.

The marchandys wyfe to hym can say,

Why come ye home in so febull array ?

Then seyde the marchaund, sone ageyn,

Wyfe, for to assay the in certeyn;

For at my lemman was y beforne,

And sche by me sett lytll store,

And sche louyd better my gode then me,

And so wyfe dy'dl neuyr ye.

To telle hys wyfe the when he began,

All that gode he had takyn fro hys lemmann ;

And all was herawse of thy peny,

Therfor y gyf hyt the frely ;

And y gyf gode a vowe thys howre,

Y wyll neuyr more haue paramowre,

But the, my owyn derlyng and wyfe,

Wyth the wyll y lede my lyfe.

Thus the marchandys cane he gan to kele,

He lefte hys folye wry dely,

And leuyd in clennesse and honestye ;

Y pray god that so do we.

God that ys of grete renowne,

Saue all the gode folke of thys towne :

Jesu, as thou art heuyn kynge,

To the blys of heuyn owre soules brynge.

Page 502

468

FAUSE FOODRAGE.

Fause Foodrage.

This ballad was originally published in the "Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border," where

it is stated to have been "chiefly given" from the MS. of Mrs. Brown, of Falkland.* Al-

  • "An ingenious lady," writes Sir Walter Scott, "to

whose taste and memory the world is indebted." She was

the youngest daughter of Mr. Thomas Gordon, professor

of philosophy in King's College, Aberdeen; and the cir-

cumstances, under which she obtained so much profi-

ciency in ballad lore, are thus explained in a letter from

her father to Alexander Fraser Tytler, Esq.:—"An aunt

of my children, Mrs. Faguihar, now dead, who was mar-

ried to the proprietor of a small estate, near the sources of

the Dee, in Braemar, a good old woman, who had spent

the best part of her life among flocks and herds, resided,

in her later days, in the town of Aberdeen. She was pos-

sessed of a most tenacious memory, which rotained all the

songs she had heard from nurses and countrywomen in

that sequestered part of the country. Being naturally

fond of my children, when young, she had them much

about her, and delighted them with the songs and tales

of chivalry. My youngest daughter, Mrs. Brown, of Falk-

land, is blessed with as good a memory as her aunt, and

has almost the whole of her songs by heart." They were

subsequently written down by her nephew, Professor

Scott, "as his aunt sung them." To this MS. reference is

frequently made by the editor of the "Border Minstrelsy,"

-"as containing a curious and valuable collection," from

which he procured "very material assistance," and which

often furnished him with "various readings, and supple-

mentary stanzas," to such as were known on the borders.

Jamieson, also, thus acknowledges his obligations to this

lady :—"For the groundwork of this collection, and for the

greater and more valuable part of the popular and roman-

tic tales which it contains, the public are indebted to Mrs.

Brown, of Falkland. Besides the large supply of ballads

taken down from her own recitation many years ago, by

Professor Scott, of Aberdeen,—in 1800, I paid an unex-

pected visit to Mrs. Brown, at Dysart, where she then

happened to be for health, and wrote down, from her un-

premeditated repetition, about a dozen pieces more, most

of which will be found in my work. Several others,

which I had not time to take down, were afterwards

transmitted to me by Mrs. Brown herself, and by her late

highly-respectable and worthy husband, the Reverend Dr.

Brown. Every person, who peruses the following sheets,

will see how much I owe to Mrs. Brown, and to her me-

mory, my much esteemed friend, Professor Scott; and it

rests with me to feel that I owe them much more for

zeal and spirit which they have manifested, than even for

the valuable communications which they have made. As

to the 'authenticity' of the pieces themselves, they are as

authentic as traditionary poetry can be expected to be;

and their being more entire than most other such pieces

are found to be, may be easily accounted for, from the cir-

cumstance, that there are few persons of Mrs. Brown's abi-

lities and education who repeat popular ballads from me-

mory. She learnt most of them before she was twelve

years old, from old women and maid-servants. What she

once learnt she never forgot; and such were her curiosity

and industry, that she was not contented with merely

knowing the story, according to one way of telling, but

studied to acquire all the varieties of the same tale which

she could meet with."

though there can be no question that it re-

ceived many improvements in passing through

the hands of the accomplished editor, there

can be as little doubt of its antiquity in some

ruder state; for Sir Walter Scott and Mr.

Motherwell both affirm that it has been "popu-

lar in many parts of Scotland ;" and by the

former it is asserted, that he had made "strict

inquiry into the authenticity of the song," in

consequence of a line, in verse 31, strongly

resembling one that occurs in the avowedly

modern ballad of "Hardyknute,"—

Norse e'en like grey goss-hawk stared wild.

His doubts were removed by the evidence

of a lady of rank (Lady Douglas, of Doug-

las, sister to the Duke of Buccleuch), who

not only recollected the ballad as having

amused her infancy, but could repeat many

of the verses.

For the leading incident of the poem, and

the beautiful episode introduced into it—the

exchange of the children, upon which the

story is made to depend—there appears to be

no historical authority. At least, Sir Walter

Scott has referred to none; and if there had

been any, it would not have escaped his

search. Yet it is not improbable that some

such circumstance did actually occur; the

old ballad-makers were seldom mere inven-

tors; and tragedy, with all its attendant

events, may be considered as by no means

rare or uncommon to a remote age. That its

age is "remote" is rendered certain, by the

references to King Easter and King Wester;

who, it is surmised by Sir Walter Scott, were

"petty princes of Northumberland and West-

moreland. From this," he adds, "it may be

conjectured, with some degree of plausibility,

that the independent kingdoms of the east

and west coast were, at an early period, thus

denominated, according to the Saxon mode

of naming districts from their relative posi-

tions, as Essex, Wessex, Sussex." In the

"Complaynt of Scotland," mention is made

of an ancient romance, entitled, "How the

King of Estmureland married the King's

daughter of Westmureland." But Mr. Rit-

son is of opinion, that—"Estmureland and

Westmureland have no sort of relation to

Page 503

FAUSE FOODRAGE.

Northumberland and Westmoreland. The former was never called Eastmoreland, nor were there any kings of Westmoreland, unless we admit the authority of an old rhyme, cited by Usher ;—

Here the King Westmer Slew the King Rothinger.

In the old metrical romance of "Kyng Horn," or " Horn Child," we find both Westnesse and Estnesse ; and it is somewhat singular, that two places, so called, actually exist in Yorkshire at this day. But "ness," in that quarter, is the name given to an inlet from a river. There is, however, great confusion in this poem, as "Horn" is called king, sometimes of one country, and sometimes of the other. In the French original, Westir is said to have been the old name of Lirland or Ireland; which, occasionally at least, is called Westnesse in the translation, in which Britain is named Sudene ; but here, again, it is inconsistent and confused. It is, at any rate," adds the learned antiquary, " highly probable, that the story, cited in the 'Complaynt of Scotland,' was a romance of ' King Horn,' whether prose or verse; and, consequently, that Estmureland and Westmureland should there mean England and Ireland; though it is possible that no other instance can be found of these two names occüring with the same sense."

Of the Scottish origin of this ballad there is internal evidence ; and several of the phrases made use of, besides the titles to which we have referred, afford corroborative proof of its antiquity. The term "kevil," used in the third verse,—

And they cast kevils themamang, And kovils them between ; And they cast kevils themamang, Wha suld gae kill the king,—

Is thus explained by Sir Walter Scott,— " 'Kevils'—lots. Both words originally meant only a portion or share of any thing.— L yges Burgorum, cap. 59, de lot, cut, or kavil. Statua Gilda, cap. 20. Nullus emat lanam, &c, nisi fuerit confrater Gildx, &c. Neque lot neque cavil habeat cum aliquo contrate nostro. In both these laws, 'lot' and 'cavil' signify a share in trade."

King Easter has courted her for her lands, King Wester for her fee, King Honour for her comely face, And for her fair bodie.

They had not been four months married, As I have heard them tell, Until the nobles of the land Against them did rebel.

And they cast kevils themamang, And kevils them between ; And they cast kevils themamang, Wha suld gae kill the king.

O some said yea, and some said nay, Their words did not agree ; Till up and got him, Fause Foodrage, And swore it suld be he.

When bells were rung, and mass was sung, And a' men bound to he', King Honour and his gaye ladye In a hic chamber were laid.

Then up and raise him, Fause Foodrage, When a' were fast asleep, And slew the porter in his lodge, That watch and ward did keep.

O, four and twenty silver keys Hung hie upon a pin: And aye, as ae door he did unlock, He has fastened it him behind.

Then up and raise him, King Honour, Says— " What means a' this din ? Or what's the matter, Fause Foodrage, Or wha has loüt you in ?"—

"O ye my errand weel sall learn Before that I depart."— Then drew a knife, baith lang and sharp, And pierced him to the heart.

Then up and got the quean hersell, And fell low down on her knee : "O spare my life, now, Fause Foodragn, For I never injured thee.

"O spare my life, now, Fause Foodrage, Until I lighte be ! And see gin it be laid or lass, King Honour has left wi' me."

Page 504

470

FAUSE FOODRAGE.

"O gin it be a lass," he says,

"Weel nursed it sall be;

But gin it be a lad bairn,

He sall be hangèd hie.

"I winna spare for his tender age,

Nor yet for his hie hie kin;

But soon as e'er he born is,

He sall mount the gallows pin."—

O four-and-twenty valiant knights

Were set the queen to guard;

And four stood aye at her bower door,

To keep both watch and ward.

But when the time drew near an end,

That she suld lighter be,

She cast about to find a wile,

'To set her body free.

O she has birled those merry young men

With the ale but and the wine,

Until they were a' deadly drunk

As any wild-wood swine.

"O narrow, narrow, is this window,

And big, big, am I grown!"—

Yet through the might of our Lady,

Out at it she has gone.

She wandered up, she wandered down,

She wandered out and in;

And, at last, into the very swine's stythe,

The queen brought furth a son.

Then they cast kevil themamang,

Which suld gae seek the queen;

And the kevil fell upon Wise William,

And he sent his wife for him.

O when she saw Wise William's wife,

The queen fell on her knee;

"Win up, win up, madam!" she says:

"What needs this courtesie?"—

"O unt o't this winna rise,

Till a boon ye grant to me;

To change your lass for this lad bairn,

King Honour left me wi'.

"And ye maun learn my gay goss-hawk

Right weel to breast a steed;

And I sall learn your turtle dow

As weel to write and read.

"And yo maun learn my gay goss-hawk

'To wield baith bow and brand;

And I sall learn your turtle dow

'To lay gowd wi' her hand.

"At kirk and market when we meet,

We'll dare make nae avowc.

But—Dame, how does my gay goss-hawk?

—Madame, how does my dow?"'*

When days were gane, and years came on,

Wise William he thought lang;

And he has ta'en King Honour's son

A-hunting for to gang.

It sae fell out, at this hunting,

Upon a simmer's day,

That they came by a fair castell,

Stood on a sunny brae.

"O dinna ye see that bonny castell,

Wi' halls and towers sae fair?

Gin ilka man had back his ain,

Of it you suld be heir."—

"How I suld be heir of that castell,

In sooth, I canna see;

For it belangs to Fause Foodrage,

And he is na kin to me."

"O gin ye suld kill him, Fause Foodrage,

You would do but what was right;

For, I wot, he killed your father dear,

Or ower ye saw the light.

"And gin ye suld kill him, Fause Foodrage,

There is no man durst ye blame;

For he keeps your mother a prisoner,

And she daurna take ye hame."—

  • "This metaphorical language," says Scott, "was customary among the northern nations. In 925, King Adolphus, King of Norway, sent an embassy to Harald Harfager, King of Norway, the chief of which presented that prince with a sword. As it was presented by the point, the Norwegian chief, in receiving it, unavoidably laid hold of the hilt. The English ambassador declared, in the name of his master, that he accepted the act as a deed of homage. The Norwegian prince resolving to circumvent his rival by a shallow artifice, sent, next summer, an embassy to Adolphin, the chief of which presented Haco, the son of Harald, to the English prince; and placing him on his knees, made the following declaration :—' Haraldus, Normanorum Rex, amice te sa'uat; albanque hanc avem bene instituiam militit utique melius deinceps exsulat.' The King received young Haco on his knees, which the Norwegian accepted, according to the proverb, 'Is minor semper habetur, qui alterius filium educat.'

Page 505

The boy stared wild like a grey goss-hawk,

Says,—“ What may a' this mean ?”

“ My boy, ye are King Honour's son,

And your mother's our lawful queen.”

“ O gin I be King Honour's son,

By our Lady I swear,”

This night I will that traitor slay,

And relieve my mother dear !”—

He has set his bent bow to his breast,

And leaped the castell wa';

And soon he has seized on False Foodrage,

Wha loud for help, 'gan ca'.

“ O haud your tongue, now, False Foodrage,

Frac me ye shall na flee;”—

Syne pierced him through the fause, fause

heart,

And set his mother free.

And he has rewarded Wise William

Wi' the best half o' his land;

And sae has he the turtle dow,

Wi' the truth o' his right hand.

Sir Agilthorn.

This ballad is the production of Matthew

Gregory Lewis; and our principal motive in

introducing it into this collection is to supply

an example of his compositions, for its merits

are not such as to warrant the selection upon

other grounds. His writings, although now

nearly forgotten, had, at one period, no incon-

siderable influence upon the literature of the

age : the success that attended his publica-

tions induced a host of imitators, and, for

awhile, his “school” may be almost said to

have formed the taste of the country. But

the unnatural will always be the ephemeral;

and that which is not based upon Truth,

Time will be certain to destroy. With the

exception of two or three of his more roman-

tic ballads—“ Alonzo the Brave and Fair

Imogene,” and, perhaps, “ Osric the Lion”—

the poems of Lewis are as completely con-

signed to oblivion as if they had never been

printed; even his vain and useless “ Ro-

mances,” which have passed through nume-

rous editions, are now seldom read; and are

republished only by caterers for the meretri-

cions or the ricious. Merit of a particular

order he undoubtedly had; public attention

is never obtained, even for a season, without

it; but his works possessed very little of real

value, and the world has lost nothing by the

obscurity into which they have sunk. He

was “ the first to introduce something like

the German taste into English fictitious, dra-

matic, and poetical composition ;” and no less

an authority than Sir Walter Scott considers

that he did service to our literature by show-

ing, that “ the prevailing taste of German

might be employed as a formidable auxiliary

to renewing the spirit of our own, upon the

same system as when medical persons at-

tempt, by the transfusion of blood, to pass into

the veins of an aged and exhausted patient,

the rivacity of the circulation and liveliness of

sensation which distinguish a young subject.”

It is certain, that the period in which he

“ flourished,” English literature had become

sluggish, inert, and comparatively valueless;

whilst “ the realms of Parnassus,” more espe-

cially, seemed to lie open to the first bold in-

vader, whether he should be a daring usurper,

or could show a legitimate title of sovereignty.*

Lewis was “ born to fortune;” his father held

the lucrative appointment of under-secretary

at war; and he was himself a member of

parliament as soon as his age permitted him

to occupy a seat. During a residence in

Germany, he had opportunities of indulging

his inclination for the marvellous; and he used

  • Lewis was a martinet, if I may so term it, in the

necuracy of rhymes and of numbers; I may add he had a

right to be so. E.r f.p.sons have exhibited the his-

tory of rhyme, or greater command over the melody of

verse.” * * a “ His works were admired; and the

author became famous, not merely through his own

merit, though that was of no mean quality, but it came

had in some measure taken in the publick by surprise, by

using a style of composition, which, like natural wits,

dips, is so congenial to the general taste, that though it

palls by being much exhausted, it has only to be left a

short time forgotten in order to recover its original po-

larity.”—Sir Walter Scott.

Page 506

472

SIR AGILTHORN.

his imitators, towards the close of the last

century, absolutely flooded the libraries of

Great Britain with their tales of enchantment

and diablerie, in poetry and prose. Lewis's

publications are the romances of "The

Monk," "Feudal Tyrants," and "Romantic

Tales ;" "Tales of Wonder" and "Tales of

Terror," in verse; "The Castle Spectre" and

"Adelmorn," romantic dramas; "Venoni,"

a tragedy; a volume of miscellaneous poetry,

and the "Bravo of Venice," a translation

from the German. He died in 1818, while

on his voyage home from a visit to his patri-

monial property in Jamaica. An idle story

has been circulated, that his death was occa-

sioned by poison, administered to him by a

negro whom he had incautiously acquainted

with his intention to emancipate the whole

of his slaves at his decease.

His volumes of ballads, "Tales of Won-

der" and "Tales of Terror," were compara-

tive failures; to the first, Sir Walter Scott,

Southey, Leyden, and others, contributed, and

their contributions sufficed to give value to

the work. It was published in 1801, "for

the author." Lewis, however, was tempted

to "drive it out" into two volumes, royal 8vo.,

which were sold at a high price. "Pur-

chasers murmured at finding this size had

been attained by the insertion of some of the

best known pieces of the English language,

such as Dryden's 'Theodore and Honoria,'

Parnell's 'Hermit,' Lisle's 'Porsenna, King

of Russia,' and many other popular poems

of old date, and generally known, which ought to

not in conscience to have made part of a set

of tales, 'written and collected' by a modern

author." The consequence was, that the

costly and weighty volumes met with little or

no public approval. What had been at first

received as simple and natural, was now

sneered at as puerile and extravagant. "An-

other objection was," adds Sir Walter Scott,

" that my friend Lewis had a high but mis-

taken opinion of his own powers of humour.

The truth was, that though he could throw

some gayety into his lighter pieces, after the

manner of the French writers, his attempts

at what is called pleasantry in English wholly

wanted the quality of humour, and were

generally failures. But this he would not

allow ; and the 'Tales of Wonder' were filled,

in a sense, with attempts at comedy, which

might be generally accounted abortive."

One important consequence, at least, fol-

lowed this introduction of a new style into

our literature; to his acquaintance with Lewis

we are probably indebted for the vast store-

house of wealth bequeathed to us by Sir

Walter Scott. "Finding Lewis," he says,

"in possession of so much reputation, and

conceiving that if I fell behind him in poeti-

cal powers, I considerably exceeded him in

general information, I suddenly took it into

my head to attempt the style of poetry by

which he had raised himself to fame ;" and,

he adds, "out of an accidental acquaintance"

with the popular author, which "increased

into a sort of intimacy, consequences arose

which altered almost all the Scottish ballad-

maker's future prospects in life." He was

first stimulated to the translation of some

German ballads; and soon acquired confi-

dence to attempt "the imitation of what he

admired." Lewis had, about this period,

announced the publication of a work, the

title of which sufficiently indicates its cha-

racter--"Tales of Wonder,"—and to this

work Scott readily agreed to contribute. It

was published in two volumes, in the year

1801 ; and contained, among others, the bal-

lads of "Glenfinlas" and the "Eve of Saint

John," by Sir Walter—compositions which

he can scarcely be said to have afterwards

surpassed. The encouragement the young

author here met with, led to the collection

and subsequent publication of the "Min-

strelsy of the Scottish Border," originally

printed by James Ballantyne, at Kelso. What

"great events from little causes flow !"—pos-

sibly if "Monk Lewis" had never existed as

a versifier, the genius of Scott might have

been directed into some less serviceable chan-

nel; for, mainly out of the trivial circum-

stances here briefly recorded, he "gradually,

and almost insensibly, engaged himself in

that species of literary employment"—"mo-

dern imitations of the ancient ballad."

Oh! gentle huntsman, softly tread,

And softly wind thy bugle-horn;

Nor rudely break the silence shed

Around the grave of Agilthorn!

Oh! gentle huntsman, if a tear

E'er dimmed for others' woe thine eyes,

Thou'lt surely dew, with drops sincere,

The sod where lady Eva lies.

5

Page 507

SIR AGILTHORN.

473

Yon crumbling chapel's sainted bound

9

"Think how thy lips she fondly pressed,

Their hands and hearts beheld them plight;

Think how she wept—compelled to part;

Long held yon towers, with ivy crowned,

Think every wound which scars thy breast,

The beauteous dame and gallant knight.

Is doubly marked on Eva's heart!"— 50

Alas! the hour of bliss is past,

"O thou! my mistress, wife, and friend!"--

For hark! the din of discord rings:

14 Thus Agilthorn with sighs began;

War's clarion sounds, Joy hears the blast,

"Thy fond complaints my bosom rend,

And trembling plies his radiant wings.

Thy tears my fainting soul unman: 60

And must sad Eva lose her lord?

"In pity cease, my gentle dame,

And must he seek the martial plain?

Such sweetness and such grief to join!

Oh! see, she brings his casque and sword;

Lost I forget the voice of Fame,

Oh! hark, she pours her plaintive strain!

And only list to Love's and thine.

"Blessed is the village damsel's fate,

"Flow, flow, my tears, unhounded gush!

Though poor and low her station be;

65 Rise, rise, my sobs, I set ye free:

Safe from the cares which haunt the great,

Bleed, bleed, my heart! I need not blush

Safe from the cares which torture me!

To own that life is dear to me.

"No doubting fear, no cruel pain,

"The wretch whose lips have pressed the bowl,

No dread suspense her breast alarms;

The bitter howl of pain and woe,

No tyrant honour rules her swain,

70 May careless reach his mortal goal,

And tears him from her folding arms.

May boldly meet the final blow:

"She, careless wandering 'midst the rocks,

"His hopes destroyed, his comfort wrecked,

In pleasing toil consumes the day;

A happier life he hopes to find;

And tends her goats, or feeds her flocks,

But what can I in heaven expect,

Or joins her rustic lover's lay.

75 Beyond the bliss I leave behind?

"Though hard her couch, each sorrow flies

"Oh, no! the joys of yonder skies,

The pillow which supports her head;

To prosperous love present no charms;

She sleeps, nor fears at morn her eyes

My heaven is placed in Eva's eyes,

35 Shall wake, to mourn a husband dead.

My paradise in Eva's arms. 80

"Hush, impious fears! the good and brave

"Yet mark me, sweet! if Heaven's command,

Heaven's arm will guard from danger free;

Hath doomed my fall in martial strife,

When death with thousands guts the grave,

Oh! let not anguish tempt thy hand

His dirt, my love, shall glare from thee;

To rashly break the thread of life!

"While thine shall fly direct and sure,

"No! let our boy thy care engress,

This buckler every blow repel;

85 Let him thy stay, thy comfort be;

This casque from wounds that fate secures,

Supply his luckless father's loss,

Where all the loves and graces dwell.

And love him for thyself and me.

"This glittering scarf, with tenderest care,

"So may oblivion soon efface

My hands in happier moments wore;

The grief which cloulds this fatal morn;

Cursed be the wretch, whose sword shall tear

And soon thy cheeks afford no trace

The spell-bound work of wedded love!

91 Of tears which fall for Agilthorn!"

"Lo! on thy falchion keen and bright,

He said; and couched his quivering lance:

I shed a trembling comfort's tears;

He said; and bracel his bloody shield:--

O! when their traces meet thy sight,

Sealed a last kiss, threw a last glance, 95

Remember wretched Eva's fears!

Then spurred his steed to Flodden Field.

Page 508

474

SIR AGILTHORN.

But Eva, of all joy bereft,

Stood rooted at the castle gate,

And viewed the prints his courser left,

Whilc hurrying at the call of fate.

Forebodings sad her bosom told,

The steed which bore him thence so light,

Her longing eyes would ne'er behold

Again bring home her own true knight.

While many a sigh her bosom heaves,

She thus addressed her orphan page:-

"Dear youth, if e'er my love relieved

The sorrows of thy infant age :

"If e'er I taught thy locks to play

Luxuriant round thy blooming face;

If e'er I wiped thy tears away,

And bade them yield to smiles their place:

"Oh ! speed thee, swift as steed can bear,

Where Flodden groans with heaps of dead;

And e'er the combat, home repair,

And tell me how my lord has sped.

"Till thou return'st each hour's an age,

An age employed in doubt and pain;

Oh ! haste thee, haste, my little foot-page,

Oh ! haste and soon return again."

"Now, lady dear, thy grief assuage,

Good tidings soon shall ease thy pain;

I'll haste, I'll haste, thy little foot-page,

I'll haste, and soon return again."

Then Osway bade his courser fly;

But still, while hapless Eva wept,

Time scarcely seemed his wings to ply,

So slow the tedious moments crept.

And oft she kissed her baby's cheek,

Who slumbered on her throbbing breast;

And now she bade the warder speak,

And now she lulled her child to rest.

"Good warder, say, what meets thy sight?

What see'st from the castle tower ?"

"Nought but the rocks of Elginbright,

Nought but the shades of Forest-Bower."

"Oh, pretty babe ! thy mother's joy,

Pledge of the purest, fondest flame,

To-morrow's sun, dear helpless boy,

May see thee bear an orphan's name.

"Perhaps, e'en now, some Scottish sword

The life blood of thy father drains;

Perhaps, e'en now, that heart is gored,

Whose streams supplied thy little veins.

"Oh, warder, from the castle tower,

Now say what objects meet thy sight?"

"None but the shades of Forest-Bower,

None but the rocks of Elginbright."

"Smil'st thou, my babe? so smiled thy sire

When, gazing on his Eva's face,

His eyes shot beams of gentle fire,

And joyed such beams in mine to trace.

"Sleep, sleep, my babe ! of care devoid :

Thy mother breathes this fervent vow—

Oh, never be thy soul employed

On thoughts so sad as hers are now !

"Now, warder, warder, speak again !

What seest thou from the turret's height?"

"Oh, lady, speeding o'er the plain,

The little foot-page appears in sight!"

Quick beat her heart, short grew her breath;

Close to her breast the babe she drew—

"Now, heaven," she cried, "for life or death !"

And forth to meet the page she flew.

"And is thy lord from danger free ?

And is the deadly combat o'er?"—

In silence Osway bent his knee,

And laid a scarf her feet before.

The well-known scarf with blood was stained,

And tears from Osway's eyelids fell;

Too truly Eva's heart explained,

What meant those silent tears to tell.

"Come, come, my babe !" she wildly cried,

"We needs must seek the field of woe :

Come, come, my babe ! cast fear aside !

To dig thy father's grave we go."

"Stay, lady, stay ! a storm impends;

Lo ! threatening clouds the sky o'erspread;

The thunder roars, the rain descends,

And lightning streaks the heavens with red

"Hark, hark, the winds tempestuous rave !

Oh ! be thy dread intout resigned !

Or, if resolved the storm to brave,

Be this dear infant left behind !"

Page 509

THE LIFE AND DEATH OF TOM THUMBE.

"No, no! with me my baby stays!

With me he lives ; with me he dies!

Flash, lightnings, flash ! your friendly blaze !

Will shew me where my warrior lies."

0 see she roams the bloody field,

And wildly shrieks her husband's name:

0 see she stops and eyes a shield,

A heart the symbol, wrapt in flame.

His armour broke in many a place,

A knight lay stretched that shield beside;

She raised his vizor, kissed his face,

Then on his bosom sunk and died.

Huntsman, their rustic grave behold:

"Tis here, at night, the fairy king,

Where sleeps the fair, where sleeps the bold,

Oft forms his light fantastic ring.

185

"Tis here, at eve, each village youth

With freshest flowers the turf adorns;

"Tis here he swears eternal truth,

By Eva's faith and Agilthorn's.

And here the virgins sadly tell,

Each seated by her shepherd's side,

How brave the gallant warrior fell,

How truc his lovely lady died.

Ah ! gentle huntsman, pitying hear,

And mourn the gentle lovers' doom !

Oh ! gentle hunsman, drop a tear,

And dew the turf of Eva's tomb.

So ne'er may fate thy hopes oppose;

So ne'er may grief to thee be known;

They who can weep for others' woes,

Should ne'er have cause to weep their own.

THE LIFE AND DEATH OF TOM THUMBE.

It is needloss to mention the popularity of

the following story. Every city, town, vil-

lage, shop, stall, man, woman, and child, in

the kinglom, can bear witness to it. Its an-

tiquity, however, remains to be inquired into,

more especially as no very ancient edition of

it has been discorered. That which was

made use of on the present occasion bears

the following title: "Tom Thumbe, his life

and death : wherein is declared many mar-

uailous acts of manhood, full of wonder, and

strange merriments. Which little knight

lived in king Arthurs time, and famous in

the court of Great Brittaine. London, print-

ed for John Wright. 1630." It is a small

8vo. in black letter, was given, among many

other curious pieces, by Robert Burton,

author of the Anatomy of Melancholy, to

the Bodleian Library (Seld. Art. L. 79.), and

is the oldest copy known to be extant. There

is a later edition, likewise in black letter,

printed for F. Coles, and others, in Antony

à Wood's collection, which has been collated,

as has also a different copy, printed for some

of the same proprietors, in the editor's posses-

sion. All three are ornamented with curious

cuts, representing the most memorable inci-

dents of our hero's life. They are likewise

divided into chapters by short prose argu-

ments, which, being always unnecessary, and

sometimes improper, as occasioning an inter-

ruption of the narrative, are here omitted.

In Ben Jonson's Masque of the Fortunate

Isles, designed for the Court, on the Twelfth

Night, 1620, Skelton, one of the characters,

after mentioning Elinor Rumming, and

others, says

Or you may have come

In Thomas Thumb,

In a pudding fat,

With Doctor Rat.

Then "The Antimasque follows: consisting

of these twelve persons, Owl-glass, the four

Knaves, two Ruffians, Fitz-Ale, and Vapour,

Elinor Rumming, Mary Ambree, Lang Meg

of Westminster, Tom Thumb, and Doctor

Rat."3

Five years before there had appeared "The

History of Tom Thumbe, the Little, for his

  • Works, by Whalley, vi. 195. "Doctor Rat, the curate,"

is one of the Dramatis Personæ in "Gammer Gurton's

Needle."

Page 510

476

THE LIFE AND DEATH OF TOM THUMBE.

small stature surnamed King Arthurs Dwarfe: Whose Life and adventures containes many strange and wonderful accidents, published for the delight of merry Time-spenders. Imprinted at London for Tho. Langley, 1621, (12mo. bl. 1.)" This, however, was only the common metrical story with some foolish additions by R. I. (Richard Johnson.) The Preface or Introductory Chapter is as follows, being indeed the only part of the book that deserves notice.

"My merry Muse begets no Tales of Guy of Warwike, nor of hould Sir Beaus of Hampton; nor will I trouble my penne with the pleasant glee of Robin Hood, little Iohn, the Fryer and his Marian; nor will I call to minde the lusty Pindar of Wakefield, nor those bold Yoomon of the North, Adam Bell, Cleg of the Clough, nor William of Cloudesly, those ancient archers of all England, nor shall my story be made of the mad merry prankes of Tom of Bethlem, Tom Tinkcole, or Tom a Lin, the Diuels supposed Bastard, nor yet of Gargantua that monster of men,

but of an older Tom, a Tom of more antiquity, a Tom of a strange making, I meane Little Tom of Wales, no bigger than a Millers Thumbe, and therefore for his small stature, surnamed Tom Thumbe. . . . . The ancient Tales of Tom Thumbe in the olde time, have beene the only revivers of drowzy age at midnight; old and young have with his Tales echim'd Mattens till the cocks crow in the morning; Batchelors and Maidens with his Tales have compassed the Christmas fire-blake, till the Curfew-Ball rings candle out; the old Shepheard and the young Plow boy after their dayes labour, have carold out a Tale of Tom Thumbe to make them merry with: and who but little Tom, hath made long nights seem short, and heavy toyles easie? Therfore (gentle Reader) considering that old modest mirth is turned naked out of doors, while nimble wit in the great Hall sits rpon a soft cushion giuing dry babbos; for which cause I will, if I can now cloath him in his former liuery, and bring him againe into the Chimney Corner, where now you

  • This is sencely true; the titles of the two last chapters being, 1. "How Tom Thumbe riding forth to take the ayre, met with the great Gargantua, and of the speech that was betweene them." 2. "How Tom Thumbe after conference had with great Gargantua returned, and how he met with King Twadale."

must imagine me to sit by a good fire, amongst a company of good fellowes ouer a well spic'd Wassel bowle of Christ-mas Ale telling of these merry Tales which hereafter follow." This is in the editors possession.

In the panegyric verses (by Michael Drayton and others) upon Tom Coryate and his Crudities, London, 1611, fto., our hero is thus introduced, among with a namesake, of whom, unfortunatly, we know nothing fur ther;

"Tom Thumbe is dumbe, rntill the pudding creepe,

"In which he was intomb'd, then out doth peepe.

"Tom Piper is gone out, and mirth bewailes,

"He neuer will come in to tell vs tales."*

We are unable to trace our little hero above half a century further back, when we find him still popular, indeed, but, to our great mortification, in very bad company. "In our crim. con (says honest Reginald Scot) our mothers maides have so terrified vs with an ouglie diuell. . . and haue so friled vs with bull beggers, spirits, witches, vrchons, clues, luggs, fairies, satyrs, pans, flames, sylens, kit with the cansticke, tritons, centaurs, dwarfes, giunts, imps, calebars, coniurors, nymphes, changlings, incubus, Robin good-fellow, the spoorne, the mare, the man in the oke, the belle-waine, the fire-drake, the puckle, Tom Tumne, hob-goblin, Tom tumbler, boncles, and such other bugs, that we are afraide of our owne shadowes."†

To these researches we shall only add the opinion of that eminent antiquary Mr. Thomas Hearne, that this History, "however looked upon as altogether fictitions, yet was certainly founded upon some AUTHENTICK History, as being nothing else, originally, but a description of King Edgar's dwarf."‡

  • In a different part of the work we find other characters mentioned, whose story is now, perhaps, irretrievably forgot:

I am not now to tell a tale

Of George a Green, or Jacke a Vale,

Or yet of Chiltiface.

† Discoverie of Witchcraft. London, 1584, 4to. p. 155. See also Archil. Harsnet's Declaration of Popish Imposture. Ibi. 1604, 4to. p. 135.

‡ Benedictus Abbas, Appendix ad Prafationem, p. lv Mr. Hearne was probably led to fix upon this monarch by

Page 511

THE LIFE AND DEATH OF TOM THUMBE.

In Arthurs court Tom Thumbo did line,

A man of mickle might,

The best of all the table round,

And eke a doughty knight:

His stature but an inch in height,

Or quarter of a span;

Then thinke you not this little knight,

Was prou'd a valiant man?

His father was a plow-man plaine,

His mother milkt the cow,

But yet the way to get a sonne

'This' couple knew not how,

Vntill such time this good old man

'To learned Merlin goes,

And there to him his deepe desires

In secret manner shewes,

How in his heart he wish't to haue

A childe, in time to come,

To be his heire, though it might be

No bigger than his Thumbe.

Of which old Merlin thus foretold,

That he his wish should haue,

And so this sonne of stature small

'The charmer to him gaue.

No blood nor bones in him should be,

In shape and being such,

That men should heare him speake, but not

His wandring shadow touch:

But so vnseene to goe or come

Whereas it pleasd him still;

Begot and borne in halfe an houre,

To fit his fathers will.

And in foure minutes grew so fast,

That he became so tall

As was the plowmans thumbe in height,

And so they did him call

Ver. 12, those.

some idleous lines added, about his own time, to introduce a spurious second and third part. See the common editions of Aldermary church-yard, &c., or that entitled 'Thomas Redivivus; or, a compleat history of the life and marvellous actions of Tom Thumbe. In three tomes. Interspersed with that ingenious comment of the lato Dr. Wagstaff; and annotations by several hands To which is prifix'd historical and critical remarks on the life and writings of the author.' London, 1729, folio. Dr. Wagstaff's comment was written to ridicule that of Mr. Addison, in the Spectator, upon the ballad of Chevy-Chase, and is inserted in his works.

Tom Thumbr, the which the Fayry-Queene

There gave him to his name,

Who, with her traine of Goblins grim,

Vnto his christning came.

Whereas she cloath'd him richly braue,

In garments fine and faire,

Which lasted him for many yeares

In seemely sort to weare.

His hat made of an oaken leafe,

His shirt a spiders web,

Both light and soft for those his limbes

That were so smally bred;

His hose and doublet thistle downe,

Togeather wean'd full fine;

His stockins of an apple greene,

Made of the outwaid rine;

His garters were two little haires,

Pull'd from his mothers eye,

His bootes and shoes a mouscos skin,

There tand most curiously.

Thus, like a lustic gallant, he

Aduentured forth to goe,

With other children in the streets

His pretty trickes to show.

Where he for counters, pinnes, and points,

And cherry stones did play,

Till he amongst those gamesters young

Had loste his stocke away.

Yet could he soone renue the same,

When as most nimbly he

Would dine into 'their' cherry-baggs,

And there 'partaker' be,

Vnseene or felt by any one,

Vntill a scholler shut

This nimble youth into a boxe,

Wherein his pines he put.

Of whom to be rueng'd, he took

(In mirth and pleasant game)

Black pots, and glasses, which he hung

Vpon a bright sunne-beame.

The other boyes to doe the like,

In pieces broke them quite;

For which they were most se

Whereat he laught ontr

Ver. 67, it

Page 512

478

THE LIFE AND DEATH OF TOM THUMBE.

And so Tom Thumbe restrained was

From these his sports and play,

And by his mother after that

Compel'd at home to stay.

Whereas about a Christmas time,

His father a hog had kil'd,

And Tom 'would see' the puddings made,

'For fear' they should be spil'd.

He sate vpon the pudding-boule,

The candle for to hold;

Of which there is vnto this day

A pretty pastime told:

For Tom fell in, and could not be

For euer after found,

For in the blood and batter he

Was strangely lost and drownd.

Where searching long, but all in vaine,

His mother after that,

Into a pudding thrust her sonne,

Instead of minced fat.

Which pudding of the largest size,

Into the kettle throwne,

Made all the rest to fly thereout,

As with a whirle-wind blowne.

For so it tumbled vp and downe,

Within the liquor there,

As if the deuill 'had' been boyl'd;

Such was his mothers feare.

That vp she tooke the pudding strait,

And gaue it at the doore.

Vnto a tinker, which from thence

In his blacke budget bore.

But as the tinker clim'd a stile,

By chance he let a cracke :

Now gip, old knaue, out cride Tom Thumbe,

There hanging at his backe :

At which the tinker gan to run,

And would no longer stay,

But cast both bag and pudding downe,

And thence hyed fast away.

From which Tom Thumbe got loose at last

And home return'd againe;

Where he from following dangers long

In safety did remaine.

Ver. 87, to. V. 88, feard that. V. 107, had there.

85

Until such time his mother went

A milking of her kine,

Where Tom vato a thistle fast

She link'd with a twine.

A thread that held him to the same,

For feare the blustering winde

Should blow him thence, that so she might

Her sonne in safety finde.

But marke the hap, a cow came by,

And vp the thistle cate.

Poore Tom withall, that, as a docke,

Was made the red cowes meate:

Who being mist, his mother went

Him calling euery where,

Where art thou Tom? where art thou Tom?

Quoth he, Here mother, here:

Within the red cowes belly here,

Your sonne is swallowed vp.

The which into her careful heart

Most careful dolours put.

Meane while the cow was troubled much,

In this her tumbling wombe,

And could not rest vntill that she

Had backward cast Tom Thumbe :

Who all besmeared as he was,

His mother tooke him vp,

To heare him then, the which poore lad

She in her pocket put.

Now after this, in sowing time,

His father would him haue

Into the field to driue his plow,

And therupon him gaue

A whip made of a barly straw,

To driue the cattle on :

Where, in a furrow'd land now sowne,

Poore Tom was lost and gon.

Now by a raven of great strength

Away he thence was borne,

And carried in the carrions beake

Euen like a graine of corne,

Vnto a giants castle top,

In which he let him fall,

Where soone the giant swallowed vp

His body, cloathes and all.

125

130

135

140

145

150

155

160

165

116

120

Page 513

THE LIFE AND DEATH OF TOM THUMBE.

479

But in his belly did Tom Thumbe

So great a rumbling make,

That neither day nor night he could

The smallest quiet take,

170

Untill the gyant had him spewd

Three miles into the sea,

Whereas a fish soone tooke him vp

And bore him thence away.

175

Which lusty fish was after caught

And to king Arthur sent,

Where Tom was found, and made his dwarfe,

Whereas his dayes he spent

So trauelling two dayes and nights,

With labour and great paine,

He came into the house whereas

His parents did remaine;

215

Which was but halfe a mile in space

From good king Arthurs court,

The which in eight and fourty houres

He went in weary sort.

But comming to his fathers doore,

He there such entrance had

220

As made his parents both reioice,

And he thereat was glad.

Long time in liuely iollity,

Belou'd of all the court,

180

And none like Tom was then esteem'd

Among the noble sort.

His mother in her apron tooke

Her gentle sonne in haste,

225

And by the fire side, within

A walnut shell, him plac'd:

Amongst his deedes of courtship done,

His highnesse did command,

185

That he ould dance a galliard braue

Vpon his queenes loft hand.

Whereas they feasted him three dayes

Vpon a hazell nut,

230

Whereon he riotcd so long

He them to charges put;

The which he did, and for the same

The king his signet gaue,

And thereupon grew wonderous sicke,

Through eating too much meate,

190

Which Tom ab ut his middle wore

Long time a girdle brace.

Which was sufficient for a month

For this great man to eate.

235

Now after this the king would not

Abroad for pleasure goe,

But still Tom Thumbe must ride with him,

Plac't on his saddle-bow.

195

But now his businesse call'd him foorth,

King Arthurs court to see,

Whereas no longer from the same

He could a stranger be.

Where on a time when as it raind,

Tom Thumbe most nimbly crept

In at a button hole, where he

Within his bosome slept.

But yet a few small April drops,

240

Which settled in the way,

His long and weary iourney forth

Did hinder and so stay.

And being neere his highnesse heart,

He craw'd a wealthy boone,

200

A liberall gift, the which the king

Comanded to be done,

Untill his carefull father tooke

A birding trunke in sport,

245

And with one blast blew this his sonne

Into king Arthurs court.

For to reliue his fathers wants,

And mothers, being old;

205

Which was so much of siluer coyne

As well his armes could hold.

Now he with tilts and turnaments

Was entertained so,

And so away goes lusty Tom,

That all the best of Arthurs knights

250

With three pence on his backe,

Did him much pleasure show.

As good Sir Lancelot of the Lake,

Sir Tristam, and sir Guy;

210

Yet none compar'd with braue Tom Tham,

For knightly chivalry...

255

61

Page 514

478

THE LIFE AND DEATH OF TOM THUMBE.

And so Tom Thumbe restrained was

From these his sports and play,

And by his mother after that

Compell'd at home to stay.

Whereas about a Christmas time,

His father a hog had kill'd,

And Tom 'would see' the puddings made,

'For fear' they should be spil'd.

He sate vpon the pudding-boule,

The candle for to hold;

Of which there is vnto this day

A pretty pastime told:

For Tom fell in, and could not be

For euer after found,

For in the blood and batter he

Was strangely lost and drownd.

Where searching long, but all in vaine,

His mother after that

Into a pudding thrust her sonne,

Instead of minced fat.

Which pudding of the largest size,

Into the kettle throwne,

Made all the rest to fly thereout,

As with a whirle-wind blowne.

For so it tumblod vp and downe,

Within the liquor there,

As if the deuill 'had' been boyl'd;

Such was his mothers feare.

That vp she tooke the pudding strait,

And gnaue it at the doore

Vnto a tinker, which from thence

In his blacke budget bore.

But as the tinker climb'd a stile,

By chance he let a cracke:

Now gip, old knaue, out cride Tom Thumbe,

There hanging at his backe:

At which the tinker gan to run,

And would no longer stay,

But cast both bag and pudding downe,

And thence hyed fast away.

From which Tom Thumbe got loose at last

And home return'd againe;

Where he from following dangers long

In safety did remaine.

Ver. 87, to. V. 93, feard that. V. 107, had there.

85

A thread that held him to the same,

For feare the lustring winde

Should blow him thence, that so she might

Her sonne in safetly finde.

But marke the hap, a cow came by,

And vp the thistle eate.

Poore Tom withall, that, as a docke,

Was made the red cowes meate:

Who being mist, his mother went

Him calling euery where,

Where art thou Tom? where art thou Tom?

Quoth he, Here mother, here:

Within the red cowes holly here,

Your sonne is swallow'd vp.

The which into her fearoful heart

Most carefull dolours put.

Meane while the cow was troubled much,

In this her tumbling wombe,

And could not rest vntill that she

Had beakward cast Tom Thumbe:

Who all besmeared as he was,

His mother tooke him vp,

To beare him thence, the which poore lad

She in her pocket put.

Now after this, in sowing time,

His father would him haue

Into the field to driue his plow,

And therevpon him gaue

A whip made of a barley straw,

To driue the cattle on:

Where, in a furrow'd land now sowne,

Poore Tom was lost and gon.

Now by a raven of great strength

Away he thence was borne,

And carri'd in the carrions beake

Euen like a graine of corne,

Vnto a giants castle top,

In which he let him fall,

Where soone the giant swallowed vp

His body, cloathes and all.

125

130

135

140

145

150

155

160

165

90

95

100

105

110

115

120

Page 515

THE LIFE AND DEATH OF TOM THUMBE.

But in his belly did Tom Thumbe

So great a rumbling make,

That neither day nor night he could

The smallest quiet take,

170

Untill the gyant had him spewd

Three miles into the sea,

Whereas a fish soone tooke him vp

And bore him thence away.

175

Which lusty fish was after caught

And to king Arthur sent,

Where Tom was found, and made his dwarfe,

Whereas his dayes he spent

180

Long time in licely iollity,

Belou'd of all the court,

And none like Tom was then esteem'd

Among the noble sort.

185

Amongst his deedes of courtship done,

His highnesse did command,

That he ould dance a gallinrd braue

Vpon his qucencs left hand.

The which he did, and for the same

The king his signet gaue,

190

Which Tom ab ut his middle wore

Long time a girdle brane.

Now after this the king would not

Abroad for pleasuro goe,

But still Tom Thumbe must ride with him,

Plac't on his saddle-bow.

195

Where on a time when as it raind,

Tom Thumbe most nimbly crept

In at a button hole, where he

Within his bosome slept.

And being neere his highnesse heart,

200

He crau'd a wealthy boone,

A liberall gift, the which the king

Comanded to be done,

For to relicue his fathers wants,

And mothers, being old;

205

Which was so much of siluer coyne

As well his armes could hold.

And so away goes lusty Tom,

With three pence on his backe,

A heauy burthen, which might make

His wearied limbes to cracke.

61

So trauelling two dayes and nights,

With labour and great paine,

He came into the house whereas

His parents did remaine;

215

Which was but halfe a mile in space

From good king Arthurs court.

The which in eight and forty houres

He went in weary sort.

But comming to his fathers doore,

220

He there such entrance had

As made his parents both reioice,

And he thereat was glad.

His mother in her apron tooke

Her gentle sonne in haste,

225

And by the fier side, within

A walnut shell, him plac'd:

Whereas they feasted him three dayes

Vpon a hazell nut,

Whereon he rioted so long

230

He them to charges put;

And there-upon grew wonderous sicke,

Through eating too much meate,

Which was sufficient for a month

For this great man to eate.

235

But now his businesse call'd him foorth,

King Arthurs court to see,

Whereas no longer from the same

He could a stranger be.

But yet a few small April drops,

240

Which setled in the way,

His long and weary journey forth

Did hinder and so stay.

Until his carefull father took

A birding trunke in sport,

245

And with one blast blew this his sonne

Into king Arthurs court.

Now he with tilts and tournaments

Was ontertaine so,

That all the best of Arthurs knights

250

Did him much pleasure show.

As good Sir Lancelot of the Lake,

Sir Tristam, and sir Guy;

Yet none compar'd with braue Tom Thum,

For knightly chiuairy..

255

Page 516

480

THE LIFE AND DEATH OF TOM THUMBE.

In honour of which noble day,

And for his ladies sake,

A challenge in king Arthurs court

Tom Thumbe did brauely make.

Gainst whom these noble knights did run,

Sir Oliuon and the rest,

Yot still Tom Thumbo with matchles might

Did beare away the best.

At last sir Lancelot of the Lake

In manly sort came in,

And with this stout and hardy knight

A battle did begin.

Which made the courtieres all agast,

For there that valiant man

Through Lancelots sword, before them all,

In nimble manner ran.

Yea horse and all, with speare and shield,

As hardly he was seene,

But onely by king Arthurs selfo

And his admirod queene.

Who from her finger tooke a ring,

Through which Tom Thumbo made way.

Not touching it, in nimble sort,

As it was done in play.

He likewise cleft the smallest hairo

From his faire ladies head,

Not hurting her whose ouen hand

Him lasting honors bred.

Such were his deeds and noble acts

In Arthurs court the showne,

As like in all the world beside

Was hardly seene or knowne.

Now at these sports he toyld himselfe

That he a sicknesse tooke,

Through which all manly exercise

He carelesly forsooke.

Where lying on his bed sore sicke,

King Arthurs doctor came,

With cunning skill, by physicks art,

To ease and cure the same.

His body being so slender small,

This cunning doctor tooke

A fine persutiue glauie, with which

He did in secret looke

Into his sickened body downe,

And therwith saw that Death

Stood ready in his wasted guts

To sucke his vitall breath.

His armes and legge consum'd as small

As was a spiders welh,

Through which his dying houre grew on,

For all his limbes grew deod.

His face no bigger than an ants,

Which hardly could be seene:

The losse of which renowned knight

Much grieu'd the king and queene.

And so with peares and quietnesse

He le't this earth below;

And vp into the Fayry land

His ghost did fading goe.

Whereas the Fayry queen receiu'd,

With beany mourning cheare,

The body of this valiant knight,

Whom she esteem'd so deere.

For with her dancing nymphes in greene,

She fetcht him from his bed,

With musique and sweet melody,

So soone as life was fled:

For whom king Arthur and his knights

Full fourty daies did mourne;

And, in remembrance of his name

That was so strangely borne,

He built a tomb of marble gray,

And yeare by yeare did come

To celebrate the mournefull day,

And buriall of Tom Thum.

Whose fame still liues in England here,

Amongst the country sort;

Of whom our wiues and rechildren small

Tell tales of pleasant sport.

Page 517

THE EVE OF ST. JOHN.

481

The Eve of St. John.

This ballad—the composition of Sir Walter | “The Douglas true and the bold Buccleuch,”

Scott—was originally published in the “Tales

of Wonder,” edited by M. G. Lewis. The

scene of the Tragedy, “Smailho'me, or

Smallholm Tower, is situated on the northern

boundary of Roxburghshire, among a cluster

of wild rocks, called Sandiknow Crags. The

tower is a high square building, surrounded

by an outer wall, now ruinous. The circuit

of the outer court, being defended on three

sides by a precipice and morass, is accessible

only from the west by a steep and rocky path.

The apartments, as usual in a Border keep,

or fortress, are placed one above another, and

communicate by a narrow stair; on the roof

are two bartizans, or platforms, for defence

or pleasure. The inner door of the tower is

wood, the outer an iron gate; the distance

between them being nine feet, the thickness,

namely, of the wall. From the elevated situ-

ation of Smailho'me Tower, it is seen many

miles in every direction. Among the crags

by which it is surrounded, one, more eminent,

is called the Watchfold, and is said to have

been the station of a beacon in the times

of war with England. Without the tower-

court is a ruined chapel. Brotherstone is a

heath, in the neighbourhood of Smailho'me

Tower.”*

When the ballad was republished in the

“Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border,” it was

accompanied by some account of the battle

of “Ancrum Moor,” to which reference is

made in the poem, as “running red with

English blood” from the fight between “keen

Lord Evers” and

—a fight that was ever famous in the annals

of border warfare.* It took place in 1546.

Evers and his colleague Sir Brian Latoun,

having been promised by the English king a

feudal grant of the country they had reduced

to a desert, Archibald Douglas, the seventh

Earl of Angus, is said to have sworn to write

the deed of investiture upon their skins with

sharp pens and bloody ink, in resentment for

their having defaced the tombs of his ances-

tors at Melrose. He kept his word; at the

head of one thousand men, aided by the fa-

mous Norman Lesley with a body of five-men,

and “the bold Buccleuch” with a small but

chosen body of his retainers, Evers and La-

toun were met, at Ancrum Moor,† with an

army consisting of three thousand mercena-

ries, one thousand five hundred English Bor-

derers, and seven hundred Scotchmen of

“broken clans,” who changed sides during

the engagement, and, joining their country-

men, made a most merciless slaughter among

  • In the 1st volume of “Border Minstrelsy” is printed a

ballad which appears to have been written to commemo-

rate the circumstance of Sir Ralph Evers being ennobled

on account of the vigour with which he prosecuted the

Border warfare:-

“And since he has kept Berwick upon Tweed,

The town was never better kept, I wot;

He maintain'd leal and border along the Border,

And still was ready to prick the Scot.

“With our Queen's brother he hath been,

And rode roughshod thro' Scotland of late;

They have burn'd the Mers and Tiviotdale,

And knocked full loud at Edinburgh gate.”

Lord Evers was slain at Ancrum Moor; and “was bu-

ried in Melrose Abbey, where his stone coffin may still be

seen—a little to the left of the Great Altar.”

† The spot on which the battle was fought is called Lil-

yard's Ridge, from an Amazonian Scottish woman of that

name, who is reported, by tradition, to have distinguished

herself in the same manner as Squire Wtherington. The

old people point out her monument, now broken and de-

faced. The inscription is said to have been legible within

this century, and to have run thus:-

“Fair maiden Lillyard lies under this stone,

Little was her stature, but great was her fame,

Upon the English louns she laid mony thumps,

And, when her legs were cutted off, she fought upon her

stumps.”

  • This Ballad derives additional interest from the fact

that “the ancient fortress and its vicinity formed the scene

of the Editor's infancy, and seemed to claim from him this

attempt to celebrate them in a Border tale.” References

are made, in the introduction to the 3d canto of “Mar-

mion,” to

“Which charm'd my fancy's wakening hour.

“It was a barren scene, and wild,

Where naked cliffs were rudely piled;

But ever and anon between

Lay velvet tufts of softest green;

And well the lonely infant knew

Recesses where the wallflower grew.”

Page 518

432

THE EVE OF ST. JOHN.

the English fugitives. "In the battle fell

Lard Evers and his son, together with Sir

Brian Latum, and eight hundred English

men, many of whom were persons of rank.

A thousand prisoners were taken. Among

these was a patriotic alderman of London,

Read by name, who, having contumaciously

refused to pay his portion of a benevolence

demanded from the city by Henry VIII., was

sent by royal authority to serve against the

Scots. 'These, at settling his ransom, he

found still more exorbitant in their exactions

than the monarch."

Concerning the ballad of "The Eve of St.

John," Sir Walter Scott gives us no informa-

tion except in the notes—and they refer exclu-

sively to the localities among which he

has laid the scene of a romantic drama. He

does not appear to have pointed the moral

from any particular incident; yet the lesson

conveyed by the story, that

"Lawless love is guilt above,"

is not the less forcible because it has reference

to no express local tradition. The stanzas

which close the tale are full of solemn gram-

dour; seldom has a more impressive picture

been exhibited in lines so few:-

"There is a nun in Dryburgh bower,

Ne'er looks upon the sun;

There is a monk in Melrose tower,

He speaketh word to none.

"That nun, who ne'er beholds the day,

That monk who speaks to nuns—

That nun was Smaylho'me's Lady gay,

That monk the bold baron."

The Baron of Smaylho'me rose with day,

He spurred his courser on,

Without stop or stay, down the rocky way,

That leads to Brotherstone.

He went not with the bold Buccleuch,

His banner broad to rear;

He went not 'gainst the English yew,

To lift the Scottish spear.

Yet his plate-jack was brac'd, his helmet was

lac'd,

And his vaunt-brace of proof he wore; 10

At his saddle-girthe was a good steel sperthe,

Full ten pound weight and more.

The Baron return'd in three days' space,

And his looks were sad and sour:

And weary was his coursier's pace,

As he reach'd his rocky tower.

He came not from where Ancrum Moor

Ran red with English blood;

Where the Douglas true, and the bold Buc-

cleuch,

'Gainst keen Lord Evers stood.

Yet was his helmet hack'd and hew'd,

His action pierced and tore,

His axe and his dagger with blood imbued,—

But it was not English gore.

He lighted at the Chapellage,

He held him close and still;

And he whistled thrice for his little foot-page,

His name was English Will.

"Come thou hither, my little foot-page,

Come hither to my knee;

Though thou art young, and tender of age,

I think thou art true to me.

"Come tell me all that thou hast seen,

And look thou tell me true!

Since I from Smaylho'me tower have been,

What did thy lady do?"

"My lady, each night, sunght the lonely light,

That burns on the wild Watchfield;

For, from height to height, the beacons bright

Of the English foemen told.

"The bitter clamour'd from the moss;

The wind blew loud and shrill;

Yet the craggy pathway she did cross,

To the eiry Beacon Hill.

"I watch'd her stops, and silent came

Where she sat her on a stone;

No watchman stood by the dreary flame,

It burned all alone.

"The second night I kept her in sight,

Till to the fire she came,

And, by Mary's night! an armed knight

Stood by the lonely flame.

"And many a word that warlike lord

Did speak to my lady there;

But the rain fell fast, and loud blew the blast,

And I heard not what they were.

Page 519

"The third night there the sky was fair,

And the mountain-blast was still,

As again I watch'd the secret pair,

On the lonesome Beacon Hill."

"And I heard her name the midnight hour,

And name this holy eve;

And say, 'Come this night to thy lady's bower;

Ask no bold baron's leave.'

"He lifts his spear, with the bold Buccleuch;

His lady is all alone;

The door she'll undo to her knight so true,

On the eve of good St. John.'—

"I cannot come; I must not come;

I dare not come to thee;

On the eve of St. John I must wander alone;

In thy bower I may not be.'—

"Now, out on thee, faint-hearted knight!

Thou shouldst not say me nay;

For the eve is sweet, and, when lovers meet,

Is worth the whole summer's day."

"And I'll chain the blood-hound,

And the warder shall not sound,

And rushes shall be strew'd on the stair;

So, by the black rood-stone, and by holy St. John,

I conjure thee, my love, to be there!"

"Though the blood-hound be mute,

And the rush beneath my foot,

And the warder his bugle should not blow,

There sleepeth a priest in the chamber to the east,

And my footstep he would know.'—

"O fear not the priest, who sleepeth to the east!

For to Dryburgh the way he has ta'en;

And there to say mass, till three days do pass,

For the soul of a knight that is slayne.'—

"He turn'd him round, and grimly he frown'd;

Then he laughed right scornfully—

'He who says mass-rite for the soul of that knight,

May as well say mass for me:

"At the midnight hour,

When bad spirits have power,

In thy chamber will I be.'—

With that he was gone, and my lady left alone,

And no more did I see."

"Then changed, I trow, was that bold Baron's

brow,

From the dark to the blood-red light—

"Now, tell me the mien of the knight thou

hast seen,

For, by Mary, he shall die!'"—

"His arms shone bright, in the beacon's red

light!

His plume it was scarlet and blue;

On his shield was a wound,

In a silver leash bound,

And his crest was a branch of the yew."—

"Thou liest, thou liest, thou little foot-page,

Loud dost thou lie to me!

For that knight is cold,

And low laid in the mould,

All under the Eildon-tree."—

"Yet hear but my word, my noble lord!

For I heard her name his name;

And that lady bright she called the knight

Sir Richard of Coldinghame."—

The bold Baron's brow then changed, I trow,

From high blood-red to pale—

"The grave is deep and dark—

And the corpse is stiff and stark—

So I may not trust thy tale.

"Where fair Tweed flows round holy Melrose,

And Eildon slopes to the plain,

Full three nights ago, by some secret foe,

That gay gallant was slain."

"The varying light deceived thy sight,

And the wild winds drown'd the name;

For the Dryburgh bells ring,

And the white monks do sing,

For Sir Richard of Coldinghame!"

He passed the court-gate,

And he oped the tower gate,

And he mounted the narrow stair,

To the bartizan seat,

Where with maids that on her wait,

He found his lady fair.

Page 520

That lady sat in mournful mood;

Look'd over hill and vale;

Over Tweed's fair flood, and Mertoun's wood,

And all down Teviotdale.

"Now hail, now hail, thou lady bright!"—

"Now hail, thou Baron true!

What news, what news, from Ancrum fight?

What news from the bald Buccleuch?"—

"The Ancrum Moor is red with gore,

For many a southern foïl;

And Buccleuch has charged us, evermore,

To watch our beacons well."—

The lady blush'd red, but nothing she said :

Nor added the Baron a word :

Then she stepp'd down the stair to her cham-

ber fair,

And so did her moody lord.

In sleep tho lady mourn'd,

And the Baron toss'd and turn'd,

And oft to himself he said,—

"The worms around him creep,

And his bloody grave is deep . . .

It cannot give up the dead!"—

It was near the ringing of matin-bell,

The night was well nigh done.

When a heavy sleep on that Baron fell,

On the eve of good St. John.

The lady look'd through the chamber fair,

By the light of a dying flame;

And she was aware of a knight stood there—

Sir Richard of Coldinghame!

"Alas! away, away!" she cried,

"For the holy Virgin's sake!"—

"Lady, I know who sleeps by thy side;

But, lady, he will not awake.

"By Eildon-tree, for long nights three,

In bloody grave have I lain ;

The mass and the death-prayer are said for

me,

But, lady, they are said in vain.

"By the Baron's brand, near Tweed's fair

strand,

Most foully slain, I fell;

And my restless sprite on the beacon's heigth

For a space is doomed to dwell.

"At our trysting-place, for a certain space,

I must wander to and fro;

But I had not had power to come to thy bower,

Hadst thou not conjured me so."—

Love mastered feax-bee was she eres'd ;

"How, Richard, hast thou sped ?

And art thoff saved, or art thou lost?"—

The vision shook his head!

"Who spilloth life shall forfeit life ;

So bid thy lord believe:

That lawless love is guilt above,

This awful sign receive."

He laid his left palm on an oaken beam,

His right upon her hand;

The lady shrunk, and fainting sunk,

For it scorched like a fiery brand.

The sable score of fingers four

Remains on that board impress'd;

And for evermore that lady wore

A covering on her wrist.*

There is a nun in Dryburgh bower,

Ne'ar looks upon the sun;

There is a monk in Melrose tower,

He speakaeth woe to woe.

That nun, who ne'er beholds the day,

That monk who speaks to none—

That nun was Smaylho'me's Lady gay,

That monk the bold Baron.

  • The circumstance of the "nun who never saw the day," is not entirely imaginary. Neither is the incident of the lady wearing a covering on the wrist to conceal "the sable score of fingers four." Sir Walter says it is "founded on an Irish tradition." The circumstance referred to is not of a remote date. We have ourselves seen the bracelet said to have been thus used—and worn until death be-

trayed the secret of the wearer.

Page 521

FREMNET HALL.

Fremnet Hall.

We copy this ballad from Herd's collection

of "Ancient and Modern Scottish Songs,

Heroie Ballads, &c.," where it first appeared,

unaccompanied, however, by note or comment,

and leaving little room for doubt that

it was the production of a modern pen,—

"written belike (we quote from Motherwell)

by the ingenious hand to whom we are indebted

for the Ballads of 'Duncan' and 'Ken-

neth,' which appear in the same work, and

which, by the way, we may be pardoned for

saying, are but indifferent imitations of the

Ancient Ballad style."*

It was reprinted by Ritson, who considers

it to have been "suggested by one composed

at the time, a few stanzas of which were for-

tunately remembered by the Rev. Mr. Boyd,

translator of 'Dante,' and were obligingly

communicated to the Editor by his very inge-

nious and valuable friend, J. C. Walker, Esq."

These stanzas we have introduced in a note.

The ballad of which Ritson gave a fragment

has, however, been since rescued entire. It

is entitled the "Fire of Frendraught," and

its history is thus given by Motherwell. "For

the recovery of this interesting ballad hitherto

supposed to have been lost, the public is in-

debted to the industrious research of Charles

Kirkpatrick Sharpe, Esq., of Edinburgh, by

whom it was obligingly communicated for

insertion in the present collection. It has

already appeared in a smaller volume of ex-

ceeding rarity, printed at Edinburgh, in the

beginning of 1824, under the title of 'A

North Country Garland,' but with the disad-

vantage of containing a very considerable

  • "In 1769, Mr. Herd published his Ancient and Modern

Songs, Heroie Ballads, &c., and again, in 1776, in two vol-

umes,—a collection of much merit, and one wherein many

curious lyrical pieces have found a sanctuary. The prin-

cipal faults of this compilation consist in its ancient and

modern pieces being indiscriminately mingled together;

and that no reference is even made to the authorities from

which they are derived, except what this slight announce-

ment contains: "It is divided into three parts. The first

is composed of all the Scottish Ancient and Modern Heroic

Ballads, or Epic tales, together with some beautiful frag-

ments of this kind. Many of these are recovered from tra-

dition, or old MSS., and never before printed. The second

part consists of sentimental, pastoral, and love songs: and

the third is a collection of comic, humorous, and jovial

songs."—Motherwell, "Introduction to Minstrelsy, An-

cient and Modern."

number of slight verbal and literal inaccura-

cies,"—which in Motherwell's version are

removed. The ballad has a high degree of

poetic merit, and probably was written at the

time by an eye-witness of the event which it

records; for there's "a horrid vivacity of

colouring and circumstantial minuteness in

the description of the agonies of the unhappy

sufferers, which none but a spectator could

have given."

The old ballad thus begins:

"The eighteenth of October,

A dismal tale to hour,

How good Lord John and Rothiemay

Were both burnt in the fire."

The Scottish historians detail the appalling

circumstances commemorated in the ballad.

The Viscount Aboyn, son to the Marquiss of

Huntley, and the young laird of Rothiemay,

were guests in the castle of the Laird of

Frendraught. "All being at rest, about mid-

night that dolorous tower took fire. * * *

Aboyn ran up stairs to Rothiemay's cham-

ber and wakened him to rise; and as he is

awakening him, the timber passage and loft-

ing of the chamber hastily take fire, so that

none of them could run down stairs again;

so they turned to a window looking to the

close, where they piteously cried many times,

'Help, help, for God's cause.' The laird and

lady, with their servants, all seeing and hear-

ing the woful crying, made no help or manner

of helping;* which they perceiving, cried

  • A passage in the old ballad is said to have received a

singular illustration. When the youths in their agony

called upon Lady Frendraught for mercy, she is made to

reply,

"The keys are casten in the deep draw well,

Ye cannot get away."

Mr. Finley, after regretting that all his attempts to reco-

ver the ballad had proved unsuccessful, relates the follow-

ing circumstance. "A lady, a near relation of mine, lived

near the spot in her youth for some time; and remembers

having heard the old song mentioned by Ritson, but can-

not repeat it. She says there was a verse which stated

that the lord and lady locked the door of the tower, and

flung the keys into the draw-well; and that, many years

ago, when the well was cleared out, this tradition was cor-

roborated by their finding the keys—at least such was the

report of the country."

Page 522

oftentimes mercy at God's hands for their sins; syne clasped in each others arms, and chearfully suff'red their martyrdom." The Ballad-maker thus deseribes the horrible catastrophe :-Abayn is answering to his servant, who entreats him to "loup down";-

"O loup, O loup, my dear master, O loup and come to me; I'll catch you in my arms two, One foot I will not flee!"

"But I cannot loup, I cannot come, I cannot win to thee; My head's fast in the wire window, My feet burning from me.

"My eyes are seething in my head, My flesh roasting also, My bowels are boiling with my blood, Is not that a woeful woe."

"Take here the rings from my white fingers, That are so long and small, And give them to my lady fair, Where she sits in her hall."

"So I cannot loup, I cannot come, I cannot loup to thee-- My earthly part is all consumed, My spirit but speaks to thee."

The historian continues :-"Thus died this noble Viscount, of singular expectation, Rothiemay a brave youth, and the rest, by this doleful fire, never enough to be deplored, to the great grief and sorrow of their kin, parents, and haill common people, especially to the noble Marquis. No man can express the dolour of him and his lady, nor yet the grief of the Viscount's ain dear lady, when it came to her ears, which she kept to her dying day, disdaining after the company of men all her lifetime, following the love of the turtle dove."

Whether Frendraught and his lady were actually guilty can now never be ascertained. The popular voice was against them : yet it is more than probable that the ballad and tradition have doomed innocent people to an infamous immortality. A gentleman named Meldrum was executed for the burning, but on very insufficient evidence; and he died "without any certain and real confession, as

was said, anent this doleful fire." The fire occurred in October, 1630.

When Frendraught Castle's ivied walls Through yellow leaves were seen; When birds forsouk the sapless boughs, And hees the faded green;

Then Lady Frendraught, vengefu' dame, 5 Did wander frae the ha', To the wide forest's dewie gloom, Among the leaves that fa'.

Her page, the swiftest of her train, Had clumb a lofty tree, Whose branches to the angry blast Were soughing mournefullie.

He turn'd his een towards the path That near the castle lay, Where good Lord John and Rothiemay 15 Were riding down the brae.

Swift darts the eagle through the sky, When prey beneath is seen : As quickly he forgot his hold, And perch'd upon the green. 20

"O lie thee, lie thee, lady gay, Frae this dark wood awa' ! Some visitors of gallant mein Are hasting to the ha'."

Then round she row'd her silken plaid, 25 Her feet she did na spare, Until she left the forest's skirts A long bow-shot and mair.

"O where, O where, my good lord John, O tell me where ye ride? Within my castle-wall this nicht I hope ye mean to hide.

"Kind nobles, will ye but alicht, In yonder bower to stay, Soft ease shall teach you to forget 35 The hardness of the way."

"Forbear extremity, gentle dame, How can we here remain ? Full well you know your husband deir Was by our father slain : 40

Page 523

"The thoughts of which, with fell revenge,

Within your bosom swell:

Enraged you've sworn that blood for blood,

Should this black passion quell."

"O fear not, fear not, good Lord John, 'tis

That I will you betray,

Or sue requital for a debt

Which nature cannot pay."

"Hear witness, a' ye powers on high!

Ye liehts that 'gin to shine!

This nicht shall prove the sacred cord

That knits your faith and mine."

The lady sate, with honey'd words,

Enticed the youths to stay;

But morning sunne'r shone upon

Lord John and Rothiemay.

The Lovers Quarrel; or, Cupid's Triumph.

This "pleasant History," which "may be

sung to the tune of Floras Farewell," is here

republished from a copy printed at London

for F. Cotes and others, 1777, 12mo. bl. l.,

preserved in the curious and valuable collec-

tion of that excellent and most respected an-

tiquary Antony à Wood, in the Ashmolean

Museum; compared with another impression,

for the same partiners, without date, in the

editor's possession. The render will find a

different copy of the poem, more in the bal-

  • The following are the stanzas referred to in the introductory remarks:-

"The reck it runs and the flame it flew,

  • And, oh ! the fire augmented high,

Until it came to Lord John's chamber window,

And to the bed where Lord John lay.

"O help me, help me, Lady Fronnet,

I never etled harm to thee

And if my father slew thy lord,

Forget the deed and rescue me.'

"He looked east, he looked west,

To see if any help was nigh;

At length his little page he saw,

Who to his lord aloud did cry.

"Loup down, loup down, my master dear,

What though the window's dreigh and hie,

I'll catch you in my arms twa,

And never a foot from you I'll flee.'

"How can I loup, you little page?

How can I leave this window high?

Do you not see the blazing low,

And my twa legs hurnt to my knee ?"

It was the publication of these fine and vigorous stanzas

which led to a general search for the old ballad. At length

it was recovered by Kirkpatrick Sharpe in the manner we

have described. A rich and rare addition was thus made

to the ballad lore of Scotland. It is worthy of note, that

in this fragment, also, guilt is attributed to Lady Fronnet.

62

had form, in a collection of "Ancient Songs,"

published by F. Johnson. Both copies are

conjectured to have been modernized, by dif-

ferent persons, from some common original,

which has hitherto eluded the vigilance of

collectors, but is strongly suspected to have

been the composition of an old North country

minstrel.

The full title is-"The Lovers Quarrel : or

Cupid's Triumph; being the pleasant history

of Fair Rosamond of Scotland. Being daugh-

ter to the Lord Arundel, whose love was ob-

tained by the valour of Tommy Pots: who

conquered the Lord Phenix, and wounded

him, and after obtained her to be his wife.

Being very delightful to read."

Of all the lords in Scotland fair,

And ladies that been so bright of blee,

There is a noble lady among them all,

And report of her* you shall hear by me.

For of her beauty she is bright,

5

And of her colour very fair,

She's daughter to lord Arundel,

Approv'd his parand and his heir.

He see this bride, lord Phenix said,

That lady of so bright a blee,

And if I like her countenance well,

10

The heir of all my lands she'st be.

But when he came the lady before,

Before this comely maid came he,

O god thee save, thou lady sweet,

15

My heir and parand thou shalt be.

Page 524

488

THE LOVERS QUARREL.

Leave off your suit, the lady said,

As you are a lord of high degree,

You may have ladies enough at home,

And I have a lord in mine own country;

For I have a lover true of mine own,

A serving-man of low degree,

One Tommy Pots it is his name,

My first love, and last that ever shall be.

If that Tom Pots [it] is his name,

I do ken him right verily,

I am able to spend fourty pounds a week,

Where he is not able to spend pounds three.

God give you good of your gold, she said,

And ever god give you good of your fee,

Tom Pots was the first love that ever I had,

And I do mean him the last to be.

With that lord Phenix soon was mov'd,

Towards the lady did he threat,

He told her father, and so it was prov'd,

How his daughters mind was set.

O daughter dear, thou art my own,

The heir of all my lands to be,

Thou shalt be bride to the lord Phenix,

If that thou mean to be heir to me.

O father dear, I am your own,

And at your command I needs must be,

But bind my body to whom you please,

My heart, Tom Pots, shall go with thee.

Alas ! the lady her fondness must leave,

And all her foolish wooing lay aside,

The time is come, her friends have appointed,

That she must be lord Phenix bride.

With that the lady began to weep,

She knew not well then what to say,

How she might lord Phenix deny,

And escape from marriage quite away.

She call'd unto her little foot-page,

Saying, I can trust none but thee,

Go carry Tom Pots this letter fair,

And bid him on Guildford-green meet me:

For I must marry against my mind,

Or in faith well proved it shall be;

And tell to him I am loving and kind,

And wishes him this wedding to see.

But see that thou mute his countenance well,

And his colour, and shew it to me;

And go thy way and light thee again,

And fourty shillings I will give thee.

For if he smile now with his lips,

His stomach will give him to laugh at the heart,

Then may I seek another true love,

For of Tom Pots small is my part.

But if he blush now in his face,

Then in his heart he will sorry be,

Then to his vow he hath some grace,

And false to him I'll never be.

Away this lackey boy he ran,

And a full speed forsooth went he,

Till he came to Strawberry-castle,

And there Tom Pots came he to see.

He gave him the letter in his hand,

Before that he began to read,

He told him plainly by word of mouth,

His love was forced to his lord Phenix bride.

When he look'd on the letter fair,

The salt tears blunishèd his eye,

Sayn, I cannot read this letter fair,

Nor never a word to see or spy.

My little boy be to me true,

Here is five marks I will give thee,

And all those words I must peruse,

And tell my lady this from me :

By faith and troth she is my own,

By some part of promise, so it's to be found,

Lord Phenix shall not have her night nor day,

Except he can win her with his own hand.

On Guildford-green I will her meet,

Say that I wish her for me to pray,

For there I'll lose my life so sweet,

Or else the wedding I mean to stay.

Away this lackey-boy he ran,

Then as fast as he could hie,

The lady she met him two miles of the way,

Says, why hast thou staid so long, my boy?

My little boy, thou art but young,

It gives me at heart thou'l mock and scorn,

He not believe thee by word of mouth,

Unless on this book thou wilt be sworn.

Page 525

THE LOVERS QUARREL.

489

Now by this book, the boy did say,

And Jesus Christ be as true to me,

Tom Pots could not read the letter fair,

Nor never a word to spy or see.

He says, by faith and troth you are his own,

By some part of promise, so it's to be found,

Lord Phenix shall not have you night nor day,

Except he win you with his own hand.

On Guildford-green he will you meet,

He wishes you for him to pray,

For there he'll lose his life so sweet,

Or else the wedding he means to stay.

If this be true, my little boy,

These tidings which thou tellest to me,

Forty shillings I did thou promise,

Here is ten pounds I will give thee.

My maidens all, the lady said,

That ever wish me well to prove,

Now let us all kneel down and pray,

That Tommy Pots may win his love.

If it be his fortune the better to win,

As I pray to Christ in trinity,

He make him the flower of all his kin,

For the young lord Arundel he shall be.

THE SECOND PART.

Let's leave talking of this lady fair,

In prayers fall good where she may be

Now let us talk of Tommy Pots,

To his lord and master for aid went he.

But when he came lord Jockey before,

He kneeled lowly on his knee,

What news? what news? thou Tommy Pots,

Thou art so full of courtasie.

What tydings? what tydings? thou Tommy Pots,

Thou art so full of cortesia ;

Thou hast slain some of thy fellows fair,

Or wrought to me some villany.

I have slain none of my fellows fair,

Nor wrought to you no villany,

But I have a love in Scotland fair,

And I fear I shall lose her with poverty.

If you'll not believe me by word of mouth,

But read this letter, and you shall see,

Here by all these suspitious words

That she her own self hath sent to me.

But when he had read the letter fair,

Of all the suspitious words in it might be,

O Tommy Pots, take thou no care,

Thou'st never lose her with poverty.

For thou'st have forty pounds a week,

In gold and silver thou shalt row,

And Harvy town I will give thee,

As long as thou intend'st to wooe.

Thou'st have forty of thy fellows fair,

And forty horses to go with thee,

Forty of the best spears I have,

And I myself in thy company.

I thank you, master, said Tommy Pots,

That proffer is too good for me;

But, if Jesus Christ stand on my side,

My own hands shall set her free.

God be with you, master, said Tommy Pots,

Now Jesus Christ you save and see ;

If ever I come alive again,

Staid the wedding it shall be.

O god be your speed, thou Tommy Pots,

Thou art well proved for a man,

See never a drop of blood thou spil,

Nor yonder gentleman confound.

See that some truce with him thou take,

And appoint a place of liberty ;

Let him provide him as well as he can,

As well provided thou shalt be.

But when he came to Guildford-green,

And there had walkt a little aside,

There he was ware of lord Phenix come,

And lady Rosamond his bride.

Away by the bride then Tommy went,

But never a word to her he did say,

Till he the lord Phenix came before,

He gave him the right time of the day.

O welcome, welcome, thou Tommy Pots,

Thou serving-man of low degree,

How doth thy lord and master at home,

And all the ladies in that country?

Page 526

490

THE LOVERS QUARREL.

My lord and master is in good health,

I trust since that I did him see;

Will you walk with me to an out-side,

Two or three words to talk with me?

190

You are a noble man, said Tom,

And born a lord in Scotland free,

You may have ladies enough at home,

And never take my love from me.

O master, yet it is unknown,

Within these two days well try'd it must be,

He is a lord, I but a serving man,

I fear I shall lose her with poverty.

195

Away, away, thou Tommy Pots,

Thou serving-man stand thou aside;

It is not a serving-man this day,

That can hinder me of my bride.

I prethee, Tom Pots, get thee on thy feet,

My former promises kept shall be;

As I am a lord in Scotland fair,

Thou'st never lose her with poverty.

200

If I be a serving-man, said Tom,

And you a lord of high degree,

A spear or two with you I'll run,

Before I'll lose her owardly.

For thou'st have the half of my lands a year,

And that will raise thee many a pound,

Before thou shalt out-braved be,

Thou shalt drop angels with him on the ground.

205

Appoint a place, I will thee meet,

Appoint a place of liberty,

For there I'll lose my life so sweet,

Or else my lady I'll set free.

I thank you, master, said Tommy Pots,

Yet there is one thing of you I would fain,

If that I lose my lady sweet,

How I'll restore your goods again?

210

On Guildford-groen I will thee meet,

No man nor boy shall come with me.

As I am a man, said Tommy Pots,

I'll have as fow in my company.

If that thou win the lady sweet,

Thou must well forth thou shalt pay me,

If thou losest thy lady thou losest enough,

Thou shalt not pay me one penny.

215

And thus staid the marriage was,

The bride unmarried went home again,

Then to her maids fast did she laugh,

And in her heart she was full fain.

You have thirty horses in one close,

You keep them all both frank and free,

Amongst them all there's an old white horse,

This day would set my lady free;

220

My maidens all, the lady said,

That ever wait on me this day,

Now let us all kneel down,

And for Tommy Pots let us all pray.

That is an old horse with a cut tail,

Full sixteen years of age is he;

If thou wilt lend me that old horse,

Then could I win her easily.

225

If it be his fortune the better to win,

As I trust to God in trinity,

He make him the flower of all his kin,

For the young lord Arundel he shall be.

That's a foolish opinion, his master said,

And a foolish opinion thou tak'st to thee;

Thou'st have a better then ever he was,

Though forty pounds more it should cost me.

THE THIRD PART.

When Tom Pots came home again,

To try for his love he had but a week,

For sorrow, god wot, he need not care,

For four days that he fell sick.

O your choice horses are wild and tough,

And little they can skill of their train;

If I be out of my saddle cast,

They are so wild they'll ne'r be tain.

230

With that his master to him came,

Says, pray thee, Tom Pots, tell me if thou doubt,

Whether thou hast gotten thy gay lady,

Or thou must go thy love without.

Thou'st have that horse, his master said,

If that one thing thou wilt me tell;

Why that horse is better then any other,

I pray thee, Tom Pots, show thou to me.

235

That horse is old, of stomach bold,

And well can he skill of his train,

If I be out of my saddle cast,

He'l either stand still, or turn again.

240

249

245

250

255

260

265

270

275

Page 527

Thou'st have the horse with all my heart,

And my plate cout of silver free,

An hundred men to stand at thy back,

To fight if he thy master be.

I thank you master, said Tommy Pots,

That proffer is too good for me,

I would not for ten thousand pounds,

Have man or boy in my company.

God be with you, master, said Tommy Pots,

Now as you are a man of law,

One thing let me crave at your hand,

Let never a one of my fellows know.

For if that my fellows they did wot,

Or ken of my extremity,

Except you keep them under a lock,

Behind me I'm sure they would not be.

But when he came to Guildford-green,

He waited hours two or three,

There he was ware of lord Phenix come,

And four men in his company.

You have broken your vow, said Tommy

Pots,

The vow which you did make to me,

You said you would bring neither man nor

boy,

And now has brought more than two or

three.

These are my men, lord Phenix said,

Which every day do wait on me;

If any of these dare proffer to strike,

I'll run my spear through his body.

I'll run no race now, said Tommy Pots,

Except now this may be,

If either of us be slain this day,

The other shall forgiven be.

I'll make that vow with all my heart,

My men shall bear witness with me;

And if thou slay me here this day,

In Scotland worse below'd thou never shalt

be.

They turn'd their horses thrice about,

To run the race so eagerly;

Lord Phenix he was fierce and stout,

And ran Tom Pots through the thick o'

th' thigh.

He hor'd him out of the saddle fair,

Down to the ground so sorrowfully.

For the loss of my life I do not care,

But for the loss of my fair lady.

Now for the loss of my lady sweet,

Which once I thought to have been my

wife,

I pray thee, lord Phenix, ride not away,

For with thee I would end my life.

Tom Pots was but a serving-man,

But yet he was a doctor good,

He bound his handkerchief on his wound,

And with some kind of words he stancht

his blood.*

He leapt into his saddle again,

The blood in his body began to warm,

He mist lord Phenix body fair,

And ran him through the brawn of the

arm;

He bor'd him out of his saddle fair,

Down to the ground most sorrowfully;

Says, prothee, lord Phenix, rise up and fight,

Or yield my lady unto me.

Now for to fight I cannot tell,

And for to fight I am not sure;

Thou must run me throw the brawn o' the

arm,

That with a spear I may not endure.

Thou'st have the lady with all my heart,

It was never likely better to prove

With me or any nobleman else

That would hinder a poor man of his love.

Seeing you say so much, said Tommy Pots,

I will not seem your butcher to be,

But I will come and stancht your blood,

If any thing you will give me.

As he did stancht lord Phenix blood,

Lord! in his heart he did rejoice;

I'll not take the lady from you thus,

But of her you're have another choice.

Here is a lane of two miles long,

At either end we set will be,

The lady shall stand us among,

Her own choice shall set her free.

  • i. e. he made use of a charm for that purpose.

Page 528

492

KATHARINE JANFARIE.

If thou'l do so, lord Phenix said,

To lose her by her own choice it's honesty,

Chuse whether I get her or go her without,

Forty pounds I will give thee.

But when they in that lane was set,

'The wit of a woman for to prove,

By the faith of my body, the lady said,

Then Tom Pots must needs have his love.

Towards Tom Pots the lady did hie,

To get on behind him hastily;

Nay stay, nay stay, lord Phenix said,

Better proved it shall be.

Stay you with your maidens here,

In number fair they are but three;

Tom Pots and I will go behind yonder wall,

That one of us two be proved to dye.

But when they came behind the wall,

The one came not the other nigh,

For the lord Phenix had made a vow,

That with Tom Pots he would never fight.

O give me this choice, lord Phenix said,

To prove whether true or false she be,

And I will go to the laly fair,

And tell her Tom Pots slain is he.

When he came from behind the wall,

With his face all bloody as it might be,

O lady sweet, thou art my own,

For Tom Pots slain is he.

Now have I slain him, Tommy Pots,

And given him deaths wounds two or three;

O lady sweet, thou art my own,

Of all loves, wilt thou live with me?

If thou hast slain him, Tommy Pots,

And given him death's wounds two or three,

I'll sell the state of my fathers lands,

But hanged thou shalt lord Phenix be.

With that the lady fell in a swoond,

For a grieved woman, god wot, was she;

Lord Phenix he was ready then,

To take her up so hastily.

O lady sweet, stand thou on thy feet,

Tom Pots alive this day may be;

I'll send for thy father, lord Arundel,

And he and I the wedding will see:

I'll send for thy father, lord Arundel,

And he and I the wedding will see;

If he will not maintain you well,

Both lands and livings you'nst have of me.

I'll see this wedding, lord Arundel said,

Of my daughters luck that is so fair,

Seeing the matter will be no better,

Of all my lands Tom Pots shall be the heir.

With that the lady began for to smile,

For a glad woman, god wot, was she;

Now all my maids, the lady said,

Example you may take by me.

But all the ladies of Scotland fair,

And lasses of England, that well would

proue,

Noither marry for gold nor goods,

Nor marry for nothing but only love:

For I had a lover true of my own,

A serving-man of low degree :

Now from Tom Pots I'll change his name,

For the young lord Arundel he shall be.

KATHARINE JANFARIE.

Of this ballad—first published in the

"Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border"—the

editor informs us that it is "given from seve-

ral recited copies." It has obviously under-

gone some alteration ; yet much of the rugged

character of the original has been retained.

The scenory of the ballad is said, by tradi-

tion, to lie upon the banks of the Cadden-

water, "a small rill which joins the Tweed

(from the north) betwixt Inverleithen and

Clovenford." It is also traditionally stated

that Katharine Janfarie "lived high up in

Page 529

the glen"--a beautiful and sequestered vale,

connected with Traquair, and situated about

three miles above Traquair House. The re-

cited copies, from which it is probable Sir

Walter Scott collected the verses he has here

brought together, exist in Buchan's " Ancient

Ballads and Songs," and in Motherwell's

" Minstrelsy, Ancient and Modern." It de-

rives interest and impartance, however, less

from its intrinsic merit, than from the cir-

cumstance of its having given to Scott the

hint upon which he founded one of the most

brilliant and spirit-stirring of his composi-

tions--the famous and farourite ballad of

Young Lochinvar. It will gratify the curious

to compare the passages in the two that most

nearly resemble each other. We, therefore,

print the following extracts from Young Loch-

invar, taken from the notes to the modern

edition of the "Minstrelsy:"

" Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on

his sword,

(For the poor craven bridegroom said never

a word)

O, come ye in peace here or come ye in war,

Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochin-

var?"

" 'I long woo'd your daughter, my suit you

denied,

Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its

tide,—

And now I am come with this lost love of

mine,

To lead but one measure, drink one cup of

wine.'

" The bride kiss'd the goblet; the knight took

it up;

He quaff'd off the wine, and he threw down

the cup.

She look'd down to blush, and she look'd up

to sigh,

With a smile on her lips, and a tear in her

eye.

" One touch to her hand, and one word in her

ear,

When they reach'd the hall door, and the

charger stood near :

So light to the croup the fair lady he swung,

So light to the saddle before her he sprung !

" She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush,

and scaur;

" They'll have fleet steeds that follow,' quoth

young Lochinvar."

Gordon of Lochinvar was, we are told, the

head of a powerful branch of that name,

afterwards Viscounts of Lochinvar. Mother-

well's version, entitled Catherine Johnstone,

was " obtained from recitation in the West

of Scotland," and shows the state in which

the "popular ballad" is there preserved. The

" Laird of Lamington" here figures ; and it is

worthy of remark, as proving a common ori-

gin, that "the Laird of Lamington" was the

title given to the ballad in the first edition of

the Border Minstrelsy. A few stanzas from

Motherwell's version will exhibit the varia-

tions between the two copies. The Lord of

Lamington having received tidings that his

lady-love was about to be wedded to an Eng-

lish gentleman, suddenly enters the wedding-

house, where

" Four and twenty belted knights

Sat at a table round ;"

who rose to honour and to welcome him; the

ballad thus proceeds :-

" O, meikle was the good red wine,

In silver cups did flow ;

But aye she drank to Lamington,

For with him would she go.

" O, meikle was the good red wine,

In silver cups gaed round ;

At length they began to whisper words,

None could them understand.

" 'O came ye here for sport, young man,

Or came ye here for play?

Or came ye for our bonny bride,

On this her wedding-day?'

" 'I came not here for sport,' he said,

' Neither did I for play ;

But for one word o' your bonnie bride,

I'll mount and go away.'

" They set her maids behind her,

To hear what they would say ;

But the first question he ask'd at her,

Was always answer'd nay ;

The next question, he ask'd at her,

Was 'Mount and come away!'"

Page 530

494

KATHARINE JANFARIE.

"It's up the Coudon bank,

And down the Coudon brae;

And aye she made the trumpet sound,

It's a weel wom play.

"O, meikle was the blood was shed,

Upon the Coudon brae;

And aye she made the trumpet sound,

It's a' fair play."

Of the two versions to which we have re-

ferred, and another published by Mr. Buchan,

Mr. Robert Chambers has composed a fourth.

Several stanzas, however, are obviously bor-

rowed from other sources,—Gil Morrice espe-

cially. The following passages occur towards

the conclusion :—

"There were four and twenty bonnie boys,

A' clad in Johnstone-grey;

They said they would take the bride again,

By the strong hand, if they may.

"Some o' them were right willing men,

But they were na willing a';

And four and twenty leader lads

Bad them mount and ride awa'.

"Then whingers flew frae gentles' sides,

And swords flew frae the sheaths;

And red and rosy was the blade

Ran down the lily braes.

"The blood ran down by Coudon bank,

And down by Coudon brae;

And, sighing, said the bonnie bride,

'O, wae's me for foul play!'

"'My blessing on your heart, sweet thing!

Wae to your wilful will!

There's mony a gallant gentleman

Whose blade ye have garr'd spill.'"

There was a may, and a weel-far'd may,

Lived high up in yon glen:

Her name was Katharine Janfarie,

She was courted by mony men.

Up then came Lord Launderdale,

Up frae the Lawland Border;

And he has come to court this may,

A' mounted in good order.

He told na her father, he told na her mother,

And he told na ane o' her kin;

But he whisper'd the bonnie lassie hersell,

And has her favour won.

But out then came Lord Lochinvar,

Out frae the English Border,

All for to court this bonny may,

Weel mounted, and in order.

He told her father, he told her mother,

And a' the lave o' her kin;

But he told na the bonny may hersell,

Till on her wedding morn.

She sent to the Laird o' Launderdale,

Gin he wad come and see;

And he has sent word back again,

Weel answer'd she sud be.

And he has sent a messenger

Right quickly through the land,

And raised mony an armed man

To be at his command.

The bride looked out at a high window,

Beheld baith dale and down,

And she was aware o' her first true love,

With riders mony a one.

She scoff'd him, and scorned him,

Upon her wedding day;

And said—"It was the Fairy court

'T'o see him in array!

"O come ye here to fight, young lord,

Or come ye here to play ?

Or come ye here to drink good wine

Upon the wedding day?"—

"I come na here to fight," he said,

"I come na here to play;

I'll but lead a dance wi' the bonny bride,

And mount and go my way."

It is a glass o' the blood-red wine

Was filled up them between,

And aye she drank to Launderdale,

Wha her true love had been.

He's ta'en her by the milk-white hand,

And by the grass-green sleeve;

He's mounted her behind himsell,

At her kinsmen speir'd na leave.*

*["One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear,

When they reach'd the hall door, and the charger stood

near;

So light to the crupper the fair lady he swung,

So light to the saddle before her he sprung!

'She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur;

'They'll have fleet steeds that follow,' quoth young Lochin-

var."

Marmiton.]

Page 531

HOW THE WISE MAN TAUGHT HIS SON.

"Now take your bride, Lord Inchinvar!

Now take her if you may!

But, if you take your bride again,

We'll call it but foul play."

There were four-and-twenty braw lads,

A' clad in the Johnstone grey;

They said they wouldn't take the bride again,

By the strong hand, if they may.

Some o' them were right willing men,

But they were na willing a':

And four-and-twenty Leader lads

Bid them mount and ride awa'.

Then whingers flew frae gentles' sides,

And swords flew frae the shea's,

And red and rosy was the blood

Ran down the lily braes.

The blood ran down by Cauldon bank,

And down by Cauldon brae;

And, sighing, said the bonnie bride—

"O woe's me for foul play!"

My blessing on your heart, sweet thing!

Wae to your willfu' will!

There's mony a gallant gentleman

Whae's bluid ye have garr'd to spill.

Now a' you lords of fair England,

And that dwell by the English Border,

Come never here to seek a wife,

For fear of sic disorder.

They'll haik ye up, and settle ye bye,

Till on your wedding day;

Then gie ye frogs instead of fish,

And play ye foul, foul play.

How the Wise Man taugh his Son.

This little moral piece, which, for the time

wherein it was writlen, is not inelegant, is

given from a manuscript collection in the

Harleian library in the British Museum (No.

1596), compiled in the reign of King Henry

the Sixth. It is not supposed to have been

before printed, nor has any other copy of it

been met with in manuscript; there is however

a striking coincidence of idea in Mr.

Gilbert Cooper's beautiful elegy entitled "A

father's advice to his son," as well as in the

old song of "It's good to be merry and wise;"

which the more curious reader may consult

at his leisure.

Lystenyth all, and ze woll here

How the wyse man taght hys son ;

Take gode tent to thys matere,

And fond to lere yf the con.

Thys song be zonne men was begon,

To make hem tyrsty and stodfast;

But zarn that is oft tyme yll sporne,

Euyll hyt comys out at the last.

A wyse man had a fayre cheyld,

Was well of fyftene zere age,

That was bothe meke and mylde,

Fayre of body and uesage;

Gentyll of kynde and of corage,

For he schulde be hys fadur oyre;

Hys fadur thus, yu hys langage,

'Taght' hys sone bothe weyll and feyre:

And sayd, son, kepo thys word yn hert,

And thenko therof 'tyll' thou be ded;

Zoyr day thy furst weke,

Loke thys be don yn ylke stede :

Furst se thye god yn forme of brede,

And serue hym 'well' for hys godenes,

And afturward, sone, by my rede,

Go do thy worldys besynes.

Forst, worschy thy god on a day,

And, sone, thys shalt thou haue to 'medc,'

Skyll fully what thou pray,

Ho wyll the graunt with outyn drede,

And send the al that thou hast nede

As 'fur' as mesur longyth to strech,

This lyfe in mesur that thou lede,

And of the remnant thou ne rech.

Ver. 10, That. V. 18, thyll. V. 22, wyll. V. 26, mad.

  • i, e. go to mass.

Page 532

496

HOW THE WISE MAN TAUGHT HIS SON.

And, sone, thy tung thou kepe also,

And he not tale wyse he no way,

Thyn owne tonge may he thy fo,

Therfor heware, sone, j the pray,

Where and when, son, thou schalt say,

And he whom thou spekyst ought;

For than many speke a word to day

That seuen yere thems may he forthozt.

Therfore, sone, he ware he tyme,

Desyre no odlys for to here,

For of thy neyborys mawgref,

Thou most hem bothe dysplese and dere,

Or ellys thy self thou must 'forswere,'

And do not as thyn offys wolde,

And gete the mawgrefe here and there,

More then thank a thousand fold.

And, sone, yf thou wylt lyf at ese,

And warme among thy noyhsars syt,

Lat newefangylnes the plese

Oftyn to remowe nor to dyt,

For and thou do thou wutys wyt,

For falys they remowe al to wyde;

And also, sone, an euyl 'sygne' ys hyt,

A men that can no wher abydc.

And, sone, of syche thyng j the warne,

And on my blyssyng take godo hede,

Thou vse nener the taunorene;

And also dysyng j the forbedc:

For thyse two thyngys, with outyn drode,

And comon womcn, as j lene,

Maky zong men euylo to spede,

And 'falle' yn danger and yn myschefo.

And, sone, the more gode thou hast,

The rathcr bere the meke and lowe;

Lagl not mych for that ys wast,

For folys ben by laghing 'knowe.'

And, sone, quyte wele that thou owe,

So that thou he of detts clere;

And thus, my lefe chyldc, as j 'trowe,'

Thou mest the kepe fro dayngere.

And loke thou wake not to longe,

Ne vse not rere sopcrys to lato;

For, were thy complexion neuir so strong,

Wyth surfet thou mayst fordo that.

Of late walkyng oftyn debate,

Ou nyztys for to syt and drynke

Yf thou wylt rule thyn astate;

Betymc go to bed and wynke.

And, sone, as far forth as thou may,

On mon enquest that them come,

Nor no fals wytnessc here away,

Or no manys matcr, all he sumc;

For better the were he defc and down,

Then for to he on any enquest,

That afiyr myzt he vndurumme,

A trew man had hys quarel lest.

And, sone, yf thou wylt haue a wyfe,

'Take hur for no vanetyse,

But loke, sone, sche he the lefe,

Thou wyle bywayt and wele awysc,

That sche he gude, honest. and wyse,

Thof sche he pore take thou no hede,

For sche 'schal' do the more seruys,

Then schall a ryche with outyn drede.

For better it is in rest and pes,

A mes of potage and no more,

Then for to haue a thousand mes,

With grat dysese and angyr sore.

Therfore, sone, thynk on thys lore,

Yf thou wylt haue a wylc with wse,

By hur gode not thou no store,

Thoff sche wolde the bothe fesse and sesse.

And yf thy wylc he meke and gode,

And serue the wele and 'plesantly',

Loke that thou he not so wade,

To charge hur then to owtrageoly;

But then fauo with hur osely,

And chcrysch hur far hur godo dodo,

For thyng ourldom wakythlly,

Makyth to grow where ys no nedo.

I wyl noyther glos no 'paynt,'

But waran the on anodyr sydc,

Yf thy wyfe comc to make pleyut,

On thy seruandys on any sydc,

Be nott to hasty them to chydc,

Nor wreith the or thou wytt the sothe,

For wemen yn wrethc they can not hydc,

But sone they reysc a smokei rofe.

Nor, sone, he not jclows, j the pray,

For, and thou falle in jelosye,

Let not thy wyfe wyt in no way,

For than may do no more foly;

Ver. 45, for swete. V. 55, sagne. V. 64, fulla. V. 63,

enone. V. 71, trewa.

Ver. 05, schalt. V. 106, plesantyl. V. 113, praynt. V.

118, Tho MS. reads wreith the rnd, but the word not is in-

serted by a different, though very ancient, hand, which

has corrected the poom in other places; and is certainly

redundant and improper.

Page 533

BARTHRAM'S DIRGE.

497

For, and thy wyfe may oys aspye

That thou any thyng lur mystryst,

In dyspyte of thy fantesy,

To do the wors ys all lur lyst.

Therfore, sone, j hyd the

Wyrdre with thy wyfe as reson ys,

Thof sche be seruant in degre,

In som degre she felaw ys.

Laddys that ar bundyu, so haue j blys,

That can not rewle their wyves aryzt,

That makys wemen, so haue j blys,

To do ofyn wrong yn plyzt.

Nor, sone, bete nott thy wyfe j rede,

For ther yn may no help 'rise,'

Betyng may not stond yn stede,

But rather make hur 'to despyse:'

Wyth louys awe, sone, thy wyfe chastysc,

And let fayre wordlys bo thy zorde ;

Louys awe ys the best gyrsse,

My sone, to make thy wyfe aferdye.

Nor, sone, thy wyfe thou schalt not elyde,

Nor calle hur by no vyleus name,

For sche that schal ly be thy syde,

To calle hur fowle yt ys thy schame;

Whan thou thyne owyn wyfe wyl dyffame,

Welo may anothyr man do so :

Soft and fayre men make tame

Herte and bulk and wylld rew.

And, sone, thou pay ryst wole thy tytho,*

And pore men of thy gode thou dele;

And loke, sone, be thy lyfe,

Thou gete thy sowle here sum hele.

125

Thys world hyt turnys cuyn as a whole,

All day he day hyt wyl enpayre,

And so, sone, thys worldys wele,

Hyt faryth but as a chery fare.

130

For all that cuyr man doth here,

Wyth besynesse and trauall bothe,

All ys wythowtyn were,

For oure mete, drynk, and clothe;

More getys he not, wythowten othe,

Kyng or prynce whether that he be,

Be hym lefe, or be hym lothe,

A pore man has as mych as he.

And many a man here gadrys gode

All hys lyfe dayes for othyr men,

That he may not by the rode,

Hym self onys ete of an henne;

But be he doluyn yn hys den,

Anothyr schal come at hys last ende,

Schal haue hys wyf and catel thon,

That he has gadred another schal spende.

Therfor, sone, be my counseyle,

More then ynogh thou neuyr covayt,

Thou ne wost wot wyl tho assayle,

Thys werld ys but the fendys buyte.

180

For deth ys, sone, as I trowc,

The most thyng that certyn ys,

And non so vncertayn for to knowe,

As ys the tyme of deth y wys;

And therfore so thou thynk on thys,

And al that j haue seyd beforn :

And Ihesu 'bryng' vs to hys blys,

That for vs weryd the crowne of thorn.

This beautiful and most touching fragment

was originally published in the "Border Min-strelsy ;" we know far too little concerning

it to satisfy the interest it excites. Accord-ing to Sir Walter Scott, it was "taken down

by Mr. Surtees (the historian of Durham county) from the recitation of Anne Douglas,

an old woman who weeded in his garden."

Her memory, however, was defective, and she

was enabled to preserve only snatches of the

old song—the breaks thus left were filled up

by Mr. Surtees ; so that the appended copy is

in reality made complete,—even so far as it

exists,—by the aid of a modern pen. "The

hero of the ditty," says Sir Walter, "if the

reciter be correct, was shot to death by nine

Ver. 135, The latter half of this line seems repeated by

mistake. V. 138, be. V. 140, to despyse thec.

  • The author, from this and other admonitions, is sup-posed to have been a parson.

Ver. 180, The latter part of this stanza seems to be want-ing. V. 187, brynd.

BARTHRAM'S DIRGE.

Page 534

brothers, whose sister he had seduced, but was afterwards buried, at her request, near

their usual place of meeting, which may account for his being laid, not in holy ground,

but beside the burn. The name of Barthram, or Bertram, would argue a Northumbrian

origin; and there is, or was, a Headless Cross, among many so named, near Eildon in

Northumberland. But the mention of the Nine-Stane Burn, and Nine-Stane Rig, seems

to refer to those places in the vicinity of Hermitage Castle (the scene of the Ballad of Lord

Soulis), which is countenanced by the mentioning our Lady's Chapel. Perhaps the hero

may have been an Englishman, and the lady a native of Scotland, which renders the catastrophe even more probable. The style of the

ballad is rather Scottish than Northumbrian.

They certainly did bury in former days near the Nine-Stane Burn; for the Editor remembers finding a small monumental cross, with

initials, lying among the heather. It was so small that, with the assistance of another

gentleman, he easily placed it upright.

Upon one passage—

"A friar shall sing for Barthram's soul,

While the headless cross shall bide"—

Mr. Surtees observes, that in the return made by the Commissioners on the Dissolution of

Newminster Abbey, there is an item of a chantry for one priest to sing daily ad cru-

cem lapideam. Probably many of these crosses had the like expiratory solemnities for

persons slain there.

The ballad is, no doubt, founded upon some actual occurrence; for the incident it relates

must have been common enough in the old days of Border warfare—when to national

animosity was frequently added the stimulus of personal wrong. Of the hapless Barthram,

however, and the lady who "tore her ling long yellow hair," and

"Plaited a garland for his breast,

And a garland for his hair,"

we know nothing, even from tradition.

But the composition carries with it a conviction that its foundation was in truth. The

picture is at once so striking, so touching, and so impressive, as to leave no doubt that Barth-

ram was left

"Lying in his blood,

Upon the moor and moss,"

and that the hand of a loving but unhappy woman

"Cover'd him o'er with the heather flower,

The moss and the lady-fern."

The fragment is classed by Sir Walter

among Historical Border Ballads—the ballads that relate events which we either know "ac-

tually to have taken place, or which, at least,

making due allowance for the exaggerations of poetical tradition, we may readily conceive

to have had some foundation in history,"—such ballads as were current on the Border,

and which, although now existing but in "scraps," were once universally chaunted—

"Young women, when thai will play,

Syng it among thaim ilk day."

"Who will not regret," exclaims Sir Walter Scott, "that compositions of such interest

and antiquity should be now irrecoverable?

But it is the nature of popular poetry, as of popular

phrase, perpetually to shift with the objects of the time; and it is the frail chance

of recovering some old manuscript, which can alone gratify our curiosity regarding the ear-

lier strains, composed during the sixteenth

century, have survived even to the present day; but the redaction of them has, of late

years, become like that of a 'tale which was told.'

As to the mode in which some of these "old and antique songs" have been preserved, we

have a few striking notes in the "Border Minstrelsy."—"Whether they were origi-

nally the composition of minstrels professing the joint arts of poetry and music, or whether

they were the occasional effusions of some self-taught bard, is a question into which I

do not mean to inquire. But it is certain that, till a very late period, the pipers, of

whom there was one attached to each Border town of note, and whose office was often here-

ditary, were the great depositaries of oral,

and particularly of poetical tradition. About spring time, and after harvest, it was the cus-

tom of these musicians to make a progress through a particular district of the country.

Page 535

The music and the tale repaid their lodging,

and they were usually gratified with a donation of seed corn. By means of these men

much traditional poetry was preserved, which

must otherwise have perished. Other itinerants, not professed musicians, found their

welcome to their night's quarters readily insured by their knowledge in legendary lore.

The shepherds also, and aged persons, in the

recesses of the Border mountains, frequently

remember and repeat the warlike songs of

their fathers. This is more especially the case

in what are called the South Highlands,

where, in many instances, the same families

have occupied the same possessions for centuries."

It was from the latter source that Sir Wal-

ter chiefly drew the materials for his work ;-

they were, he states, "collected during his

early youth;" and among the notes to the

latest edition of the "Minstrelsy" is the fol-

lowing:-" There is in the library at Abbots-

ford a collection of ballads, partly printed

broadsides, partly in MS., in six small vo-

lumes, which, from the handwriting, must

have been formed by Sir Walter Scott while

he was attending the earlier classes of Edin-

burgh College." Buchan's collection was

gathered directly as they fell from the lips of

old people. We rejoice to learn that his rag-

ged, but primitive and interesting volumes,

are about to be reprinted "by subscription"-

they have been long out of print.

They shot him dead at the Nine-Stane Rig,

Beside the Headless Cross,

And they left him lying in his blood,

Upon the moor and moss.

They made a bier of the broken bough,

The saugh and the aspin gray,

And they bore him to the Lady Chapel,

And waked him there all day.

A lady came to that lonely bower,

And threw her robes aside;

She tore her ling long yellow hair,

And knelt at Bartram's side.

She bathed him in the Lady-Well,

His wounds so deep and sair;

And she plaited a garland for his breast,

And a garland for his hair.

They rowed him in a lily-sheet,

And bare him to his earth;

And the Gray Friars sung the dead man's

mass,

As they pass'd the Chapel Garth.

They buried him at the mirk midnight,

When the dew fell cold and still,

When the aspin gray forgot to play,

And the mist clung to the hill.

They dug his grave but a bare foot deep,

By the edge of the Nine-Stone Burn,

And they cover'd him o'er with the heather-

flower,

The moss and the lady fern.

A Gray Friar staid upon the grave,

And sang till the morning tide;

And a friar shall sing for Bartram's soul,

While the Headless Cross shall bide.

BORTHWICK'S DECREE.

493

In the vicinity of North Berwick (a small

fishing town nine miles from Dunbar), rises

North Berwick Law, a steep mountain, whose

height from base to summit is computed at

three miles. There is a tradition in the

neighbourhood that Borthwick would give

his daughter only to that suitor who should

bear her to the summit of the mountain with-

out setting her down. To this proposal the

heir of Cockburnspath joyfully acceded, and

the adventure terminated as it has been de-

scribed in the ballad. From the top of North

Berwick Law a beautiful prospect presents

itself to the eye. The shores of Fife, with

Canny Edinbro', may be distinctly seen. The

"Ewe and the Lamb" are two isolated rocks

not far from the shore. The "Bass" is too

well known to require any notice. A short

Borthwick's Decree.

Page 536

distaneo from the town of North Berwick, on

a sloping cliff, is situated a ruined tower,

which is still pointed out by the fishermen as

the abode of the " Manly Borthwick of old."

Such trials of strength as narrated in the

ballad were by no means uncommon. In the

Ilind, a Grecian king is indebted for his wife

to his skill in the dance, having "kept the

floor" (to use a border expression) against

all competitors, and tired them out.

Bortuwick of North Berwick Law,

Wons in his Seaward Tower—

Which looketh on to the German Sea,

A wild and lancy Bower.

The sea mew and the shrieking gull,

May sing him to his sleep,

For the wash o' the wave comes oure tho top

O' Borthwick's auncient keep.

Fair is the winding vale o' Tweed,

Fair is the dawn of day,

Fair is the opening of the spring,

And sweet the gush of May.

But fairer, rarer, sweoter far,

Is Borthwick's Isabel,

She hath an eye—a rosy lip,

What tongue her charms can tell.

Up in the morning early oh,

Up in the early morn;

Who lies abed when abroad he may go,

With hounds and hunting horn?

Up rose the heir of Cockburnspath,

And a wilfu' youth is he,

"Let there be danger in the way,

My true love I'll go see."

"Nay, do not go to North Berwick,"

His trusty yeoman said,

"For Borthwick's scouts lay on the lea,

To take thee quick or dead.

"Love gives me strength, love gives me speed,

Love aids me where I go;

Not for his scouts will I turn back,

Or laut to them I trow."

He had not gone abune a mile,

A mile or barely three,

When four stout hallyons unawares,

Sprung on him from the lea.

And they have bound his arms ahint

With cord and hempen band,

"Dost Borthwick treat me in this sort,

Like a thief upon your hand?"

"Who' finds the wolf, or prowling tod

Within the Laird's domain,

Small weight shall rest upon his head

Who luth the vermin slain."

"Why do I find thee here, young man,

Thou heir of Cockburnspath;

To come sae soon when warnit away

Is daurful of our wrath.

"Did I not say, a fathers nay

Forbid thy coming here;

A true man's word should kept theo back,

Why come in such offeir?

"My dochter Isabel is truthed

To Murray o' Marshall's Mead,

Why thrust thy self lomenth my sword,

Why court her for thy greed?"

"Every man may 'chase the hare

So long as rynns it free,

Every man drinketh of the Burn

That sings unto the sea."

"Every man's no, is not a 'Nay,'

For now and evermore;

I may yet swim unto the land

When thrust out from the shore.

"What Murray o' Marshall Meadows hath,

Do I not hold the same?

He hath no more or I enough

Of bravery and fame.

"If he has noble blood and birth,

Strong limbs ! why so have I;

If Murray outbrages me at a game

Gude faith then let him try.

"Thy dochter is no sheep or steer

That thou shouldst market her;

I'll bid thee a bode, and give thee a fee,

If thou bringst her to the fair."

Borthwick he thought awhile, and then

Ettled the laugh in his eye,

Then turn'd to Murray, and daffin spake

To Cockburn ryghte courteously.

Page 537

BORTHWICK'S DECREE.

501

"I will not have ye fight this out,

Much better it were I wisse,

To set ye both at a trial of skill,

In a game of pleasantness.

"The laugh kills not as swords can do,

The tongue knit with a jest,

Flytes at a stab and cannot wound

The body with unrest.

"Who carries my dochter to Berwick Law,

Here from, and back again;

No let or stop upon the ground

Shall have my child for his pain.

"For we come of the many Borthwicks still,

In the auld and auncient days,

Who better loved the trick o' strength,

Than the dark and bloody ways.

"Call hither my dochter Isabel,

Now Murray I speak it so,

Carry my bairn to North Berwick Law,

Or here thy suit forogo."

Loud laughed the Lord o' Marshall's Mead,

"I bear no maid," said he ;

"She that is lady o' my love,

Must bear the weight o' me."

"A craven's boast is quickly said,"

The heir of Cockburn cried ;

"Come, Isabel, thou art fit one

That I should make my bride

"Throw off thy shoes, my pretty bird,

Thy girdle and pearl necklace;

A pin's point almost weighs a pound

Before I end my race.

"For to the top of North Berwick Law,

Is three long miles and more,

And the heavy toil up the mountain side

Will make it seem a score."

He took her in his manly arms,

And started in his race,

Never a one who followed him

Could keep up with his pace.

And now he sung as the banks grew steep,

And made him pant and blow ;

"Love gives me strength, love gives me speed,

Love aids me where I go.

"Lay still within my arms, sweet luve,

Lay still my Isabel;

For the gully's deep and the scaur is steep,

And the distance it is fell.

"Give me a glance o' thine hazel eye,

When I falter in my race,

Or breathe the breath of thy honey mou'

Upon my heated face."

"Love gives me strength, love gives me speed,"

Undauntedly he sung;

And wi' the burden o' his sang,

The rocks around him rung.

"Seest thou the top of the mountain yet?"

Unto his luve he cried;

"Nothing but heather and ling around,"

Fair Isobel said and sighed.

"I see the Isle of May, and the Bass,

And the Yowe and Lamb in the sea,

The shores o' Fife, the Dunbar coast,

Wi' canny Edinburgh."

"O Isobel, I'gin to faint,

For the way is long and steep ;"

The pretty maiden bowed her head,

And long, long did she weep.

"O that I were a Bird this once,

But now and for thy sake,

O Willio sweet, have courage yet,

And one mair effort make.

"O give me not to Murray's arms,

I'll breathe upon thy face ;"

It freshened him, and he upward rushed,

New heartened in the race.

He staggered now, for his legs grew tired,

And his arms were weak as tow ;

And as he strove to keep his feet,

He flicker'd to and fro.

"That ever love should not be light,

That ever that form of thine

Should tire my heart, and stoutest limbs,

And bid my courage tyne."

"O faint not yet, I see the top,

And a Saugh tree by a stone."

Poor Willie he gathered up his strength,

And his heart sent forth a groan.

Page 538

502

"My Isbel, my strength does fail,

And the top we have not won ;"

"Oh Willie, dear, our struggle's vain,

Ere strength and hope are gone."

He clenched his teeth and drew hard his breath,

Like a man to win or die ;

Then did he rush o'er scaur and bush,

And gained the mountain high !

He gained the Sungh tree, and he placed

Fair Isabel on a stone,

And forward fell upon his face

Wi' a deep and hollow groan.

Borthwick the youth raised in his arms,

"He'll come roun' when he's nursed."—

But the blood cam' owre poor Willie's lips,

For his very heart had burst.

There's a green grave on North Berwick Law,

And a mournful knell and sighs,

And wi' the laddie's her sang

The valley 'neath her rings.

"Love gave him strength, love gave him speed,"

So sings this maid damsel ;

"Never a love was yet so fayre

But fortune it was fa'1."

A hunter ranged i'ae early morn,

The top o' Berwick Law,

Wi' her cauld cheek on a caulder stane,

Withouten stir, withouten moan

You fair Maiden he saw.

Sir Gillum of Myddelton.

This is a tradition, common amongst the fishermen of Holy Island and the Main, which

I have wovon into a ballad. The feat of Sir

Gillum is not original, some Irish Knight on the coast of Ireland having performed the

same action ; the prophecy and the results

being the same. Who Sir Gillum of Middel-

ton was, I am at a loss to discover. Romero,

who is introduced as King of the Holy Islo,

was governor thereof in the time of Edward

the Third; he was afterwards governor of

Coldingham, where he was surprised with his

companions, and brutally murdered by a raiding party of Scots. He was given to

piratical expeditions on his own account, and

inherited his plundering propensities from his

forefathers, who no doubt had often launched

their sea bark to the inspiring strains of the

Scalds and Minnesingers.

Bede calls Lindisfarn a Semi Island, and

as he justly observes, twice a continent in one

day ; for at the flowing of the tide it is encompassed with water, and at the ebb there

is an almost dry passage both for horses and

carriages to and from the main land ; from

which if measured in a straight line it is distant two miles eastward ; but on account of

several quicksands, passengers are obliged to

make so many detours that the distance is

almost doubled. The water o'er these flats

at spring tide is only seven feet. At the

north-west part of the island, a tongue of

land runs into the sea almost a mile in length.

At the southernmost point is a rock of a conical figure, whereon is the Baron’s " Castle of

red rock stone," almost perpendicular, sixty

feet in height, and crowned by a small fortress. There are four caves or cores as they

are called, to the north-north-east of the island,

and in one of these Sir Gillum

Stabled his dappled steed

In a cave on the eastern shore.

The largest of these caves is upwards of fifty

foot long, with an entrance just large enough

to admit a man.

The principal feature of any interest on this

island is its venerable abbey, now in utter

ruins.

"The abbey," says Pennant, "retains at

this day one singular beauty ; the tower has

not formed a lantern, as in other cathedrals:

but from the angles, arches spring, crossing

each other diagonally to form a canopy roof."

One of these arches yet remains unloaded

Page 539

with any superstructure, supported by the south-east and north-east pillars, and ornamented with zigzag moulding: a "granite rainbow," as a gentleman termed it. The whole abbey is composed of a soft red free-stone, and renders the aspect of the place dark and forbidding.

"In Saxon strength that abbey frowned."

Marmion.

The rock on which the castle of "red rock stone" stands, is inaccessible save only by a winding path, belting the rock on the southern side. A fortress in this situation, before the use of gunpowder, must have been impregnable; the castle being above any engine's reach, and the rocks too high to be scaled. A small detachment was kept here during the war, but was discontinued in 1819.

When days are long and nights are short,

And the sky is bright and sheen,

And merrily sing the cushat and merle

From out the loavis so green.

When trouts leap at a Summer fly,

And hay be newly mawn,

To see his love in the Holy Isle,

Gaed Gillum of Mydoltoun.

He cantered over the Fomham flats,

When the tide was back the while,

Which once a day doth change that spot

From Continent to Isle.

The quicksands lurk by Manvel's head,

And deep is Waren's Bay;

Yet gallantly with eident hand

Sir Gillum rude on his way.

Romero's daughter looked from her bower

Over the wave-ribbed sand,

And she spied Sir Gillum, her own true knight,

Midway the isle and the land.

She donned her kirtle o' Lincoln's green,

Which was of the silk so fair,

And she went forth to the eastern shore,

To taste the caller air.

64

SIR GILLUM OF MYDELTOUN.

Sir Gillum he stabled his dapple steed

In a cave on the eastern shore;

Its roof and sides were of the rock,

And the sand drift was its door.

Romero is proud, and is almost King

Of Farn and the Holy Isle;

No man dare say to this Baron, "nay,"

Yet hope to live the while.

Romero was drinking at the board,

In his castle of red rock stone,

A youth cam' in, and before his stool

He laughly louted down.

"Thy dochter walks on the eastern shore

With Gillum of Mydeltoun;"

The Sea King, wi' goblet in his hand,

He strake the youth on the croup.

"Thou liest, thou churlish loon," he cried,

"With Gillum of Mydeltoun!"

And he churned his teeth like a boar in rage,

And girned at the trembling loon.

"Gillum, he slew my sister's sonne

Last Whitsun tryst was a year;

His mither sall weep his loss the night

Were he a Soldan's peer.

"Bring me a rope, and an oaken staff,

And I will bind him fast;

Short be his shirt, for he shall swing

From yonder tall top mast."

The mother wept for her dochter's fame,

That ever she gave her birth;

Quo' he, "Our abbey has dungcons enow

To hide her shame from earth."

He girded his sword unto his thigh;

A sting that oft had stang;

And he's away wi' henchman an' rope

Mydeltoun's heir to hang.

60

These yonge luvers walkit on the sea shore,

The Baron he gnawed at his thoomb;

O they were twa pullets in gleesome play,

When the fox crawls thro' the broom.

Gillum he kissed fayre Annie's cheek,

As pleasantly did they chat;

The Baron he mutter't between his teeth,

"I'll notch thy face for that."

Page 540

504

SIR GILLIUM OF MYDELOT'N.

He waited until the rising tide

Covered the yellow sand;

Then rose he up from the waving bent

With his faulchion in his hand.

"I will not leave thee, fayre Annie, but kisse

Thy sweete lips o'er and o'er;

An armful of rushes shall be my bed,

In my steed's cave on the shore."

"'Twere better thou goast," fayre Annie she

cried,

"For a swicven I had of thee;

That a ratton it louped into my neck,

And rugget me grievously."

Sir Gillum he heard a voice loud cry,

"Bold traytor, turn and stand!"

And he saw the Baron upon the bent,

Wi' his faulchion in his hand.

"Yield thee or fight thee, bold traytor,

My top mast to swing doun;"

"I will do neither, an I wisso,

Quoth Gillum of Mydelotoun.

"Thou art my Amie's father," he said,

"Albeit an enemy;

I will not battle against thy hand,

For the love 'tween Annie and me."

The Baron and henchman closed on him,

Whon Sir Gillum he drew his blade;

And whistled the sword around his head,

As stern defence he made.

He clave the henchman to the teeth

Wi' a dowaright wicked blow;

Parted his head, as the halflings fell

Upon his shoulders low.

He threw the Baron a heavy fall,

And bore fayre Annie away,

Untill he gained the eastern neuk,

And heard his charger neigh.

He placed fair Annie in saddle seat;

And then sprung up afore,

And plunged his gude steed in "the sea,"

And swam for Fenham shore.

"A purse of gold for a cable boat,

To catch you cursed thief;

A beggarly Scot to be her mate,

Good lord, I had as lief."—

70

Four fishermen spring to their bnt,

Four lishers I trow were they;

Wi' a heave and shout they ran her out,

And their boat launched in the sea.

Three times the surging waters washed

Fair Annie from her place,

And thrice Sir Gillum held her fast,

Within his close embrace.

Three miles and more is Fenham shore

Unto the Holy Land;

And like a swan, the steed it swam,

Till he reached the yellow sand.

The steed it swam, and the coble shot,

Whilst the fishers rax'd at the oar,

Was ne'er such a race, the steed I say

First landed at Fenham shore.


As Gillum rode up Chester Hill,

He met a woman old;

She craved him there to give her alms,

For in south her limbs were cold.

He drew a noble from his purse,

And gave it yon auld dame;

"Pray for me, gude wife," he said, "for the road

Is not oft trod I came."

She gave an eldritch laugh at the gold:

"Thy fortune I will prie,

Not every knight so gallant and brave

Doth give his gold so free."

She told him then some proven truths,

That long ago had past;

"The bonny beast you ride upon

Shall be your denth at last."

He patted the neck of his courser fleet,

"Good mother, you do but jest;

For Rupert is gentle, swift, and good,

As a child at a nourice breast!"

"The wiord is written in heaven," she said,

"And scartit in hell below;

Rupert will lay thee on thy bier

In mickle dool and woe."

"Alas and woe a day!" he cried,

"That ever it should so fall;

That I must slay the noblest steed

That was ever stabled in stall."

115

120

125

130

135

140

145

150

155

Page 541

THE DEATH OF KING MALCOLME.

505

He rode fleet Rupert down to the sands,

For his herte was sad with woe;

The teares were in Sir Gillum's oyes,

For he loved that courser soe.

160

Slowly Sir Gillum he lighted doun,

Took off the saddle and reins;

Quo' he, "I am about to make

Small guerdon for thy pains."

He drew his sword so sharp and bright,

165

And turned away his eye,

For his heart was soft, that he might not see

That peerless charger die.

But love o' life will turn the scale,

In man or beast at need;

170

Sir Gillum jaloused the safor way,

Was o'en to kill his steed.

He struck fleet Rupert neath the log,

The blood spun frae the wound,

175

Till the noble charger mouned in pain,

And so fell on the ground.

He turnd his oye to Sir Gillum's face,

And said, but with nae tongue,

"Did I carry thee thro' the rushing tide

180

For thee to do this wrong?"


Sir Gillum is happy, Sir Gillum is proud,

For a mother is Annie his bride;

And wi' a frion' in the sweet spring time,

185

He walkit forth in his pride.

He passed where the bones o' his proud charger

Were bleaching in the wind;

And Sir Gillum he said, "A better steed

In England thou couldst not find,

"Than was the fleete one that lieth here;

190

The tod and the corby crow

Have fed upon his peerless limbs,

And his flesh and blood also.

"'Twas told me once that my fleete Rupert,"

He said in laughing mood,

"Should be my death; so I slew the steede,

That my life should still be good."

196

He careless kicked his horse's head,

Whitning in sun an' the rain,

When a splinter o' bone strake into his foot,

And caused him mickle pain.

200

The leech he cannot cure that wound,

And still it mortifyes;

In spito of skill, or of earthly will,

Sir Gillum of Mydeltoun dies.

"A foolish wicrd has proven ryghte:

205

Farewell, my fayre Annie,

For the faithful stéed I slew in my need,

Is now avenged on me.

"Where Rupert's bones lie in the mist,

O Annie, lay my corse;

210

And let that knight take most delight,

To cherish the steed that has borne him in fyglte,

And never slay his Horse."

The Death of King Malcolm

Is founded on the historical facts subjoined.

Alnwick Castle appears to have been a place

of great strength immediately after the Norman Conquest; for in the reign of King

William Rufus, it underwent a remarkable siege from Malcolm the Third, King of Scotland, who lost his life before it, as did his

son Prince Edward. The most authentic account of this event seems to be that given

in the ancient Chronicle of Alnwick Abbey,

of which a copy is preserved in the British Museum. This informs us, that the castle,

though very strong, was in danger of being taken by assault; and being cut off from all

hopes of succour, was on the point of surrendering, when one of the garrison undertook to rescue it by the following stratagem.

He rode forth completely armed, with the keys of the castle tied to the end of his spear,

and presented himself in a suppliant manner before the king's pavilion, as being come to

surrender up the possession. Malcolm too hastily came forth to receive him, and received

a mortal wound. The assailant escaped

Page 542

506

THE DEATH OF KING MALCOLME

through the river, which was then swoln with rain. The chronicle adds, that his name was Hammond, and that the place of his passage over the river, was long after known by the name of "Hammond's Ford;" probably where the bridge was afterwards built. Prince Edward, Malcolm's eldest son, immediately advancing to revenge his father's death, received a wound, of which he died three days after. The spot where Malcolm was slain is distinguished by a cross, which was restored in 1774, by Elizabeth, Duchess of Northumberland, who was immediately descended from the unfortunate king, by his daughter Queen Maud, wife of King Henry I. of England. The west side of the cross bears the inscription, "Malcolm ye third, King of Scotland was slain on this spot, besieging Alnwick Castle, Nov'r. 13, a.m. M.XCIII." On the east side, "Malcolm's Cross decayed by time, was restored by his descendant, Matilda Duchess of Northumberland, M.D.C.LXXIV." The Cross has three steps to the pedestal; on the north side are sculptured a crown and thistle, and on the south side a lion rampant, with other devices. The pedestal and capital of the old Cross still remain amongst the adjoining trees.

Twas sun was glinting thro' the shaws, And flowered the elder tree, When Malcolm, King o' braid Scotland, Rose up from the dew wet lea. Sing oh so mournfully, so duteously.

He held wild Morkall in Alnwick Towers, Wi' a ring o' armed men; And all his warriors tonted round, Were thousands three and ten. Sing oh, &c.

He pressed so sorely on the walls, They were like to eat the stane; They slaughtered haunds and pinin' yards, Picked rattons to the Bane. Sing oh, &c.

Morkall he swore to eat his gloves, Or ere he yields the war's, And they are made of good doe's hide, That louped in Durham's shaws. Sing oh, &c

His hardiest men ran hurrying hear The weight o' their iron gaith; A mother wad sairly kent her son In that griesly haul o' death. Sing oh, &c. 25

It was upon a day in Spring, When the scent came frae the thorn, The Scottish monarch summoned them, With three wounds a' the horn. Sing oh, &c. 30

"Come down from out your castell grey, That stands upon the hill, Or by the road, we'll shed your blood, For we are sworn to kill." Sing oh, &c. 35

Morkall he glinted ower the walls, "So draw off a pace your men; I yield my trust nae help arrives, And Alnwick Castle's ta'en." Sing oh, &c. 40

"But give to me your kingly word, Ere I draw out or bolt, Ten minutes to come, ten minutes to go, Your faith and truth as a Scottish king, I'll meet you on the holt. Sing oh, &c. 45

"And I'll give up my Castle's keys To thee, thou Scottish king; The bravest men in a' the Merse Can dow but as they ding." Sing oh, &c. 50

"My hand and glove, my faith and troth, I give to thee also; And I'll grant thee thy liberty, With leave to come and go." Sing oh, &c. 55

Wight Hammond mounted then his steed, And he look'd to girth an' strap; And wi' the keys on his Border spear, Out ower the Brig he lap. Sing oh, &c. 60

He pricked his charger cannily, For the brute had na' that force; Nae corn in the garner, or oats in the bin, And the fire will leave a horse. Sing oh, &c. 65

Page 543

THE DEATH OF KING MALCOLME.

507

There was a fechtin his mind,

For his cheek was deadly wan ;

And he pursed his brows like one beset

With a deep and deadly ban.

Sing oh, &c.

His mind was set to do a deed,

And he struck his rowels hard,

The beast sprung forth with nae corn in his wame,

He near fell o'er the yird.

75

Sing oh, &c.

He forded the Aln at the fall o' the hill,

An arrow's flight from the towers,

And on the knowe King Malcolme stood,

Surroundit by his powers.

80

Sing oh, &c.

Bauld Hammonds check'd his bridle rein,

Some ten yards frae the King;

He lowered his lances'd cap, and stood

Up in his stirrup ring.

Sing oh, &c.

"I hear the keys o' Alnwick Gates;"

He said wi' saucy air;

"I hold them forth, let him wha likes

Come tak them gin' he dare."

90

Sing oh, &c.

A score o' Chiefs put forth a stap,

But Malcolmo staid them a';

"Now feint a hand shall tak those keys,

Save him wha gives the law."

95

Sing oh, &c.

He walkit thro' the yellow broom,

Fell Hammonds he waited near;

He met him full, and in Malcolme's eye

He thrust his Border spear;

100

Sing oh, &c.

And turning round fled down the bank,

And squattered thro' the ford,

And gained the Castell; brig and baulk

Right willingly were lower'd.

105

Sing oh, &c.

Oh Jesu! 'twas a fearful sight

To see that kingly man;

Struck thro' the skull, whilst royal blood

Left cheeks and halfeets wan.

110

Sing oh, &c.

Then siccan a cry o' wild revenge,

Did earth and heaven stoun ;

The birds that skim'd alang the air,

For very fright fell down.

115

Sing oh, &c.

The Scots are arming for the fight,

O siccan a fearful shout,

They rushed rud wud to the Castle gates,

Like a herd o' frightened nowte.

120

Sing oh, &c.

Now haud thy ain thou wild Morkall,

For the Scots rage all below;

Thou'st fought in mony a battle field,

But never so wild a fce.

125

Sing oh, &c.

From bendit bows, like winter's sleet,

Shafts flyter thro' the sky;

They bend the bony mangonel,

And the stane in showers fly.

130

Sing oh, &c.

Some on ilk ither's shonthers mount,

Whilst reeking tar and pitch,

With blocks and burs and hot water,

Fell warriors in the ditch.

135

Sing oh, &c.

O, O, the sin ! O, O, the din !

That men should warsle so,

They backward bore the bloody King,

From that green and fatal knowe.

140

Sing oh, &c.

Bauld Hammonds spear hath gash'd his

brows,

His skull is bark't and riven,

And the priest wi' words o' grace and luve,

The dying King hath shriven.

145

Sing oh, &c.

Yedward the Prince, that fatal thrust

Doth honours to thee bring;

Of braid Scotland and Combernauld,

It makes thee the mighty King.

150

Sing oh, &c.

The battle sounded loud and clear—

Frae his bed o' rushes dried,

Like one strong in life the King louped up,

And his slogan wild he cried.

155

Sing oh, &c.

Page 544

508

THE SLAUGHTER OF THE BISHOP.

Sightless and feeble did he turn

His face to the fechtin band;

He could na' speak, but he fetched his breath

And deadly shook his hand.

Sing oh, &c.

O but for ae glance o' his eagle eye,

O' heaven's blessed light;

To die as should become a Chief,

In the midst o' yonder light.

Sing oh, &c.

He warsled wi' his agony,

And to die like a mangy tyke—

His Kingly soul flew frac his lips,

In a wild unearthly shriek.

Sing oh, &c.

His soul and life did from his flesh,

His hawkin eyes were shent;

He backward fell, a bloody corpse,

Ere his body turned the bent.

Sing oh, &c.

The dead stark to the hand Hammond,

And for his joust saw grim,

Because he pierced King Malcolm's eye,

Piercy they cursedn't him.

Sing oh, &c.

They biggitt a cross where Malcolm fell,

Where Hawthorn blossoms were;

I tell na lie, for ye yet may see,

King Malcolm's bloody grave.

Sing oh so dutefully, sae mournfully.

The Slaughter of the Bishop.

The slaughter of the Bishop is mentioned

in Brand's History of Durham; what was

the offence of this prelate, the historian does

not say ; perhaps it was a question of tithes,

or more probably some ecclesiastical change,

to which the people offered resistance, and in

the heat of their fury, they broke in upon

him and slew him. "The old Chapel by the

gate," as the Chronicler avers, might well

answer to the old Chapel in Gateshead. The

watch word of the murderers was "gude

redde, shorte redde, slay ye the Bischoppe,"

meaning probably, a good riddance; or as

"redde" stands for counsel in the old ballads,

it may have meant the latter.

He hath brought King William's honde.

That it was a weighty matter affecting

some reformation in the Church, we are led

to believe by the Priest being armed with

King William's word (that is the parchment),

with the law or order signed by the King

(William I.).

The Black Friars and the White,

And eke the lowly Greye.

There were Monasteries of all these orders

in Newcastle, during the period of which we

write. They're names spwares still known by the

names of "Black Friars, White Friars," and

several lanes called "Grey Friars, Low

Friars, Crutched Friars," &c.

And, My masters, Iin sayd, what means this

affair?

"Reddin in eflair," a Border phrase, to come

armed for battle.

Rose high as Saynt Nicholasse,

See the Ballad of "Earl Murray."

He clave the woode, when strange to tell

Out gushed a streame of bloode.

A miracle occurred on the feast of St. Os-

win (which the author has copied in the pre-

sent ballad). "On the feast of the passion

of St. Oswin (a Saxon martyr and king), as

a sailor was cutting a piece of wood on board

his schippe at Newcastle-on-Tyne, he saw

blood gush out of it in great abundance; re-

collecting the festival he gave over work, but

a companion of his, regardless of the miracle,

persisted in his profane business; and upon

striking the wood, the blood gushed out in

still greater abundance. Both clergy and

Page 545

laity were informed of this, and approved the miracle; the wood was carried to Tynemouth, where the Saint's bodie was interred, to be there preserved in testimony thereof.

Knowne for hys sanctitie.

See the life and writings of the Venerablo Bede.

The Bischoppe has come with King William's worde

To the Chapell by the gate; But he may rue his journeyings, Or ere it be too late.

Guderedde, shortredde, slay ye the Bischoppo.

The people are there, with hanging looks, And no man cries, "God blesse

Thee thou Bischoppe of King Willyam, Arrayed in holynesse."

Gude redde, &c.

He hath broughtto Kyng Willyam's honde, Writton on parchement fayre, Gif any liko to see the wordes They in his face shall stare.

Gudo redle, &c.

The Black Friars and the White, And eke the lowlye Greye, Walk two's and two's wylth the proud Bisch-oppe, A fayre sighte by my fayo.

Gude redde, &c.

In and upon the Gateshead strets, The people gather and fille, Wyth sticks stelie headed, staves and stones, The Durham Priest to kille.

Gude redde, &c.

They gather about the holy chapelle, And talk of his perfidie; How that he has graspit all the tythes, And swept the fat off the lea.

Gude redde, &c.

Ruddie his hue and whyte his haire, Firm was his bowe; albeyte his eyes Flamed in his hede lyke coals of fyre, As rounde he looked in wonder wyse.

Gude redde, &c.

The stourne of tongeus grewe threatneninge, As the Bischoppe tended massie; But the shoutinge and the people's groans, Rose highe as St. Nicholasso.

Gude redde, &c.

The Bischoppe rushed to the altarr stone, For he was a hasty manne; And, "My masters," he say'd, "what means this effeir?"

When arose around the banne.

Gude redde, &c.

They closed uppone the Durham Saynt, To split his shaven crowne, When he helde the preciouse crosse aloofe, Where our Savioure lookèd downe.

Gude redde, &c.

But the howlinge men of the gate Preste on to slaye the Prioste, So he withdrew into the chappolle, As a sanctuarie of resto.

Gude redde, &c.

Uppe came RIngan of Lymington, And Ruger's of the fonne, Nout of the Muldocks, St. Dunstone's Cocke, And a host of shrieking menne.

Gude redde, &c.

The Bischoppe stood, and his snowy haires Were streaming in the blast; Quo he, "Have ye some reverence--"

But the crosse from his gripe they cast.

Gude redde, &c.

He hastened to the altarr steppes, And there his courage keppe; A lowsel lifted his partizan, And clave the chappelle steppe.

Gude redde, &c.

He clave the woode; when strange to tell Out gushed a streame of bloode!

"A mirackle," the Bischoppe criedo From the altarr where he stoode.

Gude redde, &c.

"It shalle not save thee," fierce RIngan sayde, And the Bischoppes skull he clave, When bloode and braines flew all aboute, On chappelle walle and pave.

Gude redde, &c.

Page 546

510

THE OUTLANDISH KNIGHT.

There was a fearfull cry went uppe

For horror at what was done;

They fownd their wayes, and the Priestte was

lette

Deade ! on the altair stone.

Guide riddle, &c.

85

The Monkes of Jarowme came uppe the Tyne,

Wyth St. Cuthbert's banner a' streame,

And the dyrge rase for the Bischoppes sowlde,

The rowers' songe betwene.

Guide riddle, &c.

90

They gatherd uppe the slaughtered Priestte,

In his gory robes hedighte;

Oh holy Chryste ! his crimsonne bloodde

Had dyed his stole so whyte.

Guide riddle, &c.

95

They never lyfted oarro or sayle,

When they hore the bodie aborde;

When the boate it grounded in Jarow Slake,

As of ita name a wracke,

Guide riddle, &c.

100

Not all the menme in Christendie,

Forbye Northumberlande,

Coude thruste the boate a fathom's lengthe

From off the tail o'the sandte :

Guide redde, &c.

105

But a gentil windle came from the west,

And they sung Saynt Cuthbert's hymn,

And the bodie dryfted to the lande,

As fast as itt wondle swym.

Guide redde, &c.

110

They buryed hym in solem wryse,

In Jarow Monasterie,

Where lired and prayed the holic Bede,

Knouune for hys sanclitie.

Guide redde, &c.

115

The Outlandish Knight.

A BORDER BALLAD.

This Ballad is copied from a broad sheet

in the possession of a gentleman of New-

castle; it has also been published in "Ritch-

ardson's Tuble Book." The verses with in-

verted commas are added at the suggestion

of a friend, as it was thought the Knight was

not rendered sufficiently odious without this

new trait of his dishonour. There is in

Monk Lewis's Tales of Wonder, a translation

from a German Ballad, on the same subject

or nearly so; for the Knight goes to church,

and meeting with a lovely mayden,

He skipped o'er benches one or two,

"Oh lovely maid, I die for you;"

He skipped o'er benches two or three,

"Oh lovely maid, come walk with me."

The maiden complies; but it appears the

Knight proves to be a "most perfidious mon-

ster," as Trinculo says of Caliban, for he

entices the pretty maid to cross the river in

a boat, and when in the centre of the stream

he sinks with his prey into the waves. Camp-

bell's well known Ballad of "Lord Ullin's

Daughter," is on the same subject.

Whothouthero of the "Outlandish Knight"

was, I have no means of discovering, as it is

one of those Ballads that pass down the

stream of time unheimed, and whose author-

ship is left for the antiquary to discover.

An Outlandish Knight from the north lands

came,

And he came a wooing to me;

He told me he'd take me to the north lands,

And I should be his fair bride be.

4

A broad, broad shield did this stranger wield,

Wherecon did the red cross shine;

Yet never, I ween, had that strange Knight

been

In the fields of Palestine.

And out and spoke the stranger Knight,

This Knight of the strange countrie;

"O mayden fayr, with the raven hayre,

Thou shalt at my bidding be.

10

Page 547

"Thy sire he is from home, ladyo,

For he hath a journey gone;

And his shaggy blood-hound is sleeping

sound

Beside the postern stone.

"Go bring me some of thy father's gold,

And some of thy mother's fee;

And steeds twain of the best, that in the

stalls rest,

Where they stand thirty and three."

She mounted her on her milk white steed,

And he on a dapple grey,

And they forward did ride till they reached

the sea side,

Three hours before it was day.

Then out and spoke this strangor Knight,

This knight of the north countrie;

"O maydon fayr with the raven hayre,

Do thou at my bidding be.

"Alight thee from thy mylk white steed,

And doliver it unto me;

Six maids have I drowned where the billows

sound,

And the seventh one shall thou be."

"But first pull off thy kirtle fine,

And deliver it unto me;

Thy kirtle of green is too rich, I ween,

To rot in the salt, salt sea."

"Pull off, pull off thy silkon shoon,

And deliver them unto me;

Methinks they are too fine and gay,

To rot in the salt, salt sea.

"Pull off, pull off thy bonny green plaid,

That floats in the breeze so free,

It is woven fine with the silver twine,

And comely it is to see."

"If I must pull off my bonny silk plaid,

O turn thy back to me,

And gaze on the sun, which has just begun

To peer owre the salt, salt sea."

"Thou art too shameful, fayr maid," he sayd,

To wanton so with me;

I've seen thee in thy holland smock,

And all to pleasure me."

"If thou hast seen me in my smock,

The more shame thee betide;

It better becem'd that tongue not tell,

But rather my sinne to hide."

"Who ever tempted weak woman

Unto a deed of evil;

To tempt the first and then to twit,

Becsemeth but the devyl."

He turned his back on the fayr damselle,

And looked upon the beam;

She graspt him tight with her arms so white,

And plunged him in the streme.

The streme it rushed, and the Knight he

roar'd,

And long with the waters strave;

The water kelpies laughed with joy,

As they smoored him in the wave.

"Lie there, lie there, thou false hearted

Knight,

Lie there instead of me;

Six damsels fayr thou hast drownèd there,

But the seventh has drownèd thee."

The ocean wave was the false one's grave,

For he sunk right hastily;

Tho' with bubbling voice he pray'd to his

saint,

And utter'd an Ave Marie.

Page 548

512

COCHRANE'S BONNY GRIZZY.

Cochrane's Bonny Grizzy.

This Ballad commemorates the matchless devotion and indomitable courage of Grizel Cochrane, when the tyranny and bigotry of James VII. towards his Scottish subjects, forced them to take up arms for the redressal of their grievances. One of the most formidable rioters as well as most prominent actors in Argyle's Rebellion, was Sir John Cochrane, ancestor of the present Earl of Dundonald. For ages a destructive doom seems to have hung over the house of Camp-bell, enveloping in one common ruin all who united their fortunes in the cause of its Chieftains. The same doom befell Sir John Cochrane; for he was surrounded by the King's troops, and though he made a desperate resistance, was overpowered and conveyed to prison in Edinburgh. His trial was brief, the indictment decisive, and the jailor waited but the arrival of his death warrant from London to lead him forth to execution, when Grizel Cochrane, the pride of his life, and the noble daughter of his house, determined on rescuing her father from the scaffold. Having received his blessing, she wended her solitary way to Borwick, disguised in a palmer's weeds; and robbed the man of the London Mail as described in the Ballad. Every exertion was made to discover the robber, but in vain. Three days had passed; Sir John Cochrane yet lived, and before another order for his execution could reach Edinburgh, the intercession of his father, the Earl of Dundonald, with the King's Confessor might be successful. Grizel now became his only companion in prison, and spoke to him words of comfort. Nearly fourteen days had now elapsed since the commission of the robbery, and protracted hope began to make sick the heart of the prisoner. The intercession of Dundonald had been unsuccessful, and a second time the bigoted and despotic monarch signed the warrant for Cochrane's death. "The will of Heaven be done," exclaimed the nobleman, when the jailor informed his prisoner of the circumstance. "Amen," said the heroic Grizzly with wild vehemence; "but my father shall not die." To save him, as the Ballad informs us,

She aiblins kenned a way.

Her merciless pursuers were again in requisition; again the rider had almost gained the Moor of Torwood, hunting with him the doom of Cochrane; but Grizzly was at her post, and again despoiled him of his packet. By this second robbery Grizzly insured her father's life for fourteen days, the time then necessary to ride between London and the Scottish metropolis. But on this occasion, Dundonald and several Lords of great worth and consideration, used the time so effectually, that Sir John Cochrane was liberated and pardoned.

Grizel Cochrane, whose heroic conduct and filial affection we have imperfectly sketched, was, according to tradition, the great-grandmother of the late Sir John Stuart of Allanbank, and great-great-grandmother of the celebrated Mr. Cuttis, the banker; but a few years ago the author of the Border Tales received a letter from Sir Hugh Stuart, son of Sir John, stating that his family would be glad to have such a heroine as Grizel connected with their genealogy; but that they were unable to prove such connexion. A few miles from Haddington my yet be seen a solitary clump of fir trees, walled round, and standing by the road side, which is yet called "Grizzly's clump," and pointed out as a part of the thicket from whence Cochrane's bonny daughter fired on the carrier of the mail. We have lost much of the wisdom of our ancestors, and amongst other matters, the folly of sending one horseman with the mail, who had already been despoiled of his charge.

The warlocks are dancing threesome reels.

Goswick Links, Kylce Hills, Lowlinns, &c., are places in the immediate vicinity of Grizzly's Clump. I am not aware that this Ballad was ever printed before, nor have I any knowledge if a Ballad on the same subject exists.

Listen now baith great and simple,

Whilst I croon to you my sang,

Ere such an anither damsell peers,

The world will cease to wag ere lang:

For she is the flower o'er a' the bower,

My blessings on Cochrane's Bonny Grizzy.

Page 549

COCHRANE'S BONNY GRIZZY.

513

Her feyther lay lang in the Embru jail,

Wearin fast to his end,

For his head man be swept clean frae his shouthers,

When the warrant the King shall sound;

Singing waes me, wi' the tear in her e'e,

Did Cochrane's bonny dochter mourn.

She kist her feyther's lyart locks,

Unkempt for mony a day;

And she said, "To save my feyther's life,

1 aiblins ken a way :

Gie me thy luve, that I fortune prove?"

Quo Cochrane's bonny dochter.

She rode awa' thro' the straggling toun,

Of beggart Hadingtoun,

Syne by Dunbar, thro' the Coppersmith,

'Till to Berwick she has come :

And she rappit ryghte loud on the barred gates,

Did Cochrane's bonny dochter.

She slept a' night, and she rose betimes,

And cross'd the lang brig o' the Tweedmonth brae,

Sair draggltit was her woman's weid;

And lightin down by Haggerston Shaws,

Did Cochrane's bonny Grizzy.

A cloak she drew frae her saddle bag,

Wi' trunks and a doublet fayre,

She cut off wi' a faulding knife,

Her lang and raven hair;

And she dressed herself in laddies' claiths,

Did Cochrane's Bonny Grizzly.

The horseman rode intill Bedford toun,

Wha' carry't the London Mail,

Bauld Grizzy she sought the hostel out,

And there wi' a couthy tale,

Forgathered wi' the London post,

Did Cochrane's Bonny Grizzy.

She roared the loudest af them a',

Quo the fallow, "My canty chiel,

Deil blaw my pipes yere the crack o' the wa',

And the bestamang the hail."

In the dead of night did they gang to their beds,

She rose ower the bed, ere the second cock,

Went jimply alang the floor;

She's stown her fayther's death warrant,

Whilst the lubbert loud did snore.

She's gained the hills ere the hue and cry

They raisit on Cochrane's dochter.

But the King can write anither brief,

For a' the first be stown :

And once again the fallow rode,

Wi' the warrant frae London town :

Now out and alas, what can she do ?

For the heart o' Grizzy sank.

The red sun went down o'er the sea,

And the wind blew stiff and snell,

And as it shot by Grizzy's lugs,

It sounded auld Cochran's knell;

"But downa despair, 'tis a kittle carle,"

Said Cochrane's bonny dochter.

The larch and the tall fir shrieked wi' pain,

As they bent before in the wind,

And down there fell the heavy rain,

"A lang night 'tis no'or seas a day,"

Quoth Cochran's undaunted Grizzy.

The warlocks are dancing threesome reels,

On Goswick's haunted links,

The red fire shoots by Ladythorne,

And Tam wi' the lanthorn fa's and sinks;

On Kyloc's hills there's awfu' sounds,

But they frighted not Cochrane's Grizzy.

The moon beams shot from the troubled sky,

In glints o' flickerin light,

The horseman cam skelping thro' the mire,

For his mind was in affright;

His pistol cocked he held in his hand,

But the fient a fear had Grizzy.

As he cam' fornenst the Fenwicke woods,

From the whin bushes shot out a flame;

His dappled filly reared up in affright,

And backward ower he came;

There's a hand on his craig, and a foot on his mouth,

Twas Cochran's Bonny Grizzy.

"I will not tak thy life," she said,

"But gie me thy London news;

No blood o' thine shall fyle my blade.

Gin me ye dinna refuse:"

She's prie'd the warrant, and away she flew,

Wi' the speed and strength o' the wild curlew.

Page 550

514

YOUNG RATCLIFFE.

Love will make a foe grow kind,

Love will bring blossom where bad is naught,

Love hath softened a kingly mind;

Grizzly hath mercy to counsellors taught.

Her friends at court have pried on the life

O' Grizzly's banished feyther.

99

She's wedded unto a German knight,

Her kinsmen dlyth wi' her sire remain,

She's cast the laddie's clouts awa,

And her raven hair is growing again.

105

What think ye, gentles o' every degree,

O' Chetham's bony Grizzly?

Young Ratcliffe.

The hero of this ballad, which appears

for the first time in print, was James Rad-

cliffe, third Earl of Derwentwater, who was

beheaded for high treason on Tower Hill, in

  1. The circumstances that led to his

untimely fate (for he was only in his 26th

year), are set forth in the ballad. His last

request, to be buried with his ancestors at

Dilston,—a romantic spot situated on the

banks of a small stream that flows into the

Tyne between Corbridge and Hexham,—was

refused; but either a sham funeral took

place, or his body was secretly conveyed

from London; for, on the family vault being

opened some years ago, the corpse was found

in a high state of prosservation. The ample

estates of the Ratcliffe family were declared

forfeited; and transferred to the use of

Greenwich Hospital.

Young Ratcliffe looked frae Dilston ha',

When he heard the trumpets bray;

"And wha comes hero in sic effeir?"

This nobleman did say.

There looted his lady by his side,

And a buirdly dame was she,

She cam from a stock of ungentle bluid,

Albeit of high degree.

"It means," quo' she, "my gentle luve,

Jamie has taen the bent,

And whoso follows not his flag

Sall never be content,

"The pick o' a' the western hills,

With nordern Billies to boot,

Have thrown up caps for bonny James,

Sprung frae a royal root.

"Why hangs my luve ahint the rest,

Why mope in sullen mood?

One of less wealth wad be content,

To peril lands and bluid."

20

Quo' Ratcliffe, "Gin that I had less,

I might be moved to fight;

But then to lose my heritage

Wad be a sorry sight."

"And shall it be my lord does halt,

25

Not knowing what to do?

The best o' schemen will often fail,

If not gude biddly thro."

Out answer'd Derwentwater bold,

"Why prup a falling tree?

30

When dues the Stuart's kingly cause,

Lie rotting on the lea.

"Ill speed and bloodshed never yat

Brought fortune to a cause;

Never a man out prospered right,

35

That broke his country's laws.

"If he had right, and I less wealth,

I might adventure more;

But honey luve, thou knowst small ships

Should keep well in the shore."

40

Loud storm't the Lady o' Dilston Hall,

Wi' glunching o' disdain;

"When others seek the smile o' kings,

To stay were ruth and shame.

"How could I live to hear my luve

45

Shamed as a coward man?

Were I a Lord, in the foremost rank

I' fight for King and lan'."

Page 551

YOUNG RATCLIFFE.

515

"Och," then quo' he, "my hinny sweet,

Wha nothing has to tyne

May boldly fight, not he who owns

Sic hills and dales as mine.

"I could not lose my bonny holts,

Or shaws and knowes so green,

Where popplin by the moss grown stunes,

The waters flash between.

50

"Were all around me not my ain,

I'd freely gan the gate;

Wha has nae fortune fights more bold

Than one with large estate."

55

Quo' she, "Shame fa' upon Ratcliffe,

Or e'er I was told,

My husband snooves awa from fight,

For greed of yellow gold.

"That o'er weary waefu' gear

Should mar sa fair a cause,

That e'er to stand by Junie's side

Should make my Ratcliffe pause.

60

"There's Kemmure's up wi' the western lads,

Ruy wi' the Highlandmen,

And Lochiel's clan, wi' pikes to their tooth,

Are skirling down the Glen;

"There's Fenwickos, and H—ri—s, and Fos—

ters too,

Wi' the f—k of Cumberland,

Are ganging to tryst on Stagshaw Bank,

65

To meet Northumberland.

"Think not I'd peril thy sweet life,

Thy fame more rich I prize;

A coward's name," quo' the wily dame,

"When branded never dies.

70

"The smallest drop o' my Ratcliffe's blood

Is far more dear to me

Than all the ryches e'er sunk

In the waters of the sea."

He sprung away wi' a brow o' fire,

Gave three skips thro' the ha';

And cried, "Hurrah for Jamie yet,

"Go saddle me my Marigold,

75

That browses on the lea;

My father's helmet and his sword,

So likewise bring to me."

The robin cheeped a d—rous note,

With the corn craik from the len,

The owlet gave an eerie skriegh,

As he louped to saddle tree.

80

He looked down on the shaws and woods,

Syne up to his castle hall :

On the waving trees, and flowery banks,

By the burnie's wimpling fall.

It raised sore tews in Ratcliffe's breast,

To leave his pl—d house ;

85

And the grooms out cried, "The game's nae worth,

Sin Ratcliffe sings sae crouse."

But he saw the eye of his buird Countesse

Glint blythe and bonnily ;

"Forth fortune," he cried, "and fetters fill,

Heigh, Jamie oure the lea."

90

Young Ratcliffe called for the stirrup cup,

Ere he rode down the brae;

He'so hid them never stint the wine,

Whatover men may say.

He flung the glass right oure his shoulder,

When he had drained the toast;

95

He kist his glov't hand to the H—',

For oh he loved it most.

There's stir upon Newcastle Streets,

In Murpeth Town there's noise ;

And Berwick Johnnies wi' Cambo Billies,

Fratch wi' the Hexham boys.

100

The brash o' Alnwick shout and fling,

Deil gin they never tire;

And the news o' the rise thro' the country

flies,

Like the flash o' levin fire.

To Jamie's flag cam ridin in,

105

The flower of all that's fayre;

But the fause Joblins, wi' the Johnsons coarse,

Gude faith lad were na there.

There was a battle in the North,

"Twas siccan a bloody fight,

110

Where many noblemen were slain,

And young Ratcliffe gat the wyte.

115

120

125

130

Page 552

516

YOUNG RATCLIFFE.

That siccran a cause sud ever fail !

The prince has fled the land;

Wi' Balmerin and anld Lovàtt,

Baird Ratcliffe take his stand.

And he has written a lang letter,

Unto his Lady fair,

"Ye maun come up to London town,

To see your Lord ance mair."

When first she looked the letter on,

She was baith red and rosy;

But are she read a word or twa,

She wallowt like a lily.

"Gae get to me my gude grey steed,

My menzie a gna wi' me,

For I shall neither eat nor drink

Till London town shall see me."

And she has muntit her good grey steed,

Her menzie a gaed with her;

And noither did she eat or drink

Till London Town did see her.

O she fell on her bonneted knees,

I wat's she's pale and wowy;

"O pardon, pardon, noble King,

And gie me back my dearie.

"I hae born sons to my Ratcliffe dear,

The last ne'er saw his daddie;

Oh pardon, pardon, noble King,

Pity a waefu' ladie."

"Goe bid the heads-man make haste,"

Our King did loudly cry;

"For as I live, or wear a crown,

Yon bold traytor shall die."

Kemmur'e, came, and Temwikens ran,

And they were st outh and steady;

And a' the wind amang them a',

Was "Ratcliffe, keep ye steady."

An aged man at the king's right hand,

Says "Noble King, but hear me;

For he will tell down ten thousand pounds,

And gie her back her dearie."

Quo' Cumberland, "Not for a' the goud

That e'er a King could tell,

It shall not save young Ratcliffe's life,

From the axe he's earned fu' weel."

And then appeared the fatal block,

And syne the axe to heid him;

And Ratcliffe caming down the stair,

Wi' bands n' airm they lead him.

But tho' he was chain'd in fetters strong,

That gyred his middle limb,

There was nane ane in a' the court

That look'd as manly as him.

He clasped his lady by the waist,

And kist her lips sae red;

"Be mindful o' my youthful hairn,

When ye are in your deid."

Cowardly has taen some mair a fright,

He's nae safe in his hall;

And the tane and the tither man haul'd their

gabs,

Young Ratcliffe's hand maun fall.

His blood has watered the Tower block,

And dy'd his yellow hair;

His Countess sits wailing in Dilston Halls,

But Ratcliffe is na there.

Page 553

THE FAIR FLOWER OF NORTHUMBERLAND.

517

The ffair ffloiver of fforthumberlany.

This Ballad treats of the betrayul and de- sertion of a daughter of "the good Earle of Northumberland ;" but which Earl, or in what age it happened, there are no means of ascertaining, further than he was a Scottish Knight, who proved untrue to his vows.

"The fraud of man was ever so, since Sum- mer first was leafy," so writes Shakspcare, who took it in turn from that truly old English Ballad, "It was a Friar of Orders Grey," attributed with I know not what justice to Beaumont and Fletchor. The last verse but one is added, as I thought the ends of Ballad justice would not be fullfilled, if the false Knight should escape condign punishment.

Chopping the spurs from a Knight's heel, was the very height of degradation, a kind of knightly drumming out; whilst breaking the sword over the culprit's head was always resorted to, preparatory to execution for treason- able or disgraceful offences.

It was a Knight in Scotland, born,

Follow my love, come over the Strand;

Was taken prisonor, and loft forlorn

Even by the good Erle Northumberland.

Then was he cast in prison strong,

Follow my love, come over the Strand;

Where he could not walk or lay along,

Even by the good Erle Northumberland.

And as in sorrow thus he lay,

Follow my love, come over the Strand;

The Erl's sweet daughter walks that way,

And she is the fair Flower of Northumber- land.

And passing by like ane angel bryght,

Follow my love, come over the Strand;

The prisonor had of her a sight,

And she the fair Flower of Northumber- land.

And aloud to her this Knight did cry,

Follow my love, come over the Strand;

The salt tears standing in his eye,

And she the fair Flower of Northumber- land.

"Fair lady," he said, "take pity on me,

Follow my love, come over the Strand ;

And let me not in prison die,

And you the fair Flower of Northumber- land."

"Fair Sir, how should I take pity on you ?

Follow my love, come over the Strand ;

Thou being a foe to our countrie,

And I the fair Flower of Northumberland."

"Fair lady, I am no foe," he sayd,

Follow my love, come over the Strand ;

"Through thy sweet love here was I stay'd,

For the fair Flower of Northumberland."

"Why shouldst thou come here for love of me,

Follow my love, come over the Strand ;

Having wife and children in thy country,

And I the fair Flower of Northumberland."

"I swear by the blessed Trinity,

Follow my love, come over the Strand ;

I have no wife or children, I,

Nor dwelling at home in merry Scotland.

"If courteously thou wilt set me free,

Follow my love, come over the Strand ;

I vow that I will marry thee,

So soon as I come to fayre Scotland.

"Thou shalt be a lady of castles and towers,

Follow my love, come over the Strand ;

And sit like a queen in princely bowers,

Were I at home in fayre Scotland."

Then parted hence this lady gay,

Follow my love, come over the Strand ;

And stole her fathers ring away,

To help this Knight in fayre Scotland.

Likewise much gold she got by sleight,

Follow my love, come over the Strand ;

And all to help this forlorn Knight,

To wend from her father in fayre Scotland.

Page 554

518

THE FAIR FLOWER OF NORTHUMBERLAND.

Two gallant steeds, both good and able,

Follow my love, come over the Strand;

She likewise took out of the stable,

To ride with the Knight to fayre Scotland.

And to the jaylor she sent the ring,

Follow my love, come over the Strand;

Who the Knight from prison forth did bring,

To wend with her into fayre Scotland.

This token set the prisoner free,

Follow my love, come over the Strand;

Who straight went to this fair lady,

To wend with her to fayre Scotland.

A gallant steed he did bestride,

Follow my love, come over the Strand;

And with the lady away did ride,

And she the fair Flower of Northumber-land.

They rode till they came to a water clear,

Follow my love, come over the Strand;

"Good Sir, how should I follow you herea,

And I the fair Flower of Northumberland?

"The water is rough and wonderful deep,

Follow my love, come over the Strand;

And on my saddle I shall not keep,

And I the fair Flower of Northumber-land."

"Fear not the ford, fair lady," quoth he,

Follow my love, come over the Strand;

"For long I cannot stay for thee,

And thou the fair Flower of Northumber-land."

The lady prickt her gallant steed,

Follow my love, come over the Strand;

And over the river swam with speed,

And she the fair Flower of Northumber-land.

From top to toe all wet was she,

Follow my love, come over the Strand;

Thus have I done for love of thee,

And I the fair Flower of Northumberland.

Thus rode she all one winter's night,

Follow my love, come over the Strand;

Till Edinborough they saw in sight,

The fairest town in all Scotland.

"Now cheer up, me" quot lu, "thou wanton Flower,

Follow my love, come over the Strand;

If thou wilt be my paramour,

Or get thee home to Northumberland, too.

"For I have a wife, and children five,

Follow my love, come over the Strand;

In Edinborough they be alive,

Then get thee home to Northumberland.

"This favour thou shalt have to boot,

Follow my love, come over the Strand;

I'll have thy horse, go thou on foot,

To get thee home to Northumberland."

"O false and faithless Knight," quoth she,

Follow my love, come over the Strand;

"And canst thou deal so bad with me,

And I the fayre Flower of Northumber-land?

"Dishonour not a lady's name,

Follow my love, come over the Strand;

But draw thy sword and end my shame,

And I the fair Flower of Northumber-land."

He took her from her stately steed,

Follow my love, come over the Strand;

And left her there in extreme need,

And she the fair Flower of Northumber-land.

Then sat she down full heavily,

Follow my love, come over the Strand;

At length two Knights came riding by,

Two gallant Knights of fair England.

She fell down humbly on her knee,

Follow my love, come over the Strand;

Saying, "Courteous Knights, take pity on me,

For I am the fair Flower of Northumber-land."

"I have offended my father dear,

Follow my love, come over the Strand;

And by a false Knight, who brought me here

From the good Erlo of Northumberland."

They took her up behind them there,

Follow my love, come over the Strand;

And brought her to her home again,

And he the good Earl of Northumberland.

Page 555

SYR JOIN LE SPRYNGE.

619

They chopped the spurs from the false

Knights heels,

Follow my love, come over the Strand;

And broke his sword upon his head,

For wronging the Flower of Northumber-

land.

140

All you fair maydens, be warned by me,

Follow my love, come over the Strand;

Scots never were true, nor ever will be

To lord, or lady, or fair England.

Sir John le Sprynge.

(very ancient.)

This old ballad occurs in Sharpe's Bishop-

ric Garland, a collection of Songs and Bal-

lads published in the beginning of this cen-

tury. The Knight, who was murdered in

the arms of his leman, "in his bower at

Houghton," as it is handed in Sharpe's Col-

lection, would seem to have been a crusader,

and had probably fought "neath the "honour-

giving banner" of Richard I. or Edward I.

(who in the crusade was wounded by a poi-

soned dagger). At least the verses hint as

much.

Ere the waning Crescent flod;

When the Martyr's palm and golden crown

Reward Chryst's soldiers dead.

The crescont was the symbol of Saladin,

and it is on record, that an ancestor of the

Perceis won a Paynim standard in single

fight from the Sultan of Trebizond, and after-

wards adopted the cognisance as his own.

That Syr John le Sprynge was untrue to

his marriage vow, is the only supposition we

can put upon the concluding lines,

Lordlings, mind how your vows you keep,

And kiss no leman gay.

Infidelity seems to have been his crime ; pro-

bably some of the kinsmen of the infuriated

and jealous wife tracked the unfortunate

Knight to the bower, and when

At dead of night, in the softe moonlyght,

In his garden bower he lay,

66

they broke in upon the guilty slumbers of

the unguarded Knight.

St. George's banner was the "oriflamme"

of the English Crusaders, and hence the bal-

lad states that

He fell not in the battle field,

Beneath St. George's banner bryght.

St. George seems to have been the tutelary

Saint of English Knights, from the days of

King Arthur downwards.

The murdered Knight, it would appear,

was buried in the "south aisle" of the

Church in Houghton ; and until a few years

ago, there was in the south aisle, the figure

of a Knight in armour, in the attitude of

prayer ; the tomb being curiously ornamented

with sculptures of the Holy Family in niches.

Above, on a slab of marble, were his arms,

with this solemn inscription, "Praye for the

Soule of Syr John le Sprynge."

The Knight's family would seem to have

been an ancient one, and their castle was

probably at Houghton, or near it ; and to

this they added their patronymic appellation,

calling it Houghton le Sprynge, to dis-

tinguish it from another town of the same

name, as there are several Houghtons in the

shire of Durham.

Pray for the soule of Syr John le Sprynge,

When the black Monks sing

And the vesper bells ring,

Praye for the soule of a murdered Knight,

Praye for the soule of Sir John le Spryng. 5

Page 556

520

LADY JEAN.

He fell not before the paynim sword,

Ere the waning crescent shed;

When the martyr's palm and golden crown

Reward Christ's soldier's dead.

He fell not in the battle field,

Beneath St. George's banner bright;

When the pealring cry of victory

Might cheer the soul of a dying Knight.

But at dead of night, in the soft moonlight,

In his garden bower he lay,

And the dew of sleep did his eyelids steep,

In the arms of his leman gay.

And by murderous hand, and bloody brand,

In that guilty bower,

Wyth his paramour,

Did his soul from his body flee to,

And through mist and mirk and moonlight grey,

Was forced away from the bleeding clay,

To the dreadful judgment seat.

In the southermost isle his coat of mail,

Hangs o'er the marble shrine;

And his tyltyng spere is rustyng there,

His helm and his gabardine.

And ay the morn priest wings his song,

And puttis in many a prayer;

And the chaunting bell tolls loud and long,

And ay the lamp burns there.

And still when that milky night returns,

On the eve of Saint Balthy bryght,

The dying taper family burns

Wyth a wan and wavering light.

And the clammy midnight dew breaks forth,

Like drops of agony,

From the marble dank, whilst the armour's

clank

Affrights the priest on his kneo.

And high overhead, with heavy tread,

Unearthly footsteps pass,

For the spirits of air are gathering there,

And mock the holy mass.

Lordlings, mind how your rows you keep,

And kiss no leman gray,

For he that sinks in sin to sleep,

May never waken to pray.

Judge not, sinner as thou art,

Commune with thy secret heart,

And woteth, for thou knewst not the hour,

But to demaund bright, and Mary of might,

Pray for the soule of the murdred Knight,

That died in the moonlit bower.

Lady Jean.

Bothal Castle, the scene of this Ballad,

is situated on the Wansbeck, three miles

from Morpeth. It was built by the ancestors

of the "Bertram," mentioned in the Ballad

of Lord Hepburn, and in ancient times it was

a place of considerable strength. It is related

by tradition, that a "Scotch Knight, named

Dunbar, bearing a fox's tail in his helmet, as

a challenge for any man to fight him, travelled

throughout England, and going towards his

own country, was encountered by Syr Robert

Ogle, and slain with a pole-axe, which re-

mained as a trophy until very lately in the

great hall of Bothal Castle." The Lord

Dacre, mentioned as the intonded bridegroom

in the Ballad, may have been the "Dacre" of

Floidon Field. (For an account of whose

family, see Scott's "Lay of the last Minstrel.")

He was warden of the Eastern March in the

reign of Henry VIII. The Umphrevile or

Umfraville, mentioned also as the lover of

Lady Jean, was descended from a very power-

ful family, of which there were several

branches. In the reign of Henry V. we find

one "Sir Robert Umfraville," prosecuting

John de Manners, Sheriff of Northumberland,

and his son, for having killed William Heron,

Esq., and Robert Atkinson.

There was formerly at Alnwick an Abbey

of Premonstratensian Canons. In the Chroni-

cles of this house, preserved in the library of

King's College, Cambridge, there is an ac-

Page 557

count of a banquet given by Walter de Hop-

seutes, the Abbot, A.D. 1376, on the day of the

Assamption of the Blessed Virgin Mary, to

Henry, the Fourth Lord of Alnwick, and

thirteen Knights, amongst whom occurs the

name of "Ingram de Umfraville." The prin-

cipal scion of the family settled at Otter-

bourne at a very early period; and we find

that at the "Battle of Otterbourne" between

the Douglas and Percy, Sir Ralph de Um-

phreville performed good "yeoman's service."

Who the author of this Ballad is, I know

not: it appeared in "Richardson's Table

Book," with the initials R. W. appended to

it. It is an old Ballad, and like other re-

nowned lyrics, whose authors are enveloped

in mystery, it has becomo a "waif" and

"stray" to any Poetical Lord of the Manor

who may choose to lay claim to it. We may

suppose Scott to have seen it; if so, I am

strongly inclined to believe that it furnished

the "Young Lochinvar" of the great Novel-

ist. The incidents are nearly the same as in

the "Bridal of Netherby," only the hero

Umphreville, though much talked of, is like

the "great Timoleon" in the "Grecian Daugh-

ter," never seen.

Br Bothal's tower, sweet Wansbeck's stream

Rins bickerin to the sea;

Aloft, the breezes of the morn

The banners waving free.

There's joy in Bothal's bonny bowers,

There's mirth within the ha';

But oure the cheek of Lady Jean,

The tricklin tear drops fa'.

She sits within her chamber high,

Her cousin's by her side;

Yet sweir is she to don the dress

That's fitting for a bride.

"O haste ! Lord Dacre's on his way,

Ye hae na time to spare;

Come let me clasp that jump girdle,

And braid your glossy hair.

"Of a' the ladies in the land,

Yese be surpassed by nane;

The lace that's on your velvet robe,

Wi' goud 'ill stand its lane.

"This jewell'd chapplet ye'll put on,

That bruidered necklace gay;

For we maun ha' ye haskit well

On this your bridal day."

"O Ellen, you would think it hard

I ne'er loved Lord Dacre yet,

I dinna like him still.

"To kens, tho' oft he sued for love

Upon his boned knee;

Ae tender word, ae kindly look,

He never gat frae me.

"And he has gained my mother's ear,

My father's stern command;

Yet this fond heart can ne'er be his,

Although he claim my hand.

"O Ellen, softly list to me,

I still may scape the snare;

This morn I sent to Otterbourne,

The tidings would be there.

"And hurrying on, comes Umphreville,

His spur is sharp at need;

There's mune in a' Northumberland

Can boast a fleetor steed.

"Ah, well I ken his heart is true,

He will, he must be here;

Aboon the garden wa' he'll wave

The pennon o' his spear."

"Far is the way, the burns are deep,

The broken muirs are wide;

Fair lady, ere your true love comes

You'll be Lord Dacre's bride.

"Wi' stately, solemn step, the priest

Climbs up the chapel stair;

Alas ! alas ! for Umphrevill,

His heart may well be sair.

"Keep back, keep back, Lord Dacre's steed,

Ye mauna trot or gang;

And haste ye, haste ye, Umphrevill,

Your lady thinks you lang."

In velvet sheen she wadin dress,

Næ pearlin's oure her shone,

Nor bruidered necklace sparkling bright,

Would Lady Jean put on.

Page 558

522

SIR RICHARD WHITTINGTON'S ADVANCEMENT.

Up rose she from her cushioned seat,

And totter'd like to fall;

Her cheek grew like the rose, and then

Turned whiter than the wall.

"O Ellen, throw the casement up,

Let in the air to me;

Look down within the castle yard,

And tell me what you see."

"Your fayther's stan'nin on the steps,

Your mother's at the door;

Out thro' the postern comes the train,

Lord Ducre comes before."

"Fu' yauld and gracefu' lights he doun,

Sae does his gallant band;

And low he doffs his bonnett plume,

And shakes your father's hand."

"List, lady, list! a bugle note,

It soundeth faintly clear;

Up! up! I see across the wall

Four true lords' pennon'd spear."

And up fu' quick sat Lady Jean,

Nae ailment had she nair;

Myth was her look, and firm her step,

As she ran down the stair.

As thro' amang the apple trees,

An' up the walk she flew,

Until she reached her true love's side,

Her breath she scarcely drew.

Lord Ducre fain would see the bride

He sought her lover alone;

And dowf and lanket grew his looks,

When Lady Jean was gone.

Sair did her father stamp and rage,

Sair did her mother mourn;

She's up and aff with Umphrevillo

To lomay Otterbourne.

Sir Richard Whittington's Advancement.

There is something so fabulous, or at least,

that has such a romantic appearance in the

history of Whittington, that we shall not relate it; but refer our readers to common tradition, or to the histories which are without

any difficulty to be met with. Certain it is,

that there was such a man; a citizen of London, by trade a mercer; and one who has left

public edifices, and charitable works enough

behind him, to transmit his name to posterity.

Amongst others, he founded a house of prayer;

with an allowance for a master, fellows, choristers, clerks, &c., and an almshouse for thirteen

poor men, called Whittington College. He entirely rebuilt the loathsome prison, which then

was standing at the west gate of the city, and

called it Newgate. He built the better half

of St. Bartholomew's Hospital, in West-Smithfield; and the fine library in Gray-Fryars,

now called Christ's Hospital: as also a great

part of the east end of Guildhall, with a

chapel and a library; in which the records

of the city might be kept. He was chosen

sheriff in the seventeenth year of the reign of

king Richard the Second, and of the Christian

era 1393; William Stondon, by trade a grocer, being then mayor of London. After

which he was knighted; and in the one and

twentieth year of the same reign he was

chosen mayor. Which honour was again

conferred on him in the eighth year of king

Henry the Fourth, and the seventh of king

Henry the Fifth. It is said of him, that he

advanced a very considerable sum of money

towards carrying on the war in France, under

the last monarch. He married Alice, the

daughter of Hugh and Mable Fitzwarren: at

whose house, traditions say, Whittington

lived a servant, when he got his immense

riches by venturing his cat in one of his master's ships. However, if we may give credit

to his own will, he was a knight's son; and

more obliged to an English king, and prince,

than to any African monarch, for his riches.

For when he founded Whittington College,

and left a maintenance for so many people,

as above related, they were, as Stow records

it (for this maintenance), bound to pray for

the good estate of Richard Whittington, and

Alice his wife, their founders; and for Sir

Page 559

SIR RICHARD WHITTINGTON'S ADVANCEMENT.

523

William Whittington, and dame Joan his

wife; and for Hugh Fitzwarren, and dame

Mold his wife, the fathers and mothers of

the said Richard Whittington and Alice his

wife: For king Richard the Second, and

Thomas of Woodstock, duke of Gloncester,

special lords and promoters of the said Rich-

ard Whittington, &c.

Here must I tell the praise

Of worthy Whittington,

Known to be in his days

Thrice lord-mayor of London.

But of poor parentage

Born was he, as we hear,

And in his tender age

Bred up in Lancashire.

Poorly to London then

Came up this simple lad;

Where, with a merchant-man,

Soon he a dwelling had;

And in a kitchen plac'd,

A scullion for to be;

Where a long time he pass'd

In labour drudgingly.

His daily service was

Turning at the fire;

And to scour pots of brass,

For a poor scullion's hire:

Meat and drink all his pay,

Of coin he had no store;

Therefore to run away,

In secret thought he bore.

So from the merchant-man,

Whittington secretly

Towards his country ran,

To purchase liberty.

But as he went along,

In a fair summer's morn,

London's bells sweetly rung

Whittington's back return;

Evermore sounding so,

Turn again, Whittington;

For thou, in time, shalt grow

Lord-mayor of London.

Whereupon, back again,

Whittington came with speed,

A servant to remain,

As the Lord had decreed.

Still bless'd be the bells,

This was his daily song;

This my good fortune tells,

Most sweetly have they rung.

If God so favour me,

I will not prove unkind;

London my love shall see,

And my large bounties find.

But, see his happy chance!

This scullion had a cat,

Which did his state advance,

And by it wealth he gat.

His master ventur'd forth,

To a land far unknown,

With merchandize of worth,

As is in stories shown:

Whittington had no more

But this poor cat as thon,

Which to the ship he bore,

Like a brave valiant man.

Vont'ring the same, quoth he,

I may get store of gold,

And mayor of London be,

As the bells have me told.

Whittington's merchandise,

Carried to a land

Troubled with rats and mice,

As they did understand;

The king of the country there,

As he at dinner sat,

Daily remain'd in fear

Of many mouse and rat.

Meat that on trenchers lay,

No way they could keep safe;

But by rats bore away,

Fearing no wand or staff;

Whereupon, soon they brought

Whittington's nimble cat;

Which by the king was bought,

Heaps of gold giv'n for that.

Page 560

524

LIFE AND DEATH OF RICHARD II.

Home again came those men,

With their ship laden so,

Whittington's wealth began

By this cat thus to grow;

Soullim's life he forsook,

To be a merchant good,

And soon began to look

How well his credit stood.

After that, he was chose

Sheriff of the city here,

And then full quickly rose

Higher as did appear:

For to the city's praise,

Sir Richard Whittington

Came to be in his days

Thrice mayor of London.

More his fame to advance,

Thousands he lent the king,

To maintain war in France,

Glory from thence to bring.

And after, at a feast

Which he the king did make,

He burnt the bonds all in jest,

And would no money take.

Ten thousand pounds he gave

To his paines willingly;

And would not penny have

For this kind country.

As god thus made him great,

So he would daily see

Poor people fed with meat,

To shew his charity:

Prisoners poor cherish'd were,

Widows sweet comfort found;

Good deeds, both far and near,

Of him do still resound.

Whittington's college is

One of his charities;

Record reporteth this,

To lasting memories.

Newgate he builded fair,

For prisoners to lye in;

Christ-church he did repair,

Christian love for to win.

Many more acts like deeds

Were done by Whittington;

Which joy and comfort breeds,

To such as look thereon.

The Wife and Death of Richard the Third.

A song of the life and death of king Richard III., who, after many murthers by him

committed upon the princes and nobles of

this land, was slain at the battle of Bosworth,

in Leicestershire, by Henry VII. king of

England.

In England once there reigned a king,

A tyrant fierce and fell,

Who for to gain himself a crown,

Gave sure his soul to hell:

Third Richard was this tyrant's name,

The worst of all the three;

That wrought such deeds of deadly dole,

That worser could not be.

For his desires were still (by blood)

To be made England's king,

Which he to gain that golden prize,

Did many a wondrous thing:

He slaughter'd up our noble peers,

And chiefest in this land,

With every one that likely was

His title to withstand.

Four bloody fields the tyrant fought,

Ere he could bring to pass,

What he madly lawless claim unto,

As his best liking was;

Sixth Henry's princely son he slew,

Before his father's face,

And weeded from our English throne

All his renowned race.

Page 561

LIFE AND DEATH OF RICHARD II. Act. V. Sc. VI.

This king likewise in London tower,

He murthering made away:

His brother duke of Clarences life,

He also did betray,

With those right noble princes twain,

King Edward's Children there,

Because to England's royal crown

He thought them both too near.

His own dear wife also he slew,

Incestuously to wed

His own dear daughter, which for fear,

Away from him was fled:

And made such havock in this land,

Of all the royal blood,

That only one was left unslaine,

To have his claims withstood.

Earl Richmond he by heaven preserv'd,

To right his country's wrong,

From France prepar'd full well to fight,

Brought o'er an army strong;

To whom lord Stanley meekly came,

With many an English peer,

And join'd their forces all in one,

Earl Richmond's heart to cheer.

Which news when as the tyrant heard,

How they were come on shore,

And how his forces day by day

Increased more and more:

He frets, he fumes, and ragingly

A maddling fury shows,

And thought it but in vain to stay,

And so to battel goes.

Earl Richmond he in order brave,

His fearless army led,

In midst of whom these noble words,

Their valiant leader said,

Now is the time and place, sweet friends,

And we the soldiers be,

That must bring England's peace again,

Or lose our lives must we.

Be valiant then, we fight for fame,

And for our country's good,

Against a tyrant mark'd with shame,

For shedding English blood:

I am right heir of Lancaster,

Entitl'd to the crown,

Against this bloody* boar of York,

Then let us win renown.

Meanwhile had furious Richard set

His army in array,

And with a ghastly look of fear,

Desparingly did say,

Shall Henry Richmond with his troops

O'er-match us thus by might,

That comes with fearful cowardice,

With us this day to fight?

Shall Tudor from Plantaginet

Win thus the crown away?

No, Richard's noble mind foretels,

That ours will be the day:

For golden crowns we bravely fight,

And gold shall be their gain,

In great abundance giv'n to them,

That live this day unslain.

These words being spoke, the battels join'd

Where blows they bravely change,

And Richmond, like a lion bold,

Performed wonders strange;

And make such slaughter through the camp,

Till he king Richard 'spie

Who fighting long together there,

At last the tyrant dies.

Thus ended England's woful war,

Usurping Richard dead,

King Henry fair Elizabeth

In princely sort did wed :

For he was then made England's king,

And she his crowned queen :

So 'twixt these houses long at strife,

A unity was seen.

  • Richard was usually called the Boar of York, by reason of the boar he had in his coat of arms.

Page 562

THE DOLEFUL DEATH OF QUEEN JANE.

The Doleful Death of Queen Jane,

WIFE TO KING HENRY VIII., AND THE MANNER OF PRINCE EDWARD'S BEING CUT OUT OF HER

WOMB.

One would think it almost impossible that there should be the least doubt amongst writers, in any point so modern as the fact on which this ballad is founded, and yet if we search our historians, we shall hardly find any of them agreeing in the story of queen Jane. We shall not therefore pretend to advance anything concerning the manner of her death, but shall quote the opinions of some of our writers, that every one may be at liberty to judge for themselves.

Anne of Bullen, Henry VIIIth's second queen, being beheaded in the tower for adultery, king Henry was married the very next day to lady Jane; who, on the 12th of October (according to the opinion of a vast majority), was delivered of a son at Hamptoncourt. But notwithstanding this, Sir John Hayward asserts, that prince Edward was not born until the 17th; and adds, "All reports do constantly run, that he was not by natural passage delivered into the world, but that his mother's belly was opened for his birth; and that she died of the incision the fourth day following." E Echard, in his history of England, is of a very different opinion; where talking of prince Edward's birth, he tells us, "That the joy of it was much allayed by the departure of the admirable queen, who, contrary to the opinion of many writers, died twelve days after the birth of this prince, having been well delivered, and without any incision, as others have maliciously reported." Lord Herbert of Cherbury, in his history of Henry VIII., asserts, "That the queen died two days after her delivery." And indeed he has the authorities of Hollingshead and Stow to support the assertion. Du Chesne, a native of France, who in his history of England has undertaken to clear up this point, does but perplex us the more : talking of these times, he goes on thus: "La Royne Jeanne estoit alors enceinte & presto a enfanter, mais quand ce vint au terme de l'accouchement elle out tant de tourment & de peine, qu'il

luy fallut fendre le coste par lequel on tira son fruit le douziesme Jour d'Octobre a Win-desore-----Elle mourut douze jours aprés et fut enterré au Chateau de Windsor."

When as king Henry rul'd this land, He had a queen I understand; Lord Symour's daughter fair and bright, King Henry's comfort and delight: Yet death, by his remorseless pow'r, Did hast the bloom of this sweet flow'r; O mourn, mourn, mourn, fair ladies; Jane your queen, the flower of England's dead.

His former queen being wrapt in lead, This gallant dame possess'd his bed; Where rightly from her womb did spring A joyful comfort to her king, A welcom blessing to the land, 'Treasur'd by God's most holy hand. O mourn, &c.

The queen in travail, pined sore Full thirty woful days and more, And no ways could deliver'd be, As every lady wish'd to see: Wherefore the king made greater moan, Than ever yet his grace had shown. O mourn, &c.

Then being something eas'd in mind, His eyes a slumbering sleep did find; Where dreaming he had lost a rose, But which he could not well suppose; A ship he had, a rose by name ; Oh, not! It was his royal Jane. O mourn, &c.

Being thus perplex'd with grief and care, A lady to him did repair, And said, O king! show us thy will; The queen's sweet life to save or spill. If she cannot deliver'd be, Yet save tho flow'r, tho' not the tree. O mourn, &c.

Page 563

THE HONOUR OF A LONDON 'PRENTICE.

Then down upon his tender knees,

For help from heav'n pray'd he,

Morn while into a sleep they cast

His queen, which evermore did last;

And op'ning then her tender womb,

Alive they took this budding bloom.

O mourn, &c.

This babe so born much comfort brought,

And cheer'd his father's drooping thought,

Prince Edward he was call'd by name,

Graced with virtue, wit and fame;

And when his father left this earth,

He rul'd this land by lawful birth.

O mourn, &c.

But mark the pow'rfal will of heav'n;

We from this joy were soon bereav'n:

Six years he reign'd in this land,

And then obey'd God's command,

And left his crown to Mary here,

Whose five years reign cost England dear.

O mourn, &c.

Elizabeth reign'd next to her,

Fair Europe's pride, and England's star;

The world's wonder; for such a queen

Under heaven was never seen :

A maid, a saint, an angel bright,

In whom all princes took delight.

O mourn, mourn, mourn, fair ladies;

Elizabeth, the flower of England's dead.

The Honour of a London Prentice.

BEING AN ACCOUNT OF HIS MATCHLESS MANHOOD AND BRAVE ADVENTURES DONE IN TURKEY, AND

BY WHAT MEANS HE MARRIED THE KING'S DAUGHTER, ETC.

I'm following song relates to a noble piece

of chivalry perform'd in Queen Elizabeth's

days, and therfore claims a place hero;

though it must be acknowledg'd we have not

been able to discover who the hero was, nor

any account of the facts on which the ballad

is founded.

Or a worthy London 'prentice,

My purpose is to speak,

And tell his brave adventures

Done for his country's sake :

Seek all the world about,

And you shall hardly find,

A man in valour to exceed

A 'prentice gallant mind.

He was born in Cheshire,

The chief of men was he,

From thence brought up to London,

A 'prentice for to be.

A merchant on the bridge,

Did like his service so,

That for three years his factor,

To Turkey he should go.

And in that famous country

One year he had not been,

For he by tilt maintained

The honour of his queen,

Elizabeth his princess,

To nobly did make known,

To be the phœnix of the world,

And none but she alone.

In armour richly gilded,

Well mounted on a steed,

One score of knights most hardy

One day he made to bleed;

And brought them all unto the ground

Who proudly did deny,

Elizabeth to be the pearl

Of princely majesty.

The king of that same country

Thereat began to frown,

And will'd his son, there present,

To pull this youngster down;

Who at his father's words

These boasting speeches said,

Thou art a traitor English boy,

And hast the traitor play'd.

Page 564

523

THE HONOUR OF A LONDON PRENTICE.

I am no boy, nor traitor,

Thy speeches I defy,

For which I'll be reveng'd

Upon thee by and by.

A London 'prentice still

Shall prove as good a man,

As any of your Turkish knights,

Do all the best you can.

And therewithal he gave him

A box upon the ear,

Which broke his neck asunder,

As plainly doth appear.

Now know, proud Turk, quoth he,

I am no English boy,

That can with one small box o'th' ear

The prince of Turks destroy.

When as the king perceived

His son so strangely slain,

His soul was sore afflicted

With more than mortal pain:

And in revenge thereof,

He swore that he should dye

The cruellest death that ever man

Beheld with mortal eye.

Two lyons were prepared

This 'prentice to devour,

Near famished up with hunger,

Ten days within the tower,

To make them far more fierce,

And eager of their prey,

To glut themselves with human gore,

Upon this dreadful day.

The appointed time of torment,

At length grew nigh at hand,

When all the noble ladies

And barons of the land,

Attended on the king,

To see this 'prentice slain,

And bury'd in the hungry maws

Of those fierce lyons twain.

Then in his shirt of cambrick,

With silks most richly wrought,

This worthy London 'prentice

Was from the prison brought,

And to the lyons given

To stanch their hunger great,

Which had not eat in ten days space

Not one small bit of meat.

But (find that knew all secrets,

The matter is contriv'd,

That by this young man's valour

They were of life deprived;

For being faint for food,

They scarcely could withstand

The noble force, and fortitude,

And courage of his hand;

For when the hungry lyons

Had cast on him their eyes,

The elements did thunder

With the roar of their cries:

And running all amain

His body to devour,

Into their throats he thrust his arms,

With all his might and power:

From thence by manly valour,

Their hearts he tore in sunder,

And at the king he threw them,

To all the peoples wonder.

This I have done, quoth he,

For lovely England's sake,

And for my country's maiden queen,

Much more will undertake.

But when the king perceived

His wrathful lyons hearts,

Afflicted with great terror,

His rigour soon revolts,

And turn'd all his hate

Into remorse and love,

And said it is some angel,

Sent down from heav'n above.

No, no, I am no angel,

The courteous young man said,

But born in famous England,

Where God's word is obey'd;

Assisted by the heavens,

Who did me thus befriend,

Or else they had most cruelly

Brought here my life to end.

The king in heart amaz'd,

Lift up his eyes to heaven,

And for his foul offences

Did crave to be forgiven;

Believing that no land

Like England may be soon,

No people better govern'd

By virtue of a queen.

Page 565

So taking up this young man,

He pardon'd him his life,

And gave his daughter to him,

To be his wedded wife:

Where then they did remain,

And live in quiet peace,

In spending of their happy days

In joy and love's increase.

The Story of Ill May-day,

IN THE TIME OF KING HENRY VIII., AND WHY IT WAS SO CALLED; AND HOW QUEEN CATHERINE

BEGGED THE LIVES OF TWO THOUSAND LONDON APPRENTICES.

The following song is founded upon a fact;

nor has the writer taken many liberties in

altering it, having only magified and illus-

trated the story. The thing happened on the

May-eve, of the year 1517, the eighth of Henry

VIIIth's reign. Numbers of foreigners were

at that time settled in England, with particu-

lar privileges; and our author observes, far

away with the greatest part of the trade, whilst

several of the natives wanted. Exas-

perated at this, several were for encouraging

a tumult, but particularly one Lincoln, a

broker, who hired a certain preacher, called

Dr. Bele, to inflame the people by his ser-

mons. The court perceived what the citizens

would fain be at, but to prevent them, an

order was sent by the king and his privy-

council to the lord-mayor and aldermen, that

they required every housekeeper, under vory

severe penalties, to take care that all his ser-

vants and his whole family should be within-

doors by nine at night; and this the magis-

trates were to see punctually performed. This

order was for some time very well observed,

but still they wanted only an opportunity of

rising, which an accident gave them. Two

apprentices playing in the streets about eleven

o'clock on the May-eve, the alderman of the

ward came to arrest them; but they thinking

they had more privilege on that night than

any other, began to call out to their fellows

for assistance, and so many came running

out of doors from the neighbourhood, that the

alderman was forced to fly. Encouraged by

this, and seeing their numbers increase as

the rumour of their being up spread, they

hastened to the prisons where some had been

committed for abusing strangers, and these

they first delivered. The lord-mayor and

sheriffs, and Sir Thomas Moore, who had been

their recorder, and was very much beloved by

them, could not with all their persuasions

restrain them, and force they had not suffi-

cient to oppose them ; but furiously rushing

on to the house of a very rich foreigner,

whom, as he was a great trader, they particu-

larly hated, they broke open his doors, killed

every one they met with there, and rifled all

the goods; and in other places they com-

mitted divers other outrages. At length the

news of this disorder reached the ears of the

earls of Shrewsbury and Surrey: they rose,

and taking with them all the inns-of-court

men, they cleared the streets of the rioters,

and took numbers of them prisonors. Shortly

after, the duke of Norfolk, and the earl of

Surrey, with 1300 soldiers, came into the

city, and joining the lord-mayor and aldor-

men, proceeded against the criminals. Two

hundred and seventy-eight were found guilty,

but whether through the intercession of

queen Catherine, or through a merciful dis-

position of king Henry, not above twelve or

fifteen suffered ; Lincoln, with three or four

more of the most guilty were hanged, drawn

and quartered ; about ten more were hanged

on gibbets in the streets, and the lord-mayor,

aldermen and recorder appearing on the be-

half of the rest at court, they received a check,

as if some of the magistracy had connived at

the riot; and the rest of the criminals were

ordered to appear before the king at West-

minster in white shirts, and halters about

their necks; and with them mixed a great

number of people, who were not before sus-

pected, that they might be entitled to a par-

don; which the king having granted, he also

ordered the gibbets which had been erected,

to be taken down, and the citizens were again

restored to favour.

Page 566

530

THE STORY OF ILL MAY DAY

Peruse the stories of this land,

And with advisement mark the same,

And you shall justly understand

How ill May-day first got the name,

For when king Henry the eighth did reign,

And ruled our famous kingdom here,

His royal Queen in had from Spain.

With whom he lived full many a year.

Queen Catherine nam'd, as stories tell,

Sometime his elder brother's wife:

By which unlawful marriage fell

An endless trouble during life:

But such kind love he still conceiv'd

Of his fair queen, and of her friends,

Which being by Spain and France perceiv'd,

Their journeys fast for England bends.

And with good leave were suffered

Within our kingdom here to stay:

Which multitude made vain boasts dear,

And all things else from day to day:

For strangers then did so increase,

By reason of king Henry's queen,

And priviledg'd in many a place

To dwell, as was in London seen.

Poor tradesmen had small dealing them,

And who but strangers here the ball?

Which was a grief to Englishmen,

To see them here in London dwell:

Wherefore (God wot) upon May-eve,

As prentices on Maying wout,

Who made the magistrates believe,

At all to have no other intent.

But such a may-game it was known,

As like in London never were;

For by the same full many a one,

With loss of life did pay full dear:

For thousands came with bilbo blade,

As with an army they could meet,

And such a bloody slaughter made

Of foreign strangers in the street,

That all the channels ran down with blood,

In every street where they remain'd;

Yea, every one in danger stood,

That any of their part maintain'd;

The rich, the poor, the old, the young,

Beyond the seas tho' born and bred,

By prentices they suffer'd wrong,

When armed thus they gather'd head.

Such multitude together went,

Nor didst temp'r could them withstand,

Nor yet to pity them present,

What they by force thus took in hand:

Till at the last king Henry's power,

This multitude compass'd round,

Wherewith the strength of London's tower,

They were by force suppressed and bound,

And hundreds hang'd by martial law,

On sign-posts at their masters doors,

By which the rest were kept in awe,

And frighted from such bold uproars:

And others which the law repented,

(Two thousand prentices at least)

Were all unto the king presented,

As mayor and magistrates thought best.

With two and two together tied,

Through Temple-bar and Strand they go,

To Westminster there to be tried.

With ropes about their necks also:

But such a cry in every street,

Till them was never heard or known,

By mothers for their children sweet,

Unhappily thus overthrown.

Whose bitter moans and sad laments

Possess'd the court with trembling fear,

Whereat the queen herself relents,

The' it concerned her country dear:

What if (quoth she) by Spanish blood,

Have London's streets been wet,

Yet will I seek this country's good,

And pardon for those young men got.

Or else the world will speak of me,

And say queen Catherine was unkind,

And judge me still the cause to be,

These young men did these fortunes find:

And so disrob'd from rich attires,

With hairs hang'd down, she sadly lies,

And of her gracious lord requires

A boon, which hardly he denies.

The lives (quoth she) of all the blooms

Yet budding green, these youths I crave;

O let them not have timeless tombs,

For natura longer limits gave:

In saying so, tho pearled tears

Fell trickling from her princely eyes;

Whereat his gentle queen he cheers,

And says, Stand up, sweet lady rise.

Page 567

JOHNIE OF BREADISLEE.

The lives of them I freely give,

No means this kindness shall delate,

Thou hast thy lust, and they may live,

To serve me in my Badden war.

No sooner was this pardon given,

But peals of joy rung through the hall

As tho' it thunder'd down from heaven,

The queen's renown amongst them all.

For which (kind queen) with joyful heart,

She gave to them both thanks and praise,

And so from them did gently part,

And liv'd beloved all her days:

And when king Henry stood in need

Of trusty soldiers at command,

These pretences prov'd men indeed,

And fear'd no force of warlike band.

For at the siege of Tours in France,

They shew'd themselves brave Englishmen;

At Badden too they did advance,

St. George's lusty standard then;

Last Tournay, Tournay, and those towns

That good king Henry nobly won,

Tell London's pretences renowns,

And of their deeds by them there done.

For ill May-day, and ill May-games,

Perform'd in young and tender days,

Can be no hindrance to their fames,

Or stains of manhood any ways:

But now it is ordain'd by law,

We see on May-day's eve at night,

To keep unruly youths in awe,

By London's watch in armour bright.

Still to prevent the like misdeeds,

Which once thro' headstrong young men

came;

And that's the cause that I do read,

May-day doth get so ill a name.

JOHINIE OF BREADISLEE.

This is styled by Sir Walter Scott "an ancient Nithsdale Ballad," (the hero of which

appears to have been an outlaw and deer-

stealer ; probably one of the broken men re-

siding upon the border. It is sometimes said

that he possessed the old castle of Morton, in

Dumfries-shire, now ruins:-" Near to this

castle there was a park, built by Sir Thomas

Randolph, on the face of a very great and

high hill; so artificially, that, by the advan-

tage of the hill, all wild beasts, such as deers,

harts, and roes, and hares, did easily leap in,

but could not get out again ; and if any other

cattle, such as cows, sheep, or goats, did volun-

tarily leap in, or were forced to do it, it is

doubted if their owners were permitted to get

them out again." But the date of Johnnie's

history must be very remote, for the scene of

his exploits has been reduced from the con-

dition of a deer-forest to that of a cultivated

domain from a time " beyond the memory of

tradition."* There are several versions of the

  • Another tradition, according to Motherwell, assigns

Braid in the neighbourhood of Edinburgh, to have been

the scene of the "woful hunting:"-"and," writes Mr.

Cunningham, "Breadeslee, near Lochmaben, has been

ballad; the one we have selected is that

printed by Sir Walter Scott -" From the dif-

ferent copies." Mr. Motherwell reprints it,

but gives also these fragments of a more an-

cient composition, entitled " Johnie of Braid-

ishank:"-

Johnie rose up on a May morning,

Called for water to wash his hands ;

And he's awa to Braidishanks,

To ding the dun deer down.

Johnie lookit east, and Johnie lookit west,

And it's lang before the sun ;

And there did he spy the dun deer lie,

Beneath a bush of brume.

Johnie shot, and the dun deer lap,

And he's wounded her in the side ;

Out then spake his sister's son,

" And the neist will lay her pride."

" pointed out as the more probable residence of the hero of

the song; and the scenery in the neighbourhood, and the

traditions of the country, countenance the supposition."

Page 568

523

JOINIE OF BREIDISLEE.

They've eaten sae mickle o'the gude venison,

And they've drunken sae mickle o'the

laleet:

That they've fallen into a sound a'deep,

As gfit that they were dead.

It's doon, and it's doon, and it's doon, doon,

And it's doon amang the stragg;

And there sae'll espy twa bonny lads lie,

Asleep amang their dugs.

They're wauken'd Jolnnie out o'this sleep,

And he's drawn to him his want;

"My fingers five, save me alive,

And a stout heart fail me not!"

And Mr. Motherwell suggests the introduction of the following beautiful stanza (preserved by Mr. Finlay), after the nineteenth stanza in the printed copy. It is, as he justly remarks, "so descriptive of the language of approaching death," that it is surprising Sir Walter Scott should have omitted to adopt it:-

"There's nae a bird in a' this forest,

Will dae as mickle for me,

As dip its wing in the wan water,

And straik it on my ca' bree."

Another copy has been printed by Robert Chambers--Scottish Ballads--partly taken from the ballads of Scott and Motherwell, and partly from the "recitation of a lady resident at Peobles, and from a MS. copy submitted to him by Mr. Kinloch." He publishes, for the first time, no fewer than ten additional stanzas; we select three, as indicating that the hero held a higher station than that of a mere deer-stealer :-

His cheeks were like the roses red,

His neck was like the snaw;

He was the bonniest gentleman,

My eyes they ever saw.

His coat was o' the scarlet red,

His vest was o' the same;

His stockings were o' the worsted lace,

And buckles tied to the same.

The shirt that was upon his back,

Was o' the holland fine;

The doublet that was over that,

Was o' the Lincoln twine.

This, as Mr. Cunningham, may have been a

moral intimation. Mr. Cunningham,

also, prints a version, into which he has evidently introduced some improvements of his own. We copy the concluding verse :-

"O lay my brown sword by my side,

And my bent bow at my feet;

And lay the howling o't my gray dogs

That sound may be in my sleep."

His dugs are dead, his bent bow broke,

And his shalts that flew sae free;

And he lies dead near Durisdeer,

Fair Johnie of Breadislee.

The daring exploits of border outlaws are the themes of many ancient ballads; the reckless character of their lives, their indomitable courage, and continual escapes from their enemies and the law, suggested favourable topics to the old minstrels; several of them are singular for the adventures they describe, although few authors very high claims to poetic merit. One of the most striking is published by Ritson ("Ancient Songs"), and republished, with "better readings," by Scott. It is entitled by Ritson "The Life and Death of Sir Hugh of the Grame;" and by Scott, "Hugbie the Grame." The following are the introductory verses:-

Gude Lord Scroope's to the hunting gane,

He has ridden o'er moss and muir;

And he has grippit Hugbie the Grame,

For stealing o'the bishop's mare.

"Now, good Lord Scroope, this may not be?

Here hangs a broadsword by my side;

And if that thou canst conquer me,

The matter it may soon be tryed."

"I neer was afraid of a traitor thief;

Although they made be Hugbie the Grame,

I'll make thee repent thee of thy deeds,

If God but grant me but life and time."

Johnnie rose up in a May morning,

Called for water to wash his hands--

"Gar loose to me the gude gray dogs

That are bound wi' iron bands."

Page 569

When Johnie's mother gat word o' that,

Her hands for dula she wrang--

"O Johnie! for my luinison,

To the greenwood dinna gang!

"Enough ye hae o' gude wheat bread,

And enough o' the blude-red wine;

And, therefore, for nae reason, Johnie,

I pray ye, stir frae hame."

But Johnie's busk't up his gude bend bow,

His arrows, ane by ane;

And he has gane to Durrisdeer,

To hunt the dun deer down.

As he came down by Morriemas,

And in by the benty line,

There has he spied a deer lying

Aneath a bush o' ling.

Johnie he shot, and the dun deer lap,

And he wounded her on the side;

But atween the water and the brae,

His hounds thoy laid her pride.

And Johnie has bryttled the deer ane weel,

That he's had oot her liver and lungs; ;

And wi' these he has fuisted his bluidy hounds,

As if they had been cur's sons.

They out saw much o' the venison,

And drank sae much o' the blude,

That Johnie and a' his bluidy hounds,

Fell asleep as they had boon dead.

And by thero came a silly auld carle,

An ill death mote he die!

For he's awa' to Hislinton,

Where the seven foresters did lie.

"What news, what news, ye grayheaded carle,

"What news bring ye to me?"

"I bring nae news," said the grayheaded carle,

"Save what those eyes did see.

"As I came down by Morriemas,

And down among the sorags,

The bonniest childe that ever I saw

Lay sleeping among his dogs.

The shirt that was upon his back

Was o' the holland fine;

The doublet which was over that

Was o' the lincome twine.

The buttons that were on his shou'd

Were o' the goud sae gude:

The gude grae hounds he lay amang,

Their mouths were dyed wi' blude.

Then out and spak the first forester,

"The heid man ower them a'--

"If this be Johnie o' Breadislee,

Nane nearer will we draw."

But up and spak the sixth forester

(His sister's son was he),

"If this be Johnie o' Breadislee,

"We soon shall gar him die!"

The first flight of arrows the foresters shot,

They wounded him on the knee:

And out and spak the seventh forester,

"The next will gar him die."

Johnie's set his back against an aik,

His fut against a stane;

And he has slain the seven foresters,

He has slain them a' but ane.

He has broke three ribs in that ane's side,

But and his collar bane;

He's laid him twa-fald ower his steed,

Badly him carry the tidings hame.

"O is there nae a bonny bird,

Can sing as I can say?--

Could flee away to my mother's bower,

And tell to fetch Johnnie away?"

The starling flew to his mother's window

stane,

It whistled and it sang;

And aye the ower word o' the tune

Was--"Johnie tarries lang!"

They made a rod o' the hazel bush,

Another o' the slae-thorn tree,

And mony, mony were the men

At fetching o'er Johnnie.

Then out and spak his auld mother,

And fast her tears did fa'--

"Ye wad nae be warned, my son Johnie,

Fae the hunting to bide awa'.

"Aft hae I brought to Breadislee,

The less gear and the mair;

But I ne'er brought to Breadislee,

What grieved my heart sae sair.

Page 570

532

JOINIE OF BREADISLEE.

They've eaten sae mickle o' the gude venison,

And they've drunken sae mickle o' the blude;

That they've fallen into as sound a sleep,

As gif that they were dead.

It's doun, and it's doun, and it's doun, doun,

And it's doun amang the scrogg's ;

And there ye'll espy twa bonny boys lie,

Asleep amang their dogs.

They've waken'd Johnie out o' his sleep,

And he's drawn to him his coat;

"My fingers five, save me alive,

And a stout heart fail me not !"

And Mr. Motherwell suggests the introduction of the following beautiful stanza (preserved by Mr. Finlay), after the nineteenth stanza in the printed copy. It is, as he justly remarks, "so descriptive of the languor of approaching death," that it is surprising Sir Walter Scott should have omitted to adopt it :-

"There's no a bird in a' this forest

Will do as mickle for me,

As dip its wing in the wan water,

And straik it on my e'e bree."

Another copy has been printed by Robert Chambers—Scottish Ballads—partly taken from the ballads of Scott and Motherwell, and partly from the "recitation of a lady resident at Peebles, and from a MS. copy submitted to him by Mr. Kinloch." He publishes, for the first time, no fewer than ten additional stanzas; we select three, as indicating that the hero held a higher station than that of a mere deer-stealer :-

His cheeks were like the roses red,

His neck was like the snaw;

He was the bonniest gentleman,

My eyes they ever saw.

His coat was o' the scarlet red,

His vest was o' the same;

His stockings were o' the worser lace,

And buckles tied to the same.

The shirt that was upon his back,

Was o' the holland fine;

The doublet that was over that,

Was o' the Lincoln twine.

These stanzas, however, may have been a modern interpolation. Mr. Cunningham, also, prints a version, into which he has evidently introduced some improvements of his own. We copy the concluding verse:-

"O lay my brown sword by my side,

And my bent bow at my feet;

And slay the howling o' my gray dogs

That sound may be my sleep."

His dogs are dead, his bent bow broke,

And his shafts that flew sae free;

And he lies dead near Durisdeer,

Fair John of Breadislee.

The daring exploits of border outlaws are the themes of many ancient ballads ; the reckless character of their lives, their indomitable courage, and continual escapes from their enemies and the law, suggested favourable topics to the old minstrels; several of them are singular for the adventures they describe, although few advance very high claims to poetic merit. One of the most striking is republished by Ritson (" Ancient Songs"), and re-published, with "better readings," by Scott. It is entitled by Ritson "The Life and Death of Sir Hugh of the Græme;" and by Scott, "Hughie the Græme." The following are the introductory verses :-

Gude Lord Scroope's to the hunting gane,

He has ridden o'er moss and muir;

And he has grippit Hughie the Græme,

For stealing o' the bishop's mare.

"Now, good Lord Scroope, this may not be?

Here hangs a broadsword by my side;

And if that thou canst conquer me,

The matter it may soon be tryed."

"I ne'er was afraid of a traitor thief;

Although thy name be Hughie the Græme,

I'll make thee repent thee of thy deeds,

If God but grant me but life and time."

Johnnie rose up in a May morning,

Called for water to wash his hands—

"Gar loose to me the gude graie dogs

That are bound wi' iron bands."

Page 571

JOHINIE OF BREADISLEE.

533

When Johnie's mother gat word o' that,

Her hands for dulk she wrang—

"O Johnie! for my benison,

To the greenwood dinna gang!

"Enouch ye hae o' gude wheat bread,

And enouch o' the blude-red wine;

And, therefore, for nae venison, Johnie,

I pray ye, stir frac hame."

But Johnie's busk't up his gude bend bow,

His arrows, ane by ane;

And he has gane to Durrisdeer,

To hunt the dun deer down.

As he came down by Merriemas,

And in by the benty line,

There has he espied a deer lying

Aneath a bush of ling.

Johnie he shot, and the dun deer lap,

And he wounded her on the side;

But, atween the water and the brae,

His hounds they laid her pride.

And Johnie has bryttled the deer sae weel,

That he's had out her liver and lungs;

And wi' these he has feasted his bluidy

hounds,

As if they had been earls' sons.

They eat sae much o' the venison,

And drank sae much o' the blude,

That Johnie and a' his bluidy hounds,

Fell asleep as they had been dead.

And by there came a silly auld carle,

An ill death mote he die!

For he's awa' to Hilton,

Where the seven foresters did lie.

"What news, what news, ye grayheaded

carle,

What news bring ye to me?"

"I bring nae news," said the grayheaded

carle,

"Save what these eyes did see.

"As I came down by Merriemas,

And down among the seoriggs,

The bonniest childe that ever I saw

Lay sleeping among his dogs.

The shirt that was upon his back

Was o' the holland fine;

The doublet which was over that

Was o' the lincome twine.

The buttons that were on his sleeve

Were o' the goud sae gude:

The gude graie hounds he lay amang,

Their mouths were dyed wi' blude.

Then out and spak the first forester,

The heid man ower them a'—

"If this be Johnie o' Breadislee,

Nae nearer will we draw."

But up and spak the sixth forester

(His sister's son was he),

"If this be Johnie o' Breadislee,

We soon shall gar him die!"

The first flight of arrows the foresters shot,

They wounded him on the knee;

And out and spak the seventh forester,

"The next will gar him die."

Johnie's set his back against an aik,

His fute against a stane;

And he has slain the seven foresters,

He has slain them a' but ane.

He has broke three ribs in that ane's side,

But and his collar bone;

He's laid him twa-fald over his steed,

Bade him carry the tidings hame.

"O is there nae a bonny bird,

Can sing as I can say?—

Could flee away to my mother's bower,

And tell to fetch Johnie away?"

The starling flew to his mother's window

stane,

It whistled and it sang;

And aye the ower word o' the tune

Was—"Johnie tarries lang!"

They made a rod o' the hazel bush,

Another o' the slae-thorn tree,

And mony, mony were the men

At fetching o'er Johnie.

Then out and spak his auld mother,

And fast her tears did fa'—

"Ye wad nae be warned, my son Johnie,

Frae the hunting to bide awa'.

"Aft hae I brought to Breadislee,

The less gear and the mair;

But I ne'er brought to Breadislee,

What grieved my heart sae sair.

Page 572

534

THE DOWIE DENS OF YARROW.

But wae betyde that silly auld carle,

An ill deith shall he die !

For the highest tree in Morriomas,

Shall be his morning's foe."

Now Johnie's gude hound bow is broke,

And his gude graith dags are slain ;

And his body lies dead in Durrisdeer,

And his hunting it is done.

95

100

The Dowie Dens of Yarrow.

This ballad was first published in the

"Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border;"

but other versions of it were, previously, in cir-

culation, and it is stated by Sir Walter Scott

to have been "a very great favourite among

the inhabitants of Ettrick Forest," where it

is universally believed to be founded on fact.

Sir Walter, indeed, "found it easy to collect

a variety of copies;" and from them he col-

lated the present edition—avowedly for the

purpose of "suiting the tastes of these more

light and giddy-paced times." A copy is

contained in Motherwell's "Minstrelsy, An-

cient and Modern;" another, in Buchan's

"Ballads and Songs of the North of Scot-

land;" it, no doubt, originated the popular

composition beginning—

Busk ye, busk ye, my bonny, bonny bride,

by Hamilton, of Bangour, first published in

Ramscy's "Tea Table Miscellany;" and sug-

gested the ballad "The Braes of Yarrow," by

the Rev. John Logan. In Herd's collection,

in Ritson's "Scottish Songs," and in the

"Tea Table Miscellany," are to be found

fragments of another ballad, entitled "Wil-

lie's drowned in Yarrow," of which this is

the concluding stanza—

She sought him east, she sought him west,

She sought him braid and narrow;

Syne in the cleaving of a craig,

She found him drowned in Yarrow.

Indeed, "Yarrow stream" has been a fertile

source of poetry, and seems to have inspired

the poets; the very sound is seductive: and,

as Mr. Buchan remarks, "all who have at-

tempted to sing its praise, or celebrate the

actions of those who have been its visiters,

have almost universally succeeded in their

attempts." The ballad he publishes is enti-

tled "The Braes of Yarrow;" it bears a close

resomblance, in its more prominent features,

to that collated by Sir Walter Scott, but is

far more rugged and less poetic; take for

example the opening verse:-

Ten lords sat drinking at the wine,

Intill a morning early;

There fell a combat themamang,

It must be fought—nae pailly.

The version preserved by Mr. Motherwell

was taken down "from the recitation of an

old woman in Kilbarchan," and is chiefly valu-

able as showing the state in which the song

is preserved in the west of Scotland. It is

entitled "The Dowie Downs of Yarrow."

The main incidents are similar to those con-

tained in the ballad of Scott; but the style

is, as may be expected, much inferior. The

two introductory verses may suffice as a sam-

ple of the whole:-

There were three lords birling at the wine,

On the Dowie Downs o' Yarrow;

They made a compact them between,

They would go fecht to-morrow.

"Thou took our sister to be thy wife,

And thou ne'er thocht her thy marrow;

Thou steal'd her frae her daddie's back,

When she was the rose o' Yarrow."

Another version was published by Robert

Chambers, in his "Scottish Ballads,"—

chiefly taken from a fragment in Herd's

collection (which we have introduced in a

note), a few stanzas and lines from Buchan's

copy, and part of a ballad printed by Jamie

Page 573

son, entitled 'Lizie Lindsay,'" which Jamierson gives in an imperfect, and Buchan in an entire, shape. Mr. Chambers, however, has been " under the necessity of altering several lines and verses, and re-writing others." Mr. Allan Cunningham, also, prints yet another version, principally copied from that of Sir Walter Scott, but omitting the three first verses, and reforming the remainder. Mr. Cunningham states, that "he had seen a fragment of the same song in the handwriting of Burns,"—of which he has given three verses; the first is as follows :—

" Where shall I gang, my ain true love,

Where shall I gang to hide me?

For weel I ken, i' yere father's bower,

It wad be death to find me."

" O go you to yon tavern house,

And there count o'er your lawin ;

And if I be a woman true,

I'll meet you in the dawin."

That the several versions of the story, scattered among the people, and preserved by them in some form or other, had one common origin, there can be little doubt." "Tradition," according to Sir Walter Scott, " places the event recorded in the song very early, and it is probable the ballad was composed soon afterwards, although the language has been modernized in the course of its transmission to us, through the inaccurate channel of oral tradition." "The hero of the ballad," he adds, " was a knight of great bravery, called Scott;" and he believes it refers to a duel fought at Deucharswyre, of which Annan's Treat is a part, betwixt John Scott, of Tushielaw, and his brother-in-law, Walter Scott, third son of Robert of Thirlstane, in which the latter was slain. Annan's Treat is a low muir, on the banks of the Yarrow, lying to the west of Yarrow kirk. Two tall unhewn masses of stone are erected about eighty yards distant from each other, and the least child, that can herd a cow, will tell the passerby, that there lie " the two lords who were slain in single combat." Sir Walter also informs us that, according to tradition, the murderer was the brother of either the wife or the betrothed bride of the murdered; and that the alleged cause of quarrel was, the lady's father having proposed to endow her with half of his property upon her marriage with a warrior of such renown. The name of the murderer is said to have been Annan, hence the place of combat is still called Annan's Treat.

Late at e'en, drinking the wine

And ere they paid the lawing,

They set a combat them betweon,

To fight it in the dawing.

" O stay at hame, my noble lord !

O stay at hame, my marrow !

My cruel brother will betray

On the dowie houms of Yarrow."—

" O fare ye weel, my ladyo gaye !

O fare ye weel, my Sarah !

For I maun gae, though I ne'er return

Frae the dowie banks o' Yarrow."

She kissed his cheek, she kaimed his hair,

As oft she had done before, O;

She belted him with his noble brand,

And he's away to Yarrow.

As he gaed up the Tennies bank,

I wot he gaed wi' sorrow,

Till down in a den, he spied nine armed men,

On the dowie houms of Yarrow.

" O ! come ye here to part your land,

The bonny forest thorough ?

Or come ye here to wield your brand,

On the dowie houms of Yarrow ?"—

" I come not here to part my land,

And neither to beg nor borrow;

I come to wield my noble brand,

On the bonnie banks of Yarrow.

" If I see all, ye're nine to ane

And that's an unequal marrow;

Yet will I fight while lasts my brand,

On the bonnie banks of Yarrow."

Four has he hurt, and five has slain,

On the bonnie braes of Yarrow ;

Till that stubborn knight came him behind,

And ran his body thorough.

" Gae hame, gae hame, good brother John,

And tell your sister Sarah

To come and lift her leafu' lord;

He's sleeping sound on Yarrow."—

Page 574

536

BELTED WILL.

"Yest'reen I dreamed a dolefu' dream;*

I fear there will be sorrow !

I dreamed I pu'd the heather green,

Wi' my true love, on Yarrow.

"O gentle wind, that bloweth south,

From where my love repairèth,

Convey a kiss from his dear mouth,

And tell me how he fareth !

"But in the glen strive armèd men;

They've wrought me dole and sorrow;

They've slain—the comeliest knight they've

slain,

He bleeding lies on Yarrow."

As she sped down yon high high hill,

She gaed wi' dole and sorrow;

And in the den spied ten slain men,

On the downie banks of Yarrow.

She kissed his cheek, she kaimed his hair

She searched his wounds all thorough,

She kissed them till her lips grow red,

On the downie houghs of Yarrow.

"Now haud your tongue, my daughter dear!

For a' this breeds but sorrow;

I'll wed ye to a better lord

Than him ye lost on Yarrow."

"O haud your tongue, my father dear;

Ye mind me but of sorrow;

A fairer rose did never bloom

Than now lies cropped on Yarrow."

MELTED WILL.

This Ballad is founded on a legend apper-

taining to Thirlwall, whose proprietors in

remote times were called Barons, and hold

under the Kings of Scotland as Lords of Tin-

dale. The township and manor derives its

name from the Roman thrilling or barrier

wall running through it. To "thrill" in the

old Northumbrian dialect, means to bind or

enthral.

Thirlwall Castle stands on a rocky preci-

pice above the river Tifflat; there is no men-

tion of it before 1369, in which year John de

Thirlwall is called lord of it, and the manor

of Thirlwall.

  • The following is the fragment given by Mr. Herd, "to

the tune of Leaderhaughs and Yarrow:—

"I dream'd a dreary dream last night;

God keep us a' frae sorrow;

I dream'd I pu'd the birk sae green,

Wi' my true love on Yarrow.

"I'll read your dream, my sister dear,

I'll tell you a' your sorrow;

You pu'd the birk wi' your true love;

He's kill'd, he's kill'd, on Yarrow."

"O gentle wind, that bloweth south,

To where my love repairèth,

Convey a kiss from his dear mouth,

And tell me how he fareth.

"But o'er you glen run armèd men,

Have wrought me dole and sorrow

They've slain, they've slain, ta comeliest swain,

He bleeding lies on Yarrow"

The legend on which part of the Ballad is

founded is as follows. One of the Barons of

Thirlwall returned from the foreign wars,

laden with abundance of treasure, amongst

which was a table of solid gold; his wealth

was much spoken of, and often excited the

cupidity of the numerous band of freebooters

with which the Border abounded; but the

well known bravery of the Baron and the

strength of his followers prevented them from

making an open attack. The gold table, it

was affirmed, was guarded day and night by

a hideous dwarf; some said it was the foul

fiend himself. In a predatory excursion, the

Baron was pursued home by the incensed

Warden of the March, who stormed his castle,

and slow the Baron and most part of his

retainers. The castle was ransacked for the

treasure; but the gold table, dwarf, and money

bags had disappeared. Dungeons and vaults

were searched, but nothing could be found;

and after setting fire to the castle, the victors

retired. The dwarf (according to tradition)

during the heat of the engagement, removed

the treasure, and throwing it into a deep well

jumped in after it, when by his infernal art

he closed the well over himself and his charge;

and it is said that he still remains under the

influence of a spell, only to be broken by the

virtuous son of a widow. About fifty years

Page 575

ago, a man who was ploughing in an adjoining field imagined that a certain part of the

ground sounded hollow when the plough passed over it. This having excited his

curiosity, he struck the earth violently, when he distinctly heard a stone drop, and strike

the side wall repeatedly, and end in a hollow murmur at the bottom of some deep well or

pit. Impressed with the belief that this was the dwarf's well, and that he was on the point

of possessing unboundless wealth, he resolved, like Goldsmith's Miller, to proceed cautiously,

and returning at the dead of night, to explore the subterraneous cavity. But, alas, for the

instability of earthly hopes ; on his return he was unable to discover the place: day after

day he recrossed and searched the field, and night after night he struck the ground in

rain; the hollow sound was heard no more, and the dwarf's well remains undiscovered to

this very day.

Naworth Castle, the abode of that famous warrior Belted Will, stood near Brampton in

Cumberland. It was burnt down in 1844. Lord Morpoth is orecting a stately edifice on

its ashes. For a description of this Border soldier and his dwelling, see Scott's notes to

his Lay of the Last Minstrel. In the Memoirs of Sir Robert Carey, then deputy for his father,

Lord Hunsden, Warden of the Eastern Marches (and afterwards Earl of Monmouth),

a singular picture will be found of the rude and lawless state of society, at the period

when the scene of the Ballad is laid.

They wont along a close passage,

Built in the Castle wall.

Discoveries made during the removal of the ruins, corroborate this and other allusions

made in the Ballad.

The Baron of Thirlwall came from the wars,

Laden with treasure bold ;

Among the which a fayre tabel,

All of the beaten gold.

And mony will speak of the Baron's wealth,

Whatever he may say,

And how a grisly dwarf does guard

His treasure night and day.

Mony a Border freebooter

Eyed Thirlwall's gude castell,

Thinking to win the bags of gold,

And eke the fayre tabel.

BELTED WILL

537

But the Baron hath retainers bold,

And swatchers mony ane,

And the castle walls are high to win,

Howe'er they fidge and fuin.

The boldest ane o' a' his men

Was Jockey of the Sheugh;

The Baron loved him like a brither,

And that was fair enow.

Jock could warsle, run or lap

Wi' ever a living man;

Never a wight in Cumbernauld

Could beat him at the span.

But Thirlwall's Baron heeded not

The word o' Belted Will,

Who dwells within the dark Naworth,

The Border March to still.

He can rule all the Border roun',

Wi' a picked wily wan ;

But Thirlwall's Baron geeks at him,

And a' the laws o' the lan'.

So fast come tidings of ravin wrong

To Belted Willy's ear ;

Quo' he, 'By my belt I'll trap this man,

If I catch him in effeir.'

"But he is like a wily tod,

That taketh to his hole,

An I can catch him on the turn,

Ise smoke him frae his bole.

"He reaves and harries ilka ane,

Tho' he has gourps o' gold ;

Ise lay a trap for him beseen,

By which he shall be sold."

Thirlwall's Baron heard his speech,

Wi' scorn amaist the burst;

"His anger it is like a haggis,

That's hettest at the first."

Sore smiled the wily Belted Will,

But in so dark a way;

Better that smile were wanting there,

Than on his lip to lay.

Jock o' the Sheugh tirled at the string

Of the Baron of Thirlwall's yett;

"Up, up, and rise, my noble lord,

Some plunder for to get.

Page 576

538

BELTED WILL.

"There are a swatch o' Englishers

Coming frae Carlisle toun,

Welt luden wi' the yellow goul,

For Aman are they boun."

"Gae tak a dozen o' my men,

And brattle o'er the lea,

Lay wait and watch until they pass

The Bowness witches tree."

"A dozen o' ye well may lick

Three score o' English tykes,

Tak a' they have, and leave them sae

To tell o' this wha likes."

Then Jock banged o'er the broomy knowe,

And reached the witches tree,

And wi' his dozen freebooters,

Lay doun on thir bellic.

Fytte Second.

Jock heard a sound, and looked up,

"Ye fulc," says one, "lig doun,

It's but a patrick on thae wing,

Or a reaving tod in the broome."

Quo' Jack, "Gude Willio ye say wrang,

And sae I'll prove to you;

'Tis nae ane tod, 'tis a baker's dozen,

That's lown in the broome the noo."

There cam on twenty Englishers,

Wi' cloaks and saddle bags;

There cam on twenty travellers,

Mounted on goodly nags.

"A shame upon yon sornin' crew,"

Quo' Jock, "the deil me flay,

Ise hae half dozen o' yon yands

Before that home I gane."

"That they syld ride sae cantily,

The deil pike out that o'en,

And the muckle fiend their baggies gnaw,

For weel stuffed hae thay been."

Cam on those twenty travellers,

With lang cloaks flowing doun,

Cam on these twenty travellers,

All thro' the yellow broome.

Then started up Jock and his men

Wi' sic an awfu' yell;

Ye might hae heard it at the top

Of Skiddaw or Criffell.

"Come off' your mair ! ye sornin' crew,

O' southron pack-puddin's,

Or ye sall hae the gude canld steel,

Sa gie us a' your things."

"Wesn gie ye that," said ane o' them,

"Yese no forget I wisse,

This mony a day gude Jock o' the Sheugh,

And that my Billie's this."

They threw the cloaks from off their hides,

And back and breastplate shone;

They grippit their swords, the first blow struck

Was echoed with a groan.

Gude faith, but Jock had fund his match,

For the Southrons hacked about;

The Thirlwall boys were fuin to fight,

But soon put to the route.

Of twelve o' Jock's gude freebooters

But three fled ower the lea.

The other nine lay still eneuch

Beside the witches' tree.

Poor Jock is doun upon his back,

Wi' a sair cloun on the head;

His billies a' are stiffenin',

And three o' them are fled.

Out spoke the twenty travellers,

"Why Jock, how's this o' ye,

Ye bid us to a meal gude faith,

And then ye rin awa ?"

Quo' Jack, as they bund fast his arms,

And raised him frae the lea,

"Gif I had kenned ye were Belted Will's men,

The devil might stopped ye for me."

Fytte Third.

The Baron o' Thirlwall looked abroad,

From out his strong castell,

And he saw three men come posting on,

Out owre the fern and fell.

"I wad," said he, "they run a race,

A thousand merks I lay

Upon the wight in the red jerkin,

He wins the race this day."

The three men burst in on his room,

"My lord," then each one said,

"Jock o' the Sheugh is wounded sair,

And nine gude fullows dead."

Page 577

BELTED WILL.

539

The dark spot flew to the Baron's cheek,

"Ye coward one and n'"

Gae join your bluidy billie's thon,

Whatever may befa'?"

He struck each man the neck intill,

And they fell on the floor;

"To fly without a single blow,

Shows valour be poor.

"Gif Bolted Will sudd harm a hair

O' Jock o' the Sheugh his head,

I'll put the Border in siccan a bleeze,

Shall mak him flee with dreid.

"Gif Jock o' the Shengh hangs for this ploy,

The hail o' the March sall weep,

Nae man sall wauken in the morn,

That gangs alive to sleep.

"Mony a mither sall weep her lane,

With outen woe and black;

Many a red cock craw betimes,

In a farmer's garth or stack."

They brought these words to Bolted Will,

As at racket ball he played;

But the only answer he loot fall,

"Wese aune see that," he said.

He went up to his own chamber

Wi' ane stout serving man;

He stript him o' his earlie's claithes,

And naked there did stan.

He pat aff silk and sendal too,

And plume, and belt, and a';

And drew on druggitt and hoddengrey;

But he didna look sae braw.

He went in that room a belted yerl,

And a serving man cam out;

He took a lamp frae the window neuk,

And lookèd sharp about.

He lifted up the painted arras,

And a little door he spied;

The lad and him went in the wall,

Wi' quick and hasty stride.

They went along a close passage,

Built in the Castle wall;

Sometimes up heights, then over baulks,

Syne forced to stoop and crawl

Down steep steps they lower went,

Till they reached the founding rock;

At length the Earl came to a door,

And he shot back the lock.

They went into a dungeon high,

And Jock o' the Sheugh lay there;

He raisit himself upon his crook,

To look upon the pair.

"Good e'en to ye," said Bolted Will,

"I am a serving man

Unto the Warden o' the March,

For as simple as I stan.

"My name is Thomas Featherstone,

As I now tell to thee,

Come of as good a kith and kin

As any the north countrie."

"I downs question ye, my man,"

Quo' Jock wi' gruesome mood,

"But ye must mak me win thro' walls,

Or else do me nae good."

"Haith lad, here's wine and gude pasty,

Sae never fash your thoomb;

You've been in siccan a state before,

For a' ye look sae gloom."

"And that is true," quo' Thirlwall's Jock,

"Sae gies the gude red wine;"

They sat them down upon the floor,

As in a chamber fine.

"Then here's to thee!" quo Bolted Will,

The very words he spak;

"The same to you," roared Jock o' the Sheugh,

And slapped him on the back.

Jock told him o' his wickedness,

From now since he could stand;

The frolics of his wantonness,

In England and Scotland.

Nine Englishmen he had murderet,

Beside some orra thing:

"No much to crack about," quo Jock,

"Nor worth the mentioning."

How he had robbed and plundered a',

On Sabbath and wor-day;

"Are ye no sorry for these things?"

Then Belted Will did say.

Page 578

540

BELTED WILL.

"Gude faith, my lad, I'm no' that saft,

For ware I fre the morn,

I wad be off upon the auld score,

As sure as ye were born."

Up rose his comrade frae the floor

"At mornin' ye sall die;

It were a shame to let ye scape,

Livin' so wickedly.

"Had'st thou but said, Good lord, me save,

I am a sinful man,

There were some hopes o' thy convert,

To lengthen out life's span.

"Thou hast rejoiced in all thou'st done,

In guiltyness content;

And thou shalt die:" so sayin' this,

He frae the dungeon went.

Bolted Will pursued him hard,

Pair Jock louked wi' a serious face,

Frac's hand there dropped the gill;

"Now save my soul, what have I said?

That sure was Belted Will!"

Fytte Fourth.

By Brampton's town there stands an oak,

Upon a hill so high;

And Jock was broughten there betimes,

Upon the tree to die.

They strapp'd him to the highest branch,

Of all that goodly tree,

And there the righteous chaplain prayed

For Jock's soul solemnlie.

Thirlwall's Baron saw the sight,

And swore revenge to have;

For better part o' a summer's day

He nothing did but rave.

He sent a messenger sae bold

To Will, wha cried in scorn,

"Better he looks intil his nest,

T'sa burn it ere the morn."

The Baron fled to his castell,

And guarded it sae grim;

"The fiend tak Belted Will," he cried,

"T'is word and blow wi' him."

But scarcely had the midnight fell,

When spite o' his care,

Belted Will his castell stormed,

For a' he fought sae sair.

A tar barrel and reeking pent,

They laid unto his nest,

Threw open gates and wide windows,

And the night wind did the rest.

The Baron fled frae room to room,

By the flames o' his own ha',

"Ho's gien me light to go ta bed,

Whatsover may befa'."

He rushed into his inner room,

Where his golden table lay;

The devil in likeness o' a dwarf

Kept watch there night and day.

Bolted Will pursued him hard,

Amid the flame and slour,

For he cut the skirt frae the Baron's cloak,

As he whisked thro' the door.

"Save me now thou gruesome elf,

And my saul and body's thine;"

The dwarf he jalbered hideously,

But never made a sign.

Belted Will called for a ram,

To bash the doorway down,

The red flames thro' the keyhole flashed,

And filled wi' reek the room.

"My soul and bodie," the Baron said,

Abjuring Christ his sign;

The devil he grippit him in his arms,

"Now, Baron, art thou mine."

The door gaed splint'ring frae the posts,

In rushed the enemie;

But Baron, dwarf, and goud table,

I wat they could na see.

And legends say the ugsome dwarf

Threw all into a well,

And by the glamour o' his art,

Cast over all a spell:

Which never may be rendered veyn

But by a widow's son;

And he shall find the gold table,

When years away have run.

Page 579

belted Will looked up at the towor,

Where flashed the flames so red,

"The Baron's soul maun be in hell,"

The Border Warden said.

"Now by my word, I rather had

Met him upon the field."

Then Thirlwall's freebooters cried out,

"Ho! Belted Will, we yield."

Of horse and foot five hundred strong

Were mustered on that morn,

To keep the castlo o' gude Thirlwall,

Wi' sword, and spear, and horn.

They drove them untill Cumbernauld,

All that were prisoners tnen ;

But many by the Warden's men

In the blazing towers were slain.

And better they were, who on that night

Had fallen in the strife,

Than thus to live of hope bereft,

A captive's weary life.

To count the sad return o' day,

For many a lonely hour,

All thro' the night thro' the cold daylight,

In Naworth's dungeon tower.

Page 581

The Scottish words are denoted by s., French by f., Latin by l., Anglo-Saxon by a. s., Icelandle by isl., &c.

For the etymology of the words in this volume, the reader is referred to Junii Etymologicum Anglicanum, Edidit Ed.

Lye, Oxon. 1743, folio.

A' A', s. all.

Abacke, back.

Abone, aboon, s. above.

Aboven ous, above us.

Abought, about.

Abraide, abroad.

Abye, suffer, to pay for.

Acton, a kind of armour made of taffota, or leather quilted, &c.

worn under the haborgon, to save the body from bruises, f.,

Hocqueton.

A deid of nicht, s. in dond of night.

Adrad, afraid.

Adventry, Advcuterous, adultery,

adulterous.

Aff, s. off.

Afore, before.

Afi, s. oft.

Agayne, against.

Agoe, gone.

Ahte, ought.

Aik, s. oak.

Ain, Awoin, s. own.

Aith, s. oath.

Alate, of late.

Al, albeit, although.

Alamagne, f. Germany.

Al gife, although.

Algatys, by all means.

Alyes, probably corrupted for al-

gates, always.

Amonges, at the same time.

An, and.

Ancient, a flag, banner.

Aneyent, standard.

And, if.

Ane, s. one, an, a.

Angel, a gold coin worth 10s.

An, if.

Anf, and.

Apayde, satisfied, contented.

Aplilit, Al aplyht, quito complete.

Aquay, coy, shy.

Are, Godday's are, God's heir or son, i. e., Jesus Christ, who is

also God himself.

Array, dress, clothing.

Arrayed, freighted, furnished.

Arus, Arros, arrows.

Arwin, archer.

Arycubushe, harquebusse, an old fashioned kind of musket.

Asa, as.

Assinule, assigned.

Assoyil'd, Assoyled, absolved.

Astate, estate, also a great person.

Astonied, astonished, stunned.

Astound, Astonyed, stunned, astonished, confounded.

Ath, Athe, o' th', of the.

Attoure, s. out, over, over and abov.

A T'ryde of Tweed.

Auoue, a vow, an oath.

Auld, s. old.

Aureate, golden.

Austerie, scorn, austere.

Avawe, vow.

Avoyd, void, vacate.

Awa', s. away.

Axed, asked.

Ayance, against.

Aymst, against.

Aye, over, also, ab, alas.

Azein, Agein, against.

Azout, s. beyond.

Azout the ingle, s. beyond the fire.

The fire was in the middle of the room.

In the west of Scotland, at this present time, in many cottages they pile

their peats and turfs upon stones in the middle of the room. There is a

hole above the fire in the ridge of the house to let the smoke out at. In

some places are cottage-houses, from the front of which a very wide chimney projects like a bow window; the

fire is in a grate like a malt-klin

grate, round which the people sit: sometimes they draw this grate into

the middle of the room.—Mr. Lumle.

Bu', s. ball.

Bachelere, knight.

Baile, bale, evil, hurt, mischief,

misery.

Bairne, s. child.

Bairn, s. child.

Bairdcd, s. bearded.

Baith, s. Bathe, both.

Bale, ovil, mischief, misery.

Balow, s. a nursery term, hush,

lullaby, &c.

Balysete, Better our bales, remove our ovils.

Bane, bone.

Ban, curse, Banning, cursing.

Banderoller, streamers, little flags.

Band, bond, covenant.

Bar, baro.

Bargain, business, commission.

Bar-hed, bare-head, or perhaps

bared.

Barne, Berne, man, person.

Base court, the lower court of a

castle.

Buenet, Basnite, Basnyte, Baso-

net, Bassonnette, helmet.

Bates, heavy sticks, clubs.

Band, s. bold.

Bawzen, s. Skinne, perhaps sheep's

leather dressed and coloured

red, f. Barans, sheeps leasher.

In Scotland, sheepskin mittens,

with the wool on the inside, are

called bauson mittens. Bauson

also signifies a badger, in old

English, it may therefore signify perhaps badger's skin.

Bayard, a noted blind horse in

the old romances. The horse

on which the four sons of Ay-

Page 582

mon rodo is called Byyard Montalbon, by Skelton, in his " Phillip Sparrow."

Bearing arrow, an arrow that carries well. Or perhaps bearing or hiriing, i. o., whirling or whirring arrow, from isl. Bir.

venlus, or a. s.

Bene, fremitus.

Bearn, Bairn, s. a child, also human creature.

Be, s. by, Be that, by that time.

Bed, hade.

Bede, offer, engage.

Bedeene, immediately.

Bedight, bedecked.

Bedune, wrought, made up.

Bedyls, beadles.

Bedys, beads.

Befall, befallen.

Befoir, s. before.

Beforn, before.

Begyile, beguiled, deceived.

Beheurd, heard.

Beheue, commands, injunctions.

Behove, behoof.

Belive, immediately, presently.

Belyfe, p. Belive, immediately, by and by, shortly.

Bende-bow, a bent bow, qu.

Bene, Bean, an expression of contempt.

Ben, be, are.

Ben, Bene, been.

Ben, s. within the inner-room.

"But o' house," means the outer part of the house, outer room, viz. that part of the house into which you first enter, suppose from the street. "Ben o' house," is the inner room, or more retired part of the house. The daughter did not lie out of doors. The cottagers often desire their landlords to build them a But and a Ben. (Vid. Gloss.)—Mr. Lambe.

Ben, s. within doors.

Of the Scottish words Ben and But, Ben is from the Dutch Binnen, Lat. intra, intus, which is compounded of the preposition By or Be (the same as By in English), and of IN.

Benison, blessing.

Bent, s. long grass, also wild fields, where bents, &c., grow.

Bent, bents, (where bents, long coarse grass, &c., grow), the field, fields.

Benyugne, Benigne, benign, kind.

Beoth, be, are.

Bernes, barns.

Beere, s. bier.

Bereth, (Introd.) beareth.

Ber the prys, bare the prize.

Beseme, become.

Besett, laid out, bestowed.

Bestrew me, a lesser form of imprecation.

Beshredde, cut into shreds.

Besmirche, to soil, discolour.

Besprent, besprinkled.

Bestadde, situated, placed.

Beste, beast, art.

Bested, abode.

Bestis, beasts.

Bestrayed, distracted.

Beth, bo, are.

Be that, by that time.

Beete, did beat.

Bet, better, bett, did beat. Ware hytt bett, lay it out to moro advantge.

Beraics, discovers, betrays.

Bickarte, bickered, skirmished.

(It is also used sometimes in the sense of, "swiftly coursed," which seems to be the sense, p. 53, col. 1.—Mr. Lambe).

Mr. Lambe also interprets "Biormawe," by rattling, e. g. And on that slee Ulysses hend Sad curses down does maken. Transl. of Ovid.

Bill, &c., I have delivored a pro-miso in writing, confirmed by an onth.

Birk, s. birch tree.

Blan, Blanne, did blin, i. e. linger, stop.

Blan, Blanne, did blin, i. o. linger, stop.

Blare, to emblazon, display.

Blaw, s. blow.

Blee, colour, complexion.

Bleid, s. Bleda, blood.

Blent, blonded.

Blent, ceased.

Blinne, cease, give over.

Blinkand, Blinkande, s. twinkling.

Blinking, squinting.

Blink, s. a glimpse of light, the sudden light of a candle seen in the night at a distance.

Blinkes, s. twinkles, sparkles.

Blist, blessed.

Blive, Belive, s. immediately.

Bloomed, boset with bloom.

Blude, Bluid red, blood, s. blood red.

Bluid, Bluidy, s. blood, bloody.

Blynne, stop, cease, give over.

Blyth, Blythe, s. sprightly, joyous.

Blyth, s. joy, sprightliness.

Blythe, Blyne, blithe, with spirit.

Blyve, Belive, s. instantly.

Bode, abode, stayed.

Boist, Boisteris, s. boast, boasters.

Bookesman, clerk, secretary.

Bollye, bowls.

Boltes, shafts, arrows.

Bowman, bowman.

Boun, favour, request, petition.

Boun, a favour, request, petition.

Bouny, Bounic, s. comely.

Bore, born.

Borrowed, warranted, pledged, was exchanged for.

Borwe, Borwe, pledge, surety.

Borwe, to redeam by a pledge.

Bota, boot, advantage.

Boot, Boote, advantage, help, assistance.

Boote, gain, advantage.

Bot, s. but, sometimes it seems used for both, or, besides, moreover.

Bot and, (it should probably be both and), and also

Bot, s. without, Bot dreid, without dread, certainly.

Bougill, s. buglo-horn, hunting horn.

Bougills, s. buglo horns.

Bounde, Bowynd, Bownyd, prepared, got ready, the word is also used in the north in the sense of went or was going.

Bowne, to dine, going to dine.

Bowne, is a common word in the North for going, e. g. Where are you bowne to, where are you going.

Bower, Bowre, any bowed or arched room, a parlour, chamber, also a dwelling in general.

Bower, bowre, habitation, chamber, parlour; perhaps from isl. Bowan, to dwell.

Bower-woman, s. chamber-maid.

Bower-windone, chamber-window.

Bowndes, bounds.

Bowne, ready.

Bowne, ready; Bownyd, prepared.

Bowne ye, prepare ye, got ready.

Bowys, bows.

Brade, Braid, s. broad.

Bre, s. the brow or side of a hill, a declivity.

Braes of Yarrow, s. the hilly banks of the river Yarrow.

Braïd, s. broad, large.

Brakes, tufts of fern.

Brand, sword.

Brandes, swords.

Brast, burst.

Bruste, burst.

Braw, s. brave.

Brawly, s. bravely.

Brayd, a. rose, hastened.

Brayd attoure the bent, s. hasted over the field.

Brayde, drew out, unsheathed.

Brech, breeches.

Breeden bale, breed mischief.

Breede, breadth. So Chaucer.

Page 583

Brede, bread.

Bredl banner, broad banner.

Brenand-drake, p. may perhaps be the same as a fire-drake, or fiery serpent, a meteor or fire-work so called. Here it seems to signify burning embers, or fire brands.

Breng, Bryng, bring.

Brenn, s. burn.

Brecre, Brere, briar.

Brest, burst, broke.

Brother, brethren.

Bridal, (properly bride-ale), the nuptial feast.

Brigue, Brigg, bridge.

Brimme, public, universally known, a. s. Bryme, idem.

Britled, carved, vid. Brytllynge.

Gloss. vol. 1.

Broad-arowe, s. a broad forked headed arrow.

Brooche, Brouche, 1st, a spit. 2dly, a bodkin. 3dly, any ornamental trinket. Stone buckles of silver or gold, with which gentlemen and ladies clasp their shirt-bosoms and handkerchiefs, are called in the north, brooches, from the f. broche, a spit.

Bronch, an ornamental trinket, a stone buckle for a woman's breast, &c., vid. Brooche, Glos. vol. 3.

Brocht, s. brought.

Brochys, ornamental pins, or buckles, like the Roman fibula (with a single prong) for the breast or head-dress.

Brodynge, pricking.

Brooke, bear, endure.

Browke, enjoy.

Brouk her with winne, enjoy her with pleasure. a s. broke

Browd, broad.

Brozt, brought.

Brytllynge, Brytlyng, cutting up, quartering, carving.

Buen, Bueth, been, be, are.

Bugle, bugle-horn, a hunting-horn, being the horn of a bugle or wild bull.

Buik, s. book.

Burgens buds, young shoots.

Burn, Bourn, brook.

Bushment, ambushment, ambush, a snare to bring them into trouble.

Busket, Buskt, dressed.

Busk ye, s. dress ye.

Busk, dress, deck.

Busk and boin, i. e. make your-selves ready and go; Boun, to go. (north country.)

Buskt them, prepared themselves, made themselves ready.

But, s. boot, advantage, good.

But if, unless.

But without, But let, without him-dance.

But, s. without, out of doors.

But, or Butt, is from the Dutch Buy-ten, Lat. extra, proter, proterquàm, which is compounded of the same preposition, by or be, and of uyt, the same as out in English.

Butt, s. out, the outer room,

Buttes, butts to shoot at.

Bydys, Bides, abides.

Byeours, Beeres, biers.

Bye, buy, pay for, also, Abey, suffer for.

Byll, Bill, an ancient kind of hal-bert, or battle axe.

Byn, Bine, Bin, been, be, are.

Byrehe, birch-trees, birch-wood.

Byre, s. cow-house.

Bysta, boost, art.

By thre, of three.

C.

Cudgily, s. merrily, cheerfully.

Caitiff, a slave.

Calde, cailyld, called.

Callicer, a kind of musket.

'Tamasohe, s. stern, grim

Cws 'na, s. cannot.

Can aue, Gan, began to cry.

Can curteysye, know, understand good manners.

Can, Gan, began.

Cannes, wooden-cups, bowls.

Cantabanguai, ital. ballad-singers, singers on benches.

Cantles, pieces, corners.

Caytyffe, caitiff, slave, despicable wretch.

Certes, certainly.

Cetywall, Setiwall, the herb valerian ; also, mountain spikenard. See Gerard's Herbal.

Chamteleere, the cock.

Chap, knock.

Chaste, chastise, correct.

Chayne, chnain.

Chage, chnse.

Cheek, to stop.

Check, to rate at.

Che, (Somerset dialect), I.

Chefe, the upper part of the scutcheon in heraldry.

Cheis, s. choose.

Cheke, choked.

Chewaliers, f. knights.

Chill, (Som. dial.) I will.

Child, knight, children, knights.

Chield, s. is a slight or familiar way of speaking of a person, like our English word fellow.

The Chield, i. e. the fellow.

Chould, (ditto) I would.

Christentie, Christendie.

Christentye, Chrystiante, Christen-dom.

Church-ale, a wake, a fenst in commemoration of the dedication of a church.

Churh, clown, a person of low birth, a villain.

Chyf, Chyfe, chief.

Chylder, children, children's.

Chylded, brought forth, was deli-vered.

Claithis, s. clothes.

Clattered, beat so as to rattle.

Clawele, clawed, tore, scratched ; figuratively beat.

Clead, s. clothed.

Cleading, s. clothing.

Cled, s. clad, clothed.

Clenking, clinking, jingling.

Clennesse, cleanness, chastity.

Clepe, call.

Cleped, Cleped, called, named.

Clerke, scholar.

Clerkes, clergymen, literati, scho-lars.

Cliding, s. clothing.

Clim, the contraction of Clement.

Clough, a north-country word for a broken cliff.

Clowch, clutch, grasp.

Clyppyng, embracing.

Coate, cot, cottaga.

Cockers, a sort of buskins or short boots fastened with laces or latons, and often worn by farmers or shepherds. In Scotland they are called Cutkins, from Cute, the ankle. 'Cokers, fishermen's boots.'—(Littleton's Diction.)

Cohorted, incited, exhorted.

Cokerey, seems to be a diminutive for cook, from the Latin co-quinator, or coquinarius. The meaning seems to be that 'every five and five had a cook

Page 584

546

GLOSSARY.

or scullion to attend them”—

Chaucer's Cant. Tales, 8vo. vol.

iv. p. 253.

Collcyne, Cologno steel.

Cold rost, (a phrase), nothing to

the purpose.

Cold, conld, know.

Coleyne, Cologno stool.

Com, enmo.

Combre, encumber, be too many

for.

Comen, Comyn, come.

Confedered, confederated, entered

into a confederacy.

Con, cun, gan, began. Item. Con-

springe, (a phrase), sprung,

Con fare, went, passed.

Con thanks, give thanks.

Cop head, the top of anything, sax.

Corage, heart, spirit, inclination,

disposition.

Cordinoin, cordwayne, properly

Spanish or Cordovan leather;

here it signifies a more vulgar

sort.

Corstare, courser, steed.

Cost, const side.

Cote, cot, cottage. Item, coat.

Cotydaylye, daily, every day.

Coulde, cold. Item, could.

Could be, was. Could dye, died

(a phrase).

Could bear, a phrase for baro.

Could oreip, s. crept. Could say,

said.

Could weip, s. wept.

Could his good, know what was

good for him. Or perhaps could

live upon his own,

Countie, count, earle.

Coupe, a pen for poultry.

Couthen, knew.

Couth, could.

Covetise, covetousness.

Coyntrie, Covntry.

Cramasie, s. crimson.

Crancky, merry, sprightly, exult-

ing.

Cranion, skull.

Credence, belief.

Crevis, crevice, chink.

Cricke, s. properly an ant, but

means probably any small in-

sect.

Crinicle, run in and out, run into

flexures, wrinkle.

Cristes cors, Christ's curse.

Croft, an enclosure near a house.

Croiz. cross.

Crook my knee, make lame my

knee. They say in the north,

“The horse is crookit,” i. e.

lame. “The horse crooks,” i. e.

goes lame.

Crook, twist, wrinkle, distort.

Croech, crutch.

Crometh, crown ye.

Crout, to pucker up.

Crumpling, crookcd; or perhaps

with crooked knatty horns.

Cryance, belief, f. Creancer, [whonco

recreant]. But in p. 12, col. 1,

&c., it seems to signify fear, f.

Crainte.

Cule, colt.

Cum, s. come, camo.

Cummer, s. gossip, friend, f. Com-

mire, Compere.

Cure, care, heed, regard.

Curtes, courteous.

D.

Dale, s. deal, Bot give I dale, un-

less I deal.

Dame, mistress. Oure dameys

pony, Our mistress's ponny.

Dumpned, damned.

Dumpred, condemned.

Dun, an ancient title of respect,

from Lat. Dominus.

Dunk, moist, damp.

Danske, Denmark, query.

Darr'd, s. hit.

Dark, perhaps for Thar, thoro.

Dart the trie, s. hit-the tree.

Daukin, diminutive of Darlid.

Daunger hurlt, eyness holdeth.

Dawez, (introd.) days.

Dealan, deland, s. doaling.

Deare day, charmling pleasant

day.

Dease, Dein, the high table in a

hall, from f. Dais, a canopy.

Dee, s. die.

De, dey, dy, die.

Dede is do, deed is done.

Deed (introd.) dond.

Deid, s. Dede, deed. Item, dead.

Deid-bell, s. passing-bell.

Dell, deal, part. Every dell, every

part.

Dell, narrow valley.

Dele, deal.

Delt, dealt.

Deelyse dight, richly fitted out.

Demathis, demesnes, estate in

lands.

Deme, deemed, judge, doomed.

Deemed, doomed, judged, &c.;

thus, in the Isle of Man, judges

are called deemsters.

Den, grave.

Denay, denay (rhythmi gratia)

Dent, a dint, blow.

Deimt, s. deemed, esteemed.

Deip, s. Depe, deep.

Deir, s. Deere, Dere, dear.

Deir, s. dear. Item, hurt, trouble,

disturb.

Dred, dole, grief.

Drepe-fette, deep-fethed.

Dernurd, purified, run clear.

Dere, hurt, mischief.

Derly, precious!y, richly.

Dere, Deye, die.

Dere, Dere, dear, also hurt.

Derkrd, darkoned.

Derm, s. secret, I dern in secret,

Descreve, describe.

Deserye, Descrire, describe.

Denz, devise, the act of bequeath-

ing by will.

Dight, decked, put on.

Dight-dicht, s. decked, dressed,

prepared, fitted out, done.

Dill, dole, grief, pain. Dill I

drye, pain I suffer. Dill was

dight, grief was upon him.

Dill, still, calm, mitigate.

Din, Dinne, noise, bustle.

Diny, knock, beat.

Dint, stroke, blow.

Dirnait, discoursed.

Dinna, s. does not.

Dis, this.

Distrere, the horse rode by a

knight in the tournamont.

Ditrs, dittion.

Dichtir, s. daughter.

Doglidly, eat heartily.

Duka, s. Doun, does.

Dobbe, grief.

Dol. See Drol, Dula.

Domra, dolorous, mournful.

Doefuldumpa, sorrowful gloom, or

lowness of heart.

Dowyn, delyed, buxted.

Dom, down.

Dosend, s. dosing, drowsy, torpid,

benumbed, &c.

Doth, Dothe, dooth, do.

Doubt, fear.

Doublet, a man's inner garment,

waistcoat.

Doubteous, doubtful.

Doughtie, i, e. 'doughty man.

Doughter, Doughte, Doughter, Dough-

tye, doughty, formidable.

Doughtiness of dent, sturdiness of

blows.

Dunac, s. am not able ; properly,

cannot take the trouble.

Doute, doubt. Item, fear.

Doutted, doubted, feared.

Douzty, doughty.

Dozter, daughter.

Doz-trogh, a dough-trough, a

kneading-trough.

Dradde, drended, feared.

Drahe. See Brenand Drake

Drap, s. drop.

Drapping, s. dropping.

Page 585

Dra, suffer.

Drede, feare, daubte.

Dreid, a. Drede, Drede, dreand.

Dreips, s. daips, drops.

Dreiry, s. dreary.

Dremd. The word properly signified love, courtship, &c., and in which sense it is used by Bp. Douglas.

Drie, s. suffer.

Drough, drow.

Droyers, drovers, such as drive herds of cattle, deer, &c.

Drowe, drew.

Drye, suffer.

Dryghenes, dryness.

Dryng, drink.

Dryvers, drovers.

Duble dyse, double (false) dice.

Dude, did. Dudest, didst.

Dughtie, doughty.

Dule, s. Dual, Dol, dale, grief.

Dwellan, Dwelland, s. dwelling.

Dyan, Dyand, s. dying.

Dyce, s. dice, chequer-work.

Dyd, Dyde, did.

Dyght, dight, dressed, put on, put.

Dyht, to dispose, order.

Dyne, s. dinner.

Dynte, dint, blow, stroke.

Dysgysynge, disguising, masking.

Dyrt, vid. Dight.

E.

Eame, Eme, uncle.

Eard, s. earth.

Earn, s. to curdle, make chaoce.

Eathe, easy.

Eather, s. either.

Ech, Eche, Eiche, Eike, such.

E, s. Eie, eye. Een, Eyne, eyes.

Ee, even, evening.

Effund, pour forth.

Eftsoom, in a short time.

Eiked, s. added, enlarged.

Ein, s. even.

Eir, Eoir, s. e'er, ever.

Eke, also; Eike, each.

Elderm, s. elder.

Eldridge, Scoitice, Elriche, Elritch, Elriche; 'wild, hideous, ghostly. Item, lonesome, unhabited, except by spectres, &c. Gloss. to A. Ramsey, Elritchett, laugh. Gen. Shep. a. 5.

In the ballad of Sir Cawline, we have "Eldridge fittl," v. 1. ver. 59. Eldridge Knight, pt. 1, v. 63, pt. 2, v. 80. Eldridge Sword, pt. 1, v. 145. So Gawin Douglas calls the Cyclops, the "Elriche brethir," i. e. brethren; and in his Prologua, he thus describes the night-owl,

"Lathly of forme, with cruklt cam-seho beik, Ugowsme to hero was his wyld Elricho shakir." In Jamiesone's MS. Poems (fol. 135, in the Advocates' Library at Edin-burgh) is a whimsical rhimpsdry of a decremed old woman, travelling in the other world, in whilk,

"Scho wanderit, and zeld, by an Elrich weill."

In the Glossary to G. Douglas, lel-reths, &c., is explained by "wild, hido-ous, faw. Trew. lumamis;" but it seems to imply somewhat more, as in Allan Ramsay's Glossary.

Elke, each.

Eltumynge, embellishing. To illuminate a book was to ornament it with paintings in miniature.

Elyconys, s. Helicons.

Eluish, peovish, fantastical.

Eme, kinsman, uncle.

Euyed, dyed.

Eng, s. Eyn, eyes, Ene, s. even.

Enharpyid, hookud or edged with mortal dred.

Eukankerid, cankered.

Ehauth, s. enough.

Ewne, follow.

Entendement, f. understanding.

Ententify, to the intent, purposely.

Enuye, Envye, malice, ill-will, injury.

Er, Ere, before, are, Ere, or.

Erist, s. heretofore.

Etermynable, interminable, multiplied.

Etled, aimed.

Evanistid, s. vanished.

Everiche, every, each.

Everychome, every one.

Everych, one, every one.

Ewbyghts, or Ewe-boughts, s. are small enclosures, or pens, into which the farmers drive (Sco-tia) their milch ewes morning and evening, in order to milk them. They are commonly made with fall-dykes, i. e. earthen dykes.

Eyre, heir.

Eysell, vinegar.

Ezar, azure.

F.

Fach, Feche, fetch.

Fader, Fathers, s. Fadur, father, fathers. His fadir eyre, his father's heir.

Fridge, s. a thick loaf of bread, figuratively, any course heap of stuff.

Fa, s. fall.

Fa's, s. thou fallest.

Fain, Fayne, glad, fond.

Faine, Fayne, feign.

Faine of fighte, fond of fighting.

Fair of feir, s. of a fair and henlithful look. (Hamsay) perhaps, fair off (free from) fear.

Fallan, Palland, s. falling.

Fald, s. that foldest.

Fals, false. Item, falloth.

Falor, a deceiver, hypocrite.

Falsing, dealing in falsehood.

Fannes, instruments for winnowing corn.

Fang, seise, carry off.

Farden, fared, flasher.

Fare, gu, pass, travel.

Fare, the price of a passage, shot, reckoning.

Fartey, wonder.

Fauel, deceit. See Skelton's Bawge of Courte. The meaning of the text is nevertheless still obscure, though it should seem to be the origin of our modern phrase to curry favour.

Fauleme, falcon.

Fauzt, faucht, s. fought. It., flight.

Fawm, s. fallen.

Fay, Faye, faith.

Fayre, fair.

Fayne, fain, glad.

Faytoris, deceivers, dissemblers, cheats.

Fearce, Fere, Faire, male.

Fent, s. niece, neant.

Feutously, neatly, dexterously.

Febla, Febull, Febyll, poor, wretched, miserabla.

Fe, fee, reward; but properly fee is applied to lands and tenaments which are held by perpetual right, and by acknowledgment of superiority to a higher lord. Thus, in fee, i. e. in feudal service, l. feudum, &c.—Blount.

Feffe, enfeoff.

Feil, s. Fele, many. So Hardinge has Lords fele, i. e. many Lords.

Feir, s. Fere, fear.

Felays, Feloy, fellow.

Fele, Fell, furious, skin.

Fend, defend.

Fendys pray, &c., from being the prey of the fiends.

Feo, fee, reward, recompense; it also signifies land when it is connected with the tenure by which it is held, as knight's fee, &c:

Fere, feer. Item, companion, wife, husband, lover, friend.

Ferdiet, s. wondered.

Ferly; wonder, also wonderful.

Fersly, fiercely.

Fegtyng, fighting.

Feuante, pheasant.

Fette, fetched.

Page 586

548

GLOSSARY.

Fetteled, prepared, addresed, made ready.

Fet, fetched.

Fegs, s. predestinated to death, or some misfortune; under a fatality.

Feyt, faith.

Fy, beaste, cattle.

Fillan, Filland, s. filling.

Fible, field.

Finaunce, fins, forfeituro.

Find-frost, find mischance or dis-aster

A phrase still in use.

Firth, Frith, s. a wood. It., an arm of the sea, 1. fretum.

Fit, division, part.

Fitts, t. s. "divisions or parts in music" are alluded to in Troilus and Crewsida, A. iii. sc. 1. See Mr. Sta-yeu's note. So in Shakspeare's King Henry V. (A. 3, sc. 8), the king says "My armye but a weak and sickly guerd,

Yet God before, tell him we will come on."

Fit, Fyt, Fytte, part or division of a song. Henco Fyte, is a strain of music.

Fit, s. foot.

Fit, s. feet.

Fyxtcan, fiftoen.

Fiyne, fluyed.

Flen, p. fleece.

Fleyke, a large kind of birdlo. Cows are freqently milked in hovels made of fleykos.

Flidars, s. pieces, splinters.

Floman, s. flowing.

Flyt, shift.

Flyte, to contend with words, scold.

Folys, fools.

Fom, Fome, sea.

Foo, foes.

Forebode, commandment, God forbode, Oner Gode forbode, [Prater Dei preceptum sit.] q. d. God forbid.

Fond, contrive, also endeavour, fly, try.

Fonde, found.

Fone, fues.

Force, no force, no matter.

Forned, regarded, heeded.

Fordo, undo, ruin, destroy.

Foregoe, quit, give up, resiga.

Forwearied, much wearied.

Forfend, prevent, defend.

Forfend, avert, hinder.

For-fought, overfought.

Formare, former.

For, on account of.

Forsede, regarded, heeded.

Fors, I do fors, I don't care.

Forst, heeded, regarded.

Forst, forced, compelled.

Forstera of the fi, forester of the king's damesuaes.

Fire, drunk.

Forthiut, thought of, remembered.

Forthy, thetifore.

Forthynketh, repentenlh, vexeth, troubleth,

Foul, Foie, a. full, also fuddled.

Fou, Fom, v. a. full. Item, drunk.

Foucarde, Vmarde, the van.

Formacht, overwatched, kept awnke.

Frae, s. fro, from

Fae they begyn, from their begin-ning, from the time they begin.

Freake, Freke, Freyke, man, per-son, human creature, also a whim or maggot.

Freake, Freke, Freyke, man, hu-man creature, fellow.

Fre-bore, free-born.

Frekys, persons.

Fraite, s. ill-omens, ill-luck, any old superstitious saw, or im-precatea.

An ingenous correspondent in the North thinks Freat is not an unlucky conam, bat, "that thing whilk terri-fies", viz. "Terrors will pursae them that look after frightful things. Fright is promunced in the common people in the North Frite.

Freere, Fere, mate, companion.

Freers, Fyars, friars, monks.

Fraykes, humour, indulg, freak-ishly, capriciously.

Freyned, asked.

Frie, s. Ere, free.

Froo, from.

Friward, forward.

Furth, forth.

Fysson, joyson, plenty, also sub-stance.

Founkie, a cant word for a ture.

Fyars, (intro.) feroce.

Fykkill, ficklo.

Fyll, full.

Fyled, fyting, defiled, defiling.

Fyr, fire.

Fytt, fit, part, canto.

Fytte, strain.

G.

Gabertunzie, Gabertunye, s. a wal-lot.

Gabertunzie-mun, s. a wallet-man, i. e. tinker, beggar.

Gadlings, gadders, idle fellows.

Gadryng, gathering.

Gae, s. gave.

Gae, Goes, s. go, goes.

Gaad, Gade, s. went.

Ga, Gais, s. go; goes.

Gair, s. geer, dress.

Gatlinrd, a sprightly kind of dance.

Gamin, to make game, to sport, n. s. Iumeniun, joeu'ti. Henca bnekgammon.

Game, fian, began.

Gome, s. gone.

Gang, s. go.

Gayle, gained.

Garade, Giarde, made.

Gare, Guar, s. make, cause, compel.

Gargyled, from Gargonille, f. the spout of a gutter. The tower was adorned with spouts cut in the figures of greyhounds, lions, &c.

Gar, s. to make, cause, &c.

Garland, the ring within which the prick or mark was set to be shot at.

Garv, Garred, s. made.

Gyrd, male gay (their clothes).

Gear, Geire, Geir, Gair, s. goods, effects, stufi.

Gederda ya hast, gathered his host,

Gef, Gfore, give.

Geid, s. gave.

Gcere will away, this matter will turn out, affiir terminato.

(fert, (intra,) pierced.

Gent, act, feat, story, history, (it is lost in MS.)

Gentiye, what he had got, plunder, booty.

Gere, (ierend, give, given.

Gibel, jueced.

Gir, Gien, s. give, given.

Gif, if.

Gifa, Gif; if.

Gi, Gie, s. give.

Gillore, (Irish) plenty.

Gin, Gimp, s. neat, slender.

Gin, s. m, if.

Gin, Gyn, engine, contrivance.

Gins, beginn.

Gin, an interjoction of contempt.

Gir, s. pierced, 'Thorough-gi-n, pierced through.

Giv enure, s. surrender.

Gire, Gif, Gif, if.

Glaive, f. sword.

Glede, a red-hot coal.

Glee, merriment, joy.

Glen, s. a narrow valley.

Glente, glanced, slipt.

Glis, s. glee, merriment, joy.

Glist, s. glistened.

Glose, set a false gloss or colour.

Glowr, s. stars, or frown.

Gloze, canting dissimulation, flin outsido.

God, pgoods, merchandiso.

Goddese, goddess.

Gode, (intro.) good.

Page 587

Gode, goods, propery.

Goo, gone.

Good, p. se. a good deal, Good-e'ons. good o'nings.

Goon, go.

Gode, Gadness, good, goodness.

God-befure, i. e. God be thy guide, a foim of blessing.

Goggling eyen, goggle eyes.

Gone, (intro.) go.

Gorget, the dress of the neck.

Gowan, s. the common yellow cow-foot, or goldeup.

Gowd, s. Gowld, gold.

Grains, scarlet.

Graithed gowden, s. was cappari-sonod with gold.

Gramarcy, thanks, grand merci.e.

Gramereye, i. e. I thank you, f. Grand-mercie.

Graunge, gruary, also a lone country house.

Graythed, s. decked, put on.

Grea-houndes, grey-hounds.

Greece, fat, (a fat hart) from f. graisso.

Grece, a stop, a flight of stops, Grece.

Greec, s. a prize, a victory.

Greend, grew green.

Gremyng, grinning.

Greet, s. weop.

Gret, gront, grieved, swoln, ready to burst.

Gret, Grat, great.

Greves, Groves, bushes.

Gromes, attendants, sorvants.

Groundwa, groundwall.

Growende, Growynd, ground.

Grownes, grounds,(rhythmi gratia. Vid. Sowne.)

Growte, in Northamptonshire is a kind of small beer extracted from the malt after the strength has been drawn off. In Devon it is a kind of sweet ale medicated with eggs, said to be a Danish liquor.

Growte is a kind of fare much used by Danish sailors, being boiled groats, (i. e. hulled oats) or else shelted barley, served up very thick, and butter added to it. (Mr. Lambe.)

Grippel, griping, tonacious, miserly.

Grype, a griffin.

Gryse, a spocies of fur.

Grysely groned, dreadfully groaned.

Guide, Guid, Geud, s. good.

Guerdon, reward.

Gyn, engine, contrivance.

Gy'd, gi: ud, la: hod.

Gyne, s. guise, form, fashion, way, manner, method.

II.

Habbe ase he brewe, have as he brews.

Haberyeon, f. a loser coat of mail.

Hable, able.

Haggis, a shoep's stomach stuffed with a pudding made of mince-meat, &c.

Ha, Hae, s. have. Item, hall.

Ha, s. hall.

Ha. have. Ha, s. hall.

Hail, hale, s: whole, altogether.

Halched, Halsed, saluted, embraced, fell on his neck, from halse, the neck, throat.

Haloune, wholesome, healthy.

Halt, holdeth.

Hame, Hamward, home, home-ward.

Handbow, the long-bow, or common bow, as distinguished from the cross-bow.

Han, have, 3 pers. plur.

Hare mercides, their swordes.

Haried, harried, haryed, haroned, robbed, pillaged, plundered. "He harried a bird's nest."-Scott.

Harraunced, harassed, disturbaed.

Harlocke, perhaps charlocke, or wild rape, which bears a yellow flower, and grows among corn, &c.

Harnisiine, harness, arnour.

Hartly lust, hearty desire.

Harwos, harrows.

Hastardcais, perhaps hasty rash fellows, or upstarts, qua.

Hatche, a low or half door.

Hauld, s. to hold. Item, hold, strong, bold.

Haues-bane, s. the neck-bone, (halso-bone) a phrase for the neck.

Haues, (of) effects, substance, riches.

Han, have.

Haviour, behaviour.

Hawberk, a coat of mail consisting of iron rings, &c.

Hawkin, synonmous to Halkin, dition of Harry.

Hayll, advantage, profit, (for the profit of all England,) n. s. Hæil, salus.

Heal, hail.

Heare, here, hair.

Hear, here.

Gyle, rod.

Gybe, jest, joka.

Gyles, guile.

Gyles, guiles.

Hrathenees, tho heathon part of the world.

Hrech, hatch, small door.

Hecht to lay thee law, s. promised, engaged to lay thee low.

Hede, Hied, he'd, he would, heed.

Hed, Hede, heed.

Hedur, hilher.

Hee's, s. he shall, also he has.

He, Hee, Hye, high,

He, Hie, hasten.

Ha, Hye, to hie or hasten.

Heicht, s. height.

Heiding-hill, s. the 'heading (i. e. beheading) hill. The place of execution was anciently an artificial hillock.

Heil, s. hell, health.

Heir, s. here, hear.

Hela, health.

Helem, heal.

Helpeith, help ye.

Hem, Em, them.

Henne, hence.

Hende, kind, gentlo.

Hende, civil, gente.

Hent, (intro.) help, pulled.

Hent, Hente, held, laid hold of, also received, take.

Heo, (intro.) they.

Heere, hear.

Here, their, hear, hair.

Her, hare, their.

Herketh, hearken ye.

Hert, Hertin, heart, hearts.

Hes, s. has.

Hest, hast.

Hest, command, injunotion.

Hett, Hight, bid, call, command.

Het, hot.

Hether, hither.

Hether, s. heath, a low shrub that grows upon the moors, &c. so luxuriantly as to choke the grass, to prevent which the inhabitants sot whole acres of it on fire, on the rapidity of which gave the poet that apt and noble simile, in p. (Mr. Hutchinson.)

Heuch, s. a rock or steep hill.

Hevede, Hevedest, had, hast.

Heneriche, Hevenrich, heavenly.

Heokes, heralds' coats.

Henyme in to, hewn in two.

Hewyng, Hewinge, hewing, hacking.

Hey-day guise, frolic, sportive frolicsome manner.

This word is perhaps corruptly given, being apparently the same with Ἑξαπαιγνiαs, or Ἑξαπαιγνiες, which occurs in Spanser, and means a " wild frolic dance."-Johnson's Dictionary.

Heynd, Hend, gentle, obliging,

Heyre, high, Heyd, s. hied.

Page 588

50

GLOSSARY.

ht A-hicht, s. on height.

damea to wail, s. high (or

ent) ladiis to wail, or, hasten,

dies, to wail, &c.

, gⁿ, run.

, Hye, He, Hecⁿ, high.

h, hye, come, hasten, return

speedily.

ht, engage, engaged, promised,

amed, called.

Hie, he.

hys, hills.

t, taken off, flayed, Sax. hylden

-ich-boys, Hench, properly

nunch-men, pages of honour,

ages attending on persons of

flce.

id, s. behind.

ide, Hend, gentle.

hys, s. hangs.

hy, s. honey.

, Hey, the berry which con-

ains the stones or seeds of the

log-rosa.

, Hir lane, s. her, herself alone.

rsel, s. herself.

t, it, Hit be write, it be written.

de, hood, cap.

o, hⁿ, an interjection stopping

r desisting, hence stoppage.

lien, probably a corruption for

jolly.

lden, hold.

le, whole. Holl, idem.

roly, s. slowly.

llen, woods, groves, in Norfolk

a plantation of cherry-trees, is

called a “cherry holt,” also

sometimes “hills.”

Ifoltas seems evidently to signify

lie in the following passage from Tⁿu-

rille's “ Songs and Sonnets,” 12mo.

67, fol. 56.

Yee that frequent the hilles,

And highest Holtes of all,

Assist me with your skilful quilles,

And listen when I rcall.”

I also in this other verse of an ancient

iet.

“ Underneath the Holtes so hoar,”

'iltis hair, s. hoar hills.

'ily-roode, holy cross.

'aly, wholly, or perhaps hole,

wholo.

'om, Hem, them.

'onden wrynge, hands wring.

'ondridh, Hondred, hundred.

'one, hand.

'onge, hang, hung.

'ontyng, bunting.

'op-halt, limping, hopping, and

halting.

'orke, stockings.

'ount, hunt.

'ouale, give the sacrament.

'oved, heaved, or perhaps hove'-

ed, hung moving, (Gl. Chaucer)

Hoved or hoven means in the

North swelled. 3ut Mr. Lumby

thinks it is the same as hund,

still used in the North, and ap-

plied to any light substance

heaving to and fro an undulat-

ingⁿuface. The vowel u is often

used there for the consonant v.

Houeres, Houers, hours.

Huerte, heurt.

Huggle, hug, clasp.

Hye, Hyest, high, highest.

Hyglit, promised.

Hyghte, on high, alond.

Hyne, a hind is a servant.

Hyp-halt, lame in the hip.

Hyndatuore, s. behind, over, or

about.

Hys, his, also is.

Hyt, (intro.) it.

Hyznes, highness.

I

Ioh, I, Ieh byneth, I bequeath.

Iclipped, called.

If, if.

I fore, to gather.

Ifeth, in faith.

Ifardly, s. ill-favoured, uglily.

Ild, I’d, I would.

Ile, I’ll, I will.

Ilka, s. each, every one.

Ilke, every Ilk, every one.

Ilk, This Ilk, s. this same.

Ilke one, each one.

I-lore, lost, I-strike, stricken.

Im, him.

Impe, a litilo demon.

In fere, I fere, to gather.

Ingle, s. fire.

Inowe, enough.

Into, s. in.

Intres, entrance, admittance.

Io forth, corruptly printed so,

should probably be loo, i. e.

halloo.

Ireful, angry, furious.

Ise, I shall.

Is, is, his.

I trowe, (I believe) verily.

Its neir, s. it shall ne’er.

I-tuned, tuned.

I-ween, (I think) verily.

I wisse, (I know) verily.

I wot, (I know) verily.

I wys, I wis, (I know) verily.

Iye, eye.

Janglers, talkative persons, tall-

tules, also wranglers.

Jenkin, diminutive of John.

Jimp, s. slender.

Jogelere, jugglers.

Jo, s. sweet-heart, friend. Jo is

properly the contraction of joy,

so rejoice is written rejoce in

old Scottish MSS. particulaly

Bamityne's—jocim.

Jom, s. jull or jowl.

Jupc, an upper garment, fr. a

petticoat.

K.

Kall, call.

Kame, s. comb.

Kameing, s. combing.

Kan, can.

Kante-picce, corner.

Karles, carls, curls, Karlis of

kynd, curls by nature.

Kauk, s. chalk.

Kauled, called.

Kawte and keene, cautious and

activo l. cautus.

Keipand, s. keeping.

Keel, s. raddle.

Kelc, cool.

Kempeⁿ, soldiers, warriors.

Kemperye-man, soldier, warrior,

fighting-man.

“ Gormundis camp, exerditⁿum, ant lo-

cum ubi exerotius castrametatur, elg-

nificat: huda Ipels vir Castronsis, et

militaris vernⁿfr, et krempher at kemper,

ot kimder, et kamper, pro varietate dia-

lectorum vocatur. Vocalabum hoc

nostro namque nandum penitus oxo-

lavit: Barbileiⁿusa enim plebⁿo, et

proletariⁿ surmⁿa dleunt.” He is a

kemper old man, l. e. “ Senex vegdus

et Cimbriⁿ suum nomen;

“ Kimber enum homo bellicosus pugil,

robustus miles, &c., signifat.” She-

ringham de Angl. nontis orig. pag.

  1. Ractius au tem lazitus [apud om-

dum, p. 45). “ Smernes, a belle quod

lampf, et Saxonlee kamp, muncupatos

crodiderim, unde bellatores, viri dic

kempher, die kemper.”

Kempt, combed.

Kemeⁿ, s. combs.

Kend, s. knew.

Ken, Kenet, know, knowest.

Kene, keen.

Keepe, care, heed. So in the old

play of Hick Scorner (in the

last leaf but one), “ I keepe not

to clymbe so hye,” i. e. I study

not, care not, &c.

Kepers, &c., those that watch by

the corpse shall tie up my

winding-sheet.

Kever-chefeⁿ, handkerchiefs, (vid.

intro.)

Kid, Kyd, Kithe, made known,

shewed.

Kilted, s. tucked up.

Kind, Kinde, nature, p. to carp is

our kinde, it is natural for us to

talk of.

Kirk, s. church.

Kirk-wⁿ, s. church-wall, or per-

haps church-yard-wall.

Page 589

Kirm, s. churn.

Kirtle, a petticoat, woman's gown.

Kista, s. chests.

Kit, cut.

Kith and kin, acquaintance and kindred.

Kithe or Kin, acquaintance nor kindred.

Knave, servant.

Kneen, kneos.

Knellan, Knelland, s. knelling, ringing the knell.

Knicht, s. knight.

Knights fee, such a portion of land as required the possessor to serve with man and horse.

Knowlen, Knolle, little hills.

Knyled, knelt.

Kowarde, coward.

Kowe, cow.

Kurteis, courteous.

Kuntrey, country.

Kynd, nature.

Kythe, appear, also make appear, show, declare.

Kyithed, s. appeared.

Kyrtell, vid. Kurtle. In the intro. it signifies a man's under garment.

Bale, in his Actes of Englishe Votaries, (2d part, fol. 63), uses the word Kyrtle to signify a Monk's Frouk. He says Roger, Earl of Shrewsbury, when he was dying, sent "to Clunyac in France, for the Kyrtle of Hug the Abbot there," &c.

Kye, Kine, cows.

L.

Lakke, want.

Laghi, laugh.

Laghing, laughing.

Laide unto her, imputed to her.

Laith, s. loth.

Laithly, s. loathsome, hideous.

Lambs-wool, a cant phrase for ale and roasted apples.

Lane, Lain, s. lone. Her lane, alone by herself.

Lang, s. long.

Langsome, s. long, tedious.

Lante, lent.

Lap, s. leaped.

Largesse, f. gift, liberality.

Lasse, less.

Lauch, lauched, s. laugh, laughed.

Launde, lawn.

Layden, laid.

Laye, law.

Lay-land, land that is not plonghed, green-sward.

Lay-lands, lands in general.

Layne, lain, Vid. Leane.

Layne, lian, also laid.

70

Lea, lea, field, pasture.

Leal, Leil, s. loyal, honest, true, f. loyal.

Leane, coneceal, hide, Item, lye, (query.)

Leanyde, leamed.

Lease, lying, falsehood. Withouton lease, veritly.

Leanyge, lying, falsehood.

Lee, len, the field, plain, open field.

Lee, s. lie.

Leeche, physician.

Leeching, doctoring, medicinal care.

Leek, phrase of contempt.

Leffe, (Intro.) Leefa, dear.

Leefe, Leve, dear. That is to deare; is fe, that is so deare to thea; whom thou art so fond of; dear, or beloved. Be hym lefe, or be hym loth, let him like it or not;

lot him be agreeable or unwilling.

Leid, s. leyed.

Leiman, Lexman, lover, mistress,

Leir, s. Lere, learn.

Leive, s. leave.

Leman, Lemman, mistress, concubine, lover, gallant, paramour.

Lene, lend.

Lenger, longer.

Lengith in, resideth in.

Leer, look.

Lere, face, complexion, a. s. hleane, facies, vultus.

Lere, learn.

Lerned, learned, taught.

Lese, s. lose.

Lett, Latte, hindor, slacken, leave off, Late, lat.

Lette, delay. Lette not for this, be not hindered or prevented by what has happened from proceeding.

Lettest, hinderest, detainest.

Lett, hinder, hindered.

Lettyng, hindrance, i. e. without delay.

Leuch, Leugh, s. laughed.

Leve, believe.

Leve London, dear London, an old phrase.

Leverth, believeth.

Lover, rather.

Leves und Bowes, leaves and boughs.

Lewd, ignorant, scandalous.

Lerde, foolish.

Leyke, Like, play.

Leyre, lere, learning, lore.

Libbard-bane, a herb so called.

Libbard, leopard.

Lichtly, s. lightly, easily, nimbly.

Lie, s. Lee, field, plain.

Liegemen, vassals, subjects.

Lig, s. lie.

Lightly, easily.

Lighthaome, cheerful, sprightly.

Liked, pleased.

Limitoure, friars licensed to beg within certain limits.

Limitacioune, a certain precinct allowed to a limitour.

Lingell, a threid of hemp rubbed with resin, &c., used by rustics for mending their shoes.

Lire, flesh, complexion.

Lith, Lithe, Lythe, attend, hearken, listen.

Lither, idle, worthless, naughty, froward.

Liven, deliver.

Liverance, deliverance, (money, or a pledge for delivering you up.)

Lodlye, loathsome. Vid. Lothly.

Lo'e, Loed, s. love, loved.

Longht, Lowe, Lugh, laughed.

Loo, hallow !

Loke, lack of wool.

Longes, belongs.

Lope, leaped.

Lorrel, Losel, a sorry worthless person.

Lordynge, &c., sires, masters, gentlemen.

Lore, lessen, doctrine, learning.

Lore, lost.

Lore, doctrine.

Looset, loosed, loosed.

Lothly, (vide Lodlye) loathsome.

The adverbial terminations some and ly were applied indifferently by our old writers: thus as we have Lothly for lRadisome, so we haue Cosome in a MS. not very remote from Eply, in Lhan Sutar's Version of EEneld, 11. viz. "I sawe," in every place the vgsome sights

Loud and still, phrase, at all times.

Lough, laugh, laughed.

Louked, looked.

Lounge, (Intro.) lung.

Loun, s. Lown, Loon, rascal, from the Irish Liun, slothful, sluggish.

Lourd, Lour, s. Lever, had rather.

Louted, Lowetede, lowed, did obeisance.

Loves, Of all loves, an adjuration frequently used by Shakspeare and contemporary writers.

Loweth, love, plural number.

Lowe, a little hill.

Lowde and wylle, wily and calm.

Louske, laughed.

Louse, s. blows, rather opposed to windy, boisterous,

Lowte, Lout, bow, stoop.

Lude, Luid, Luit, s. loved.

Page 590

Luef, lovo.

Lueu, Luee, s, loves, lovo

Luifkin, s. looke.

Luriden, Lurdeyne, sluggard,

drone.

Lyecn, Lyand, s. lying.

Lyerd, gray, a name given to a

horse from its gray colnur, as

Lyyard, from ly.

Lynde, Lyne, the lime tree, or

collectively lime trees, or trees

in general.

Lye, lies.

Lystenyth, (Intro.) listen.

Lyth, Lythe, Lythsome, pliant,

flexible, ensy, gentlo.

Lyren na More, live no more, no

longer.

Lyzl, light.

M.

Maden, mudo.

Mahound, Mahowne, Mahomet.

Muil, s. Mare, more.

Mailh, s. might.

Majeste, Maist, Mayeste, may'st.

Making, se. verses, versifying.

Makys, Makca, mates.

As the words make and mate were

in some cases used promiscuously by

ancient writers; so the words cake and

cate seem to have been applied with

the same indifferency : this will illus-

trate that common English proverb,

"to turn Cat (l. e. Cate) in pan." A

Pan-cake is in Northamptonshire still

called a Cat-cake.

Male, coat of mail,

Mane, man. Item, moan,

Mane, Maining, s. moan, morning.

Mangonel, an engine used for dis-

charging great stones, arrows,

&c., before the invention of

gunpowder.

March panti, in the parts lying

upon the marches.

March-pine, March-pane, a kind

of biscuit.

Margarite, a pearl, l.

Marrow, s. equal.

Mark, a coin, in value 13s. 4d.

Mart, s. marred, hurt, damaged.

Mast, Maste, may'st.

Masterye, Mayeastrg, a trial of skill,

high proof of skill.

Maugre, spite of, ill will (I incur).

Maugre, in spite of.

Mauger, Maugre, spite of.

Maun, s. must.

Maun, s. Mun, must.

Mavis, s. a thrush.

Muwt, s. malt.

Mayd, Mayde, maid.

Maye, maid, (rhythmi gratia.)

Mayne, force, strength, horse's

mane.

Mize, a labyrinth, anything en-

tangled or intricate

On the top of l'atherine-Mill. Win-

chester, (the usual play-place of the

seliad,) was a very perplexed and

whirling path running in a very small

space over a great deal of ground,

called a Miz-Maze. 'This senture boys

obliged the jumbles to tread it, to pre-

vent the l3ame from being lost, as I

am informed by an ingenious corre-

spondent.

Muum, moderate, middle sized.

Meany, refine, train, company.

Meed, Meede, reward.

Meid, s. mood.

Meise, s. soften, reduce, mitigate.

Meit, s. Meit, fit, proper.

Mell, honey; also, meddle, min-

glo.

Me, men, Me con (men 'gan).

Men of armes, gens d'armes.

Meniuecre, a species of fur.

Mense the fanght, s. p. mensure

the battle. To give to the

mense, is to give above the

mensure. Twelve, and one to

the mensa, is common with

children in their play.

Menzic, s. Meuncry, ratinue, com-

pany.

Merchea, marches.

Messager, f. messongor.

Me-thunketh, mothinks.

Met, Meit, s. Meta, moot, fit, pro-

por.

Meynd. See Meany.

Mickle, much, grent.

Micht, might.

Midge, a small insect, a kind of

gnat.

Mightte, mighty.

Minged, mentioned.

Mimny, s. mother.

Minstral, a, minstrel, musician,&c.

Minstrelsie, music.

Mirke, s. derk, black.

Mirkie, derk, black.

Mirry, s. Meri, merry.

Misdout, suspect, doubt.

Miscreants, unbelievers.

Mishap, misfortune.

Miskaryed, miscarried.

Misken, mistake, also, in the Scot-

tish idiom, "let a thing alone."

(Mr. Lambe.)

Mister, s. to need.

Mither, s. mother.

Mode, mood.

Moiening, by means of, f.

Mold, mould, ground.

Mo, Moc, more.

Mome, a dull, stupid person.

Monund, moaning, bemoaning.

Mone, moon.

Mon, s. month.

Monynday, Monday.

Mone, Morn, (from a, a mor',

mons,) but the hills of the

North being generally full of

bog3, a Mone enno to signify

boggy, marshy ground, in gene-

ral.

Moreg, hills, wild downs.

Mornmomygea, mornings.

Morn, To morn, to-morrow in the

morning.

Mornm, s. on the morrow.

Mormyng, mourning.

Mort, ilenth of the deer.

Mosses, swampy grounds, covered

with peat moss.

Most, must.

Mote I thee, might I thrive.

Mought, mot, mote, might.

Mouce, may, Mout, s. mouth.

Muchele bost, Michlo boast, great

youst.

Mude, s. mood.

Milne, mill.

Mun, s. Must.

Mone, Moxes, s. wild woman,

heaths, &c.

Murne, Murne, Murning, s. mourn,

mourned, mourning.

Muint, muses.

Myttan, Milan steel.

Myn-ye-ple, perhups, many plies,

or folds. Monyple is still used

in this senso in tho North.

(Mr. Lambe.)

Myrry, merry.

Mywryd, misused, applied to a

bad purpose.

Myzt, Myzty, might, mighty.

N.

Nathing, s. nothing.

Nams, names.

Na, Nae, s. no, none.

Nane, s. none.

Nar, nor. Item, than.

Natheless, neverthales.

Nat, not.

Near, s. Ner, Nere, ne'or, never.

Neat, oxen, cows, large cattle.

Neathed, a keeper of cattle.

Neatrese, a female keeper of cat-

tle.

Neigh him neare, approach him

near.

Nee, No, nigh.

Neir, s. Nere, ne'er, never.

Nera ne were, were it not for.

Neust, Nyest, next, nearest.

Nefangle, Newfangled, fond of

novelty, of new fashions, &c.

Nikked him of naye, nicked him

with a refusal.

Page 591

Nisht, s. night.

Nipt, pinched.

Nible, a gold coin, in value 20 groats, or 6s. 8d.

Noblesse, Noblesse, nobleness.

Nallys, noddles, heads.

Nam, took, Name, name.

Nonce, purpose, For the nonce, for the occasion.

Non, none, None, noon.

Nortand, s. northern.

Norse, s. Norway.

North-gules, North Wales.

Non, now.

Nourice, s. nurse.

Nout, Nocht, s. nought, also not, seems for 'na mought.'

Nowght, nought.

Nowls, noddles, heads.

Noye, annoy, query.

Nozt, naught, not.

Nurtured, educated, bred up.

Nye, Ny, nigh.

Nyst, night.

O.

Obraid, s. upbraid.

Ocht, s. ought.

Oferlyng, superior, paramount, opposed to underling.

O gin, s. O if, a phrase.

Onfoughten, unfoughten, unfought.

On-loft, aloft.

On, once, an.

On, one, On man, ono man.

One, an.

Ony, s. any.

Onya, once.

Or, Ere, before; or seems to have the force of the Latin vel, and to signify EITHER.

Or-ere, before.

Or-eir, before or ere

Orisons, s. prayers, f. oraisons.

Ost, Oute, Oout, host.

Ou, Oure, you, your. Ibid, our.

Out alas ! exclamation of grief.

Out-brayde, draw out, unsheathed.

Out-horn, the summoning to arms by the sound of a horn.

Out ower, s. quite over, over.

Outrake, an out-ride, or expedition. To raik, s. is to go fast.

Outrake is a common term among shepherds. When their sheep have a free passage from enclosed pastures into open and airy grounds, they call it a good outrake. (Mr. Lambe.)

Oware of none, hour of noon.

Owches, bosses or buttons of gold.

Owsne, Awen, Ain, s. own.

Oure, Owr, s. o'er.

Oure word, s. the last word, the burthon of a song.

Out, out.

P.

Pall, a cloak or mantle of state.

Palle, a robe of state. Palle and pall, i. e. a purple robe or cloak, a phrase.

Palmer, a pilgrim, who, having been at the Holy Land, carried a palm branch in his hand.

Paramour, lover. Item, a mistress.

Pardia, Perdie, verily, f. par dian.

Pareyall, equal.

Partaike, participate, assign to.

Parti, party, a part.

Pattering, murmuring, mumbling, from the manner in which the Paternoster was anciently hurried over, in a low, inarticulate voice.

Pa, s. the river Po.

Pauky, s. shrewd, cunning, sly or saucy, insolent.

Paues, a pavice, a large shield that covered the whole body, f. paviois.

Pauilliane, pavillion, tent.

Pay, liking, satisfaction, hence well apaid, i. e. pleased, highly satisfied.

Paynim, pagan.

Perdline, a coarse sort of burelace.

Peece, Peece, sc. of cannon.

Pele, a baker's peel.

Penon, a banner or streamer, borne at the top of a lance.

Pentarchye of tenses, five tenses.

Perdumine, f. parchment.

Perelous, perilous, dangerous.

Per fay, verily, f. par foy.

Peer, Peer, equal.

Peer, Peerless, equal, without equal.

Perfight, perfect.

Peiring, peeping, looking narrowly.

Perill, danger.

Perkin, diminutive of Peter.

Perlese, peerless.

Peos, Pese, peace.

Permit, Permeed, pierced.

Perte, part.

Peryld, purted.

Petye, pity.

Peyu, pain.

Philomane, Philomel, the nightingale.

Pibroches, s. Highland war-tunes.

Piere, s. a little.

Pight, Pyght, pitched.

Pight, preild, build.

Pim, famish, starve.

Piona cheuon, a godly song, or ballad.

Mr. Rowe's Felt. has "The first raw in the latterick," which has been supposed by Dr. Warburton to refer to the red-lettered titles of old ballads. In the large collection made by Mr. Pepys, I do not remember to have seen one single ballad with its title printed in red letters.

Pite, Pitye, Pyle, pity.

Plaine, complaint.

Plaining, complaining.

Playand, s. playing.

Play-feres, playfellows.

Pleasure, pleasuro.

Pleyn, complain.

Plett, s. platted.

Plowmnell, a small wooden hammer occasionally fixed to the plow, still used in the North; in the Midland counties in its stead is used a plow-hachett.

Plygt, plight.

Pull-caut, a cant word for a whore.

Pollya, Powlla, Pulls, head.

Pompst, pompous.

Powdered, a term in Heraldry, for sprinkled over.

Popinjay, a parrot.

Porenpig, porcuping, f. porcepig.

Portener, perhaps pocket or pouch. Pautoniere in fr. is a shepherd's scrip (vide Cotgrave.)

Portrea, partaress.

Powls, polls, heads.

Pownes, pounds, (rhyth. gratin.)

Pous, Pou, Poured, s. pull, pulled.

Pcean, Prese, press.

Preced, pressed.

Pres, f. ready.

Prestlye, Prestlye, readily, quickly.

Pricked, spurred forward, travelled a good round pace.

Prike-wand, a wand set up for a mark.

Prikes, the mark to shoot at.

Priefa, prove,

Priving, s. proving, tasting.

Proue, proof.

Prouess, bravery, valour, military gallantry.

Proues, prowess.

Prude, pride. Item, proud.

Pryke, the mark, commonly a hazel wand.

Pryme, daybreak.

Pulling, s. pulling.

Puisant, strong, powerful.

Pulle, pulled.

Purchased, procured.

Page 592

GLOSSARY.

; lovo.

  1. Luve. s, lovos, lova

'ka, s. looks.

den, Lurdayne, sluggard,

rone.

n, Lyand, s. lying.

'rd, gray, a name given to a

orse from its gray colour, as

3ayard, from bay.

ide, Lyne, the lime tree, or

ollectively lime trees, or trees

n general.

y, lies.

stenyth, (Intro.) listen.

th, Lythe, Lythsome,pliant,

flexible, easy, gentle.

'ren na More, live no more, no

longer.

nt, light.

M.

'aden, made.

'ahound, Mahowne, Mahomet.

'air, s. Mare, more.

'ait, s. might.

fajeste, Maist, Mayeste, may'st.

faking, so. varses, versifying.

Iakys, Makys, mates.

As the words make and mate were

1 some eases used promiscuously by

nneient writers; so the words eake and

ate seem to have been applied with

he same indiffereney : this will illus-

rate that common English Proverb,

'to turn Cat (i. e. Cate) in pan.' A

'an-cake is in Northamptonshire still

alled a Pan-cake.

Male, coat of mail.

Mane, man. Item, mann,

Mane, Maining, s. moan, moaning.

Mangonel, an engine used for dis-

charging great stones, arrows,

&c., before the invention of

gunpowder.

March perti, in the parts lying

upon the marches.

March-pine, March-pane, a kind

of biscuit.

Margariie, a pearl, 1.

Marrou, s. equal.

Marh, a coin, in value 13s. 4d.

Mart, s. marred, hurt, damaged.

Mast, Maste, may'st.

Masterye, Mayestry, a trial of skill,

high proof of skill.

Maugre, spite of, ill will (I incur).

Maugre, in spite of.

Manger, Maugre, spite of.

Mnn, s. must.

Maun, s. Mun, must.

Mavia, s. a thrush.

Mavt, s. malt.

Mayd, Mayde, maid.

Maye, maid, (rhythmi gratia.)

Mayne, force, strength, horse's

mane.

Maze, a labyrinth, anything en-

tangl'd or intricate

On the top of Catherine-Hill, Whi-

chestor, (the usual play-place of the

school,) was a very perplexed and

winding path running in a very small

space over a great deal of ground,

called a Mlz-Maze. The senior boys

obliged the juniors to tread it. To pre-

vent the fatigue from labour lost as I

am informed by an ingenlous corre-

spondent.

Mean, moderate, middle sized.

Meany, retinue, train, company.

Meed, Meede, reward.

Meid, s. mood.

Meise, s. soften, reduce, mitigate.

Meit, s. Meet, fit, proper.

Mell, honey; also, meddle, min-

gle.

Me, men, Me con (men 'gan).

Men of armes, gens d'armos.

Meniwere, a species of fur.

Mense the fught, s. p. measure

the battle. To give to the

mense, is, to give above the

mensure. Twelve, and one to

the menso, is common with

children in their play.

Menzies, s. Meney, retinue, com-

pany.

Merches, marches.

Messayer, f. messenger.

Me-thynketh, mothinks.

Met, Meit, s. Mete, meet, fit, pro-

per.

Meynd. Seo Meany.

Mickle, much, great.

Micht, might.

Midge, a small insect, a kind of

gnat.

Mightte, mightly.

Minged, mentionod.

Minnyg, s. mother.

Minstrel, s. minstrel, musician, &c.

Minstrelsie, music.

Mirke, s. dark, black.

Mirkie, dark, black.

Mirry, s. Meri, merry.

Misdoubt, suspect, doubt.

Miscreants, unbelievers.

Mishap, misfortune.

Miskayed, miscarried.

Misken, mistake, also, in the Scot-

tish idiom, 'let a thing alone.'

(Mr. Lambe.)

Mister, s. to need.

Mither, s. mother.

Mode, mood.

Moiening, by means of, f.

Mold, mould, ground.

Mo, Moe, more.

Mome, a dull, stupid person.

Mound, moaning, bemoaning.

Mone, moon.

Mon, s. month.

Monynday, Monday.

More, originally and properly sig-

nifies a hill, (from a. e mor',

mons) but the hills of the

North being generally full of

bags, a Moor came to signify

boggy, marshy ground, in gene-

ral.

Moren, hills, wild downs.

Morromynge, mornings.

Morne, To morn, to-morrow in the

morning.

Morne, s. on the morrow.

Mornyny, mourning.

Mort, denth of the deer.

Mosses, swampy grounds, covered

with peat moss.

Mont, must.

Mote I thee, might I thrive.

Mought, mot, mote, might.

Mowe, may, Mou, s. mouth.

Muchele bost, Mickle boast, great

boust.

Mude, s. mood.

Muthe, mill.

Mum, Maun, s, must.

Mure, Mures, s. wild downs,

heaths, &c.

Murne, Murnt, Murning, s. mourn,

mourned, mourning.

Musis, muses.

Myllan, Milan steel.

Myne-ye-ple, porhapps, many plies,

or folds. Monyple is still used

in this sense in the North.

(Mr. Lambo.)

Myryy, merry.

Mysuryd, misused, applied to a

bad purpose.

Myzt, Myzty, might, mighty.

N.

Naithing, s. nothing.

Nama, names.

Na, Nane, s. no, none.

Nane, s. none.

Nar, nor. Item, than.

Natheles, nevertheless.

Nat, not.

Near, s. Ner, Nere, ne'er, never.

Neat, oxen, cows, largo cattle.

Neatherd, a keeper of cattle.

Neatresse, a female keeper of cat-

tle.

Neigh him neare, approach him

near.

Nee, Ne, nigh.

Neir, s. Nere, ne'er, never.

Nera ne were, were it not for.

Nert, Nyzt, next, hehest.

Newfangle, Newfangled, fond of

novelty, of new fashions, &c.

Nicked him of naye, nicked him

with a refusal.

Page 593

Nacht, s. night.

Nipt, pinched.

Nuble, a gold coin, in value 20 gronts, or fl. 8d.

Nubles, Nublease, nobleness.

Nullys, noddles, heads.

Num, look, Nome, name.

Nonce, purpose, For the nonce, for the occasion.

Non, none, None, noon.

Norland, s. northern.

Norse, s. Norway.

North-gales, North Wales.

Nou, now.

Nourice, s. nurse.

Nout, Nocht, s. nought, also not, seems for 'no mought.'

Nowght, nought.

Nowls, noddles, heads.

Noye, annoy, query.

Nozt, noght, not.

Nurtured, educated, bred up.

Nye, Ny, nigh.

Nyzt, night.

O.

Obraid, s. upbraid.

Ocht, s. ought.

Oferlyng, suparior, paramount, opposed to underling.

O gin, s. O lf, a phrase.

Onfonghten, Unfonghten, unfought.

On-loft, aloft.

On, one, an.

On, one, On mon, one man.

One, on.

Ony, s. any.

Onyz, once.

Or, Ere, before; or seems to have to signify even.

Or-ere, before.

Or-eir, before er

Orisons, s. prayers, f. oraisons.

Ost, Oste, host.

Ou, Oure, you, your. Ibid., our.

Out alas ! exclamation of grief.

Out-brayde, drew out, unsheathed.

Out-horn, the summoning to arms by the sound of a horn.

Out ower, s. quite over, over.

Outrake, an out-ride, or expedition. To raik, s. is to go fast.

Outrake is a common term among shepherds. When their sheep have a free passage from enclosed pastures into open and airy grounds, they call it a good outrake. (Mr. Lambe.)

Owtre of none, hour of noon.

Owochos, bosses or buttons of gold.

Owene, Awen, Ain, s. own.

Owere, Owor, s. o'er.

Oure word, s. the last word, the burthen of a song.

Out, out.

P.

Pall, a cloak or mantle of state.

Palle, a robe of state. Purple and pall, i. e. a purple robe or cloak, a phrase.

Palmer, a pilgrim, who having been at the Holy Land, carried a palm branch in his hand.

Paramour, lover. Item, a mistress.

Parde, Perdie, verily, f. par dieu.

Pareyall, equal.

Partake, participate, assign to.

Parti, party, a part.

Patterring, murmuring, mumbling, from the manner in which the Paternoster was anciently hurried over, in a low, inarticulate voice.

Pa, s. the river Po.

Pauily, s. shrewd, cunning, sly, or saucy, insolent.

Pauis, a pavice, a large shield that covered the whole body, f. paviois.

Pavilliane, pavillion, tent.

Pay, liking, satisfaction, hence well apaid, i. e. pleased, highly satisfied.

Paynim, pagan.

Perline, a coarse sort of burlace.

Peco, Piece, sc. of cannon.

Pede, a baker's peel.

Peoun, a banner or streamer, borne at the top of a lance.

Pentarchye of tenses, five tensons.

Perchmynce, f. parchment.

Perilous, parlous, perilous, dangerous.

Per fay, verily, f. par foy.

Peere, Pere, Peer, equal.

Peor, Peerless, equal, without equal.

Perfight, perfect.

Peering, peeping, looking narrowly.

Perill, danger.

Perkin, diminutive of Peter.

Perlese, peerless.

Peos, Pece, peace.

Persit, Perced, pierced.

Perte, part.

Perlyd, parted.

Petye, pity.

Peyn, pain.

Philomane, Philomel, the nightingale.

Pibroche, s. Highland war-tunes.

Piere, s. a little.

Pight, Pyght, pitched.

Piled, preled, bald.

Pine, famish, starve.

Pions chansoun, a godly song, or ballad.

Mr. Rowe's Edit. has "The first row of the Kuldek," which has been supposed by Dr. Warton to refer to the red-lettered titles of old Ballads. In the large collection made by Mr. Pepys I do not remember to have seen one single ballad with its title printed in red letters.

Pite, Pittye, Pyle, pity.

Plaine, complaint.

Plainung, complaining.

Playnard, s. playing.

Play-fere, playfellows.

Pleasance, pleasance.

Plein, complain.

Plett, s. platted.

Plowmell, a small wooden hammer occasionally fixed to the plow, still used in the North; in the Midland counties in its stead is used a plow-hachet.

Plyght, blight.

Poll-eurt, n cant word for a whore.

Pollya, Powlu, Pulls, head.

Pompat, pompous.

Pondered, a term in Heraldry, for sprinkled over.

Popinjay, a parrot.

Porcupig, porcuping f. porcupig. perhaps pocket or pouch. Pautonere in fr. is a shepherd's scrip (vide Cotgrave.)

Portres, porteress.

Powbles, polls, heads.

Pounounes, pounds, (rhyth. gratia.)

Pow, Pon, Powced, s. pull, pulled.

Prees, Prese, press.

Preced, pressed, Presed.

Pres, f. ready.

Prestly, Prestlye, readily, quickly.

Pricked, spurred forward, travelled a good round pace.

Pricke-wand, a wand set up for a mark.

Pricke, the mark to shoot at.

Prife, prove.

Priving, s. proving, lasting.

Proue, proof.

Process, bravery, valour, military gallantry.

Proeës, prowess.

Prude, pride. Item, proud.

Pryche, the mark, commonly a hazel wand.

Pryme, daybreak.

Puiny, s. pulling.

Puissant, strong, powerful.

Pule, pulled.

Purchased, procured.

Page 594

l

GLOSSARY.

fel, an ornament of embroidery.

rfelled, embroidered.

rvayed, proviod.

Q.

adrant, four-square.

alt, shrink, yield

aint, cunning, nice, fautistical.

arry, in hunting or bawking

is the slaughtered gane, &c.

at, s. quitted.

ay, Quhey, s. a young heifer,

called a Wnic in Yorkshire.

ucan, sorry, base womnan.

uell, subdue, also kill.

uel, cruel, murdorous.

ueloh, a blow or bang.

uere, quire, choir.

uest, iaquest.

uha, s. who.

'uhair, s. whore.

'uhar, s. where.

juhan, Whan, s. when.

juhaneer, s. whono'er.

juhaten, s. what.

juhar, s. what.

juhen, s. whon.

juhy, s. why.

Quick, nlive, living.

Quillets, quibbles, 1. quidlibet.

Quitt, requite.

Quo, quoth.

Quyle, s. while.

Quyryy See Quarry, above.

Quyfe, requited.

Quyt, s. quito.

Quaykunit, s. quickened, restored to life.

R.

Rade, s. rode.

Rae, n. roe.

Raik, s. to go a-pace, Raik on

yane go fast in a row.

Raine, reign.

Raise, s. rose.

Ranted, s. were merry. Vide

Gloss. to Gentle Sheperd.

Ranhingy, seems to be the old

hunting term for the stroke

made by a wild boar with his

fangs.

Raunht, reached, gained, obtained.

Rayne, reane, rain.

Rayse, rave.

Raxt, Raugh, or self-bereft.

Reuchles, earcless.

Reude, Rede, advise, hit off.

Redd, advice.

Rea'me, Reaume, realm.

Reas, raise,

Reave, boreave.

Reklt, regarded.

Rede, Reud, advise, advice.

Rede, Rudle, read.

Redresse, care, labour.

Refe, bereave, or perhaps Rire,

split.

Refe, Reue, Reeve, bailiff.

Reft, bereft.

Registcr, the officer who keeps the

public register.

Reid, s. advise.

Reid, s. reed, Rede, red.

Reidroan, s. red-roan.

Rek, s. smoke.

Rekelen, Recklense, regardless, void

of care, rash.

Remeid, s. remedy.

Renneth, Renning, runneth, running.

Renn, run.

Renish, Renisat, perhaps a deriva-tion from Remiteo, to shine.

Remyed, refused.

Reseona, rescues.

Reeue, bailiff.

Reve, bereave, deprive.

Reueru, s. robbers, pirates, rovers.

Reweth, regrots, has reason to repent.

Rew, s. take pity.

Rewth, ruth, Rewo, pity.

Ryall, Ryacl, royal.

Richt, s. right.

Ridille, seems to be a vulgar

idiom for miridile; or is perhaps a corruption of reade, i. e.

advise.

Ridle, make an inroad.

Riu, a. run. Rin my errand, a contracted way of spenking for

"run on my errand." The pro-noun is omitted. So the French

say faire message.

Rise, shoot, bush, shrub.

Rive, rife, abounding.

Roche, rock.

Roode cross, cruoifix.

Rood-loft, the place in the church

where the images were set up.

Rond, Roade, cross, crucifix.

Romme, ran, Ruone, run.

Roufe, roof.

Route, go about, travel.

Routhe, ruth, pity.

Rouyned, Rouuyd, whispered.

Row, Roued, s. roll, rolled.

Rouyned, round.

Rouyht, rout.

Rudde, ruddiness, complexion.

Rude, s. Rood, cross.

Ruell-bones, perhaps bones diversly coloured, f. Riote, or perhaps small bone rings from the

f. ronelle, a small ring or hoop.—

Cotgrave's Dict.

Ruen, Ruethe, pitioth.

Rugyld, pulled with violenoe,

Ruhy, shnuld be Reushy gair

rushy stuff, ground covered with rushes.

Ruthful, rueful, woful.

Ruth, pity.

Ruthe, pity, woe.

Rulere, ranger.

Ryde, i. e. make an inroad.

Ryude, rent.

Ryachy*, rushes.

Ryowe, rue.

Ryzt, right.

S.

Safer, sapphyre.

Safl, s. soft.

Saif, s. safo.

Stair, s. sore.

Saim, s. same.

Salt, s. shall.

Saif;, s. save, Sauely, safely.

Stisede, seized.

Stark, shirt, shift.

Serf, s. sore.

Sai, Say, spoech, discourso.

Say, Aney, attompt.

Say, saw

Say us no hearm, say no ill of us.

Sayne, say.

Sont, soarceo. Item, scantiness.

Schall, shall.

Schapped, perhaps swappod. Vid

lao.

Schatlered, shattared.

Schaw, a. show.

Schene, s. Sheen, shining, also brightness.

Schip, s. ship.

Schiples, s. shipless.

Scho, Sche, s. she.

Schone, shone.

Schoote, shot, let go.

Schowte, Schowtte, shout.

Schrill, s. shrill.

Schrike, s. shook.

Sclat, slate, liltle table-book of

slates to write upon.

Scomfit, discomfit.

Scot, tax. revenu, a year's tax

of the kingdom, also shot, rock-oring.

Scathe, hurt, injury.

Sed, said.

Sek, s. Seke, s. seek.

Sek, snek.

Sel, Self.

Seluer, Siller, silver.

Seneschail, steward.

Page 595

Sene, seen.

Sen, s. since.

Senny, mustard seed, f. senvie.

Sertayne, Sertenlye, certain, certainly.

See, Seez, s. sen, sens.

Se, Sene, Seying, see, seen, seeing.

Seething, boiling.

Seetywall, see Cetywall.

Seve, seven.

Sey you, say to, tell you.

'Sey, s. say, a kind of woollen stuff.

Seyd, s. saw.

Shave, Be shave, be shaven.

Shawa, little woods.

Shear, entirely, (penitus).

Shecle, She'll, she will.

Sheene, Shewe, shining.

Sheits, Shetez, s. sheets.

Shee's, she shall.

Sheene, shining.

Shent, shamed, disgraced, abused.

Shepenes, Shipens, cow-houses, sheep-pens, n. s. Seypen.

Sheere. Shire. a great slice or luncheon of bread.

Shield-bone, the blade bone, a common phrase in the north.

Shimmered, s. glittered.

Shimmering, shining by glances.

Shirt of male ur mail, was a garment for defence, made all of rings of iron, worn under the coat. According to some hauberk was so formed.

Shoen, s. Shoone, shoes.

Shoke, shookest.

Shold, Sholde, should.

Shope, shaped.

Shope, betook me.

Shorte, s. shorten.

Shn, Scho, s. she.

Shote, shot.

Shraddz, Vid. locum.

Shread, cut into small pieces.

Shreuen, Shriuen, confessed her sins.

Shrew, a bad, an ill-tempered person.

Shreward, a male shrew.

Shrift, confession.

Shrive, confess. Item, hear confession.

Shroygge, shrubs, thorns, briers. G. Doug. Scroggis.

Shullen, shall.

Shulde, should.

Shunted, shunned.

Shurting, recreation, diversion, pastime. Vid. Gawin Douglas's Gloss.

Shyars, shires.

Shynaud, s. shining.

Sib, kin, akin, related.

Sich, Sic, s. such, Sich, s. sigh.

Sick-like, s. such-like.

Side, s. long.

Sied, s. saw.

Sigh-clout, (Sythe-clout), a clout to strain milk through, a straining clout.

Sighan, Sighand, s. sighing.

Sih, Sike, such.

Siker, surely, certainly.

Siller, s. silver.

Sildie, s. seldom.

Sitteth, sit ye.

Sith, since.

Skaith, Seath, harm, mischief.

Skalk, perhaps from the Germ. Schalck, malicious, perverse (Sic Dan. Skalk nequitia, malicia, &c. Sharingham de Ang. Orig. p. 318); or perhaps from the Germ. Schalchen, to squint. Hence our northern word Skelly, to squint.

Skinker, one that serves drink.

Skinkled, s. glittered.

Skamfit, discomfit.

Skott, shot, reckoning.

Slade, n breadth of greensward between plow-lands or woods, &c.

Slaited, s. whetted, or perhaps wipod.

Slattered, slit, broke into splinters.

Slawe, slawe, (Sc. Abel).

Slean, Slone, slain.

Sleath, slayeth.

Slee, s. slay, also sly.

Sle, Slee, Sley, Slo, slay, Sleent, slayest.

Sleip, s. Slepe, sleep.

Slode, slit, split.

Slone, slain.

Slo, Sloe, slay.

Sloughe, slew.

Smithers, s. smothers.

Sna', Snaw, s. snow.

Soll, Saulle, Sowle, soul.

Souldain, Soldan, Sowden, sultan.

Sonh, s. Son, sun.

Sond, a present, a sending.

Sone, soon.

Sort, company.

Sothly, truly.

Sooth, truth, true.

Soth, Sothe, South, Southe, Soath, truth.

Soth-Ynglunde, South England.

Soudan, Sowdain, sultan.

Souldan, Soldan, Sowdan, sultan.

Sowle, s. Suld, shoul.

Souting, victualling. Sowle is still used in the north for any thing eaten with bread; n. s. suple, suple, Job. xxi. 5. (or to souie, may be from the

French word saouler, "to stuff and cram, to glut." Vid. Cotgrave).

Sowden, Sowduin, sultan.

Sonee, soune, sound, (rhyet. gr.)

Soure, sour.

Soure, Soure, sora.

Souter, shoemaker.

Soy, f. silk.

Spak, Spaik, s. spake.

Speere. Vide locum.

Spec, Spak, Spack, s. spake.

Spad, speedod, succoeded.

Speik, s. spak.

Spair, s. Spere, Speare, Speere, Spire, ask, inquire.

So Chaucer, in his Rhyme of Sir Thopas,

"— He soughte north and south,

And cfte he spired—not spied, as in the new edition of Canterbury Tales, vol. ii. p. 234.

Spence, Spens, expense.

Spendyd, probably the same as spanned, grasped.

Spored, Spayred, i. e. fastened, shut.

So in an old "Twellyse egynnet Wystence, &c." L'mprinted ly Wylyn de Worde, "we are exhorted to "spere (i. e. shut or bar) the wyn-dowes agenst the south," fol. 6.

Spillin, Spilland, a. spilling.

Spilly, Spille, spoil, como to harm.

Spill, spoil, destroy, kill.

Spindles and whorles, the instruments used for spinning in Scotland, instead of spinning wheels.

The rock, spindles, and whorles are very much used in Scotland and the northern parts of Northumberland. at this time. The thread for shoemakers, and even linen webs, and all the twine of which the Tweed salmon nets are made, are spun upon spindles. They are said to make a more even and smooth thread than spinning wheels. Mr. Lambe.

Sparcles, sparless, without spurs.

Spole, shoulder; f. espula. It seems to mean, "arm-pit."

Sprente, spurted, sprung out.

Sprynging, froth that purges out.

Spurn, Spurne, n kick. See Tear.

Spyde, spied.

Spyllt, spoiled, destroyed.

Spyt, Spyte, spite.

Squekh, a blow, or bang.

Stabillie, perhaps 'stabliesh.

Stahwart, Stalworth, stout.

Stalworthlye, stoutly.

Stune, s. Stean, stone.

Start, stiff, entirely.

Startoppes, buskins, or half boots worn by rustics, laced down before.

Page 596

556

GLOSSARY.

Stend, Stecle, place.

Stean, s. stone.

Stedyge, steady.

Stel, stoel, Steilly, s. steely.

Stele, steel.

Steid, s. Steede, stood.

Steir, s. stir.

Sterris, stars.

Sterne, stern, or perhaps, stars.

Stert, start, started.

Sterte, Sterted, started.

Steven, time.

Steven, voice.

Still, quiet, silent.

Stint, stop, stopped.

Stiraunde stage, a friond interposed this, "many a stirring travelling journey."

Stonderes, standers by.

Stoup of weir, pillar of war.

Stound, Stounde, (Intro.) space, moment, hour, time.

Stoand, time, A-stound, a-while.

Stour, Stowrer, Stoure, fight, disturbance, &c. This word is applied in the north to signify dust agitated and put into motion, as by the sweeping of a room.

Stower, Stowre, stir, disturbance, fight.

Stown, stolen.

Stowre, strong, robust, fierce.

Stra, Strae, s. straw.

Streight, straight.

Strekene, Striken, struck.

Stret, street.

Striak, striot.

Strihe, stricken.

Stroke, struck.

Stude, Stuid, s. stood.

Styntyde, stinted, stayed, stopped.

Styrt, start.

Suar, sure.

Summere, a sumptier horse.

Sum, s. some.

Sumptere, horses that carry clothes, furniture, &c.

Sune, s. soon.

Suore by ye chin, sworn by his chin.

Surcease, cease.

Suihe, Swith, soon, quickly.

Suapte, Swapped, Swopede, struck violently, Scot. Sweeap, to scourge, (vid. Gl. Gaw. Dougl.) or perhaps exchanged; se blows, so "Swap or Swoop" signifies.

Swaïrd, the grassy surface of the ground.

Swaruae, Swerued, climbed, or, as it is now expressed in the midland counties, Swarm, To swarm, is to draw oneself up a tree, or any other thing, clinging to it with the legs and arms, as hath been suggested by an ingenious correspondent.

Sine, Sii, so.

Sweat, Sweatte, Swatte, did sweat.

Swecr, aware.

Swerde, Swerd, sword.

Sweere, Swere, neck.

SwepyH. A Swerpyl is that stuff of the flail, with which corn is beaten out, vulg. a Supple, called in the midland counties, a Swindgell, where the other part is termed the hand-stuff.

Suiakers, labourers.

Swifh, quickly, instantly.

Suyke, sigh.

Swyping, whoring.

Swyppyng, striking fast, (Cimb. Suipan, cito agere, or rather "scourging" from volvere, rotare).—Scot. Sreepap, to scourge.

Syoch, such.

Syde-shear, Sydis-sheair, on all sides.

Syd, side.

Syne, s. then, afterwards.

Syshemell, Ishmaol.

Syth, since.

Syst, sight.

T.

Taiken, s. token, sign.

Taine, s. Tane, token.

Take, taken.

Talents, perhaps golden ornaments, hung from her band to the value of talents of gold.

Targe, target, shield.

Tearr, this seems to be a proverb, "That tearing or pulling occasioned his spurn or kick."

Teene, Tene, sorrow, indignation, wrath, properly injury affrent.

Teeneju, s. full of indignation, wrathful, furious.

Te he l interjection of laughing.

Teir, s. Tere, tear.

Tent, s. heed.

Termagant, the god of the Saracens. See a memoir on this subject in page 75.

The old French romancers, who had corrupted termagant into tergavaut as constantly as ours: thus, in the old Roman de Blanchardin,

"Cy guer pisou tult Apolin, Et Mahomet et Tergavant."

Men kontalne, with gret lumear, In his tale intitul "La I luncen de Lay doth Cabele." Jupin, et Tiva puf.

Ave maint authe die umen medy ex-travasnt " Ment de l'Arund. des luerupt. lum. xxiv, lin. 1. &c."

As fermant is evidently of Anglo-Saxon derivation, and can only be-explained by the old From romaunt i puiis that they harrowed some thing from mars.

Tery, diminutive of 'Thierry, Theodoricus, Didericus. Lat. of 'Terence.

T'o, to make.

Thai, them, Thah, though.

Thair, their, Thair, Thare, there.

Thame. s. them.

Tham, s. then.

Thar, Theire, Ther, Thore, thero.

Theer, Ther, there.

Theer, thrive, Mote he thee, may he thrive.

The God, seems contracted for The he, i. e. high God.

So mote I thee, So mote t thee, so may I thrive.

So in Chaucer, passim, Canterbury Tales, vol. 1. p. 308, "That God hat him never the."

The, they, The meur, they were.

The, thoo, Thouud, the end.

Ther for, therefore,

Therto, thereto, Thes, those.

Ther, their.

Thir, they.

Thi, thy, Thome, thou.

Thi some, thy son.

Thilke, this.

Thin twemenda, s. these twelve months.

This, s. this, these.

Thirti thouent, thirty thousand.

Thought, thought.

Thole, Tholout, suffer, suffered.

Tho, then, those, tho.

Thous, s. thou art.

Thonst, thou shalt, or shouldst.

Thrall, captive, Thraldom, captivity.

Thranyg, s. throng, close.

Threape, to argue, to affirm or assert, in a positive overbearing manner.

Thre, Thrie, s. three.

Thrie, Thre, three.

Thrif, thrive.

Thrild, twirled, turned round.

Thritti, thirty.

Throng, hastened.

Thropes, villages.

Throw, s. through.

Through, Throuch, s. through.

Thud, noise of a fall.

Page 597

Theyes, manners, limbs.

Theytber manid, thitherward, to-warts that place.

Tibbr. In Snotheland, 'Tibbe is thon diminutive of Isabel.

Tijt, s. pult of u iud.

Till, s. to, when, query.

Till, anto, entire.

Tild down, pithed, yt. Tinkin, diminutive of 'Timothy.

Tin', lose. T'int, s. lost.

Tirled, tu irled, turned round. Toon-fall, s. twilight.

Too-fall of the night, "seems to have been a phrase drawn from a suspended analogy, so let fall as to cover what is below, &c. Mr. Lambe.

To, too, two. Tone, T'one, the one. Ton, Time, the one.

Tor, a tower; also a high pointed rock, or hill. Tow, Towe, two, T'owt, s. two.

T'ow, s. to let down with a rope, &c. Towyn, town. Traitoryn, trenson.

Trenchant, t. cutting. Tres-hartlie, f. thrice hardly.

Treyiory, Traitoryy, trumliory. Trichaid, troneliemus, fr. trictour.

Tricheu, trick, diceive. Tride, tried. Trie, s. T'ie, treo.

Triest furth, s. draw forth to an assignation. Trifidecate, three furkad, thrus pointed.

Trim, oxact. Troth, truth, faith, fidelity. Trongh, T'ronth, truth.

Trowthe, T'roth, T'ru, true. Trow, believe, trust, also variety. Trumpet, bonsted, told bragging lies, lying stories. So in the north they say, "that's a trump," i. e. a lie; "she goes about tramping," i. o. telling lies.

Trumps, made of a tree, perhaps "wooden trumpets," musical instruments fit enough for a mock tournament. Tuik, s. todk.

Tuke gude keip, s. kept a close eye upon her. Tul, s. till, to. Turn, such turn, such an occasion.

Turnes a crab, sc. at the fire roasts a crab. Tush, an interjection of contempt, or impatience.

Twa, s. two. Twaype, two. Twin'd, s. parted, separated, Vid. G. Douglns. Twirtle, twist, s. thoroughly twi ted, "twi-ted," "twikled twit," f. contille.

V. V'th, euell. Vgome, s. shudking, horrible. Vnbethought, fur bethought. So T'uluse, fur lumsu.

Vintrans, fat, clatnyy, oily. V'nderstuid, aftersuoms. Vntlight, undecked, undressed. Vnkempt, uncombed. V'nkemblie mis shapen.

Vnmjit, s. undisturbed, unconfounded, perhaps Cinmarit. V'nsett stera, unappointed time, unexpectly.

Vnsaueic, s. unlucky, unfortunate. Vnteyll, unto, against. V'ro, &c. Vthers, s. others.

V. Vair, (Somersetsh. Dialect,) fair. Valiant, s. valliant. Varen, (Som.) probnbly for 'Fai-thern, i. e. faiths; as Housen, (Housen, &c.

V'ean, (Intro.) appromth, coming. V'ien (probably contracted for darices) serews, or perbaps, turning pins, swivels. An ingenious friend thinks a vice is rather "a spindle of a press," that goeth by a vice, that seemeth to move of itself.

Vitane, rasenly. Vive, (Somerset.) five. Voyded, quitted, left the place. Vriers, (Som.) friars.

W. W'u, s. wu, wall. Wadded, perhaps from Woad, i. o. of a light blue colour.

Taylor, in his 'History of (Gavel-kind, p. 49), says, 'Bright from the British word breth, which signifies their wade colour; this was a light blue'—Minsshew's Dictionary. Wad, s. Wold, Wolde, would. Wae, Waefo', woe, woful.

Waeworth, s. woe betide. Waine, wagon. Wallowit, s. faded, withered. Walker, a fuller of cloth.

Waltered, Woltered, rolled along, also wallowed. Waltering, weltering. Willy, an interjection of grief.

Wane, s. womb. W'an, s. wan. W'ane, the same as Ane, one. Be In fol. 3,6 of Danmatyne's MS. in a fragment in whilk Hare is usod 'bur An ; or, anis ; vi.c. 'Amongst tha ministra that we find, Ther wane la borved of wuinanlind, botunwed fur mutquity, From Adamo driv his pudigree.'

Wan neir, s. draw near. Wamufic, s. unensy. War, aware. Warde, s. advise, forewarn. Ward, s. watch, sentinuel. Warke, s. work. Warld, s. world. Warldis, s. worlds. Warsou, reward. Waryd, s. accurased.

Wassel, drinking; good cheer. Wate, s. Weete, Wete, Witte, Wot, Wote, know. Wate, s. blamed, Pret. of Wyte, to blame. Wat Wot, know, am aware. Wats, s. wet, also knew. Wate, to grow, become. Wayward, froward, peovish.

Wayter, wawit. Wead, wait. Weede, happiness, prosperity, &c. Ween in, s. drive in gently. Weenif', wearisome, tircsome, disturbing. Weede, clothing, dress. Weedes, clothes. Wee, a. little.

Weel, well, also we'll. W'eem, W'eu'd, think, thought. Weel, s. wet. Wedoua, widows. Weit, s. Weepe, weep. Weinde, s. Wende, Went, Weende, Wented, thought.

Weid, s. Wade, Weed, clothes, clothing. Weir'd, wizzard, witch, properly fite, destiny. Well away, exclamation of pity. Weldynge, railing. Wel of pite, source of pity. Welkin, the sky. Weme, womb, belly, hollow.

Wem, (Intro.) hurt. Wonde, went, Wendeth, goeth. Wendo, Weene, thought. Wend, Wends, go, goes. Wene, Weenest, ween, weenest. Werre, Weir, s. war. Warris, a wars.

Weryed, worried. Wereth, defandeth. Werke, work. Wer, were. Wes, was.

Page 598

558

GLOSSARY.

Wostin, s. wostorn.

Wostinge, wostorn, or whistling.

Wha, s. who.

Whair, s. where.

Whan, s. when.

Whang, s. a large slice.

Wheelyng, wheeling.

Wheder, whither.

Whig, sour whey, or butter-milk.

While, until.

Whilk, s. which.

Whitiles, knives.

Whit, jot.

Whoard, hoard.

Whorles. Vide Spindles.

Whos, whoso.

Whyllye, whilst.

Wi's, s. with.

Wight, person, strong, lusty.

Wight, human creature, man or woman.

Wighty, strong, lusty, active, nimble.

Wightlye, rigorously.

Will, s. shall.

Wild, worm, serpent.

Wildings, wild apples.

Wilfull, wandering, perverse, erring.

Winnae, will not.

Windar, perhaps the contradion of Windhover, a kind of hawk.

Windling, s. winding.

Win, s. get, gain.

Winsome, ngreable, engaging.

Wirke wislier, work more wisely.

Wise, direct, govern, take care of, s. pìrrian.

Wiss, know, wist, know.

Wit, Weet, know, understand.

Withouten, Withouten, without.

Wobster, s. Webster, weaver.

Wood-wroth, s. furiously enraged.

Woodweeze, or Wademale, the golden oriole, a bird of the thrush kind. Gloss. Chaucer.

The original MS. has Wood-weete.

Wode, Wod, wood, also mad.

Wode-ward, towards the wood.

Woe-begone, lost in woe, overwhelmed with grief.

Woe-man, a sorrowful man.

Woe-worth, woe be to [you], a. s. northan (fieri) to be, to become.

Woe, woful, sorrowful.

Wolde, would.

Wonne, dwell.

Wonders, wondrous.

Wonde, (Intro.) wound, wounded.

Won's, Wom'd, dwelt.

Wonderly, Wonderly, wondrously.

Won, wont, usage.

Wone, one.

Worshipfully friended, of worshipful friands.

Worth?, worthy.

Wot, know, think.

Wote, Wot, know, I wote, verily.

Wonehe, mischief, ovil, a. s. poh3, i. e. Wogh. Malum.

Wo, Woo, woo.

Wow, an exclamation of wonder, also Vow, London dialect.

Wracke, ruin, destruction.

Wrang, s. wrung.

Wreake, pursue revongefully.

Wrench, wretchedness.

Wright, write.

Wringe, contended with violence.

Writhe, writhed, twisted.

Wronge, wrong.

Wrougt, wrought.

Wroken, revenged.

Wull, s. will.

Wyght, strong, lusty.

Wyghtye, the same.

Wyl'd, wild door.

Wymne, Win, joy.

Wymmen, win, guin.

Wynde, Wende, go.

Wyste, knew.

Wyte, blume.

Wyt, Wit, Weot, know.

Ye, I, Y eynge, I sing.

Yae, s. each.

Yalping, s. yelping.

Yaned, yawned.

Yave, gave.

Yate, gate.

Y heare, Y horen, hear, borne.

So Y-founde, found, Y-mad, made, Y-wonne, won.

Y-built, built.

Yoh, Yoe, each.

Ycholde yef, I should if

Ychome, each one.

Ychon, each one.

Ychulle, (Intro.) I shall.

Ychysed, cut with tho chisol.

Y-cleped, named, called.

Y-con'd, taught, instructed.

Y-core, chosen.

Ydle, idle.

Yee, eye.

Yearded, buried.

Ye bant, Y-bent, bent.

Yede, Yode, went.

Ye neth, Y-seth, in faith.

Ycha, Ilka, each, overy.

Ycild, yielded.

Ymaughe, ymaughe, enough.

Yerrachy, hierarohy.

Yere, Yere, year, years.

Yerle, Yerlle, earl.

Yerly, early.

Yese, s. ye shall.

Yestreu, s. yester eovening.

Yf, if.

Yfere, together.

Y-funde, found.

Ygnorance, ignorance.

Yll, ill.

Ylke, Ilk, same, That ylk, that same.

Ylythe, (Intro.) listen.

Yn, in.

Yn huse, home.

Ynglonde, England.

Ynglishe, Ynglysshe, English.

Yode, went.

Yone, you.

Y-picking, picking, culling, gathering.

Ys, his, in his.

Y-slaw, slain.

Ystunge, (Intro.) stung.

Yt, it.

Yth, in the.

Y-ware, were.

Y-wis, I wis, verily.

Y-wrought, wrought.

Y-wys, truly, verily.

Y-yote, molten, melted.

Z.

Zacring-bell, Som. Sacring bell, a little bell rung to give notice of the elevation of the host.

Zee, Zeene, Som. see, seen.

Zee, ye shall.

Zee's, ye are.

Zede, Yede, went.

Zef, Yef, if.

Zeirs, s. years.

Zellou, s. yellow.

Zeme, take care of, a. s. seman.

Zent, through, a. s. zeonð.

Zestrene, s. yester e'en.

Zit, s. Yet, yet.

Zonder, s. yonder.

Zong, s. young.

Zou, s. you, Zouir, s. your.

Zoud, s. you'd, you would.

Zour-lane, Yourlane, alune, by yourself.

Zouth, s. youth.

Zule, s. Yule, christmas.

Zung, s. young.

** The printer has usually substituted the letter z, to express the character ȝ, which occurs in old MSS., but we are not to suppose that this ȝ was ever pronounced as our modern z; it had rather the force of y (and perhaps of gh), being no other than the Saxon letter ȝ which the Scots and English have, in many instances, changed into y, as ȝanð, yard, ȝan, year, ȝoung, young, &c.

Page 599

METADATA WORKSHEET FOR BOOK

ID

Element

Qualifier+Scope

Information for Insertion

1

Contributor

Author/Editor/Illustrator Note: In case of multiple author. use repeatable field while inserting in Dspace

Percy, Thomas.

2

Coverage

Place of Publication

Philadelphia.

3

Date

Date of Publication

1873

4

Format

Book/Magazine

Book

5

Identifier

ISBN/ISSN

6

Language

English/Hindi

English

7

Publisher

Name of the Publisher

Porter & Coates.

8

Relation

No: title of Series No: title of the Multivolume

9

Rights

Terms governing use and reproduction (Default)

10

Subject

All possible subject terms Note: in case of multiple subject terms, use repeatable field while inserting on Dspace

  1. English literature 2) English poetry 3) English poetry - old English, ca. 450 - 1100

11

Title

Proper Title

Reliques of ancient English poetry! Consisting of old heroic ballads, songs and other pieces, collected with a supplement of many curious historical and narrative ballads.

12

Local Identifier

Call! number/Accession Number

0111, 144c A | 116966

13

Physical Description

Pages

558 p.

14

Source

Name of the Library

C.I.

13

Worksheet Prepared By (With Date)

Worksheet Checked By (With Date)

C (was) 2/8/09