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 OP 
 
 ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY 
 
 CONSISTING OP 
 
 OF THE EAELIER POETS, 
 
 WITH SOME OF LATER DATE, NOT INCLUDED IN ANY OTHER EDITION, 
 
 COLLECTED 
 
 BY THOMAS PERCY, D.D., 
 
 M 
 
 BISHOP OF DROMORE. 
 
 TO WHICH IS NOW ADDED 
 
 A SUPPLEMENT OF 
 MANY CURIOUS HISTORICAL AND NARRATIVE BALLADS, 
 
 REPRINTED FROM RARE COPIES. 
 
 WITH 
 
 j^^t 
 
 CHARLES DESHYER, 253 MARKET STREET. 
 
 BOSTON: 
 PHILLIPS, SAMPSON & CO. 
 
 1855. 
 

 \^i' 
 
 Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1855, by 
 
 FREDERICK BELL, 
 
 in the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania. 
 
 33 
 
'§xdut. 
 
 The reader is here presented with select 
 remains of our ancient English Bards and 
 Minstrels, an order of men, who were once 
 greatly respected by our ancestors, and con- 
 tributed 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 Edi- 
 tor's possession, which contains near two hun- 
 dred 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 se- 
 lect some of them and give them to the press. 
 As most of them are of great simplicity, and 
 seem to have been merely written for the peo- 
 ple, 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 pro- 
 gress of popular opinions, display the pecu- 
 
 * Chaucer quotes the oM Romance of " Libius Disconius," 
 and some others, which are found in this MS. It also con- 
 tains several Songs relating to the Civil War in the last 
 century, but not one that alludes to the Restoration. 
 
 liar 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 im- 
 provements of the English language and poet- 
 ry from the earliest ages down to tlie pre- 
 sent. 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 an- 
 tiquity will require great allowances to be 
 made for them, Yot have they, for the most 
 part, a pleasing simplicity, and many artless 
 graces, which in the opinicm 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 ob- 
 solete poems, each volume concludes with a 
 few modern attempts in the same kind of wri- 
 ting: and, to take off from the tediousness of 
 the longer narratives, they are everywhere 
 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 an- 
 
 * Mr. Addison, Mr. Dryden, and the witty Lord Dorset, 
 &c. See the Spectator, No. 70. To these might be added 
 many eminent judges now alive. — The learned Selden 
 appears also to have been fond of collecting these old things 
 See below, 
 
 CD 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 cient English Minstrels ; and the artless pro- 
 ductions of these old rhapsodists are occa- 
 sionally confronted with specimens of the com- 
 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 oc- 
 casionally described in the following vo- 
 lumes, and some particulars relating to their 
 history in an Essay subjoined to this preface. 
 
 It will be proper here to give a short ac- 
 count 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 se- 
 lection was making, a great number of inge- 
 nious 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 Magdalen 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 Gar- 
 lands and other smaller miscellanies. This 
 collection, he tells us, was " begun by Mr. 
 Selden ; improved by the addition of many 
 pieces elder 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 cheap- 
 ness 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 1676, 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 cui'ious 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." 
 
 political poems in large folio volumes, digest- 
 ed under the several reigns of Henry VIIL, 
 Edward VI., Mary, Elizabeth, James I., &o. 
 
 In the British Museum is preserved a large 
 treasure of ancient English poems in MS., 
 besides one folio volume of printed ballads. 
 
 From all these some of 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. 
 
 Amid such a fund of materials, the Editor 
 is afraid he has been sometimes led to make 
 too great a parade of his authorities. The 
 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 frivolous 
 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 en- 
 deavoured to be as faithful as the imperfect 
 state of his materials would admit. For 
 these old popular rhymes being many of them 
 copied only from illiterate transcripts, or the 
 imperfect recitation of itinerant ballad-sing- 
 ers, have, as might be expected, been handed 
 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 adhe- 
 rence to their wretched readings would only 
 have exhibited unintelligible nonsense, or 
 such poor meagre stufi* as neither came from 
 the Bard nor was worthy the press ; when, 
 by a few slight corrections or additions, a 
 most beautiful or interesting sense hath 
 started forth, and this so naturally and easily, 
 that the Editor could seldom prevail on him- 
 self 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 amen.dments 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 %* 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 were taken with the old copies, and to have 
 retained either in the text or margin any 
 word or phrase which was antique, obsolete, 
 unusual, or peculiar, so that these might be 
 safely quoted as of genuine and undoubted 
 antiquity. His object was to please both the 
 judicious antiquary and the reader of taste ; 
 and he hath endeavoured to gratify both vv^ith- 
 out offending either. 
 
 The plan of the work was settled in con- 
 cert 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 par- 
 doned if he has retained some things out of 
 partiality to the judgment of his friend. 
 The old folio MS. above mentioned was a pre- 
 sent from Humphrey Pitt, Esq., of Prior's-lee, 
 in Shropshire,! to whom this public acknow- 
 ledgment 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 expla- 
 nations of Scottish words in the glossaries 
 from John Davidson, Esq., of Edinburgh, and 
 from the Rev. Mr. Hutchinson of Kimbolton. 
 Mr. Warton, who has twice done so much 
 honour to the Poetry Professor's chair at 
 Oxford, and Mr. Hest of Worcester College, 
 contributed some curious pieces from the 
 Oxford libraries. Two ingenious and learn- 
 
 * That the Editor hath not here underrated the assist- 
 ance he received from his friend, will appear from Mr. 
 Shenstone's own letter to the Rev. Mr. Graves, dated March 
 1, 1761. See his works, vol. iii. letter ciii. It is doubtless 
 a great loss to this work, that Mr. Shenstone never saw 
 more than about a third of one of these volumes, as pre- 
 pared for the press. 
 
 t Who informed the Editor that this MS. had been pur- 
 chased 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 enu- 
 merated in Wood's Athenas, ii. 73 ; the earliest of which is 
 "The Art of Making Devises, 164G," 4to., wherein he is 
 described 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 derk in writing the transcripts, who was 
 often weary of his task. 
 
 ed friends at Cambridge deserve the Editor's 
 warmest acknowledgments: to Mr. Blake- 
 way, late fellow of Magdalen College, he owes 
 all the assistance received from the Pepysian 
 library : and Mr. Farmer, fellow of Emanuel, 
 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 
 Harleyan 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. Gar- 
 rick'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 friend- 
 ship of Dr. Samuel Johnson he owes many 
 
 * To the same learned and ingenious friend, since Master 
 of Emanuel College, the Editor is obliged for many correc- 
 tions and improvements in his second and subsequent 
 editions; as also to the Rev. Mr. Bowie, of Idmistone, near 
 Salisbury, Editor of the curious edition of Don Quixote, 
 with Annotations, in Spanish, in six vols. 4to. ; to the Rev. 
 Mr. Cole, formerly of Blecheley, near Fenny-Stratford, 
 Bucks; to the Rev. Mr. Lambe, of Noreham, in North- 
 umberland, author of a learned " History of Chess," 1764, 
 8vo., and Editor of a curious " Poem on 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 Barring- 
 ton, 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," 5 vols. 8vo., is a standard book, and shows how an 
 ancient English classic should be published. The Editor 
 was also favoured with many valuable remarks and correc- 
 tions 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 Butler, Esq., F.A.S., agent to the Duke of North- 
 umberland, and Clerk of the Peace for the county of V. Id- 
 dlesex; whose extensive knowledge of ancient Avritings, 
 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 the 
 "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, .Tune, 
 July, and October, 1794, and which, it is hoped, will he 
 continued, 
 t Since Keeper of the Records in the Tower. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 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- 
 per visal 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- 
 vourable censure for having bestowed any 
 attention on a parcel of Old Ballads. It 
 was at the request of many of these gentle- 
 men, and of others eminent for their genius 
 and taste, that this little work was undertaken. 
 To prepare it for the pres8 has been the 
 
 amusement of now and then a vacant hour 
 amid the leisure and retirement of rural life, 
 and hath only served as a relaxation from 
 graver studies. It has been taken up at dif- 
 ferent times, and often thrown aside for 
 many months, during an interval of four or 
 five years. This has occasioned some incon- 
 sistencies and repetitions, which the candid 
 reader will pardon. As great care has been 
 taken to admit nothing immoral and indecent, 
 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. 
 
€miniB. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 1 Ess AY 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 . 
 
 2 The Battle of Otterbourne 
 Illustration of the Names in the foregoing 
 
 Ballads 
 
 3 The Jew's Daughter. A Scottish Ballad 
 
 4 Sir Cauline 
 
 5 Edward, Edward, A Scottish Ballad 
 
 6 King Estmere 
 
 On the word Termagant . 
 
 7 Sir Patrick Spence. A Scottish Ballad 
 
 8 Robin Hood and Guy of Gisborne . 
 
 9 An Elegy on Henry, Fourth Earl of North 
 
 umberland, by Skelton . 
 
 10 The Tower of Doctrine, by Stephen Hawes 
 
 11 The Child of Elle .... 
 
 12 Edom (Adam) o'Gordon. A Scottish Ballad 
 
 BOOK THE SECOND. 
 {^Containing Ballads that Illustrate Shakspeare.) 
 
 Essay on the Origin of the English Stage 8 
 
 1 Adam Bell, Clym o' the Clough, and Wil- 
 
 liam of Cloudesly .... 
 
 2 The aged Lover renounceth Love 
 
 3 Jepthah, Judge of Israel . 
 
 4 A Robyn, Jolly Robyn 
 
 5 A Song to the Lute in Musicke 
 
 6 King Cophetua and the Beggar-maid 
 
 7 Take thy old Cloak about thee 
 
 8 Willow, Willow, Willow . 
 
 9 Sir Lancelot du Lake 
 
 10 Corydon's Farewell to Phillis . 
 The Ballad of Constant Susannah . 
 
 11 Gernutus, the Jew of Venice . 
 
 12 The Passionate Shepherd to his Love, by 
 
 Marlow 
 
 The Nymph's Reply, by Sir W. Raleigh 
 
 13 Titus Andronicus's Complaint . 
 
 14 Take those Lips away 
 
 15 King Leir and his Three Daughters 
 
 16 Youth and Age, by Shakspeare 
 
 17 The Frolicksome Duke, or the Tinker's 
 
 Good Fortune 135 
 
 18 The Friar of Orders Gray . . . 137 
 
 104 
 113 
 114 
 115 
 116 
 117 
 119 
 120 
 122 
 124 
 124 
 124 
 
 128 
 129 
 129 
 132 
 132 
 135 
 
 PAGE 
 139 
 145 
 145 
 146 
 149 
 153 
 154 
 157 
 
 159 
 159 
 160 
 
 161 
 162 
 163 
 164 
 
 165 
 
 166 
 169 
 
 BOOK THE THIRD. 
 
 1 The more modern Ballad of Chevy Chase 
 Illustration of the Northern Names . 
 
 2 Death's Final Conquest, by James Shirley 
 
 3 The Rising in the North . 
 
 4 Northumberland betrayed by Douglas 
 
 5 My Mind to me a Kingdome is 
 
 6 The Patient Countess, by W. Warner 
 
 7 Dowsabell, by Drayton 
 
 8 The Farewell to Love, from Beaumont and 
 
 Fletcher 
 
 9 Ulysses and the Syren, by S. Daniel 
 
 10 Cupid's Pastime, by Davison . 
 
 11 The Character of a Happy Life, by Sir H, 
 
 Wotton 
 
 12 Gilderoy. A Scottish Ballad . 
 
 13 Winifreda 
 
 14 The Witch of Wokey 
 
 15 Bryan and Pereene. A West India Balladj 
 
 by Dr. Grainger .... 
 
 16 Gentle River, Gentle River. Translated 
 
 from the Spanish- .... 
 
 17 Alcanzar and Zayda, a Moorish Tale 
 
 SERIES THE SECOND. 
 
 BOOK THE FIRST, 
 
 1 Richard of Almaigne . . . .171 
 
 2 On the Death of King Edward L . . 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 Earl Rivers . . .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 Gentle Herdsman, 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. Brueo 203 
 
 (5) 
 
VI 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 BOOK THE SECOND. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 1 A Ballad of Luther, the Pope, a Cardinal, 
 
 and a Husbandman .... 209 
 
 2 John Anderson my Jo. A Scottish Song . 211 
 
 3 Little John Nobody 212 
 
 4 Queen Elizabeth's Verses, while Prisoner 
 
 at Woodstock 214 
 
 5 The Heir of Linne 214 
 
 6 Gascoigne's Praise of tho fair Bridges, 
 
 afterwards Lady Sandes . . .218 
 
 7 Fair Rosamond. By Thomas Delone . 220 
 
 8 Queen Eleanor's Confession . . . 224 
 
 9 The Sturdy Rock 226 
 
 10 The Beggar's Daughter of Bednal Green . 226 
 An Essay on the word Fit, 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 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 Shir- 
 
 ley 250 
 
 22 The Winning of Cales . . . .251 
 
 23 The Spanish Lady's Love . . ,252 
 
 24 Argentile and Curan. By W. Warner . 254 
 ,25 Corin's Fate 259 
 
 26 Jane Shore 259 
 
 27 Corydon's Doleful Knell . . . .264 
 
 BOOK THE THIRD. 
 
 Essay on the Metre of Pierce Plowman's 
 Visions 265 
 
 1 The Complaint of Conscience . . . 272 
 
 2 Plain 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 L 279 
 
 6 King John and the Abbot of Canterbury 280 
 
 7 You Meaner Beauties. By Sir H. Wotton 283 
 
 8 The Old and Young Courtier . . .283 
 
 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'Es- 
 
 trange 288 
 
 13 Verses by King Charles L . . . 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 
 
 J 9 The Lunatic Lover. Mad Song the Third 297 
 20 The Lr\cly Distracted with Love. Mad Song 
 
 the Fourth 298 
 
 PAGE 
 
 21 The Distracted Lover. Mad Song the 
 
 Fifth 298 
 
 22 The Frantic Lady. Mad Song the Sixth . 299 
 
 23 Lilli-Burlero. By Lord Wharton . . 300 
 
 24 The Braes of Yarrow. In Imitation of the 
 
 ancient Scottish Manner. By W. Hamil- 
 ton 301 
 
 25 Admiral Hosier's Ghost By Mr. Glover . 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 Gawaine . . . 324 
 
 3 King Ryence's Challenge .... 328 
 
 4 King Arthur's Death. A Fragment . 329 
 
 5 The Legend of King Arthur . . .332 
 
 6 A Dyttie to Hey Downe . . . .333 
 
 7 Glasgerion 334 
 
 8 Old Robin of Portingale .... 335 
 
 9 Child Waters 337 
 
 10 Phillida and Corydon. By Nio. Breton . 340 
 
 11 Little Musgrave and Lady Barnard . . 341 
 
 12 The Ew-bughts 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 Lilye . 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 
 
 3 The Auld Good-man. A Scottish Song . 358 
 
 4 Fair Margaret and Sweet William . . 358 
 6 Barbara Allen's Cruelty . . . .360 
 
 6 Sweet William's Ghost. A Scottish Ballad 361 
 
 7 Sir John Grehme and Barbara Allan. Ditto 365 
 
 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 Jon- 
 
 son 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 was 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 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Vll 
 
 BOOK THE THIRD. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 1 The Birth of St. George . . . .390 
 
 2 St. George and the Dragon . . .394 
 
 3 Love will find out the Way . . .397 
 
 4 Lord Thomas and FairAnnet. A Scottish 
 
 Ballad 398 
 
 5 Unfading Beauty. By Thomas Carew . 399 
 
 6 George Barnwell 400 
 
 7 The Stedfast Shepherd. By George Wither 404 
 
 8 The Spanish Virgin; or the Eflfects of 
 
 Jealousy 405 
 
 9 Jealousy, Tyrant of the Mind. By Dryden 407 
 10 Constant Penelope 408 
 
 11 To Lucasta, on going to the Wars. By 
 
 Col. Lovelace 409 
 
 12 Valentine and Ursine .... 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. Grubb 420 
 
 16 Margaret's Ghost. By David Mallet . 426 
 It Lucy and Colin. By The. Tickell . . 427 
 
 18 The Boy and the Mantle, Revised, <fec. . 429 
 
 19 The ancient Fragment of the Marriage of 
 
 Sir Gawaine 432 
 
 20 Hermit of Warkworth . . . .435 
 
 ^bitenJja. 
 
 Robin Hood's Death and Burial . . . 446 
 
 Lord Soulis 448 
 
 The Frere and the Boye .... 454 
 
 Kempion , 460 
 
 The Demon Lover 462 
 
 How a Merchande dyd hys Wyfe betray . 465 
 
 Fause Foodrage 468 
 
 Sir Agilthorn 471 
 
 The Life and Death of Tom Thumbe . . 475 
 
 The Eve of St. John 481 
 
 Frennet Hall 485 
 
 The Lovers' Quarrel ; or, Cupid's Triumph . 487 
 
 Katharine Janfarie 492 
 
 How the Wise Man taught his Son . . 495 
 
 Barthram's Dirge 497 
 
 Borthwick's Decree . . . . . 499 
 Sir Gillum of Mydeltoun . . . .602 
 
 The Death of King Malcolme 
 
 . 505 
 
 The Slaughter of the Bishop 
 
 . 508 
 
 The Outlandish Knight . . . . 
 
 . 610 
 
 Cochrane's Bonny Grizzy 
 
 . 612 
 
 Young Ratcliflfe .... 
 
 . 614 
 
 The Fair Flower of Northumberland 
 
 . 517 
 
 Syr John le Sprynge 
 
 . 519 
 
 Lady Jean 
 
 . 620 
 
 Sir Richard Whittington's Advancemen 
 
 t . 622 
 
 Life and Death of Richard the Third 
 
 . 624 
 
 The Doleful Death of Queen Jane 
 
 . 626 
 
 The Honour of a London Prentice 
 
 . 627 
 
 The Story of 111 May-day . 
 
 . 629 
 
 Johnie of Breadislee 
 
 . 531 
 
 The Dowie Dens of Yarrow . 
 
 . 534 
 
 Belted Will 
 
 . 636 
 
 GLOSSARY 643 
 
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 accom- 
 panied their songs vt'ith 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 ren- 
 dered 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 oflf with the exercise 
 of their talents ; and where, so long as the 
 spirit of chivalry subsisted, they were pro- 
 tected and caressed, because their songs tend- 
 ed 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 diflferent names were admired and re- 
 vered, from the earliest ages, among the 
 people of Gaul, Britain, Ireland, and the 
 North ; and indeed, by almost all the first in- 
 habitants of Europe, whether of Celtic or 
 
 (A) The larger Notes and UluBtrations referred to by the 
 capital letters (A) (B), &c., are thrown together to the end 
 of this Kssay. 
 
 * Wedded to no hypothesis, the Author hath readily cor- 
 rected any mistakes which have been proved to be in this 
 Essay ; and, considering the novelty of the sulyect, and the 
 time, and place, when and where he first took it up, many 
 such hud been excusable. That the term Minstrel was 
 not confined, as soine contend, to a mere Musician, in this 
 country, any more than on the Continent, will be considered 
 more fully iu the last note (G g) at the end of this Essay. 
 
 Gothic race ;* but by none more than by our 
 own Teutonic ancestors,! particularly by all 
 the Danish tribes. J Among these, they were 
 distinguished by the name of Scalds, a word 
 which denotes " smoothers and polishers of 
 language."^ Th© origin of their art was at- 
 tributed to Odin or Woden, the father of 
 their gods ; and the professors of it were held 
 in the highest estimation. 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 coun- 
 tries which our Anglo-Saxon ancestors inha- 
 bited 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- 
 
 * Vid. Pelloutier Ifist. des Celtes, torn. 1, 1. 2, c. 6, 10. 
 
 t Tacit, de Mor. Germ, cap. 2. 
 
 X Vid. Bartholio, de Caupis contemptse a Danis Mortis, 
 lib. 1, cop. 10. — Worinij Literatura Runic, ad finem.— See 
 al.«o " Northern Antiquities, or, a Description of the Man- 
 ners, 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. 
 
 gTorfaei I'raefat. ad Oread. Hist— Pref. to "Five Pieces 
 of Runic Poetry," Ac. 
 
 (9) 
 
AN ESSAY ON THE ANCIENT MINSTRELS. 
 
 ment in this island, were converted to Chris- 
 tianity ; in proportion as literature prevailed 
 among them, this rude admiration would 
 begin to abate, and poetry v^^ould be no longer 
 a peculiar profession. Thus the Poet and 
 the Minstrel early virith 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 the 
 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 tliis 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 reciter 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, Angelen, and Holstein.* 
 The Jutes and Angles in particular, who com- 
 posed two-thirds of the conquerors of Britain, 
 
 * Vid. Chronic. Saxon, h, Gibson, p. 12, 13, 4to.— Bed. 
 Hist. Eccles. i Smith, lib. 1, c. 15.— " Ealdsexe [Regio antiq. 
 Saxonum] in crevice Cimbricae Chersonesi, Holsatiam pro- 
 prie dictain Dithmarsiain, Stormariam, et Wagriam, com- 
 plectens." Annot. in Bed. k Smith, p. 52. Et vid. Camdeni 
 Britan. 
 
 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.f From this near affinity, we might 
 expect to discover a strong resemblance be- 
 tween both nations in their customs, man- 
 ners, and even 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. J 
 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 
 
 * " Anglia Vestus, hodie etiam Anglen, sita est inter 
 Saxones et Giotes [Jutos], habens oppidum capitale . . . 
 Sleswick." Ethelwerd. lib. 1. 
 
 t See Northern Antiquities, &c., vol. i. pag. 7, 8, 185, 250, 
 260, 261. 
 
 X Ibid. Preface, p. 26. 
 
AN ESSAY ON THE ANCIENT MINSTRELS. 
 
 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, vrhose talents were chiefly calculated 
 to entertain and divert ; while the Scalds pro- 
 fessed to inform and instruct, and were at 
 once the moralists and theologues of their 
 Pagan countrymen ; yet the Anglo-Saxon 
 Minstrels continued to possess no small por- 
 tion of public favour ; and the arts they pro- 
 fessed were so extremely acceptable to our 
 ancestors, that the word glee, which peculi- 
 arly 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 premised these general consi- 
 derations, I shall now proceed to collect from 
 history such particular incidents as occur on 
 this subject; and, whether the facts them- 
 selves are true or not, they are related by 
 authors who lived too near the Saxon times, 
 and had before them too many recent monu- 
 ments 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 par- 
 ticular incidents and events themselves. If 
 this be admitted, we shall not want sufficient 
 proofs to show that Minstrelsy and Song 
 were not extinct ^pioi% the Anglo-Saxons ; 
 and that the professor of them here, if not 
 quite so respectable a personage as the Dan- 
 ish Scald, was yet highly favoured and pro- 
 tected, and continued still to enjoy consider- 
 able privileges. 
 
 Even so early as the first invasion of Bri- 
 tain 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 rein- 
 forcement which was coming from Germany. 
 He had no other way to accomplish his de- 
 sign, but to assume the character of a Min- 
 strel. 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 Geoffry of Mon- 
 mouth, (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 
 Geoffry, with all his ftibles, 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 au- 
 thority : for later history affords us two re- | 
 markable 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 with- 
 held 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 servantj (for in 
 the early times it was not unusual for a min- 
 strel to have a servant to carry his harp), he 
 went with the utmost security into the Danish 
 
 * See Rapiti's Hist, by Tindal, fol. 1732, vol. i. p. 36, who 
 places the incident here related under the year 495. 
 f By Bale and Spelman. See note (M). f Ibid. 
 
Xll 
 
 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 
 878. 
 
 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,t 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. (0) 
 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 then 
 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 
 Doomesday Book, Joculator Regis, the King's 
 Minstrel, is expressly mentioned in Glouces- 
 tershire ; in which county it should seem that 
 
 * Anno 938. Vid. Rapin, &c. 
 
 t So I think the name should be printed, rather than 
 Anlaff the more usual form (the same traces of the letters 
 express both names in MS.), Aulaff being sTidently the 
 genuine modern name Olaff, or Olave, Lat. Olaus. In the 
 old romance of " Ilorn-Childe" (see 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 ari-rived 
 to the highest pitch of credit before Hollo'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 Avith him in his new duchy of 
 Normandy, and left behind them succe-ssors 
 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 m.an 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. f 
 
 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. 
 
 t Vid. *' Hist, des Troubadours, 3 torn." 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 torn. 12mo. 
 
AN ESSAY ON THE ANCIENT MINSTRELS. 
 
 xiu 
 
 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, these 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 ever been 
 
 hown here 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 infe- 
 rior 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 these, 
 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) 
 
 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 
 allowed the same application of the term 
 here, without being expected to prove that 
 every singer 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, in 
 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 Hide near Win- 
 chester; and, as in the early times every 
 
 * See note (B) and (A a). 
 
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 con- 
 clude would be in the English language. (U) 
 
 Under his romantic son, King Richard I., 
 the Minstrel profession seems to have ac- 
 quired 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 cele- 
 brated 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 these 
 arts among the natives ; as the indulgent 
 favour shown by the monarch, or his great 
 courtiers, to the Provencal Troubadour, or 
 Norman Rymour, would naturally be imitated 
 by their inferior vassals to the English Glee- 
 man 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;(U3) so 
 that probably about this sera, or soon after, 
 we are to date that remarkable intercommu- 
 nity and exchange of each other's composi- 
 tions, 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 ro- 
 mances of both nations. (V) 
 
 The distinguished service which Richard 
 received from one of his own minstrels, in 
 rescuing him from his cruel and tedious cap- 
 tivity, is a remarkable fact, which ought to 
 
 * See a pathetic song of his in Mr. Walpole's Catalogue 
 of Royal Authors, toI. i. p. 5. The reader will find a trans- 
 lation of it into modern French, in Hist. Literaire des Trou- 
 badours, 1774, 3 torn. 12mo. See vol. i. 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. 
 
 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 Rimer or 
 Minstri]l,f called Blondell de Nesle : who (so 
 saith the manuscript of old Poesies,J and an 
 auncient 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 countrey he ar- 
 rived. Whereupon this Blondel, resolving to 
 make search for him in many countries, but 
 he would heare some newes of him; after 
 expence of divers dayes in travaile, he came 
 to a towne§ (by good hap) neere to the castell 
 where his maister King Richard was kept. 
 Of his host he demanded to whom the castell 
 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 questionings wheresoever he came. 
 And the hoste gave answer, there was one 
 onely prisoner, but he knew not what he 
 was, and yet he had bin detained there more 
 than the space of a yeare. When Blondel 
 heard this, he wrought such meanes, that he 
 
 * Mons. Favine's Theatre of Honour and Knighthood, 
 translated from the French. Lond. 1623, fol. tom. ii. p. 49. 
 An elegant relation of the same event (from the French of 
 Presid. Fauchet's Recueil, &c.) may he seen in " Miscellar 
 nies in prose and verse, by Anna WUIiams, Lond. 1766," 
 4to. p. 46. — It will excite the reader's admiration to he 
 informed, that most of the pieces of that collection were 
 composed under the disadvantage of a total deprivation of 
 sight. 
 
 t Favine's words are, " Jongleur 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 anciens Poetes Fran§ois," — He is however said to 
 have been another Blondel, not Blondel (or Blondiaux) de 
 Nesle ; but this no way affects the circumstances of the 
 story. 
 
 I 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 
 " Recueil de I'Origine de la Langue et Poesie Fran90ise, 
 Ryme, et Romans," &c.. Par. 1581. 
 
 g Tribables. — " Retrudi eum praecepit in Triballis : a quo 
 carcere nullus ante dies istos exivit." Lat. Chron. of Otho 
 of Austria : apud Favin. 
 
AN ESSAY ON THE ANCIENT MINSTRELS. 
 
 became acquainted with them of the castell, 
 as Minstrels doe easily 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 composed 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 half and completed 
 it.'t 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 Proven9al lines are given 
 as the very original song; J which I shall ac- 
 company with an imitation offered by Dr. 
 Burney, ii. 237. 
 
 BLONDEL. 
 
 Domna TOstra beutas 
 Elas bellas faissos 
 Els bels oils atnoros 
 Els gens cors ben taillata 
 Don sieu empresenats 
 De Yostra amo qui mi lia. 
 
 Tour beauty, lady fair. 
 None views wiUwid delig?U ; 
 But stiU so cold an air 
 No passion can excite : 
 Yet this I patient see 
 While all are shun'd like me. 
 
 RICHARD. 
 
 Si bel trop affansia 
 Ja de vos non portrai 
 Que major honorai 
 Sol en votra deman 
 Que sautra des beisan 
 Tot can de tos volria 
 
 No nymph my heart can wound 
 If favour she divide 
 Arid smiles on aU around 
 Unwilling to decide : 
 rd rather hatred bear 
 Tlian love with others share. 
 
 The access which Blondel so readily ob- 
 tained in the privileged 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 
 
 * " Comme Menestrels s'accointent legerement." Favine. 
 Fauchet expresses it in the same manner. 
 
 1 1 give this passage corrected ; as the English translator 
 of FaTine's book appeared here to have mistaken the ori- 
 ginal: Scil. "Et quant Blondel eut dit la moitie de la 
 Chanson, le roy Richard se prist a dire I'autre moitie et 
 I'acheva." Favine, p. 1106. Fauchet has also expressed it 
 in nearly the same worJs. Recueil, p. 93. 
 
 J In a little romance or novel, entitled, " La Tour Tene- 
 breuses, et leg Jours Lumineux, Contes Angloisea, aceom- 
 pagnez d'historiettes, et tirez d'une ancienne chronique 
 composee par Richard, suroomme Coeur de Lion, Roy 
 d'Angleterre," &c. Paris 1705, 12mo. — In the Preface to 
 this romance the Editor has given another song of Blondel 
 de Nesle. as also a copy of the song written by King Richard. 
 tCad published by Mr. Walpole, mentioned above, yet the 
 two last are not in Provencal like the sonnet printed here; 
 but in the old French, called Language Raman. 
 
 abroad and secreted by her French relations 
 in Normandy. To discover the plaoe of her 
 concealment, a knight of the Talbot lamily 
 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 af a harper, and being a 
 jocose 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 Longespee (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 besieged by the Welsh. This happened 
 in the reign of King John, and is related to 
 this effect. 
 
 *' Hugh, the first Earl of Chester, in his 
 charter of foundation of St. Warburg's Abbey 
 in that city, had granted such a privilege to 
 those who should come to Chester fair, tliat 
 they should not then be apprehended for theft 
 or any other misdemeanour, except the crime 
 were committed during the fair. This sy)ecial 
 protection occasioning 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 lor help 
 to the Lord de Lacy, constable of Chester: 
 " Who, making use of the Minstrells of all 
 sorts, then met at Chester f\iir : 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 ^^ en in 
 that city ; whom he forthwith sent under the 
 
 * The words of the original, viz., " Citharipator homo 
 jocosus in Gestis antiquorum valde peritus," I conceive to 
 give the precise idea of the ancient Minstrel. Seo not« 
 (V 2). That Qesta was appropriated to romantic stories, 
 see note (I) Part TV (1). 
 
 t S^e Dugdale, Bar. i. 42, 101, whoplarps it aftpr 13 John, 
 A. D. 1212. See also Plot's Staffordsh. Camden's Dritann. 
 (Cheshire.) 
 
XVI 
 
 AN ESSAY ON THE ANCIENT MINSTRELS. 
 
 conduct of Datton (his steward), a gallant 
 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 aud disciplined veterans, instantly 
 raised the siege and retired.'* 
 
 For this good service, Ranulph is said to 
 have granted to De Lacy, by charter, the pa- 
 tronage and authority over the Minstrels and 
 the loose and inferior people : who, retaining 
 to himself that of the lower artificers, con- 
 ferred on Dutton the jurisdiction of the Min- 
 strels and Harlots ;* and under the descend- 
 ants of this family the Minstrels enjoyed 
 certain privileges, and protection for many 
 ages. For even so late as the reign of Eliza- 
 beth, when this profession had fallen into 
 such discredit that it was considered in law as 
 a nuisance, the Minstrels under the jurisdic- 
 tion 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 Dug- 
 dale,! as handed down to his time, viz. : 
 " That at midsummer fair there, all the Min- 
 strels of that country resorting to Chester do 
 attend the heir of Dutton, from his lodging 
 to St. John's Church (he being then accom- 
 panied by many gentlemen of the countrey), 
 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 ndede, 
 give the like attendance on him back to his 
 lodging; where a court being kept by his 
 [Mr. Dutton'sJ steward, and all the Minstrels 
 formally called, certain orders and laws are 
 usually made for the better government of 
 that society, with penalties on 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 War- 
 ren) and his sons, which he *' excerptid owte 
 
 * See the ancient record in Blount's Law Dictionary (Art. 
 Minstrel). 
 
 Bar. L p. lOL 
 
 of an old Englisch boke yn ryme,"* and is 
 as follows : 
 
 Whitington Castle in Shropshire, which 
 together with the coheiress of the original 
 proprietor had been won in a solemn turna- 
 ment by the anc-estor of the Guarines,t had 
 in the reign of King John been seized by the 
 Prince of Wales, and was afterwards pos- 
 sessed by Moriee, a retainer of that prince, 
 to whom the king, out of hatred to the true 
 heir Fulco Guarine (with whom he had for- 
 merly had a quarrel at chess), J not only con- 
 firmed the possession, but also made him 
 governor of the marches, of which Fulco 
 himself had the custody in the time of King 
 Richard. The Gaarines demanded justice 
 of the king, but obtaining no gracious an- 
 swer, renounced their allegiance and fled into 
 Bretagne. Returning into England after 
 various conflicts, " Fulco resortid to one John 
 of Raumpayne, a Sothsayer and Jocular and 
 Minatrelle, and made hym his spy to Moriee 
 at Whitington." The privileges of this cha- 
 racter we have already seen, and John so 
 well availed himself of them, that in conse- 
 quence of the intelligence which he doubtless 
 procured, " Fulco and his brethrene laide 
 waite for Moriee, as he went toward Sales- 
 byri, and Fulco ther woundid hym : and 
 Bracy," a knight who was their friend and 
 assistant, " cut of Morice['s] hedde." This 
 Sir Bracy being in a subsequent rencounter 
 sore wounded, was taken and brought to 
 King John : from whose vengeance he was 
 however rescued by this notable Minstrel; 
 for " John Rampayne founde the meanes to 
 cast them, that kepte Bracy, into a deadely 
 slepe ; and so he and Bracy cam to Fulco to 
 Whitington," which on the death of Moriee 
 had been restored to him by the Prince of 
 Wales. As no further mention occurs of the 
 Minstrel, I might here conclude this narra- 
 tive; but I shall just add that Fulco was 
 
 * Leland's Collectanea, vol. i. pages 261, 266, 267. 
 
 f This old feudal custom of marrying an heiress to the 
 knight who should vanquish all his opponents in solemn 
 contest, &c., appears to he burlesqued in the Turnamcnt 
 of Totenham, as is well observed by the learned author of 
 Remarks, Ac, in Gent. Mag. for July, 1794, p. 613. 
 
 J " John, sun to King Henry, and Fulco felle at variance 
 at Chestes [r. ChesseJ ; and John brake Fulco ['s] hed with 
 the chest horde : and then Fulco gave him such a blow, that 
 he had almost killid hym." (LeL Coll. i. p. 264.) A curioua 
 picture of courtly manners in that age ! Notwithstanding 
 this fray, we read in the next paragraph, that " King Henry 
 dubbid Fulco and 3 of his bretheme Knightes at Wip- 
 Chester." Ibid. 
 
AN ESSAY ON THE ANCIENT MINSTRELS. 
 
 obliged to flee into France, where, assuming 
 the name of Sir Amice, he distinguished him- 
 self in justs and tournaments; 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 Avhom 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 Avhisper- 
 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 afi'ectionate zeal should have 
 induced Edward to entreat his brethren the 
 Welsh Bards afterwards with more lenity. 
 
 AVhatever was the extent of this great 
 
 * Burney's Hist. ii. p. 355.— Rot. Pip. An. 36 H. III. 
 " Et in uno dolio vini empto & dato Magistro 1U( ardo 
 Citharistae Resris, xl. sol. per. br. Resj. Et in uno dolio 
 empto & dato Beatrici uxori ejusdem Rirardi." 
 
 t Walter Hemmingford (vixit temp. Edw. I.), in Chronic, 
 cap. 35, inter V. Hist. Ang. Scriptores, vol. ii. Oxon. 1687, 
 fol. pag. 691. 
 
 X '• AccurrentcBHdbaecMinistriejns qni a longe ."teterunt, 
 invenerunt eum [scil. NuntiumJ in terra mortuum. et 
 upprehendit unuseorum triyiodem. sciliret CitJinreda xuus. 
 t percuFRJteum in capita, et elTunditcorebrniii ejus. Incre- 
 pavitque eum Edwardus quod hominem mortuum percus- 
 sisset." Ibid. These Ministri mu t 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 a.s?a.<siu had delivered to 
 the prince from his master. 
 
 3 
 
 monarches severity towards the professors of 
 music and of song in Wales ; whether the ! 
 executing by martial law such of them as j 
 fell into his hands was only during the heat j 
 of conflict, or was continued afterwards with i 
 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 showj that Minstrels still retained the 
 liberty of entering at will into the royal re- 
 presence, 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 
 
 every 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 a), as well as of the other sex ; and no 
 
 * See Gray's Ode; and the Hist, of the Qwedir Family in 
 "Miscellanies by the Hon. Daines Barrington," ITRl, 4to., 
 p. 386 ; who in the Laws, &c.. of this monarch could find 
 no instances of severity again.ot the Welsh. See hisobserva- 
 tions on the Statutes, 4to. 4th edit. p. 358. 
 
XVIU 
 
 AN ESSAY ON THE ANCIENT MINSTRELS. 
 
 accomplishment is so constantly attributed to 
 females, by our ancient bards, as their sing- 
 ing to, and playing on, the harp, (A a 2) 
 
 In the fourth year of King Richard II., 
 John of Gaunt erected at Tutbury in Stafford- 
 shire, a court of Minstrels, similar to that 
 annually kept at Chester, and which, like a 
 court-leet or court baron, had a legal juris- 
 diction, with full power to receive suit and 
 service from the men of this profession within 
 five neighbouring counties, to enact laws, and 
 determine their controversies ; and to appre- 
 hend and arrest such of them as should refuse 
 to appear at the said court annually held on 
 the 16th of August. For this they had a 
 charter, by which they were empowered to 
 appoint a King of the Minstrels with four 
 officers to preside over them.(B b) These 
 were every year elected with great ceremony ; 
 the whole form of which, as observed in 1680, 
 is described by Dr. Plot:* in whose time, 
 however, 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 
 Morlee, " the King's Minstrel, styled Roy de 
 North,"X of houses which had belonged to 
 another king, John le Boteler.(B b 2) Ry- 
 mer hath also printed a license 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 
 
 * Hist, of Staffordshire, ch. 10, g 69-76, p. 433 et seqq., of 
 which see Extracts in Sir J. Hawkins's Hist, of Music, vol. 
 ii. p. 64 ; and Dr. Barney's Hist. vol. ii. p. 360 et seqq. 
 
 N. B. The barbarous diversion of bull-running was no 
 part of the original institution, Ac, as is fully proved by 
 the Rev. Dr. Pegge, in Archseologia, vol. ii. no. xiii. p. 86. 
 
 t See the charge given by the Steward, at the time of the 
 election, in Plot's Hist, ubi supra ; and in Hawkins, p. 67. 
 Burney, p. 363-4. 
 
 :J: So among the Heralds Norrey was anciently styled Roy 
 (VArmes de North. (Anstis, ii. 300.) And the Kings at 
 Armes in general were originally called Seget Heraldorum 
 (Ibid. p. 302), as these were Eeges MinstraUorum. 
 
 g Rymer's Foedera, torn. vii. p. 555. 
 
 their brethren the 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 diseases and mischiefs in Wales," and 
 prohibited their meetings and contributions. 
 When his heroic 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.f 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,t 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 
 for 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. |j 
 
 * Rymer, ix. 255. f ^^^^- P- 260, 
 
 X 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 dinteg 
 and cuttes whiche appeared in the same, of such blowes and 
 stripes as hee received the daye of the battell." 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 plate 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. 
 
 2 Tom. ix. 336. 
 
 II Rymer, tom. x. 287. They are mentioned by name, 
 being Un in number: one of them was named ThomM 
 Chatterton. 
 
AN ESSAY ON THE ANCIENT MINSTRELS. 
 
 XIX 
 
 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 vacancies by death among 
 the King's Minstrels : in vrhich it is expressly 
 directed that they shall be elegant in their 
 limbs, as vv^ell as instructed in the Minstrel 
 art, wherever they can be found, for the so- 
 lace 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 fra- 
 ternity or perpetual gild (such as, he under- 
 stands, the brothers and sisters of the frater- 
 nity of Minstrels had in times past), to be go- 
 verned 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 exa- 
 mine 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 ano- 
 ther proof of the great affinity and resem- 
 blance which the Minstrels bore to the mem- 
 bers of the College of Arms. 
 
 It is remarkable that Walter Haliday, 
 whose name occurs as marshal in the forego- 
 ing charter, had been retained in the service 
 of the two preceding monarchs, King Henry 
 V.J and VI. ^ Nor is this the first time he 
 is mentioned as Marshal of the King's Min- 
 strels, 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. 11 
 
 * Tom. xi. 375. 
 
 t See it in Rymer, torn. xi. 642, and in Sir J. Hawkins, 
 vol. iv. p. 366. Note. The aViove Charter is recited iu 
 letters patent of King Charles I., 15 July (11 Anno Regni), 
 for a Corporation of Musicians, &c., in Westminster, -which 
 may he seen ibid. 
 
 X Rymer, ix. 255. § Ibid. xi. 375. || Ibid. xi. 512. 
 
 But besides their Marshal, we have also in 
 this reign mention of a Sergeant of the Min- 
 strels, 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 appa- 
 rent: for " as he [King Edward IV.] was in 
 the north contray in the monneth of Septem- 
 bre, as he lay in his bedde, one namid Alex- 
 ander Carlile, that was Sariaunt of the Myn- 
 strellis, cam to him in grete hast, and badde 
 hym aryse for he hadde enemyes 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.f 
 
 The same charter was renewed by King 
 Henry VIII. in 1520, to John Oilman, his 
 then marshal, and to seven others his Min- 
 strels : J 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. II 
 
 VI. In all the establishments of royal and 
 noble households, we find an ample provi- 
 sion made for the Minstrels ; and their situa- 
 tion to have been both honourable and lucra- 
 tive. In proof of this it is sufficient to refer 
 to the household book of the Earl of North- 
 umberland, A. D. 1512. (Cc) And the rewards 
 they received so frequently recur in ancient 
 writers that it is unnecessary to crowd the 
 page with them here.(C c 2) 
 
 The name of Minstrel seems however to 
 
 * Here unfortunately ends a curious fragment (an. 9 R, 
 IV.), ad calcem Sprotti Chron. Ed. Hearne.Oxon. 1719, 8to. 
 Vid. T. Warton's Hist. ii. p. 134. Note (c). 
 
 f Rymer, xi. 642. 
 
 X Ibid. xiii. 705. 
 
 g Rymer, tom. xiv. 2, 93. 
 
 II 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 direc- 
 tion. The Serjeant of his Minstrels, we may presume, was 
 next in dignity to the Marshal, although he had no share 
 in the government of the gild. 
 
AN ESSAY ON THE ANCIENT MINSTRELS. 
 
 have been gradually appropriated to the mu- 
 sician only, especially in the fifteenth and six- 
 teenth centuries, yet we occasionally meet 
 with applications of the term in its more en- 
 larged meaning, as including the Singer, if not 
 the composer, 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 compa- 
 nies ; 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 assem- 
 bly" for the company to be " desirous to heare 
 of old adventures and valiaunces of noble 
 knights in times past, as those of King Ar- 
 thur, and his knights of the round table, Sir 
 Bevys of Southampton, Guy of Warwicke, and 
 others like" in '* short and long meetres, and 
 by breaches or divisions, [sc. Fitsf] to be more 
 commodiously sung to the harpe," as the 
 reader may be informed by a courtly writer, 
 in 1589.1 Who himself had "written for 
 pleasure a little briefe romance or historicall 
 
 ditty of the Isle of Great 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 
 consideration of the causes alledged, would 
 peradventure reprove and disgrace every ro- 
 mance, or short historicall ditty, for that they 
 be not written in long meeters or verses Alex- 
 andrins," 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" 
 
 * See below, and note (G g). 
 
 t See vol. ii. page 174. 
 
 X Putteaham in his " Arte of English Poesie," 1589, 4to. 
 
 g Puttenham, &c., p. 
 
 were fond of using rimes at short distances, 
 " in small and popular musickes song by these 
 Cantabanqui" [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 sto- 
 ries 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 his- 
 toricall rimes," &c., " also they be used in 
 carols and rounds, and such light or lascivious 
 poemes, which are commonly more commodi- 
 ously 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 Laureat), being in deede but a rude 
 railing rimer, and all his doings ridiculous."* 
 
 But although we find here that the Min- 
 strels had lost much of their dignity, and 
 were sinking into contempt and neglect, yet 
 that they still sustained a character far supe- 
 rior 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 personages introduced was to have 
 been that of an ancient Minstrel ; whose 
 appearance and dress are so minutely described 
 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 meet seemed he for the 
 purpose, of a xlv years old, apparelled partly 
 as he would himself. His cap off: his head 
 seemly rounded tonsterwise:t fair kembed, 
 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, Ac, p. 69. 
 
 t See a very curious " Letter : wh'earin, part of the enter- 
 tainment untoo the Queenz Maiesty, at Killingwoorth Castl, 
 in Warwick Sheer, in this soomerz progress 1575, iz signi* 
 fied," Ac, bl. 1. 4to. vid. p. 46 & seqq. (Printed in Kichols'a 
 Collection of Queen Elizabeth's Progresses, Ac, in two vols. 
 4to.) We have not followed above the peculiar and affected 
 orthography of this writer, who was named Ro. Laneham, 
 or rather Langham ; see p. 84. 
 
 X I suppose "tonsure-wise," after the manner of the 
 Monks. 
 
AN ESSAY ON THE ANCIENT MINSTRELS. 
 
 XXI 
 
 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, fastened 
 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 poynetsf of tawny chamlet laced 
 along the wrist with blue threaden points, a 
 wealt towards the hand of fustian-a-napes. 
 A pair of red neather stocks. A pair of pumps 
 on his feet, with a cross cut at the toes for 
 corns: not new 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 dependent 
 before him. His wrestj tyed to a green lace 
 and hanging by. Under the gorget of his 
 gown a fair flaggon chain (pewter,^ for) sil- 
 ver, as a Squire Minstrel of Middlesex, that 
 travelled the country this summer season, 
 unto fiiirs 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 families wore the arms of their pa- 
 trons hanging down by a silver chain as a 
 kind of badge. || From the expression of Squire 
 
 * i. e. handkerchief. So in Shakspeare's Othello, passim. 
 
 t Perhaps, points. 
 
 X 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. 
 
 II 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 ba<lge 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 leets and fairs held for the 
 
 Minstrel above, we may conclude there were 
 other inferior orders, as Yeomen Minstrels, 
 or the like. 
 
 This Minstrel, the author tells us a little 
 below, "after three lowly courtsies, 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 Arthur's 
 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. (E e 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.f 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 biigpipe (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 cu.«toms of the ancient 
 Lord Percys, was revived by their illustrious representa- 
 tives, the late Duke and Duchess of Northumberland. 
 * Anno Dom. 1597. Vid. Pult. Stat. p. 1110, 39° Eliz, 
 f Giraldus Cambrensis, writing in the reign of King 
 Henry 11., mentions a very extraordinary habit or pro- 
 penfiity, which then prevailed in the North of England, 
 beyond the Humber, for " symphonious harmony" or sing- 
 rug "in two parts, the one murmuring in the base, and 
 the other warbling in the acute or treble." (I upe Dr. 
 Burney's Version, vol. ii. p. 108.) This he describes aa 
 practised by their very children from the cradle; and he 
 derives it from the Danes [so Dad signifies in our old 
 writers] and Norwegians, who long overran, and in effect 
 new-peopled, the Northern parts of England, where slone 
 this manner of singing prevailed. (Vide Cambriae Descrip- 
 tio, 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 Icelandic 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 
 
XXll 
 
 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 Maggy Lawder, a piper is 
 asked, by way of distinction, " come ze frae 
 the border ?"* The martial spirit constantly 
 kept up and exercised near the frontier of the 
 two kingdoms, as it furnished continual sub- 
 jects for their songs, so it inspired the inhab- 
 itants 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 pre- 
 serve 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 difierent from that of contem- 
 porary poets of a higher class ; many phrases 
 and idioms, which the Minstrels seem to have 
 appropriated to themselves, and a very re- 
 markable license 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 pre- 
 served and transmitted the arts of their Scaldic ancestors. 
 See Northern Antiquities, vol. i. c. 13, p. 386, and Five 
 Pieces of Runic Poetry, 1763, 8vo. — Compare the original 
 passage in Giraldua, 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 cre- 
 dit 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., Ac, Dublin, 1790," 4to., p. 207 
 & seqq. 
 
 * This line being quoted from memory, and given aa old 
 Scottish Poetry is now usually printed, would have been 
 readily corrected by the copy published in " Scottish Songs, 
 1794," 2 vols., 12mo. i. p. 267, thus (though apparently cor- 
 rupted 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. ex.) 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 attend- 
 ing feirs, &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 durst not venture into 
 the opposite border on account of the ancient feuds and 
 subsequent disputes concerning the Debateable 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 
 einco by arbitration between the present Lord Douglas and 
 the late Duke and Duchess of Northumberland. 
 
 Counirie harper battel 
 
 LadXe singer damsU loving, 
 
 instead of country, lady, harper, singer, &c. — • 
 This liberty is but sparingly assumed by the 
 classical poets of the same age ; or even by 
 the latter composers of heroical 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 min- 
 strelsy that I can discover, are No. III. and lY. 
 of Book III., Series the First. Lower than 
 these I cannot trace the old mode of writing. 
 
 The old Minstrel ballads are in the north- 
 ern dialect, abound with antique words and 
 phrases, are extremely incorrect, and run into 
 the utmost license of metre ; they have also a 
 romantic wildness, and are in the true spirit 
 of chivalry. The other sort are written in ex- 
 acter measure, have a low or subordinate cor- 
 rectness, 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 dijOPerence 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 pro- 
 duced were wholly of the latter kind, and 
 these came forth in such abundance, that in 
 the reign of James I. they began to be col- 
 lected into little miscellanies, under the name 
 of garlands, and at length to be written pur- 
 posely 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) 
 
NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 REFERRED TO IN THE 
 
 FOREGOING ESSAY. 
 
 (A) The Minstrels, &c. The word Mhi- 
 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 Maestro di 
 Capella of King Pepin, the father of Charle- 
 magne ; and afterwards to the Coryphaeus, 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, ministrallus, 
 menesterellus, &c. [Vid. Gloss. Du Cange et 
 Supplem.] 
 
 Menage derives the French words above 
 mentioned from ministerialis, or ministeria- 
 rius, barbarous Latin terms, used in the mid- 
 dle ages to express a workman or artificer 
 (still called in Languedoc ministral), as if 
 these 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 vulgo menestreux vel menes- 
 triers appellamus, quod minoribus aula3 
 ministris accenserentur." [Gloss, iv. p. 769.] 
 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 Gloman [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 by 
 anticipation. Another early name for this profession in 
 English was Jogeler, 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 : 
 whirh (as the author of the Obaerv. on the Statutes hafh 
 suggested to the Editor) might have been origiua'ly 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- 
 petual 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.* — Vetus Ceremoniale 
 MS. B.M. deauratce Tolos. Item, etiam con- 
 gregabuntur piscatores, qui debent interesse 
 isto die in processione cum ministris seu 
 joculatoribus : quia ipsi piscatores tenentur 
 habere isto dicjoculatores, 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 appearance 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 luthronization of Abp. Neville. (An. 6 Edw. IV.) 
 "Then all the Chaplyns must say grace, and the Ministers 
 do sing." Yid. Lelandi Collectanea, by Hearne, vol. vi. 
 p. 13. 
 
 f It has however been suggested to the Editor by the 
 learned and ingenious author of "Irish Antiquities," 4to., 
 that the ancient Mimi among the Romarshad their heads 
 nnd beards shaven, as is shown by Salmasius in Notis ad 
 Hist. A ugust. Scrij^tm-es VI. Paris. 1020, fol. p. 385. So that 
 IhU 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 
 
 C23j 
 
NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY. 
 
 Monmouth, speaking of one who acted the 
 part of a minstrel, says, " Rasit capillos suos 
 et barbam" (see note K). Again, a writer in 
 the reign of Elizabeth, describing the habit 
 of an ancient minstrel, speaks of his head 
 as " rounded Tonster-wise" (which I venture 
 to read tonsure-wise), "his beard smugly 
 shaven." See above, p. xx. 
 
 It must, however, be observed, that not- 
 withstanding such clerical appearance of the 
 minstrels, and though they might be some- 
 times 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 encourage- 
 ment shown to those men by the princes and 
 nobles, and who can seldom afford them a 
 better name than that of scurros, famelici, 
 nehulones, &c., of which innumerable in- 
 stances 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, Worton (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 
 priests, on a supposition of their being Mimi 
 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 consola- 
 tion, and were consequently disappointed of 
 their mirth, beat them, and turned them out 
 of the monastery. (Ibid. p. 92.) This pas- 
 sage 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 therewith some leading distinctions of 
 their habit or appearance ; yet with a change in tlieir arts 
 of pleasing, which latterly were most confined to singing 
 and music. 
 
 * Yet. in St. Mary's cliurch at Beverley, one of the columns 
 hath this inscription : " Thys Pillar made the Mynstryllsf 
 having its capital decorated with figures of five men in 
 short coats; one of whom holds an instrument resembling 
 a lute. See Sii J. Hawkins, Hist. ii. 1J98. 
 
 Minstrel might by his dress or appearance be 
 mistaken for an Ecclesiastic. 
 
 (B) [" The Minstrels use mimicry and 
 action, and other means of diverting, &c."] 
 It is obser/able that our old monkish histo- 
 rians do not use the words Cantaior, Citha- 
 rcediis, Musicus, or the like, to express a 
 Minstrel in Latin, so frequently as Mimus, 
 Histrio, Joeulaior, 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. 
 "Avec le Prince vinrent trois Menestriers de 
 la Grande Hyermenie (Armenia) . . . . et 
 
 avoient trois cors Quand ils encommen- 
 
 ceoient a corner, vous dissiez que ce sont les 
 voix de cygnes, . . . et fesoient les plus douces 
 
 melodies. Ils fesoient trois marveilleus 
 
 saus, car on leur metoit une touaille desous 
 les piez, et tournoient tout debout .... Les 
 deux tournoient les testes arieres," &c. [See 
 the extract at large, in the Hon. D. Barring- 
 ton's Observations on the Anc. Statutes, 4to., 
 2d Edit. p. 273, omitted in the last impres- 
 sion.] 
 
 This may also account for that remarkable 
 clause in the press warrant of Henry VI. 
 " De Ministrallis propter solatium Regis pro- 
 videndis," by which it is required, that the 
 boys, to be provided "in arte MinistrallatHs 
 instructos," should also be "membris natu- 
 ralibus elegantes." See above page xix. (Ob- 
 serv. on the Anc. Stat. 4th Edit. p. 337.) 
 
 Although by Minstrel was properly under- 
 stood, 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 sepa- 
 rately, 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. (Aa). 
 
NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY. 
 
 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 Menes- 
 traudie, Menesiraudise, Jonglerie, &e. [Med. 
 Lat. Menestellorum Ars, Ars Joculaioria, &e.J 
 — " On peut comprendre sous le nom de Jon- 
 glerie tout ce qui appartient aux anciens chan- 
 Bonniers Proven9aux, Normands, Picards, 
 &c. Le corps de la Jonglerie etoit forme des 
 Trouveres, ou Troiihadours, qui composient les 
 chansons, et parmi lesquels il y avoit des Im- 
 provisaieurs, comme on en trouve en Italic; 
 des ChanteuTS ou Chanteres qui executoient 
 ou chantoient ces compositions ; des CoiUeurs 
 qui faisoient en vers ou en prose les contes, 
 les recits, les histoires ; des Jongleu7's ou 
 Metiestrels qui accompagnoient de leurs in- 
 struments. L'art de ces Chantres ou Chan- 
 
 sonniers, etoit nomme la Science Gaie, Gay 
 Saber." (Pref. Anthologie FranQ. 1765, 8vo. 
 
 p. 17.) See also the curious Fauchet {De 
 
 V Orig, de la Lang. Fr. p. 72, &c.) " Bien tost 
 apres la division dece grand empire Francois 
 en tant de petits royaumes, duchez, et comtez, 
 au lieu des Poetes commencerent a se faire 
 cognoistre les Troverres, et Chanterres, Con- 
 teoiirs, et Jugleonrs : qui sont Trouveurs, 
 Chantres, Conteurs, Jongleurs, ou Jugleurs, 
 c'est k dire, Menestriers chantans avec la 
 viole." 
 
 We see then that Jongleur, Jugleur (Lat. 
 Jocidator, Jugulator), was a peculiar name 
 appropriated to the Minstrels. " Les Jon- 
 gleurs ne fasoient que chanter les poesies sur 
 leurs instrumens. On les appelloit aussi 
 Menestrels :" says Fontenelle, in his Hist, du 
 Theat. Franc, 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 Beus Joculatorum ; which is the 
 peculiar name given to the English and 
 French Minstrels.* In like manner, William 
 
 * Yid. note (B) (K) (Q). 
 
 Malmsbury, speaking of a Danish king's 
 assuming the profession of a Scald, expresses 
 it by Professus Minium ; 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 stigma- 
 tizes by the name of Scurrce ; though he 
 acknowledges their songs often tended to 
 inspire virtue. 
 
 " Ministelli, dicti prcesertim Scurras, Mimi, 
 Joculatores." .... " Ejusmodi ^Sa^'j-orwrn 
 munus erat principes non suis duntaxat ludi- 
 cris oblectare, sed et eorum aures variis, 
 avorum, adeoque ipsorum principum laudi- 
 bus, non sine Assentatione, cum cantilenis et 
 musicis instrumeatis deraulcere .... 
 
 " Interdum etiam virorum insignium et 
 heroum gesta, aut explicata et jocunda nar- 
 ratione commemorabant, aut suavi vocis iii- 
 flexione, fidibusque deeantabant, quo sic 
 dominorum, caeturorumque qui his intererant 
 ludicris, nobilium animos ad virtutem capes- 
 sendam, et summorum virorum imitationem 
 accenderent: quod fuit olim apud Callos 
 Bardorum ministerium, ut auctor est Tacitus. 
 Neque enim alios k MiuisielUs, veterum Gal- 
 lorum ^ar(io.9 fuisse pluribus probat Ilenricus 
 Yalesius ad 15 Ammiani .... Chronicon 
 Bertrandi Guesclini. 
 
 *' Qui veut avoir renom des bons et des vaillans 
 II doit aler souvent a la pluie et au champs 
 Et estre en la bataille, ainsy que fu RoUans, 
 Les Quatre Fils Haimon, et Charlou 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 inauguration em suam pro- 
 ceres excepit Lud. VIII. rex Francorum, ait 
 inter ipsius convivii apparatum, in medium 
 prodiisse Mimum, qui regis laudes ad cytha- 
 rum decantavit." — 
 
 * Yid. note (N). 
 
XXVI 
 
 NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY. 
 
 Our author then gives the lines at length, 
 which begin thus, 
 
 " Dumque fovent genium geniali munere Bac- 
 
 chi, 
 Nectare commixto curas removente Lyaeo 
 Principis a facie, citharse celeberrimus arte 
 Assurgit Mimus, ars musica quem decoravit, 
 Hie ergo chorda resonante subintulit ista : 
 Inclyte rex regum, probitatis stemmate ver- 
 
 nans, 
 Quem vigor et virtus extoUit in aethera fa- 
 mas," &c. 
 
 The rest may be seen in Du Cange, vrho 
 thus proceeds, '* Mitto reliqua sirailia, ex 
 quibus omnino patet ejusmodi Mimorum et 
 Ministellorum cantilenas ad virtutem princi- 
 
 pes excitasse Id praesertim in pugnae 
 
 prascinctu, dominis suis occinebant, ut mar- 
 tium ardorem in eorem animis concitarent ; 
 cujusmodi can turn Cantilenam Bollandi appel- 
 
 lat Will. Malmesb. lib. 3. Aimoinus, lib. 
 
 4. de Mirac. S. Bened. c. 37. ' Tanta vero 
 
 illis securitas ut Scurram se precedere 
 
 facerent, qui musico instrumento res fortiter 
 gestas et priorum bella prascineret, quatenus 
 his acrius incitarentur,' " &c. As the w^riter 
 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. Leccour) 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. Lecator.) *' 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 demaine 
 Provence, qui mult iert plentive 
 De vins, de bois, d'aigue, de rive, 
 As Leccours as Menestreus 
 Qui sont auques luxurieus 
 Le donna toute et departi.'* 
 
 (D) " The Poet and the Minstrel early with 
 
 us became two persons."] The word Scald 
 comprehended both characters among the 
 Danes, nor do I know that they had any pe- 
 culiar name for either of them separate. But it 
 was not so with the Anglo-Saxons. They called 
 a poet 8ceop, and Leo'&pyhca; the last 
 of these comes from Leob, a song ; and the 
 former answers to our old word Maker (Gr. 
 notrjrris) bciug dcrivcd from Scippan or 8ceo- 
 pan, formare, facere, jingere, creare (Ang. to 
 shape). As for the Minstrel, they distin- 
 guished him by the peculiar appellation of 
 Hrlijman, and perhaps by the more simple 
 title of Heajipejie, Harper: [See below 
 Notes (II), (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 large 
 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 (" prae- 
 sertim 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, an. 
 1185. Cum in curiis regum seu aliorum prin- 
 cipum, frequens turba Histrionum convenire 
 soleat, ut ab eis Aurum, Argentum, Equos, 
 seu vestes,* quos persospe 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 
 Ilauralds and Minstrelles the som of fy ve hundred frankes : 
 and gave to the Duke of Tonrayns Mynstrelcs gownes of 
 clothe of gold furred with erniyne valued at two hundred 
 frankes," B. iii. c. 31. Eng. Trans. Lond. 1525. (Mr. C.) 
 
NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY. 
 
 nas urbanitates et caeteras ineptias, trutinan- 
 tibus buccis in medium eructare non erub- 
 escimt. Vidimus quondam quosdam princi- 
 pes, qui vestes diu excogitatas, et variis flo- 
 rum picturationibus artificiose elaboratas, pro 
 quibus forsan 20 vel. 30 raarcas argenti con- 
 sumpserant, vix revolutis septem diebus, Ilis- 
 trionibus, ministris diaboli, ad primam vocem 
 dedisse, &c.'' 
 
 The curious reader may find a similar, 
 though at the same time a more candid ac- 
 count, in that most excellent writer, Presid. 
 Fauchet: (Recueil de la Lang. Fr. p. 73), 
 ■who says that, like the ancient Greek Aot^ot, 
 " 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 donnoy- 
 ent jusques aux robes qu'ils avoyent vestues : 
 et lesquelles ces Jugleours ne failloyent de 
 porter aux autres cours, a fin d'inviter les 
 seigneurs a pareille liberalite. Ce qui a dure 
 si longuement, qu'il me souvient avoir veu 
 Marten Baraton (ja viel Menestrierd'Orleans) 
 lequel aux festes et nopees batoit un tabourin 
 d'argent, seme des plaques aussi d'argent, 
 gravees des armoiries de ceux a qui il avoit 
 appris a danser." — Here we see that a Min- 
 strel sometimes perfijrmed the function of a 
 dancing-master. 
 
 Fontenelle even gives us to understand, 
 that these men were often rewarded with fa- 
 vours of a still higher kind, " Les princesses 
 et les plus grandes dames y joignoient souvent 
 leurs faveurs. Elles etoient fort foibles cen- 
 tre les beaux esprits." (Hist, du Th6at.) 
 We are not to wonder then that this profes- 
 sion 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 moitie 
 ou le quart d'une vieux chateaux bien sei- 
 gneurial, alloit quelque temps courir le monde 
 en rimant, et revenoit acquerir le reste de 
 Chateau," (Fontenelle Hist, du Th6at.) We 
 see, then, that there was no improbable fiction 
 in those ancient songs and romances, which 
 ai-e founded on the story of Minstrels being 
 beloved by kings' daughters, &c., and disco- 
 vering themselves to be the sons of some 
 foreign prince, &c. 
 
 (F) The honours and rewards lavished 
 upon the Minstrels were not confined to the 
 continent. Our own countryman Johannes 
 Sarisburiensis (in the time of Henry II.) de- 
 claims 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 famae redemptionem et dilata- 
 tionem nominis eflfunditis opes vestras/' &c. 
 [Epist. 247.^1 
 
 The Monks seem to grudge every act of 
 munificence that was not applied to the benefit 
 of themselves and their convents. They there- 
 fore bestow great applauses upon the Empe- 
 ror Henry, who at his marriage with Agnes 
 of Poictou, in 1044, disappointed the poor 
 Minstrels, and sent them away empty. " In- 
 finitam Histrionem et Joculatorum multitu- 
 dinem sine cibo et muneribus vacuam et moe- 
 rentem abire permisit.^' (Chronic Virtzi- 
 burg.) For which I doubt not but he was suffi- 
 ciently stigmatized in the Songs and Ballads 
 
 of those times, 
 iv. p. 771, &c. 
 
 Vid. Du Cange, Gloss, tom. 
 
 (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, man- 
 ners, or domestic economy of their country- 
 men. The Saxon Chronicle, for instance, 
 which is the best of them, and upon some ac- 
 counts extremely valuable, is almost such an 
 epitome as Lucius Florus and Eutropius have 
 left us of the Roman history. As for Ethel- 
 ward, 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 exist- 
 ence of customs or facts, from the silence of 
 such scanty records as these ! Whoever 
 would carry his researches deep into that pe- 
 riod of history, might safely plead the excuse 
 of a learned writer, who had particularly stu- 
 
 * Et vid. Policraticon, cap. 8, &c. 
 f "Vid. Nicolson's Eng. Hist. Lib. &c 
 
xxvm 
 
 NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY. 
 
 died the Ante-Nornian historians. '* Conjec- 
 turis (licet nusquam verisimili fandamento), 
 aliquoties indulgemus . . . utpote ab Histori- 
 cis jejune nimis et indiligentor res nostras 
 tractantibus coacti . . . Nostri . . . nudS, fac- 
 torum commemoratione plerumque contenti, 
 reliqua omnia, sive ob iosarum rerum, sive 
 meliorum literarum, sive Historicorum officii 
 ignorantiam, fere intacta prsetereunt." Vide 
 plura in Prsefat, ad JEli'r. Vitam k Spelman. 
 Ox. 1678, fol. 
 
 (11) •* 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. Heajipe, Henjipa. Iceland. 
 Harpa, Raurpa. Dan. and Belg. Harpe. 
 Germ. HarpffCy Harpffa. Gal. Hmye. Span. 
 Harpa. Ital. Arpa [Vid. Jun. Etym. — Mo- 
 nage Etym. &c.] As also from this, that the 
 word Heajipe is constantly used in the 
 Anglo-Saxon versions, to express the Latin 
 words Cithara, Lyra, and even Cymhalum : 
 the word Psalmus itself being sometimes 
 translated Fleajip fany, harp song. [Gloss. 
 Jun. R. apud Lye Anglo-Sax. Lexic] 
 
 But the fact itself is positevely 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. Anglor. Lib 4, c. 24, where 
 speaking of their sacred poet Caedmon, who 
 lived in the times of the Heptarchy (ob. circ. 
 680), he says:— 
 
 " Nihil unquam frivoli et supervacui poe- 
 matis fiicere potuit; sed eatantummodo, quse 
 ad religionem pertinent, religiosam ejus lin- 
 guam decebant. Siquidem in habitu sa3cu- 
 lari, usque ad tempore provectioris cetatis 
 constitutus, nil Carminum aliquando didice- 
 rat. Unde nonnunquam in convivio, ciim 
 esfet la3titiae causa decretum ut omnes per 
 ordinem cantare deberent, ille ubi appropin- 
 quare sibi citharam cernebat, surgebat tl 
 media ca3nti, et egressus, ad suam domum 
 repedabat." 
 
 I shall now subjoin King Alfred's own 
 Anglo-Saxon translation of this passage, with 
 a literal interlineary English version. 
 
 "He . . naepjie nohc lea^unga. ne 
 
 " Ee 7iever no leadings, nor 
 
 ibelejr leo^ep pyjicean ne mihce. ac 
 idle songs compose ne migJd ; hui 
 
 epne ba an ba ^e co aepej'Cnej'j'e 
 lo! only those things which to religion [piety] 
 belumpon. ^ hip ^asepepcan cunjan 
 belong, and his then pious tongue 
 
 ^ebapenobe pm^an : Wsep he pe 
 became to sing : He was the [a] 
 
 man m peojiolb habe jepeceb ob ba 
 man in worldly [secular] state set to the 
 cibe be he J^aep op ^elypebjie ylbo. 
 time in which he was of an advanced age ; 
 ^ he neppe asnij leo]? geleojinobe. 
 and he never any song learned. 
 
 ^ he po]i]?ofl opt in jebeojipcipe 
 And he therefore oft in an entertainment 
 bonne baeji psep blippe incinja 
 ivhen there was for merriment-sake adjudged 
 jebemeb p hi ealle pceolban bujih 
 [or decreed] that they all should through 
 enbebyp^bneppe be heajipan pmjan. 
 
 their turns by [to the] harp sing ; 
 
 bonne he jepeah ba heajipan bim 
 
 when he saw the harp him 
 nealsecean. bonne ajiap he poji pceome 
 
 approach, then arose he for shame 
 pjiara bam pymle. "] ham eobe Co 
 from the supper, and home yode [went] to 
 hip hiipe. 
 
 his house. — 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 " be 
 heappan pin^an," sing to the harp; as if 
 they were synonymous, or as if his coun- 
 trymen had no idea of singing unaccompa- 
 nied with the Harp : (2) That when Bede 
 simply says, surgebat a media ccend ; he as- 
 signs a motive, "apap pop pceome,'' 
 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 Ij1i.^5, [Crligg] 
 Musica, Music, Minstrelsy (Somn). This is 
 the common radix, whence arises such a va- 
 riety of terms aud phrases relating to the 
 
NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY. 
 
 XXIX 
 
 Minstrel Art, as aflfords the strongest internal 
 proof, that this profession was extremely 
 common and popular here before the Norman 
 Conquest. Thus we have 
 
 I. 
 
 (1). Elip, [Gliw] Mimus a Wmstrel. 
 
 Ehjaian, jli^mon, jhman [Gleeman,*] 
 Hidriu Mimiis, Fanioniimus ; all common 
 names in middle Latinity for a Minstrel : and 
 Somner accordingly renders the original by a 
 Minstrel; a Player on a Timbrel or Taher. 
 He adds, a Fidler ; but although the Fythell 
 or Fiddle was an ancient instrument, by 
 which the Jogelar or Minstrel sometimes ac- 
 companied 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. 
 
 Eliimen, jliijmen. [Glee-men]. His- 
 triones Mmstrels. Hence 
 
 Elijraauna yppe. Orchestra \e\ Pulpi- 
 tus. The place where the Minstrels exhibited 
 their performances. 
 
 (2). But their most proper and expressive 
 name was 
 
 Eliphleo)>]iienb. MusicuSy a Minstrel ; 
 and 
 
 Eliphleofpienfelica. ilfM.n'cMs, Musical. 
 These two words include the full idea of the 
 Minstrel character, expressing at once their 
 music and singing, being compounded of 
 Elip, Musicus, Mimus, a Musician, Minstrel, 
 and Leo'&j Carmen, a Song. 
 
 (3). From the above word DI155, the pro- 
 fession itself was called 
 
 Elijcpiaept. [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 
 Jfanud de Peche. A. D. 1303 (see Warton, i. 61), wo have 
 this, 
 
 " Gode men, ye shall lere 
 
 When ye any Gleman here." 
 Fabyan (in his Chronicle, 1533, f. 32), translating the 
 passage from Geoffrey of Monmouth, quoted below in page 
 28, Note (K), renders Deus Jocclatorom. by God of Gle- 
 men. (Warton's Hist. Eng. Poet. Diss. I.) Fabyan died 
 in 1592. 
 
 Dunbar, who lived in the same century, describing, in one 
 of his poems, intituled "The Daunce," what passed in the 
 infernal regions " amaugis the Feyndis," says, 
 
 " Na Menstralls playit to thame, but dowt, 
 For Glemen thaire wer haldin, out. 
 Be day and eke by nicht." 
 Bee Poems from Bannatyne's MS. Edinb. 1770, 12mo. page 
 130. Maitland's MS. at Cambridge reads here, Glewe men. 
 
 sica, Histrionia, Mimica, Gesficnlatio : 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 
 
 Ijliopian, Cantus mnsicos edere ; and 
 
 Dhjbeara, ^lipbeam. [Glig- or Glee- 
 beam.] Tympanum; a Timbrel or Taber. (So 
 Somn.) Hence 
 
 Dlypan. Tympanum pulsare ; and 
 
 Dlip-meben ; Eliypienbe-uiaben 
 [Glee-Maiden.] Tympanistria: which Somner 
 renders a She-Minstrel ; for it should seem 
 that they had Females of this profession ; one 
 one name for which was also IJlypbybe- 
 nepcjia. 
 
 (5). Of congenial derivation to the forego- 
 ing, is 
 
 Irlypc. [Glywc] Tibia, a Pipe or 
 Flute. 
 
 Both this and the common radix Hrli^^, are 
 with great appearance of truth derived by 
 Junius from the Icelandic Gliggur, Flatus : 
 as supposing the first attempts at music 
 among our Gothic ancestors were from wind- 
 instruments. Vid. Jun. Etyra. 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 divert- 
 ing. Hence, from the above root was derived, 
 in a secondary sense, 
 
 (1). Dleo, and pinpum jlip. FaceiicE. 
 
 Ijleopian, jocari ; to jest or be merry 
 (Somn.) ; and 
 
 Ijleopienb, Jocans; jesting, speaking 
 merrily (Somn.). 
 
 Ijli^maii also signified Jocista, a Jester. 
 Eli^-.^amen [Glee-games], joci. AVhich 
 Somner renders Merriments, or merry Jests, 
 or trick, or Sports: Gamboles. 
 
 (2). Hence, again, by a common metonymy 
 of the cause for the effect, 
 
 Iilie, gaudium, alacritas, Icetitia, facetice ; 
 
XXX 
 
 NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY. 
 
 Toy, Mirth, Gladness, Cheerfulness, Glee. 
 [Somner.] Which last application of the 
 word still continues, though rather in a low, 
 debasing sense. 
 
 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 Ijli^j, Minstrelsy, in a very un- 
 favourable sense, and this chiefly prevails in 
 books of religion and ecclesiastic discipline. 
 Thus, 
 
 (1). IrliJ is J>i/<Zt6rmw, laughing to scorn.* 
 So in S. Basil. Regul. 11, Hi hsepbon him 
 CO jlije halpenbe minejunje. Litdri- 
 brio habehant salniarem ejus admonUionem. 
 
 (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, 
 
 Dlij-man was also used to signify Scurra, 
 a " Saucy Jester." (Somn.) 
 
 Dli^-jeojin. Bicax, Scnrriles jocos supra 
 qudm par est omans. Officium Episcopale, 3, 
 
 Iilipian. Scurrilibus obledamentis indul- 
 gere; 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 sam? root, 
 
 * To gleek, is used in Shakfpeare, for " to make sport, 
 tojeflt," &c 
 
 Ijrlipeji. Parasitus, Asseniator ; "A 
 Fawner, a Togger, a Parasite, a Flatterer.* 
 (Somn.) 
 
 IV. 
 
 To return to the Anglo-Saxon word DI155; 
 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 fingers five 
 Touch aie string, or aie warble harpe. 
 Were his nailes poincted nevir so sharpe 
 It shoulde makin every wight to dull 
 To heare is glee, and of his strokes ful.'' 
 Troyl. lib. ii. 1030. 
 
 Junius interprets Glees by Musica Instru- 
 mental in the following passages of Chaucer^s 
 Third Boke of Fame : 
 
 * . . Stoden . . the castell all aboutin 
 Of all maner of Mynstrales 
 And Jestours that tellen tales 
 Both of wepyng and of game, 
 And of all that longeth unto fame ; 
 There herde I play on a harpe 
 That sowned 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 Glaskyrion. 
 
 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 extract«d from Mr. Lye's curious Anglo- 
 Saxon Lexicon, in MS., but the arrangement 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 publisK it himself 
 
 It should also he 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- 
 tiorary, the Editor of this book never could have discovered 
 that Glee signified " Minstrelsy," or Qligman a " Minstrel.' 
 
NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY, 
 
 " And small Harpers with her Glees 
 
 Sat under them in divers sees." 
 
 * * * * 
 
 Again, a little below, the poet, having enu- 
 merated 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 relators 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 Gesia Romanorum, 
 and this will account for its seemingly im- 
 proper title. These were evidently what the 
 French called Conieours, 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 
 
 * Neven, i. e. name. 
 
 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 ergoalterius 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 
 Ciiharista 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 fabulous) British king, he says, 
 " Hie omnes Cantores quos praecedens aetas 
 habuerat et in modulis et in omnibus musicis 
 instrumentis excedebat : ita ut Deus Jocula- 
 
 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 
 
 * GeofiFrey 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 shaven : (see above, p. xx. note J,) 
 as they likewise did the mimicry, 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 nop- 
 them people, brought these with them into Italy. For in 
 the year 774, when Charlemagne 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 LcmgohardoTum gente ad Carolum venire, 
 et Cantiuncclam a se oompositam, rotando in conspectu 
 suorum can tare." Tom. ii. p. 2, Chron. Monast. Noval. 
 lib. iii. cap. x. p. 717. (T. Warton's Hist. vol. ii. Emend, 
 of vol. i. p. 113.) 
 
 t Natus 1030, scripsit 1091, obut 1109. Tanner. 
 
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, ^^'e are 
 assured from his testimony, that the Jocu- 
 lator 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 follow- 
 ing 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. f Asser there- 
 fore might not regard Alfred's skill in Min- 
 strelsy 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 circum- 
 stances 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 strata- 
 gem as is here described. Vid. Annot. in 
 iElfr. Mag. Vitam, p. 33, Oxon. 1678, fol. 
 
 (M) "Alfred .... assumed the dress and 
 character of a * Minstrel.' "] " Fingens se 
 JocuLATOREM, assumpta cithara," &c. In- 
 gulpi Hist. p. 869. — " Sub specie mimi . . . ut 
 JocuTATORi^ professor artis." Gul. Malmesb. 
 
 * Obiit anno 1142. Tanner. 
 
 t (See above, p. xxx.) Both Ingulph. and Will, of Mal- 
 mesb. 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 
 Mimvs signify literally, a Minstrel, see proved 
 in notes (B), (K), (N), (Q), «fec. See also 
 note (G g). 
 
 Malmesbury adds, "Unius tantum fidelis- 
 simi fruebatur conscientit." As this con- 
 fidant does not appear to have assumed the 
 disguise of a Minstrel himself, I conclude 
 that he only appeared as the Minstrel's at- 
 tendant. Now that the Minstrel had some- 
 times 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 Pro- 
 vencal Bards, the Trouverre, or Inventor, was 
 generally attended with his singer, who some- 
 times also played on the harp, or other mu- 
 sical instrument. " Quelque fois durant le 
 repas d'un prince on voyoit arriver un Trou- 
 verre inconnu avec ses Menestrels ou Jon- 
 gleours, et il leur faisoit chanter sur leurs 
 harpes ou vielles les vers qu'il avoit composes. 
 Ceux qui faisoient les Sons aussi bien que les 
 Mots etoient les plus estimes." Fontenelle 
 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 authen- 
 tic materials collected by his learned father: 
 this writer informs us that Alfred " provided 
 himself of musitians, not common, or such 
 as knew but the practick part, but men skil- 
 ful in the art itself, whose skill and service 
 he yet further improved with his own instruc- 
 tion:" 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 
 
NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY. 
 
 XXXIU 
 
 worldly vanity. He has however particularly 
 recorded Alfred's fondness for the oral Anglo- 
 Saxon poen.8 and songs. [Saxonica poemata 
 die nocteque .... audiens .... memorita 
 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." J " Assumpta manu 
 cithar^ .... professus Mimum, qui hujus- 
 modi arte stipera quotidianam mercaretur . . . 
 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 Aulaff afforded them. 
 Perhaps it is needless by this time to prove 
 to the reader, that Mimus in Middle Latinity 
 signifies a Minstrel, and Mimia, Minstrelsy, 
 or the Minstrel-art. Should he doubt it, let 
 him cast his eye over the two following 
 extracts from Du Cange : 
 
 "Mimus: Musicus, qui instrumentis mu- 
 sicis canit. Leges Palatinae Jacobi II. Reg. 
 Majoric. In domibus principum, ut tradit 
 antiquitas, Mimi seu Joculatores licit^ pos- 
 sunt esse. Nam illorum ofiBcium tribuit 
 lagtitiam .... Quapropter volumus et ordi- 
 namus, quod in nostra curia Mimi debeant 
 esse quinque, quorum duo sint tubicinatores, 
 et tertius sit tabelerius [i. e. a player on the 
 tabor] .f Lit. remiss, ann. 1374. Ad Mimos 
 cornicitantes, seu bucinantes accesserunt.'' 
 
 * Thus Leob, the Saxon word for a Poem, is properly a 
 Bong, and its derivative Lied- signifies a ballad to this day 
 in the German tongue : and Cantare, we have seen above, 
 is by Alfred himself rendered Be heappan jnngan. 
 
 t The Tabour or Tabourin was a common instrument 
 with the French Minstrels, as it had also been with the 
 Anglo-Saxon (vid. p. Ixix.) : thus in an ancient French MS. 
 in the Harl. collection (2253, 75), a Minstrel is described 
 as riding on horsebacl^and bearing his Tabour. 
 " Entour son col porta son Tabour, 
 Depeynt de Or, e riche A90ur." 
 See also a passage in Menage's Diction. Etym. [v. Menes- 
 triers], where Tabours is used as synonymous to Menestriers. 
 
 Another frequent instrument with them was the Viele. 
 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. Barney's account of the Vielle, vol. ii. p. 263, 
 
 Mimia, Ludus Mimicus, Instrumentum. 
 [potius, Ars Joculatoria.] Ann. 1482 .... 
 " mimia et cantu victum acquiro." 
 
 Du Cange, Gloss, torn. iv. 1762. Supp. c. 
 1225. 
 
 (0) " To havebeen 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 Rhythmi hoc ipso [Islandico] 
 idiomate Angliae, Hybernigeque Regibus 
 oblati et liberaliter compensati, &c. Itaque 
 hinc colligi potest linguam Danicam in aulis 
 vicinorum regum, principumque familiarem 
 fuisse, non secus ac hodie in aulus principum 
 peregrina idiomata in deliciis haberi cerni- 
 mus. Imprimis Vita Egilli Skallagrimii id 
 invicto argumento adstruit. Quippe qui in- 
 terrogatus ab Adalsteino, Angliee rege, quo- 
 modo manus Eirici Blodoxii, Northumbriae 
 regis, postquam in ejus potestatem venerat, 
 evasisset, cujus filium propinquosque occi- 
 derat . . . . rei statim ordinem metro, nunc 
 satis obscuro, exposuit nequaquam ita narra- 
 turus non intelligenti." [Vid. plura apud 
 Torfasii Praefat. 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 prseterea a se 
 petens, obtineret; bona mobilia, sive immo- 
 bilia, praebendam vel prsefecturas. Egillus 
 porro regiam munificentiam gratus excipiens, 
 Carmen Encomiasticon, k se linguS, Norve- 
 gica (qu93 tum his regnis communis) com- 
 positum, regi dicat ; ac pro eo, duas marcas 
 auri puri (pondus m areas ... 8 uncias aequa- 
 
 who thinks it the same with the Mote, or wheel. See page 
 270 in the note. 
 
 "II ot un Jougleor a sens. 
 Qui navoit pas sovent robe entiere ; 
 Sovent estoit sans sa Viele." 
 
 Fabliaux et Cent. ii. 184, & 
 
XXXIV 
 
 NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY. 
 
 bat) honorarii loco retulit." [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 
 EgilFs 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 Doomesday Book," &c.] Extract 
 ex Libro Domesday: Et vid. Anstis Ord. 
 Gart. ii. 304. 
 
 Glowecestesceire. 
 
 Fol. 162. Col. 1. Berdic Joculator Regis 
 
 Tiabet 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. 
 See also Du Gauge's Gloss, vol. iii. c. 1543. 
 " Jogulator pro Joculator. — Consilium Masil. 
 an. 1381. Nullus Ministreys, Jogulator, 
 audeat pinsare vel sonare instrumentum cu- 
 juscumque generis," &c., &c. 
 
 As the Minstrel was termed in French Jon- 
 gleur axid. Jugleur; so he was called in Spanish 
 Jutglar 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, 1749, 4to. 
 
 " El anno 1328, en las siestas de la Coro- 
 nacion del Rey, Don Alonso el IV. de Ara- 
 
 *"RoMAN8ET Jutglar canta alt veux . . . . devant lo 
 Benyor Rey." Chron, d'Aragon, apud Du Cange, it, 771. 
 
 gon .... * el Juglar Ramaset cant6 una 
 Villanesca de la Composicion del ... . infante 
 [Don Pedro] y otro Juglar, llamado Novellet, 
 recito y represento 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 Gay a Cien- 
 cia . . . . estos Trobadores eran casi todos de 
 
 la primera Nobleza. Es verdad, que ya 
 
 entonces se havian entrometida entre las 
 diversiones Cortesanos, los Contadores, los 
 Cantores, los Juglares, los Truanez, y los 
 B^ifones.'" 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 Taillefer," 
 &c.] See Du Cange, who produces this as 
 an instance, " Quod Ministellorum munus 
 interdum prgestabant milites probatissimi. 
 Le Roman De Vacce, MS. 
 
 " Quant il virent Normanz venir 
 Mout veissiez Engleiz fremir .... 
 Taillefer qui mout bien chantoit, 
 Sur un cheval, qui tost alloit, 
 Devant euls aloit chantant 
 De Kallemaigne et de Roullant, 
 Et d'Olivier 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 appren- 
 nent, qu'en premier rang de I'Arm^e Nor- 
 mande, un 6cuyer nomm6 Taillefer^ mont6 
 sur un cheval arm6, chanta la Chanson de 
 Roland, qui fut si long tems dans les bouches 
 des Francois, sans qu'il soit rest6 le moindre 
 fragment. Le Taillefer apr^s avoir entonn^ 
 la chanson que les soldats rep6toient, se jetta 
 le premier parmi les Anglois, et fut tu6," 
 [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). 
 
NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY. 
 
 (S) "An eminent French writer," &c.] 
 " M. TEveque de la Ravaliere, qui avoit fait 
 beaucoup de recherches sur nos anciennes 
 Chansons, pretend que c'est k la Normandie 
 que nous devons nos premiers Chansonniers, 
 non k la Provence, et qu'il y avoit parmi nous 
 des Chansons en langue vulgaire avant celles 
 de Proven^aus, mais posterieurement au 
 Regne Phillippe I., ou k Fan 1100." [v. 
 Revolutions de la Langue Fran^oise, k la 
 suite des Poesies da Roi de Navarre.] " Ce 
 seroit une anteriorite de plus d'une demi 
 siecle k Fepoque des premiers Troubadours, 
 que leur historien Jean de Nostre-dame fixe 
 k I'an 1162," &c. Pref. k TAnthologie Fran9. 
 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 torn. 12rao., 
 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 Min- 
 strels 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 cen- 
 tury 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 
 are all of northern extraction : Child Horn is 
 the son of Allof (i. e, Olaf or Olave), king of 
 Sudenne (I suppose Sweden), by his Queen 
 Godylde or Godylt. AthuJfand Fijkenyld 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 Thursian ; whose sons are AtJiyld 
 and Beryld. Athelbrus 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 Harleyan 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 The- 
 saurus, torn. i. cap. 24, p. 224 and 231. 
 
 (T) "The different production of the se- 
 dentary composer and the rambling Min- 
 strel."] Among the old metrical romances, 
 a very few are addressed to readers, or men- 
 tion reading: these appear to have been 
 composed by writers at their desk, and ex- 
 hibit marks of more elaborate structure and 
 invention. Such is Eglamovr of Arias (Se- 
 ries 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 Iponiydon (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 him 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. 195, that Amys and Amylum were 
 no otherwise " Brother.«," than as beino; fastfriendg : as was 
 suggested by the learned Dr. Samuel f'egge, who was so 
 obliging as to favour the Essayist formerly with a curious 
 tran.«cript of this poem accompanied with valuable illuf^tra- 
 tions, &c. ; and that it was his opinion that both the fragment 
 of the " Lady Bellesnt." mentioned in the sani<^ No. .31. and 
 also the mutilated Tale, No. 37 (p. 37\ were only imperfect 
 copies of the above romance of '-Amys and Amylion," 
 which contains the two lines quoted in No. 37. 
 
XXX VI 
 
 NOTES ON THE FOREGOING 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 the 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 Rohyn 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 Launfal 
 (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 (i. 146, note) from 
 two passages in the pr. copy of " Sir Eglamour," viz., Sign. 
 E. i. 
 
 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 Gierke rede. 
 And the other thus, 
 
 In Rome this Gest cronycled ys. 
 So that I believe references to -' the Romaunce," or the like, 
 were often mere expletive, phrases inserted by the oral 
 reciters; one of whom I conceive had alt^pred 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, scil. 
 vol. 1, p. 61. 
 
 " Hospitale S. Bariholomcei in West Smith- 
 felde in London. 
 " Royer Mimus Regis fundator." 
 
 " Hosp. Sti. Barthol. Londini. 
 "Raherus Mimus Regis H, 1, primus funda- 
 tor, an. 1102, 3 H. 1, qui fundavit etiam 
 Priorat. Sti. Barthol." Ibid, page 99. 
 
 That Mimus 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. 
 Mimus Dni. Clynton cantantibus, citharisan- 
 tibus, ludentibus," &c., iiiis. (T. Warton, ii. 
 106, note q.) The sam.e year, the prior gave 
 to a doctor prcedicans, 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 M'as written. 
 There is only a general indistinct account 
 that he frequented royal and noble houses, 
 where he ingratiated himself suavitatejocu- 
 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 Caedmon, above in 
 note (II), page xxviii. 
 
NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY. 
 
 XXXVll 
 
 So in Horn-Child, King AUof orders his 
 steward Athelbrus to 
 
 " teche 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, speaks of harp- 
 ing as inseparable from singing (i. p. 11, ver. 
 268). 
 
 " in his harping, whan that he hadde 
 
 songe." 
 
 (U 2) "As the most accomplished," &c.j 
 See Hoveden, p. 103, in the following passage, 
 which had erroneously been applied to King 
 Ri'jhard himself, till Mr. Tyrwhitt (Chaucer, 
 iv. p. 62) showed it to belong to his Chan- 
 cellor. " Hie ad augmentura et famam sui 
 D'tminis, emendicata carmina, et rhythmos 
 adulatorios comparabat ; et de regno Franco- 
 rum Can tores et Joculatores muneribus allex- 
 erat, ut de illo canerent in plateis et jam 
 dicebatur ubique, quod non erat talis in 
 orbe." For other particulars relating to this 
 Chancellor, see T. Warton's Hist. vol. ii. 
 Addit. to p. 113 of vol. i. 
 
 (U 3) "Both the Norman and Englisli 
 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 Con- 
 quest) 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 Sautry, or 
 P.saltry(Lat. Psalterium) in that the former was a stringed 
 instrument, and the lafter was mounted with wire: there 
 ■was also some difference in the construction of the bellies, 
 &c. See " Bartholomseus de proprietatibus rerum," as 
 Englished by Trevisa and Eatman, ed. 1584, in Sir J. Haw- 
 kins' Hist. ii. p. 285. 
 
 And that noted boast of Hugh Bigot, Earl 
 of Norfolk, in the same reign of King Henry 
 II., vid Camdeni Britannia (art. Suffolk), 1607, 
 folio. 
 
 " Were I in my castle of Bungey 
 Vpon the riuer of Waueney 
 I would ne care for the king of Cockeney. 
 
 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 measure, be referred 
 even to the Norman Conquest, when the vic- 
 tors brought with them all their original opi- 
 nions and fables ; which could not fail to be 
 adopted by the English Minstrels and otheFS 
 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 min- 
 strels, &c., to ramble about continually from 
 one court to another, in order to be present 
 at s(,lemn 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 Prin- 
 cess Rymenyld being confined in an inacces- 
 sible castle, the prince, her lover, and some 
 assistant knights, with concealed arms, as- 
 sume the minstrel character, and approaching 
 the castle with their "Gleyinge" or Min- 
 strelsy, are heard by the lord of it, who being 
 informed they were " harpeirs, jogelers, and 
 fythelers,"* has them admitted, when 
 
 * Jogoler (Lat. Joculator) was a very ancient name for 
 a Minstrel. Of what nature the performance of the Jo(yur 
 
ItXXVUl 
 
 NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY. 
 
 Horn sette him abenche [i. e. on a bench.] 
 Is [i. e. his] harpe he gan clenche 
 He made Rymenild a lay. 
 
 This sets the princess a weeping, and leads 
 to the catastrophe ; for he immediately ad- 
 vances to "the borde,'' or table, kills the 
 ravisher, and releases the lady. 
 
 (V 3) . . "assumed the dress and charac- 
 ter of a harper, &c.''J 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 Ba- 
 ron, i. p. 175). 
 
 "Ela uxor GuUielmi Longespee primi, 
 nata fuit apud Ambresbiriam, patre et matre 
 Norman nis. 
 
 " Pater itaque ejus defectus senio migravit 
 ad Christum, A. D. 1196. Mater ejus ante 
 
 biennium obiit Interea Domina cha- 
 
 rissima clam per cognatos adducta fuit in 
 Normanniam, et ibidem sub tut^ et arctS 
 custodia nutrita. Eodem tempore in Anglia 
 fuit qui dam miles nomine Gulielmus Talbot, 
 qui induit se habitum Peregrini [Anglice, a 
 pilgrim] in Normanniam transfretavit et mo- 
 ratus per duos annos, hue atque illuc vagans, 
 ad explorandam dominam Elam Sarum. Et 
 illt invents, exuit habitum Peregrini, et induit 
 se quasi Cytharisator et curiam ubi moraba- 
 tur intravit. Et ut erat homo Jocosus, in 
 Gestis Antiquorum valde peritus, ibidem gra- 
 tanter fuit acceptus quasi familiaris. Et 
 quando tempus aptum invenit, in Angliam 
 repatriavit, habens secum istara venerabilem 
 dominam Elam et haeredam comitatus Sa- 
 rum ; et eam Regi Richardo prsesentavit. Ac 
 ille laetissime eam suscepit, et Fratri suo 
 Guilellmo Longespee maritavit 
 
 lator was, we may learn from the Register of St. Swithin's 
 Priory at Winchester (T. Warton, i. 69). "Et cantabat 
 JocuiATOR quidam nomine HerebertusCanticum Colbrondi, 
 necnon Gestum Emme regine a judicio ignis liberate, in 
 aula Prioris." His instrument was sometimes the Fythele, 
 or Fiddle, 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. p. 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 pi eye faste, 
 And in a tyme he nemped in his song the devil at laste. 
 
 " A. D. 1226, Dominus Guill. Longespee 
 primus nonas Martii obiit. Ela vero uxor 
 
 ejus 7 annis supervixit Una die duo 
 
 monasteria lundavit primo mane xvi Kal. 
 Mail, A. D. 1232, apud Lacock, in quo sanctae 
 
 degunt Canoniss«e Et Henton post no- 
 
 nam, anno vero aetatis suae xlv., <S:c." 
 
 (W) For the preceding account, Dugdale 
 refers to Monast. Angl. i. [r. ii.] p. 185, but 
 gives it as enlarged by D. Powel, in his Hist. 
 of Cambria, p. 196, who is known to have 
 followed ancient Welsh MSS. The words in 
 the Monasticon are — " Qui accersitis Sutori- 
 bus Cestriae et Histrionibus, festinanter cum 
 exercitu suo venit domino suo facere succur- 
 sum. Walenses vero videntes multitudinem 
 magnam venientem, relictS, obsidione fuge- 
 runt . . . Et propter hoc dedit comes antedic- 
 tus . . . Constabulario dominationem Sutorum 
 et Histrionum. Constabularius vero retinuit 
 sibi et haeredibus suis dominationem Suto- 
 rum: et histrionum dedit vero Seneschallo.'' 
 (So the passage should apparently be pointed; 
 but either et or vei'o seems redundant.) 
 
 We shall see below in note (Z) the proper 
 import of the word Histriones : but it is 
 very remarkable that this is not the word 
 used in the grant of the Constable De Lacy 
 to Dutton, but " Magisterium omnium Lec- 
 catorum et Meretricium totius Cestreshire, 
 sicut liberius ilium [sic] Magisterium teneo 
 de Comite." (Vid. Blount's Ancient Tenures, 
 p. 156.) Now, as under this grant the heirs 
 of Dutton confessedly held for many ages a 
 ?/ia^i5^eriaZ jurisdiction over all the Minstrels 
 and Musicians of that County, and as it could 
 not be conveyed by the word Meretricis, the 
 natural inference is that the Minstrels were 
 expressed by the term Leccatores. It is true, 
 Du Cange, compiling his Glossary, could only 
 find in the writers he consulted this word 
 used in the abusive sense, often applied to 
 every synonyme of the sportive and dissolute 
 Minstrel, viz. Scurra, vaniloquvs, parasitvs, 
 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 
 notes (C), (E), (F), (I). But he quotes an an- 
 cient MS. in French metre, wherein the Lec- 
 cour (Lat. Leccator) and the Minstrel are 
 joined together, as receiving from Charle- 
 magne a grant of territory of Provence, and 
 
NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSA¥. 
 
 from whom the Provencal Troubadours were 
 derived, &c. See the passage above in note 
 (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, Rearwards, 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 
 Rogups, Vagabonds, and Sturdy Beggars, &c. 
 
 " § X. Provided always that this Act, or 
 anything herein contained, or any authority 
 thereby given, shall not in any wise extend 
 to disinherit, prejudice, or hinder John Dut- 
 ton of Dutton, in the County of Chester, Es- 
 quire, his heirs or assigns, for, touching or 
 concerning any liberty, preheminence, autho- 
 rity, jurisdiction, or inheritance, which the 
 said John Dutton now lawfully useth.or hath, 
 or lawfully may or aught to use within the 
 County-Palatine of Chester, and 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 PenteGo«tes Rex filium suum ar- 
 mis militaribus cinxit, et cum eo Comites 
 Warennise et Arundeliae, aliosque, quorum 
 numerus ducentos et quadraginti dicitur ex- 
 cessisse. Eodem die cum sedisset Rex in 
 mensa, novis militibus circumdatus, ingressa 
 Ministrellorum Multitudo, portantium multi- 
 plici ornatu amictum, ut milites prsecipue 
 novos invitarent, 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., greetying. Forasmuch as 
 
 many idle persons, under colour of Mynstrel- 
 sie, and going in messages, 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 restrayne 
 suche outrageous enterprises and idleness, &c. 
 
 have ordeyned that to the houses of 
 
 Prelates, Earles, and Barons, none resort to 
 meate and drynke, unlesse 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, unlesse he be desired 
 of the Lorde of the House. And to the houses 
 of meaner men that none come unlesse he be 
 desired, 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 
 wyll, without their askyng of anythyng. And 
 yf any one do agaynst this Ordinaunce, at the 
 firste time he to lose his Minstrelsie, and at 
 the second tyme to forsweaie his craft, and 
 never to be receaved for a l^Iinstrel in any 
 
 house Yeven 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 Lancaster. This appears from 
 the Charter 9 E. IV., referred to in p. xliii. 
 " Ex querulost insinuatione. . . Ministrallo- 
 rum nostrorum accepimus qualiter nonnulli 
 rudes agricolag et artifices diversarum miste- 
 rarum regni nostri Anglige, finxerunt se fore 
 Mlnistrallos, quorum aliqui Liberatam nos- 
 tram eis minime datam portarent, seipsos 
 etiam fingentes esse Minstrallos nostros pro- 
 prios, cujus quidem Liberatae ac dictae artis 
 sive occupationis Ministrallorum colore, in 
 diversis partibus regni nostri prsedicti 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 
 
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. 
 [Ace. of Westm. IlalL] Stow had this pas- 
 sage from Walsingham's Hist. Ang. . . " In- 
 travit qusedam mulier ornata Histrionali ha- 
 bitu, equum bonum insidens Histrionaliter 
 phaleratum, quge mensas more Histrionum 
 circuivit; et tandem ad Regis mensam per 
 gradus ascendit, et quandam literam coram 
 rege posuit, et retracto frseno (salutatis ubi- 
 que discumbentibus) prout venerat ita reces- 
 sit," &c. Anglic. Norm. Script. &c., Franc. 
 1603, fol. p. 109. 
 
 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 Porters (when they 
 were afterwards blamed for admitting her) 
 also deserves attention. " Non esse moris 
 domus regise Histriones ab ingressu quomo- 
 dolibet prohibere," &c. Walsingh. 
 
 That Stow rightly translated the Latin 
 word Hlsirio here by Minstrel, meaning a 
 musician that sung, whose subjects were sto- 
 ries of chivah-y, admits of easy proof; for in 
 the Gesta Romanorum, chap, cxi., Mercury is 
 represented as coming to Argus in the cha- 
 racter of a Minstrel ; when he incipit, more 
 Histrionico, fabulas dicere, et plerumque can- 
 tare." (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 canta- 
 
 bant, sicut modo cantatur de Rolando et Oli- 
 verio." Antich. 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 appropri- 
 ated to them in the middle ages, viz. : Anglo- 
 Sax. Dlipmeben, [Glee-maiden] &c. Eli- 
 ypetibe-ujjjben, Dlypbybenepcpia. 
 (Vid. supra p. xxvii.) Fr. Jengleresse, Med. 
 Lat. Joculatrix, Ministrallissa^ Fcemina Minis- 
 terialist &c. (Vid. Du Cange Gloss, and 
 
 Suprd.) 
 
 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 Chorus of Women 
 singing through the streets accompanied with 
 musical instruments in 1268. 
 
 Had the female described by Walsingham 
 been a Tombestere, or dancing-woman (see Tyr- 
 whitt's Chaucer, iv. 307, and v. Gloss.), that 
 historian would probably have used the word 
 Salfatrix. (See T. Warton, i. 240, note m.) 
 
 These Saltatrices were prohibited from exhi- 
 biting in churches and church-yards along 
 with Joculaiores, Histriones, with whom they 
 were sometimes classed, especially by the 
 rigid ecclesiastics, who censured, in the sever- 
 est 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 min- 
 strel profession, under the different classes 
 of Troverres (or Troubadours) Chanterres, 
 Cojiteours, ?ind Jugleurs, &c. (vid. page xlviii,), 
 as if they were distinct and separate orders 
 of men, clearly distinguished from each other 
 by these appropiate terms, we find no suffi- 
 cient grounds for this in the oldest writers ; 
 but the general names in Latin, Histrio, 
 Mimus, Joculator, Ministrallus, &c.; in French, 
 Menestrier, Menestrel, Jongleur, Jiigleur, &c. ; 
 and in English, Jogeleur, Jugler, Minstrel, and 
 the like, seem to be given them indiscrimi- 
 nately. 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 alLof them doubt- 
 less the same privileges, and it equally throws 
 light upon the general history of the profes- 
 sion, 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 
 
NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY. 
 
 Minstrels, &c. appears from a variety of 
 authorities. Thus we have Meaestrels 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 
 
 [Compte. 
 Et si a fetf crier entre els, t fait. 
 
 Qui la melllor truffe % sauroit J Sorndte, 
 
 Dire, ne faire, qu'il auroit [a gibe, a jest, 
 S;i robe d'escarlate neuve. [or flouting.] 
 
 L'uns Menestrels k Tautre reuve 
 Fere son mestier, tel qu'il sot, 
 Li uns fet I'yvre, I'autre sot ; 
 Li uns chante, li autre note ; 
 Et li autres dit la riote ; 
 Et li autres la jenglerie ;^ ^ Janglerie, ha- 
 Cil qui sevent de jonglerie [hillage, rail- 
 
 Vielent par devant le Conte ; [leiie. 
 
 Acuns ja qui fabliaus conte 
 II i ot dit mainte risee," &c. 
 
 Fabliaux et Contes, 12mo. torn. ii. p. 161. 
 
 And what species of entertainment was af- 
 forded by the ancient Jiiggleitrs, we learn 
 from the following citation from an old ro- 
 mance, written in 1230. 
 
 " Quand les tables ostees furent 
 C'i\ Jug gleurs in pies esturent 
 S'ont vielles, et harpes prisees 
 Chansons, sons, vers, et reprisas 
 Et gestes, chante nos ont." 
 
 Sir J. Hawkins, ii. 44, from Andr. Du 
 Cliene. See also Tyrwhitt's Chaucer, iv. p. 
 299. 
 
 All the before-mentioned sports went by the 
 general name of MinidraJna, MinisPllonim 
 Lvdicra, &c.— ^'Chartaan. 1377, apud Rymer, 
 vii. p. 160. ' Peracto autem prandio, ascende- 
 bat D, Rex in cameram suam cum Praelatis, 
 Magnatibus, et Proceribus praedictis : et de- 
 inceps Magnates Milites, et Domini, aliique 
 Generosi diem ilium, usque ad tempus ccenae, 
 in Tripediis coreis et solempnibus Ministral- 
 ciis, prge 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, " Despues que las mesas 
 fueron alQadas vinieron los ministriles ; y 
 delante del Rey, y de la Reyna dan^aron un 
 rato : y despues truxeron colacion." 
 
 They also probably, among their other 
 feats, played tricks of sleight of hand, hence 
 the word Jugler came 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 Jogelonrs plaien at thise festes grete. 
 See also the Fre/e's Tale, p. 279, v. 7049. 
 
 (A a 2) " Females playing on the Harp."] 
 Thus in the old Romance of "Syr Degore (or 
 Degree," Series the third. No. 21, p. 194), 
 we have [Sign. D. i.J 
 
 The lady, that was so faire and bright, 
 Upon her bed she sate down ryght; 
 She harped notes swete and fine. 
 [Iler mayds filled a piece of wine, j 
 And Syr Degore sate him dovvne, 
 For to hear the harpes sowne. 
 
 The 4th line being omitted in the pr. copy 
 is supplied from ihe f.lio MS. 
 
 In the "Squyrof lowe Degree" (Series the 
 Third, No. '24, p. 195), the king says to his 
 daughter [Sign. D. i.j 
 
 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 pas- 
 sage. [Folio MS. p. 451, V. 217.] 
 
 Downe came a lady fnire and free, 
 And sett her on the Carles knee: 
 One whiles shee harped anotherwhiles 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 l-i/lve fnyre of hew and hyde 
 Shee sate downe by the bed side 
 
xlii 
 
 NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY. 
 
 Shee laid a souter [psaltry] vpon her knee 
 
 Theron shee plaid full lovesomelye. 
 
 . . „ And her 2 maydens sweetlye sange. 
 
 A similar passage occurs in Part IV. v. 129, 
 (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 Continent, 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 
 terms Ministraulz, and Histriones, was forgot, 
 that he was called King of the Fidlers ; on 
 which subject see below, Note (E e 2). 
 
 Concerning the King of the Minstrels we 
 have the following curious passages collected 
 by Du Cange, Gloss, iv. 773. 
 
 " Rex Ministellorum ; supremus inter Mi- 
 nisiellos: de cujus munere, potestate in casteros 
 Ministellos agit Charta Henrici IV. Regis 
 Angliae in Monast. Anglicano, torn. i. pag. 
 
 355. Charta originalis an. 1338. Je 
 
 Robert Caveron Roy des Menestreuls du 
 Royaume de France. Aliae ann. 1357 et 1362. 
 Copin de Brequin Roy des Menestres du 
 Royaume de France. Computum de auxiliis 
 pro redemptione Regis Johannis, ann. 1367. 
 Pour une Couronne d'argent qu'il donna le 
 jour de la Tiphiane au Roy des Menestrels. 
 
 " Regestum Magnorura Dierum Trecensiura 
 an. 1296. Super quod Joannes dictus Char- 
 millons Juglator, cui Dominus Rex per suas 
 literas tanquam Regem Juglatorum in civi- 
 tate Trecensi Magisterium Juglatorum, quem- 
 admodum suae placeret voluntati, conces- 
 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 fur 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 Mmstrel. The solution of the diffi- 
 culty, that he had been Le Hoy des Menestrels, 
 will be esteemed mure probable than what 
 Pasquier here advances ; for I have never 
 
 seen the title of Prince given to a Minstrel, 
 &c., scil. — " A nos vieux Poetes . . . comma 
 . . fust qu'ils eussent certain jeux de prix en 
 leurs Poesies, ils .... honoroient du nome, 
 tantot de Roy, tan tot de Prince, celuy qui 
 avoit le mieux faict comme nous voyons entre 
 les Archers, Arbalestiers, et Harquehusiers 
 estre fait le semblable. Ainsi I'Autheur du 
 Roman d'Oger le Danois s'appelle Roy. 
 
 " Icy endroict est cil Livre finez 
 Qui des enfans Oger est appellez 
 Or vueille Diex qu'il soit parachevez 
 En tel maniere kestre n'en puist blamez 
 Le Roy Adams [r. Adenes] ki iF est rimez. 
 "Et en celuy de Cleomades, 
 " Ce Livre de Cleomades 
 Rim6 je le Roy Adenes 
 Menestre au bon Due Henry. 
 
 " Mot de Roy, qui seroit trfes-mal approprie 
 k un Menestrier, si d'ailleurs on ne le rappor- 
 toit h> un jeu du priz : Et de faict il semble 
 que de nostre temps, il y en eust encores 
 quelque remarques, en ce que le mot de Jou- 
 ingleur s'estant par succession de temps 
 tourne en batelage, nous avons veu en nostre 
 jeunesse les Jouing leurs se trouver 4 certain 
 jour tons les ans en la ville de Chauny en Pi- 
 cardie, pour faire monstre de leur mestrier 
 devant le monde, k qui mieux. Et ce que j 'en 
 dis icy n'est pas pour vilipender ces anciens 
 Rimeurs, ainsi pour monstrer qu'il n'y a chose 
 si belle qui ne s'aneantisse 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 Jouingleurs, 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- 
 blioth^ues 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 Bertm : all three being 
 preserved in a MS. written about 1270. His 
 Bon Due Henry I conceive to have been Henry 
 Duke of Brabant. 
 
 (B b 2) " King of the Minstrels," &c.j 
 See Antis's Register of the Order of the Gar- 
 
NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY. 
 
 xliii 
 
 ter, ii. p. 303, who tells us " The President 
 or Governour of the Minstrels had the like 
 denomination of Roy in France and Bur- 
 gundy : 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 [a] King of the Minstrels by Edw. 
 I. Regi Roberto Ministrallo scutifero ad arma 
 commoranti ad vqldia Regis anno 5to. [Bibl. 
 Cotton. Vespas. c. 16, f. 3] ; as likewise [Li- 
 bro Garderob. 25 E. I.] Ministrallis in die 
 nuptiarum Comitissag Holland filiae Regis, 
 Regi Pago, Johanni Vidulatori, &c. Morello 
 Regi, &c. Druetto Month ant, 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 Menistrallias 
 [Ministralcias qu.] suas coram Rege. [Bibl. 
 Cotton. Nero. c. 8, p. 84, b. Comp. Garderob.] 
 That king granted Williolmo de Morlee dicto 
 Roy de North, Ministrallo Regis, domos quae 
 fuerunt Johannis le Botoler dicti Roy Brun- 
 haud. [Pat. de terr. forisfact. 16 E. III.]" 
 He adds below (p. 304) a similar instance of 
 a Rex Juglatomm, and that the " King of the 
 Minstrels," at length was styled in France 
 Roy de Violins, (Furetiere Diction. Univers.) 
 as with us " King of the Fidlers ;" on which 
 subject see below, note (E e 2). 
 
 (B b 3) The Statute 4 Hen. IV. (1402), c. 
 27, runs in these terms, " Item, pur eschuir 
 plusieurs diseases et mischiefs qont advenuz 
 devaunt ces heures en la terre de Gales par 
 plusieurs Westours, Rymours, Minstralx et 
 autres Vacabondes, ordeignez est et establiz 
 qe nul Westour, Rymour, Minstral ne Vaca- 
 bond soit aucunement sustenuz en la terra 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 indigna- 
 tion and contempt against this class of men, 
 who are described as Rymours, Ministralx, 
 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 Ministralx had 
 
 been mere musicians, they would not have 
 required the vigilance of the English leg- 
 islature to suppress them. It was their 
 songs exciting their countrymen to insurrec- 
 tion which produced "les diseases 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 settingforth "that 
 vagrant and idle persons, naming themselves 
 Minstrels, Rythmers, 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 cunynge thereby much 
 discouraged, &c." and " hindred [of] livings 
 and preferment," &c. it appoints a time and 
 place, wherein all " persons that intend to 
 maintain their liviilg by name or colour of 
 Minstrels, Rythmers, or Bards," 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 decent 
 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 
 sturdy 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 velle 
 victoriam imputari .... in tantum, quod 
 cantus de suo triumpho fieri, seu per Citha- 
 ristas 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 Nombre of all my lords Ser- 
 vaunts." 
 
sliv 
 
 NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY. 
 
 " Item, Mynstrals in Houshold iii. viz. A 
 Taberet, a Luyte, and a Rebecc." [The Re- 
 beck was a kind of Fiddle with three strings.] 
 
 Sect. XLIV. 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 household, 
 as his Tabret, Lute, and Rebeke, 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. iiii d. for my 
 Lord ; and vi. s. viii. d. for my Lady, if sche be 
 at my lords fyndynge, and not at hir owen ; 
 and for playing at my lordis Sone and Heir's 
 chamber doure, the lord Percy, ii. s. And 
 for playinge at the chamber doures of my 
 lords Yonger Sonnes, my yonge masters, after 
 
 ziii. d. the pece 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 him yerly, vi. s. viii. d. 
 
 " Item, my lorde usith and accustomyth to 
 gif yerely to the kings or queenes Bearwarde, 
 if they have one, when they custom to come 
 unto him yerly, — vi. s. viii. d. 
 
 '' Item, my lorde usith and accustomyth to 
 gyfe yerly to every Erles 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 Erls 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 Dookes 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 
 gyf to the Kyngs Shawmes, when they com 
 to my lorde yerely, x. s." 
 
 I cannot conclude this note without ob- 
 serving, 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 Jugglei's 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. notos (E), (F), &c. But 
 more particularly with regard to English 
 Minstrels, &c., see T. Warton's Hist, of Eng. 
 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. 
 " OrnciUM Elemosinarij est. . Equos relictos, 
 Robas, Pecuniam, et alia ad Elemosinam lar- 
 giter recipere et fideliter distribuere ; debet 
 etiam Regem super Elemosinae largitione 
 crebris summonitionibus stimulare et praeci- 
 pue diebus Sanctorum, et rogare ne Robas 
 suas quae magni sunt precij Histrionibus, 
 Blanditoribus, Adulatoribus, Accusatoribus, 
 vel Menestrallis, sed ad Elemosinae suae in- 
 cremuntum jubeat largiri." Et in c. 72. 
 " Minis tralli, vel Adulatoris.^' 
 
 (D d) " A species of men who did not 
 sing," &c.] It appears from the passage of 
 Erasmus here referred to, that there still ex- 
 isted in England of that species of Jongleurs 
 or Minstrels, whom the French called by the 
 peculiar name of Conteours, or Reciters in 
 prose. It is in his Ecclesiastes, where he is 
 speaking of such preachers 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 Cauponas Vinarias ; et ar- 
 gumentum aliquod, quod edidicerunt, reci- 
 tant ; puta mortem omnibus dominari, aut lau- 
 dem matrimonii. Sed quoniam ea lingua mo- 
 nosyllabis fere constat, quemadmodum Ger- 
 manica ; atque illi [sc. this peculiar species of 
 Reciters] studio vitant can turn, nobis (sc. 
 Erasmus, who di4 not understand a word of 
 English) latrare videntur verius quam loqui." 
 Opera, tom. v. c. 958. (Jortin, vol. ii. p. 193.) 
 
NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY. 
 
 :lv 
 
 As Erasmus was correcting the vice of preach- 
 ers, it was more to his point to bring an in- 
 stance from the Moral Reciters of Prose than 
 from Chanters of Rhyme ; though the latter 
 would probably be more popular, and there- 
 fore 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 re- 
 semblance, but to show 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 hyght Elyot ; and when hee 
 could it, hee taught it to many harpers. And 
 so. . . . the Harpers went straight unto Wales 
 and Cornwaile to sing the Lay. . . . which was 
 the worst Lay that ever Harper sung with 
 harpe, or with any other instrument. And 
 [at a] great feast that King Marke made for 
 
 joy of [a] victorie 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, the which 
 spake the most vilanie 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. Thou Harper, how durst thou be so bold 
 to sing this song before me ? Sir, said Eliot, 
 wit you well I am a Minstrell, 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 hie thee fast 
 out of my sight. So the Harper departed, 
 &c." [Part II. c. 113, ed. 1634. See also 
 Part III. c. 5.] 
 
 (E 6 2) " This Act seems to have put an 
 
 end to the profession," &c.] Although I con- 
 ceive that the character ceased to exist, yet 
 the appellation might be continued, and ap- 
 plied to Fidlers, or other common Musicians ; 
 which will account for the mistakes of Sir 
 Peter 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 com- 
 monly called Fidlers or Minstrels shall at any 
 time be taken playing, fidling, and making 
 music in any Inn, Ale-house, or Tavern, or 
 shall betaken proffering themselves, or desir- 
 ing, or intreating any. ... to hear them play 
 or make music in any of the places afore- 
 said ;" 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 Boy des Violons in France, 
 v. note (B b 2), "King of the Fidlers." See 
 the common ballad entitled " The Pedigree, 
 Education, and Marriage of Robinhood with 
 Clorinda, Queen of Tutbury 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 to- 
 gether with his chaplain " Frier Tuck" were 
 his favourite companions, and probably on 
 that account figured in the old Morice Dance, 
 as may be seen by the engraving in Mr. Stee- 
 vens's and Mr. Malone's Editions of Shak- 
 speare: by whom she is mentioned, 1 Hen. 
 IV., act iii. sc. 3. (See also Warton, i. 245, 
 ii. 237.) Whereas, from this ballad's conclu- 
 ding 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 Garland," many are so modern as not to be found 
 in Pepys' collection completed only in 1700. In the folio 
 MS. (described in p. iii ), are an' lent fragments of the 
 following, viz., Robin Hood and the Beggar. — Robin Hood 
 and the Butcher.— Robin Hood and Fryer Tucke.— Robin 
 Hood and the Pindar. — Robin Hood and Queen Catharine, 
 in two parts. — Little John and the four Bejrgars, and 
 "Robine Hoode his death." This last, which is very 
 curious, has no resemblance to any that have been pub- 
 lished; 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. 
 
xlvi 
 
 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 mar- 
 riage of their favourite King Charles II., on 
 his marriage with the Infanta of Portugal. 
 I think it is not found in the Pepys collec- 
 tion. 
 
 (F f ) " Historical Song, or Ballad."] The 
 English word Ballad is evidently from the 
 French Balade, as the latter is from the 
 It9,lian Ballata; which the Crusca Dictionary 
 defines, Canzone, che si canta Ballando, *' A 
 Song, which is sung daring a Dance.'' So 
 Dr. Barney [ii. 342], who refers to a collec- 
 tion of Ballette published by Gastaldi and 
 printed at Antwerp in 1596. [iii. 226.] 
 
 But the word appears to have had an ear- 
 lier origin : for in the decline of the Roman 
 Empire these trivial songs were called Ballis- 
 tea and SaltatiunculcG. Ballisteum, Salmasius 
 says, is properly Ballisiiuin. Gr. BaWiaeiov 
 
 ** died r« BaWi^oi. . . . BaWicria SaltatlO. . . . Bal- 
 
 listium igitur est quod vulgo vocamus Ballet ; 
 nam inde dedacta vox nostra." Saimas. Not. 
 in Hist. Ang. Scriptores VI. p. 349. 
 
 In the life of the Emperor Aurelian by Fl. 
 Vopiscus may be seen two of these Ballistea, 
 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, niille 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 quaerimus." 
 
 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, 4to. 
 
 (F f 2) " Little Miscellanies named Gar- 
 lands," &c.] In the Pepysian and other 
 libraries are presented a great number of 
 these in black letter, 12mo., under the follow- 
 ing quaint and affected titles, viz. : 
 
 1. A Crown e 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 Princely 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 Tho. 
 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 Maid- 
 en'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., &c. 
 
 This sort of petty publications had an- 
 ciently the name of " Penny-Merriments :" 
 as little religious tracts of the same size were 
 called " Penny Godlinesses." In the Pepysian 
 Library are multitudes of both kinds. 
 
 (G g) " The term Minstrel was not con- 
 fined to a mere Musician in this country any 
 more than on the Continent."] The discus- 
 sion of the question. Whether the term Min- 
 strel was applied in England to Singers and 
 Composers of Songs, &c., or confined to the 
 performers on musical instruments, was pro- 
 perly 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, 
 
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 compo- 
 sition of these men. And in (B b), p. xlii., 
 we have the titles of some of which a Min- 
 strel was the author, who has himself left his 
 name upon record. 
 
 The old English names for one of this pro- 
 fession were Gleeraan,* Jogeler,t and latterly 
 Minstrel ; not to mention Harper, &c. In 
 French he was called Jongleur or Jugleur, 
 Menestrel or Menestrier.X The writers of the 
 middle ages expressed the character in Latin 
 by the words Joculator, Mimus, Histrio, Minis- 
 trellas, &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, espe- 
 cially in England ; where the most general 
 and comprehensive name was latterly Min- 
 strel, Lat. Ministrellas, &c. 
 
 Thus Joculator (Eng. Jogeler or Juglar) is 
 used as synonymous to Citharista, Note (K), 
 p. xxxi., and to Cantor (p. xxxi.), and to 
 Minstrel (vid. infra p. xl.). We have also 
 positive proof that the subjects of his songs 
 were Gestes and Romantic Tales. (V 2) note. 
 
 So Mimus is used as anonymous to Jocula- 
 tor, (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 i>; sufficiently established 
 
 in "Fabliaux ou Contes," &c.. see torn. i. p. 37, 47. — ii. 306, 
 313 e.t seqq. — iii. 266, &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, Me.netritr, Mp.nestrel, and Jongleur (torn. 
 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. f See page xxxvii. 
 
 X See page xxxvii. Note. 
 
 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 Min- 
 strels, 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 ex- 
 tracted from Records the following instances : 
 
 Ex Registr. Priorat. S. Swithin Winton. 
 (sub anno 1374). " In festo Alwyni Epi . . . 
 Et durante pietancia in Aula Conventus sex 
 Ministralli, cum quatuor Citharisatoribus, 
 faciebant Ministralcias suas. Et post cenam, 
 in magna camera arcuata Dom. Prioris can- 
 tabant idem Gestem in qua Camera suspende- 
 batur, ut moris est, magnum dorsale Prioris 
 habens picturas trium Regum Colein. Ve- 
 niebant 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 Sing- 
 ing must have been by the Minstrels, or by 
 both conjointly. 
 
 For that Minstrels sang we have undeni- 
 able proof in the following entry in the 
 Accompt Roll of the Priory of Bicester, in 
 Oxfordshire (under the year 1432). " Dat 
 Sex Ministrallis de Bokyngham cantantihus 
 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 Emar^ (Series the 
 Third, No. 15, p. 194), which from the obso- 
 leteness 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 Menstrelles syng yn sawe." 
 
 Stanza 27. 
 
 In a poem of A'] am Dnip (who flourished 
 about 1312) we have this Distich, 
 
 " Merry it is in halle to here the harpe. 
 The Minstrelles synge. the Jogelours carpe." 
 T. Warton, i. p. 225. 
 
 So William of Nassyngton (circ. 1480) as 
 quoted by Mr. Tyrwhitt (Chaucer, iv. 319). 
 
slviii 
 
 NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY. 
 
 — "I will make no vain carpinge 
 Of dedes of armys ne of amours 
 As dus Minstrelles and Jestours [Gestours] 
 That makys carpinge in many a place 
 Of Octaviane and Isembrase, 
 And of many other Jestes [Gestes] 
 And namely whan they come to festes.^ 
 
 See also the Description of the 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 time 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- 
 geler, is in consequence said (fo. 92) to have 
 
 " made Rymenild [his mistress] a lay." 
 
 In the old Romance of EmarS, 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 
 Colbronde (Series the Third, No. 4, p. 193), 
 the Minstrel thus speaks of himself in the 
 first person : 
 
 " When meate and drinke is great plentye 
 Then lords and ladyes stilf 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 hy Rob. de Brunne, 
 in 1330. (Warton, i. p. 59, 65, 75.) AH rhymes were then 
 sung to the harp: even Troilus and Cresseide, though 
 almost as long as the iEneid, was to be " redde .... or else 
 eonge." 1. ult. (Warton, i. 388.) 
 
 Then itt is time for mee to speake 
 Of keene knights and kern pes great 
 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 Proven Qal Troubadour of our 
 King Richard, whp is called by M. Favine 
 Jongleur, and by M. Fauchet Menestrel, is by 
 the old English translator termed a Rimer or 
 Minstrel when he is mentioning the fact of 
 his composing some verses, (p. xxxii.) 
 
 And lastly, that Holinshed, translating the 
 prohibition of King Henry Y., 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. Yid. p. xviii. and note (B b 4). 
 
 Now that this order of men, at first called 
 Gleemen, then Juglers, and afterwards more 
 generally Minstrels, existed here from the 
 Conquest, who entertained their hearers with 
 chanting to the harp or other instruments, 
 songs and tales of chivalry, or as they were 
 called Gests* and Romances in verse in the 
 English language, is proved by the existence 
 of the very compositions they so chanted, 
 which are still preserved in great abundance ; 
 and exhibit a regular series from the time 
 our language was almost Saxon, till after its 
 improvements in the age of Chaucer, who 
 enumerates many of them. And as the 
 Norman French was in the time 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 
 " Lords and Ladies." 
 
 And though many of these were translated 
 from the French, others are evidently of 
 English origin,t 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. 265], we are promised an account " of their 
 Gestys and manners during the said voyage." 
 
 t The romance of " Richard Coeur de Lion," (No. 25), I 
 should judge to be of English origin from the names War- 
 drtwe. and Mdrede, &c., vol. iii. p. 194, 195. As is also Eger 
 and Grime (No. 12), wherein a knight is named Sir Gray 
 
NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY. 
 
 xlix 
 
 to have afforded versions into that language ; 
 a sufficient proof of that intercommunity 
 betw^een the Trench and English Minstrels, 
 which hath been mentioned in a preceding 
 page. Even the abundance of such transla- 
 tions 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, Histrlo, 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 (entered under the general 
 name of Minstrels) should consist of instru- 
 mental 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 ;"t 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 is called Loosipadne, 
 or Lose-pain : these surely are not derived from France. 
 
 * See the romance of "Sir Isenbras" (vol. iii. No. 14, p 
 194), sign. a. 
 
 Harpers loved him in Hall 
 With other Minstrels all. 
 
 t 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 
 contrey ;" which I can scarce imagine to have been appli- 
 cable to Wales at that time. Nor can I agree with him in 
 the representation he has given (p,. 367), concerning the 
 Cymmorth or meeting, wherein the Bards exerted their 
 powers to excite their countrymen to war ; as if it were by 
 a deduction of the particulars he enumerates, and as it 
 should seem in the way of harangue, &c. After which, 
 
 " the band of Minstrels struck up; the harp, the 
 
 crwtli, and the pipe filled the measures of enthusiasm, 
 which the others had begun to inspire." Whereas it is 
 well known, that the Bard chanted his enthusiastic effu- 
 sions 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 Min- 
 strels 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 ap- 
 pears in the following extract from Putten- 
 ham's " Arte of English Poesie," p. 9, who, 
 speaking of the first composers 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 fol- 
 lowing description of Minstrelsy given by 
 John Lidgate at the beginning of the 15th 
 century, as it shows what a variety of enter- 
 tainments were then comprehended under 
 this term, together with every kind of instru- 
 mental music then in use : 
 
 — " Al maner Mynstralcye, 
 That any man kan specifye. 
 Ffor there were Rotys of Almayne 
 And eke of Arragon, and Spayne : 
 Songes, Stampes, and eke Daunces ; 
 Divers plente of plesaunces : 
 And many unkouth notys new 
 Of swiche folke as lovid treue.f 
 And instrumentys that did excelle, 
 Many moo than I kan telle. 
 Harpys, Fythales, and eke Rotys 
 Well according to her [i. e. their] notys, 
 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 ordinarie rimers use very much their measures 
 in the odde, as nine and eleven, and the sharpe accent tipon 
 the last sillable, which therefore makes him go ill favouredly 
 and like a Minstrels musicke." (Puttenham's Arte of Eng. 
 Poesie, 1589, p. 59.) This must mean his vocal music, 
 otherwise it appears not applicable to the subject. 
 
 t 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. 
 
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 Arch8eol(\gia, 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 Archseologia, No. xxxiv. p. 310. 
 
 And in consequence of similar objections respecting the English Minstrels after the Con- 
 quest, 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. 
 
^eltpes 
 
 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 beeing so evill apparelled in the dust cobweb of that uncivill 
 age, what would it work, trimmed in the gorgeous eloquence of Pindare I" 
 
 Sir Philip Sydney's Defence of Poetry. 
 
 SERIES THE FIRST. 
 BOOK I. 
 
 I. 
 
 % ^mmt §alteb 0f C^cbii-Cljast 
 
 The fine heroic song of Chevy-Chase has 
 ever 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 subjoined the name of the author, 
 Ry chard 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 Mongumrye mette,t 
 That day, that day, that gen til day :§ 
 
 which, though not quite the same as they 
 stand in the ballad, yet difi'er not more than 
 might be owing to the author's quoting from 
 
 * Subscribed, after the usual manner of our old poets, 
 EXPUCETH [explicit] quoth Rtchard Sheale. 
 
 f 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 hare been printed in 
 1540. See Ames. 
 
 t See Pt. 2, T. 23. § See Pt 1, v. 104. 
 
 (51). 
 
52 
 
 THE ANCIENT BAiXAD OF CHEVY CHASE. 
 
 memory. Indeed, whoever considers the style 
 and orthography of this old poem will not be 
 inclined to place it lower than the time of 
 Henry VI. : as on the other hand the mention 
 of James the Scottish King,"^ with one or two 
 anachronisms, forbids us to assign it an earlier 
 date. King James I. who was prisoner in 
 this kingdom at the death of his father,! did 
 not wear the crown of Scotland till the second 
 year of our Henry VI., J but before the end of 
 that long reign a third James had mounted 
 the throne.^ A succession of two or three 
 Jameses, and the long detention of one of them 
 in England, would render the name familiar 
 to the English, and dispose a poet in those 
 rude times to give it to any Scottish king he 
 happened to mention. 
 
 So much for the date of this old ballad : 
 with regard to its subject, although it has no 
 countenance from history, there is room to 
 think it had originally some foundation in 
 fact. It was one of the Laws of the Marches 
 frequently renewed between the two nations, 
 that neither party should hunt in the other's 
 borders, without leave from the proprietors or 
 their deputies. |1 There had long been a rival- 
 ship between the two martial families of Percy 
 and Douglas, which, heightened by the na- 
 tional quarrel, must have produced frequent 
 challenges and struggles for superiority, petty 
 invasions of their respective domains, and 
 sharp contests for the point of honour ; which 
 would not always be recorded in history. 
 Something of this kind, we may suppose, gave 
 rise to the ancient ballad of the Hunting a' 
 the Chevait.^ Percy Earl of Northumberland 
 had vowed to hunt for three days in the Scot- 
 tish border, without condescending to ask 
 leave from Earl Douglas, who was either lord 
 of the soil, or lord warden of the marches. 
 Douglas would not fail to resent the insult, 
 and endeavour to repel the intruders by force : 
 
 * Pt. 2, V. 36, 140. 
 
 t Who died Aug. 5, 1406, in the 7th year of our Hen. IV. 
 
 % James I. was crowned May 22, 1424; murdered Feb. 21, 
 1406-7.(?) 
 
 g In 1430. — Henry VI. was deposed 1461 ; restored and 
 slain, 1471. 
 
 II Item Concordatum est, quod nullus unius partis 
 
 vel altering ingrediatur terras, boschas, forrestas, warrenas, 
 loca, dominia qusecunque alicujus partis alterius subditi, 
 causa venandi, piscandi, aucupandi, disportum aut solati- 
 um in eisdem, aliave qusecimque de causa, absque licentia 
 
 ejus — ad quem loca pertinent, aut de deputatis 
 
 suis prius capt. & obtent. Vid. Bp. Nicolson's Leges Marchi- 
 arum, 1705, 8to., pp. 27, 51. 
 
 ^ This was the original title. See the ballad, Pt. 1, v. 106, 
 Pt. 2, y. 165. 
 
 this would naturally produce a sharp conJ9.ict 
 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,* a 
 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 subjects together: if in- 
 deed the lines,! ^^ which this mistake is made, 
 are not rather spurious, and the after-insertion 
 of some person, who did not distinguish be- 
 tween the two stories. 
 
 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. 29, 34, 61, 70, et 
 passim. 
 
 THE FIRST FIT. I 
 
 The Persfe owt of Northombarlande, 
 
 And a vowe to God mayd he, 
 That he wolde hunte in the mountayns 
 
 Off Chyviat within dayes thre, 
 In the manger of doughty Dogles, 5 
 
 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 dougheti Doglas agayn, 
 
 I wyll let that hontyng yf that I may. 10 
 
 Then the Pers^ owt of Banborowe cam, 
 
 "With him a myghtye meany ; 
 With fifteen hondrith archares' bold ; 
 
 The wear chosen out of shyars thre,§ 
 
 V. 5, magger in Hearne's P. C. [Printed Copy]. V. 11, 
 The the Perse, P. 0. V. 13, archardes bolde off blood and 
 bone, P. C. 
 
 * See the next ballad, 
 
 t Vid. Pt. 2, V. 167. 
 
 % Fit, see ver. 100. 
 
 g 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 IslandsJiire, being the district so named from Holy- 
 Island : Norehamshire, so called from the town and castle 
 of Noreham (or Norham) : and Baniboroughshire, the ward 
 or hundred belonging to Bamborough-castle and town. 
 
THE ANCIENT BALLAD OF CHEVY CHASE. 
 
 53 
 
 This begane on a Monday at morn 15 
 
 In Cheviat the hillys so he ; 
 The chyld may rue that ys un-born, 
 
 It was the mor pittfe. 
 
 The dryvars thorowe the woodes went 
 
 For to reas the dear ; 20 
 
 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 25 
 
 For to kyll thear dear. 
 
 The begane in Chyviat the hyls above 
 
 Yerly on a monnyn day ; 
 Be that it drewe to the oware off none 
 
 A hondrith fat hartes ded ther lay. 
 
 30 
 
 35 
 
 The blewe a mort uppone the bent, 
 The semblyd on sydis shear ; 
 
 To the quyrry then the Pers^ went 
 To se the bryttlynge of the deare. 
 
 He sayd, It was the Duglas promys 
 This day to meet me hear ; 
 
 But I wyste he wold faylle verament 
 A gret oth the Pers^ swear. 
 
 At the laste a squyar of Northombelonde 
 Lokyde at his hand full ny, .40 
 
 He was war ath the doughetie Doglas com- 
 ynge: 
 With him a mighte meany. 
 
 Both with spear, ' byll,' and brande : 
 Yt was a myghti sight to se, 
 
 Hardyar men both off hart nar hande 
 Were not in Christiantfe. 
 
 45 
 
 The wear twenty hondrith spear-men good 
 
 Withouten any fayle ; 
 The wear borne a-long be the watter a Twyde, 
 
 Yth bowndes of Tividale. 50 
 
 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 dougheti Dogglas on a stede 
 He rode att his men beforne : 
 
 55 
 
 V. 19, throrowe, P. C. V. 31, blwe a mot, P. C. V, 42, 
 myghtte, P. C, passim, V. 43, bryUy, P. C. V. 48, withowte 
 feale, P. C. V. 62, boys, P. C. V. 54, ned, P. C. 
 
 His armor glytteryde 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 youe leave to hunte in this 
 
 Chyviat ehays in the spyt of me ? 
 
 60 
 
 The first mane thatever him an answearmayd, 
 
 Yt was the good lord Pers6 : 
 We wyll not tell the * what' men we ar, he 
 says, 65 
 
 Nor whos men that we 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. 70 
 
 Be my troth, sayd the doughty Dogglas agayn, 
 
 Ther-for the ton of us shall de this day. 
 
 Then sayd the doughty Doglas 
 
 Unto the lord Persfe : 
 To kyll all thes giltless men, 75 
 
 A-las ! it wear great pittfe. 
 
 But, Pers^, 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 the and of me. 80 
 
 Now Cristes cors on his crowne, sayd the lord 
 Perse, 
 
 Who-soever ther-to says nay. 
 Be my troth, doughtfe Doglas, he says, 
 
 Thow shait never se that day ; 
 
 Netharin Ynglonde, Skottlonde, narFrance,85 
 Nor for no man of a woman born. 
 
 But and fortune be my chance, 
 I dar met him on man for on. 
 
 Then bespayke a squyar off Northombarlonde, 
 
 Ric. Wytharynton^ was him nam ; 90 
 
 It shall never be told in Sothe-Ynglonde, he 
 
 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 the. P. C. V. 88, on, i. e. one. 
 
 * This is probably corrupted in the MS. for Rog Wid- 
 drington, who was at the head of the family in the reign 
 of K. Edw. III. There were several succepsively of the 
 names of Roger and Ralph, but none of the name of 
 Richard, as appears from the genealogies in the Herald's 
 
54 
 
 THE ANCIENT BALLAD OF CHEVY CHASE. 
 
 I wat youe byn great lordes twaw, 
 
 I am a poor squyar of lande ; 
 I will never se my captayne fyght on a 
 fylde, 95 
 
 And 8tande my-selffe, and looke on, 
 But whyll I may my weppone welde, 
 
 I wyll not ' fayF both harte and hande. 
 
 That day, that day, that dredfuU day : 
 
 The first fit * here I fynde. 100 
 
 And youe wyll here any more athe hountyng 
 athe Chyviat, 
 Yet ys ther mor behynde. 
 
 THE SECOND FIT. 
 
 The Yngglishe men hade ther bowys yebent, 
 Ther hartes were good yenoughe ; 
 
 The first of arros that the shote off, 
 Seven skore spear-men the sloughe. 
 
 Yet bydys the yerle Doglas uppon the bent, 5 
 
 A captayne good yenoughe, 
 And that was sene verament, 
 
 For he wrought hom both woo and wouche. 
 
 The Dogglas pertyd his ost in thre, 
 
 Lyk a cheffe cheften off pryde, 10 
 
 With suar speares off myghtt^ tre 
 The cum in on every syde. 
 
 Thrughe our Yngglishe archery 
 Gave many a wounde full wyde ; 
 
 Many a doughete the garde to dy, 15 
 
 Which ganyde them no pryde. 
 
 The Yngglyshe men let thear bowys be, 
 And pulde owt brandees that wer bright ; 
 
 It was a hevy syght to se 
 
 Bryght swordes on basnites lyght. 20 
 
 Thorowe ryche male, and myne-ye-ple 
 Many sterne the stroke downe streight : 
 
 Many a freyke, that was full free, 
 That undar foot dyd lyght. 
 
 At last the Duglas and the Pers^ met, 25 
 Lyk to captayns of myght and mayne ; 
 
 The swapte together tyll the both swat 
 With swordes, that wear of fyn myll^n. 
 
 V. 3. 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, 
 P.O. V. 26, to, i. e. two. Ibid, and of P. C. 
 
 * Fit, vid. Gloss. 
 
 Thes worths freckys for to fyght 
 
 Ther-to the wear full fayne, 30 
 
 Tyll the bloode owte off their basnetes sprente, 
 
 As ever dyd heal or rayne. 
 
 Holde the. Perse, sayd the Doglas, 
 And i' feth I shall the brynge 
 
 Wher thowe shalte have a yerls wagis 
 Of Jamy our Scottish kynge. 
 
 35 
 
 Thoue 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 Persfe, 
 
 I tolde it the befome, 
 That I wolde never yeldyde be 
 
 To no man of a woman born. 
 
 With that ther cam an arrowe hastely 45 
 
 Forthe off a mightie wane,* 
 Hit hathe strekene the yerle Duglas 
 
 In at the brest bane. 
 
 Thoroue lyvar and longs bathe 
 
 The sharp arrowe ys gane, 50 
 
 That never after in all his lyffe days. 
 
 He spayke mo wordes but ane, 
 That was,t Fyghte ye, my merry men, whyllys 
 ye may, 
 
 For my lyff days ben gan. 
 
 The Persfe leanyde on his brande, 65 
 
 And sawe the Duglas de ; 
 He tooke the dede 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 countrfe. 
 
 Off all that se a Skottishe knyght, 
 
 Was callyd Sir Hewe the Mongon-byrry, 
 
 He sawe the Duglas to the deth was dyght ; 65 
 He spendyd a spear a trusti tre : 
 
 V. 32, ran, P. C. V. 33, helde, P. C. V. 49, thorowe, P, C. 
 
 * Wane, i. e. ane, one, se. man, an arrow came from a 
 mighty one ; from a mighty man. 
 t This eeems to have been a Gloss, added. 
 
THE ANCIENT BALLAD OF CHEVY CHASE. 
 
 55 
 
 He rod uppon a corsiare 
 
 Throughe a hondrith archery : 
 
 He never styntyde, nar never blane, 
 Tyll he cam to the good lord Persfe. 
 
 70 
 
 He set uppone the lord Pers^ 
 
 A dynte that vv^as full soare ; 
 With a suar spear of a myght^ tre 
 
 Clean thorow the body he the Pers^ bore, 
 
 Athe tothar syde, that a man myght se, 75 
 
 A large cloth yard and mare : 
 Towe bettar captayns wear nat in Christiant^, 
 
 Then that day slain v^^ear ther. 
 
 An archar off Northomberlonde 
 Say slean was the lord Persfe, 
 
 He bar a bende-bow in his hande, 
 AVas made off trusti tre : 
 
 80 
 
 An arow, that a cloth yarde was lang, 
 
 To th' hard stele haylde he ; 
 A dynt, that was both sad and sore, 85 
 
 He sat on Sir Hewe the Mongon-byrry. 
 
 The dynt yt was both sad and ear, 
 That he of Mongon-byrry sete ; 
 
 The swane-fethars, that his arrowe bar, 
 With his hart blood the wear wete.* 90 
 
 Ther was never a freake wone foot wolde fle, 
 
 But still in stour dyd stand, 
 Heawying on yche othar, whyll the myght 
 dre, 
 
 With many a bal-ful brande. 
 
 This battell begane in Chyviat 95 
 
 An owar befor the none, 
 And when even song bell was rang 
 
 The battell was nat half done. 
 
 The tooke ' on' on ethar hand 
 
 Be the lyght off the mone ; 100 
 
 Many hade no strenght for to stande, 
 
 In Chyviat the hylWs aboun. 
 
 Of fifteen hondrith archars of Ynglonde 
 
 Went away but fifti and thre ; 
 Of twenty hondrith spear-men of Skot- 
 londe, 105 
 
 But even five and fifti : 
 
 V. 74, ber, 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 Otterboum ; 
 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 hie ; 
 The chylde may rue that ys un-borne, 
 
 It was the mor pitt^. 1X0 
 
 Thear was slayne with the lord Persfe 
 
 Sir John of Agerstone, 
 Sir Roge the hinde Hartly, 
 
 Sir Wyllyam the bolde Hearone. 
 
 Sir Jorg the worthe Lovele 115 
 
 A knyght of great renowen, 
 Sir Raff the rych Rugb^ 
 
 With dyntes wear beaten dowene. 
 
 For Wetharryngton my harte was wo, 
 That ever he slayne shulde be ; 120 
 
 For when both his leggis 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 Davye Lwdale, that worths was, 125 
 
 His sistars son was he : 
 
 Sir Charles a Murrfe, in that place, 
 
 That never a foot wolde fle ; 
 Sir Hewe Maxwell, a lorde he was, 
 
 With the Duglas dyd he dey. 130 
 
 So on the morrowe the mayde them byears 
 Off byrch, and hasell so * gray' ; 
 
 Many wedous with wepyng tears* 
 Cam to fach ther makys a-way. 
 
 Tivydale may carpe off care, 135 
 
 Northombarlond may mayk 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, strange by, P. C. V. 115, loule, 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. 
 
 For the names in this page, see the Remarks at the end 
 of the next Ballad. 
 
 * A common pleonasm, see the next poem, Fit 2d, v. 
 166. So Harding, in his Chronicle, chap. 140, fol. 148, d(»- 
 scribing the death of Richard I. says, 
 
 He shrove him then unto Abbots thr© 
 With great sobbyng and wepyng teares. 
 
 So likewise Cavendish in his Life of Cardinal Wolpey, 
 chap. 12, p. 31, 4to. " When the duke heard thiB, he re- 
 plied with weeping teares," 4o. 
 
His handdes did he weal and wryng, 
 He sayd, Alas, and woe ys me ! 
 
 Such another captayn Skotland within, 
 He sayd, y-feth shud never be. 
 
 145 
 
 Worde ys commyn to lovly Londone 
 Till the fourth Harry our kyng, 
 
 That lord Perse, leyff-tennante of the Merchis, 
 He lay slayne Chyviat within. 150 
 
 God have merci on his soil, sayd kyng Harry, 
 
 Good lord, yf thy will it be ! 
 I have a hondrith captayns in Ynglonde, he 
 
 155 
 
 As good as ever was hee : 
 But Pers^, 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 Pers^, 
 
 He dyd the battel of Hombyll-down : 160 
 
 Wher syx and thritte Skottish knyghtes 
 
 On a day wear beaten down : 
 Glendale glytteryde on ther armor bryght, 
 
 Over castill, towar, and town. 
 
 This was the hontynge off the Cheviat ; 165 
 
 That tear begane this spurn : 
 Old men that knowen the grownde well 
 yenoughe, 
 
 Call it the Battell of Otterburn. 
 
 At Otterburn began this spurne 
 
 Uppon a monnyn day : 
 Ther was the doltgfhtfe Doglas slean, 
 
 The Persfe never went away. 
 
 170 
 
 Ther was never a tym on the march partes 
 Sen the Doglas and the Persfe met, 
 
 But yt was marvele, and the redde blude 
 ronne not, 175 
 
 As the reane doys in the stret. 
 
 Jhesue Christ our balys bete, 
 
 And to the blys us brynge ! 
 Thus was the hountynge of the Chevyat : 
 
 God send us all good ending ! 180 
 
 ^■^"^ 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 Hot- 
 spur, gained a complete victory over the 
 Scots. The village of Humbledon is one 
 mile north-west from Wooler, in Northum- 
 berland. The battle was fought in the field 
 below the village, near the present turnpike 
 road, in a spot called ever since Red-Biggs. 
 — Humbleton is in Glendale Ward, a dis- 
 trict so named in this county, and mentioned 
 above in ver. 163. 
 
 II. 
 
 %\t iattle 0f iltekTOt 
 
 The only battle, wherein an Earl of Douglas 
 was slain fighting with a Percy, was that of 
 Otterbourn, which is the subject of this bal- 
 lad. 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. Luck- 
 ily we have a very circumstantial narrative of 
 the whole affair from Froissart, a French 
 historian, who appears to be unbiassed. 
 
 V. 146, ye seth, P. C. V. 149, cheyfif tennante, P. C. 
 
 Froissart's relation is prolix ; I shall there- 
 fore 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 abou't 
 Carlisle, and carried off three hundred pri- 
 soners. It was with a much greater force, 
 headed by some of the principal nobility, 
 
THE ANCIENT BALLAD OF THE BATTLE OF OTTERBOURNE. 
 
 57 
 
 that, in the beginning of August,* they in- 
 vaded Northumberland ; and, having wasted 
 part of the county of Durham,f advanced to 
 the gates of Newcastle ; where, in a skirmish, 
 they took a 'penon' or coloursj belonging to 
 Henry Lord Percy, surnamed Hotspur, son 
 to the Earl of Northumberland. In their re- 
 treat 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 Murrey 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 re- 
 mained 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 
 more than 40,000 men) as entering England at the same 
 time ; but the greater part by way of Carlisle. 
 
 t And, according to the ballad, that part of Northum- 
 berland called Bamboroughshire ; a large tract of land so 
 named from the town and castle of Bamborough, formerly 
 the residence of the Northumberland Kings. 
 
 X This circumstance is omitted in the ballad. Hotspur 
 and Douglas were two young warriors much of the same 
 age. 
 
 g Froissart says the linglish exceeded the Scots in ntnn- 
 ber three to one, but that these had the advantage of the 
 ground, and were also fresh from sleep, while the English 
 were greatly fatigued with their previous march. 
 
 II 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. 
 
 1[ Hotspur (after a very sharp conflict) was taken prison- 
 er 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 
 Hotspur, according to this ballad. 
 
 ** Froissart (according to the Eng. Translation) says he 
 had his account from two squires of England, and from a 
 knight and squire of Scotland, soon after the battle. 
 
 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 cir- 
 circumstantial account carries a great appear- 
 ance of truth, and he gives the victory to the 
 Scots. He however does justice to the cour- 
 age of both parties ; and represents their mu- 
 tual 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 partye, are good men of 
 warre, for whan they mete, there is a hard 
 fighte without sparynge. - There is no hoo* 
 betwene them as long as speares, swordes, 
 axes, or dager wyll endure ; but lay on eche 
 upon other : and whan they be well beaten, 
 and that the one party hath obtayned the vic- 
 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 felde ;t so that shortely eche of 
 them is so contente icith other, that at their de- 
 partynge curtoysly they loill saye, God thanJce 
 you. But in fyghtynge one with another 
 there is no playe, nor sparynge." Froissart's 
 Cronycle (as translated by Sir Johan Bour- 
 chier Lord Berners), cap. cxlij. 
 
 The following Ballad is (in this present 
 edition) printed from an old MS. in the Cot- 
 ton Library J (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 bat- 
 tele of Otterburne, between e Lord Henry 
 Percye, Earle of Northomberlande, and the 
 Earle Douglas of Scotlande, Anno 1388." 
 
 * So in Langham's letter concerning Q. Elizabeth's en- 
 tertainment at Killingworth castle, 1575, 12mo. p. 61 
 " Heer was no ho in devout drynkyng." 
 
 t i. e. They scorn to take the advantage, or to keep them 
 lingering in long captivity. 
 
 X The notice of this MS. I must acknowledge with many 
 other obligations, owing to the friendship of Thomas Tyr- 
 whitt, Esq., late Clerk of the House of Commons. 
 
58 
 
 THE ANCIENT BALLAD OF THE BATTLE OF OTTERBOURNE. 
 
 But this title is erroneous, and added by 
 
 some ignorant transcriber of after-times ; for, 
 
 1. The battle was not fought by the Earl of 
 Northumberland, who was absent, but by his 
 son Sir Henry Percy, Knt. surnamed Hot- 
 spur, (in those times they did not usually 
 give the title of lord to an earl's eldest son.) 
 
 2. Although the battle was fought in Richard 
 II/s time, the song is evidently of later date, 
 as appears from the poet's quoting the chron- 
 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 early as the 
 foregoing song, if not earlier. This perhaps 
 may be inferred from the minute circum- 
 stances with which the story is related, many 
 of which are recorded in no chronicle, and 
 were probably preserved in the memory of 
 old people. It will be observed that the 
 authors of these two poems have some lines 
 in common ; but which of them was the 
 original proprietor must depend upon their 
 priority ; and this the sagacity of the reader 
 must determine. 
 
 Yt felle abowght the Lamasse tyde, 
 When husbonds wynn ther haye. 
 
 The dowhtye Dowglass bowynd, bym to ryde. 
 In Ynglond to take a praye ; 
 
 The yerlle of Fyffe,* withowghten stryffe, 5 
 He bowynd hym over Sulway :f 
 
 The grete wold ever together ryde ; 
 That race they may rue for aye. 
 
 Over ' Ottercap' hyll theyj came in, 
 And so dowyn by Rodelyffecragge, 
 
 10 
 
 V. 2, Winn their heaye, Harl. MS. This is the North- 
 xtmberland phrase to this day: by which they always 
 express " getting in their hay." 
 
 * Robert Stewart, second son of King Robert II. 
 
 ■j- i. e. " over Solway frith." This evidently refers to the 
 other division of the Scottish army, which came in by 
 
 way of Carlisle. Bowynd, or Bounde him : i. e. hied 
 
 him. Vid. Gloss. 
 
 % They : ac. 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. Rodeliflfe- (or, as it is 
 more usually pronounced, Rodeley-) Cragge is a noted cliff 
 near Rodeley, a small village in the parish of Hartburn, in 
 Morpeth-ward : it lies south-east of Ottercap, and has, 
 within these few years, been distinguished by a small tower 
 erected by Sir Walter Blacket, Bart., which, in Armstrong's 
 map of Northumberland, is pompously called Rodeley- 
 castle. Green Leyton is another small village in the same 
 
 parish of Hartburn, and is south-east of Rodeley. Both 
 
 the original MSS. read here corruptly, Hoppertop and 
 Lynton. 
 
 Upon Grene ' Leyton' they lighted dowyn, 
 Styrande many a stagge ; 
 
 And boldely brent Northomberlonde, 
 
 And haryed many a towyn ; 
 They dyd owr Ynglyssh men grete vn*ange, 
 
 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 haryed all Bamboroweshyre, 
 All the welth in the worlde have wee ; 
 
 I rede we ryde to Newe Castell, 
 So styll and stalwurthlye. 
 
 Uppon the morowe, when it was daye, 25 
 The standards schone fulle bryght ; 
 
 To the Newe Castelle the toke the waye, 
 And thether they cam fulle ryght. 
 
 Sir Henry Percy laye at the Newe Castelle, 
 I telle yow withowtten drede ; 30 
 
 He had byn a march-man* all hys dayes, 
 And kepte Barwyke upon Twede. 
 
 To the Newe Castell when they cam, 
 The Skottes they cryde on hyght, 
 
 Syr Harye Percy, and thow byste within, 35 
 Com to the fylde, and fyght : 
 
 For we have brente Northomberlonde, 
 
 Thy eritage good and ryght ; 
 And syne my logeyng I have take, 
 
 With my brande dubbyd many a knyght. 
 
 Sir Harry Percy cam to the walles, 41 
 
 The Skottyssh oste for to se ; 
 " And thow hast brente Northomberlond, 
 
 FuU 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.'' 
 
 V. 12, This line is corrupt in both the MSS. viz., « Many 
 a styrande stage." — Stags have been killed within the pre- 
 sent century on some of the large wastes in Northumber- 
 land, y. 39, syne seems here to mean since. 
 
 * Marche-man, i. e. a scowrer of the marches. 
 
THE ANCIENT BALLAD OF THE BATTLE OF OTTERBOURNE. 
 
 59 
 
 Where schall I byde the ? sayd the Dowglas, 
 Or where wylte thow come to me ? 50 
 
 "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 fesaunt both, 
 Amonge on the holtes on ' hee/ 
 
 55 
 
 Ther maist thow have thy welth at wyll, 
 
 Well looged ther maist be. 
 Yt schall not be long, or I com the tyll," 
 
 Sayd Syr Harry Percy e. 60 
 
 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, 65 
 
 For soth, as I yow saye : 
 Ther he mayd the Douglas drynke, 
 
 And all hys oste that daye. 
 
 The Dowglas txirnyd hym homewarde agayne. 
 For soth withowghten naye, 70 
 
 He tooke his logeyng at Oterborne 
 Uppon a Wedyns-day : 
 
 And there he pyght hys stand erd dowyn, 
 
 Hys gettyng more and lesse, 
 And syne he warned hys men to goo 75 
 
 To chose ther geldyngs gresse. 
 
 A Skottysshe knyght hoved upon the bent, 
 
 A wache I dare well saye : 
 So was he ware on the noble Percy 
 
 In the dawnynge of the daye. 80 
 
 He prycked to his pavyleon dore. 
 
 As faste as he myght ronne, 
 Awaken, Dowglas, cryed the knyght. 
 
 For hys love, that syttes yn trone. 
 
 Awaken, Dowglas, cryed the knyght, 85 
 
 For thow maiste waken wyth wynne ; 
 
 Yender have I spyed the prowde Percy, 
 And seven standardes wyth hym. 
 
 V. 53, Roe-bucks were to be found upon the wastes not 
 
 £ar from Hexham, in the reign of Geo. I. Whitfield, 
 
 Esq., of Whitfield, is said to have destroyed the last of them. 
 V. 56, hye, MSS. V. 77, upon the best bent, MS. 
 
 * Otterbourn is near the old Waiting-street road, in the 
 parish of Elsdon. The Scots were encamped in a grassy 
 plain near the river Read. The place where the Scots and 
 English fought is still called Battle Rigs. 
 
 Nay by my trowth, the Douglas sayed, 
 
 It ys but a fayned taylle : 
 He durste not loke on my bred banner, 
 
 For all Ynglonde so haylle. 
 
 90 
 
 Was I not yester daye at the Newe Castell, 
 
 That stonds so fayre on Tyne ? 
 For all'the men the Percy hade, 95 
 
 He cowde not garre me ones to dyne. 
 
 He stepped owt at hys pavelyon dore, 
 
 To loke and it were lesse ; 
 Araye yow, lordyngs, one and all. 
 
 For here bygynnes no peysse 100 
 
 The yerle of Mentayne,* thow art my erne. 
 
 The forwarde I gyve to the : 
 The yerlle of Huntlay cawte and kene, 
 
 He schall wyth the be. 
 
 The lorde of Bowghanf in armure bryght 105 
 On the other hand 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. 
 
 110 
 
 A FYTTE. 
 
 The Perssy came byfore hys oste, 
 Wych was ever a gentyll knyght, 
 
 Upon the Dowglas lowde can he crye, 
 I wyll holde that I have hyght : 
 
 For thow haste brente Northumberlonde, 5 
 
 And done me grete envye ; 
 For thys trespasse thou hast me done, 
 
 The tone of us schall dye. 
 
 The Dowglas answerde hym agayne 
 
 With grete wurds up on ' hee,' 10 
 
 And sayd, I have twenty agaynst ' thy' onej 
 Byholde and thow maiste see. 
 
 Wyth that the Percye was grevyd sore. 
 For sothe as I yow saye : 
 
 V. 1, 13, Pearcy, al. MS. V. 4, I will hold to what I have 
 promised. V. 10, hye, MSS. V. 11, the one, MS. 
 
 * The Earl of Mentelth. f The Lord Buchan. 
 
 X He probably magnifies his strength to induce him to 
 surrender. 
 
60 
 
 THE ANCIENT BALLAD OF THE BATTLE OF OTTERBOUKNE. 
 
 [* He lyghted dowyn upon his fote, 
 And schoote his horsse clene away. 
 
 15 
 
 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. 20 
 
 Thus Syr Hary Percye 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 ; 25 
 
 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, 30 
 
 ' 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 35 
 
 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. 40 
 
 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 te-owth ys plight to yonne Skottysh 
 knyght, 45 
 
 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 grownde 
 
 For soth unfoughten awaye, 50 
 
 He wolde me call but a kowarde knyght 
 In hys ionde another daye. 
 
 Yet had I lever to be rynde and rente, 
 
 By Mary that mykel maye ; 
 Then evermy manhood schulde be reprovyd 55 
 
 Wyth a Skotte another daye. 
 
 * All that follows, included in brackets, was not in the 
 first edition. 
 
 Wherefore schote, archars, for my sake, 
 
 And let scharpe arowes flee : 
 Mynstrells, play up for your waryson, 
 
 And well quyt it schall be. 60 
 
 Every man thynke on hys trewe love, 
 And marke hym to the Trenite : 
 
 For to God I make myne avowe 
 Thys day wyll I not fle. 
 
 The blodye harte in the Dowglas armes, 65 
 
 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 Cress awnts both : 
 
 The Skotts faught them agayne."^] 
 
 70 
 
 Uppon sent Andrewe lowde cane they crye. 
 And thrysse they schowte on hyght, 
 
 And syne marked them one owr Ynglysshe 
 men, 75 
 
 As I have told yow ryght. 
 
 Sent George the bryght owr ladies knyght, 
 
 To name theyf were full fayne, 
 Owr Ynglysshe men they cryde on hyght, 
 
 And thrysse the schowtte agayne. 80 
 
 Wyth that scharpe arowes bygan to flee, 
 
 I tell yow in sertayne ; 
 Men of armes byganne to joyne ; 
 
 Many a dowghty man was ther slayne. 
 
 The Percy and the Dowglas mette, 85 
 
 That ether of other was fayne : 
 They schapped together, why 11 that the swette, 
 
 With swords of fyne CoUayne ; 
 
 Tyll the bloode from ther bassonnetts ramie, 
 x^s the roke doth in the rayne. 90 
 
 Yelde the to me, sayd the Dowgl5,s, 
 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 famUy, 
 one of their ancient Badges or Cognizances was a white Lyon 
 Statant, and the Silver Orescent continues to be used by 
 them to this day : they also give three Luces Arge^vt for one 
 of their quarters. 
 
 t i. e. The English. 
 
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, 95 
 
 Thow art an yerle, or ells a knyght. - 
 
 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 
 
 They swapped together, whyll that they swette, 
 Wyth swordes scharpe and long ; 
 
 Ych on other so faste they beette, 
 
 Tyll ther helmes cam in peyses dowyn. 
 
 The Percy was a man of strenghth, 105 
 
 I tell yow in thys stounde, 
 He smote the Dowglaa at the swordes length. 
 
 That he felle to the growynde. 
 
 The sworde was scharpe and sore can byte, 
 I tell yow in sertayne; 110 
 
 To the harte, he cowde hym smyte, 
 Thus was the Dowglas slayne. 
 
 The stonderds stode styll on eke syde. 
 
 With many a grevous 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 styffly in stowre can stond, 
 
 Ychone hewyng on other whyll they myght 
 drye, 
 Wyth many a bayllefuU bronde. 120 
 
 Ther was slayne upon the Skottes syde. 
 
 For soth and sertenly, 
 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.f 
 
 125 
 
 V. 116, slayne, MSS. V. 124, i. e. He died that day. 
 
 * Being all in armour he could not know him. 
 
 t Our old minstrel repeats these names, as Homer and 
 Virgil do those of their heroes : 
 
 " — fortemque Gyam. fortemqne Cloanthum, &c., &c. 
 
 Both the MSS. read here, " Sir James," but see ahove, 
 pt. I. ver. 112. 
 
 Syr Charlies 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 forty 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 ther hartes were sore, 
 The gentyll ' Lovelle' ther was slayne, 
 
 That the Perceyes standerd bore. 
 
 Ther was slayne uppon the Ynglyssh perte. 
 For soth as I yow saye : 146 
 
 Of nyne thowsand Ynglyssh men 
 Fyve hondert cam awaye : 
 
 The other were slayne in the fylde, 
 Cryste kepe their sowles from wo, 
 
 Seying ther was so few fryndes 
 Agaynst so many a foo. 
 
 150 
 
 Then one the morne they mayd them beeres 
 
 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 Scottyshe prisoner tayne, 
 Syr Hughe Mongomery was hys name. 
 
 For soth as. I yow saye. 
 
 He borowed the Percy home agayne.f 
 
 v. 143, Covelle, MS. — For the names in this page see the 
 Remarks at the end of this ballad. V. 153, one, i. e. on. 
 
 * sc. Captive. 
 
 t In the Cotton MS. is the following note on ver, 164, in 
 an ancient hand : 
 
 " Syr Hewe Mongomery takyn prizonar, was delyvered 
 for the restorynge of Perssy." 
 
62 
 
 THE ANCIENT BALLAD OF THE BATTLE OF OTTERBOURNE. 
 
 Now let us all for the Percy praye 1G5 
 
 To Jesu most of myght, 
 To bryng his sowle to the blysse of heven, 
 
 For he was a gentyll 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 for many centuries, and 
 etill remains. Thomas Haggerston 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 Tinemouth, 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. Haddeston, the 
 Caput Baronice 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, Lovele.] Joh. de Lavale, miles, 
 was sheriff of Northumberland, 34 Hen. VII. 
 Joh. de Lavale, mil., in the 1 Edw. VI. and 
 
 V. 165, Percyes, Harl. MS. 
 
 afterwards. (Fuller, 313.) In Nicholson 
 this name is spelt Da Lovel, p. 305. This 
 ^eems to be the ancient family of Delavel, of 
 Seaton Delavel, in Northumberland, whose 
 ancestor was one of the twenty-five barons 
 appointed to be guardians of Magna Charta. 
 
 Ver. 117, Rugbe.] The ancient family of 
 Rokeby, in Yorkshire, seems to be here in- 
 tended. In Thoresby's Ducat. I eod. p, 253. 
 fol. is a genealogy of this house, by which it 
 appears that the head of the family, about 
 the tiijie when this ballad was written, was 
 Sir Ralph Rokeby, Knt. Ralph being a com- 
 mon name of the Rokeby s. 
 
 Ver. 119, Wetharrington.] Rog. de Wid- 
 rington was sheriff of Northumberland in 36 
 of Edw. III. (Fuller, p. 311.) Joh. de Wid- 
 rington in 11 of Hen. IV., and many others 
 of the same name afterwards. See also 
 Nicholson, p. 331. Of this family was the 
 late Lord Witherington. 
 
 Ver. 124, Mongon-byrry.] Sir Hugh Mont- 
 gomery was son of John Lord Montgomery, 
 the lineal ancestor of the present Earl of Eg- 
 linton. 
 
 Ver. 125, Lwdale.] Theancientfamilyofthe 
 Liddels were originally from Scotland, where 
 they were Lords of Liddell Castle, and of the 
 barony of Buff. (Vid. Collinses 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, Bowghan.] The Earl of Buchan 
 at that time was Alexander Stewart, fourth 
 son of King Robert II. 
 
 Ver. 107. Jhon stone— Maxwell.] These 
 
THE JEW'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 63 
 
 two families of Johnstone, Lord of Johnston, 
 and Maxwell, Lord of Maxwell, were always 
 very powerful on the borders. Of the former 
 family was Johnston Marquis of Annandale ; 
 of the latter was Maxwell Earl of Nithsdale. 
 I cannot find that any chief of this family 
 was named Sir Hugh ; but Sir Herbert Max- 
 well was about this time much distinguished. 
 (See Doug.) This might have been original- 
 ly written Sir H. Maxwell, and by tran- 
 scribers converted into Sir Hugh. So above, 
 in No I, V. 90, Richard is contracted into 
 Ric. 
 
 Yer. 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 very ancient. 
 
 Ver. Ill, 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 fam- 
 ily when the battle was fought ; but his great- 
 grandson, Sir David Scot, was the hero of 
 that house when the ballad was written. 
 
 Ibid. Stewarde.] The person here designed 
 was probably Sir Walter Stewart, Lord of 
 Dal&winton and Gairlies, who was eminent at 
 that time. (See Doug.) From him is de- 
 scended the present Earl of Galloway. 
 
 Yer. 112, Agurstone.] The seat of this fam- 
 ily was sometimes subject to the Kings of 
 Scotland. Thus Richardus Hagerstoun, 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. 
 
 Yer. 129, Morrey.] The person here meant 
 was probably Sir Charles Murray of Cock- 
 poole, who flourished at that time, and was 
 ancestor of the Murrays some time Earls of 
 Annandale. See Doug. Peerage. 
 
 Yer. 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. Yid. Dugd. p. 403, col. 
 1, and Nicholson, pp. 33, 60. 
 
 Yer. 141, Harebotell.] Harbottle is a vil- 
 lage upon the river 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. 
 
 %\t l^to's Satigfeto, 
 
 A SCOTTISH BALLAD, 
 
 Is founded upon the supposed practice 
 
 of the Jews in crucifying or otherwise mur- 
 thering 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 peo- 
 ple, 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 re- 
 cord them, and the eagerness with which they 
 would be catched up by the barbarous popu- 
 lace as a pretence for plunder ; on the other 
 hand, the great danger incurred by the per- 
 9 
 
 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 gToundless and mali- 
 cious. 
 
 The following ballad is probably built upon 
 some Italian Legend, and bears a great resem- 
 blance 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 murthered by the 
 Jews in the reign of Henry III. The con- 
 clusion of this ballad appears to be wanting : 
 what it probably contained may be seen in 
 Chaucer. As for Mirryland Toun, it is pro- 
 
64 
 
 SIR CAULINE. 
 
 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 Jevris dochtfer, 5 
 
 Said, Will ye cum in and dine ? 
 
 " I w^innae cum in, I cannae cum in, 
 Without my play-feres nine." 
 
 Scho powd an apple reid and white 
 To intice the zong thing in : 
 
 Scho powd an apple white and reid, 
 And that the sweit bairne did win. 
 
 10 
 
 And scho has taine out a little pen-knife. 
 
 And low down by her gair, 
 Scho has twin'd tlje zong thing and his 
 life ; 15 
 
 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. 20 
 
 Scho laid him on a dressing borde, 
 And drest him like a swine, 
 
 And laughing said, Gae nou and pley 
 With zour sweit play-feres nine. 
 
 Scho rowd him in a cake of lead, 25 
 
 Bade him lie stil and sleip. 
 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 : 30 
 
 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 castfel, 
 Quhan they wer all asleip. 
 
 35 
 
 My bonny Sir Hew, my pretty Sir Hew, 
 
 I pray thee to me speik. 
 " lady, rinn to the deip draw-well. 
 
 Gin ze zour sonne wad seik." 40 
 
 Lady Helen ran to the deip draw-well. 
 
 And knelt upon her kne : 
 My bonny Sir Hew, and ze be here, 
 
 I pray thee speik to me. 
 
 " The lead is wondrous heavy, mither, 45 
 
 The well is wondrous deip, 
 A keen pen-knife sticks in my hert, 
 
 A word I dounae spiek. 
 
 Gae hame, gae hame, my mither deir. 
 
 Fetch me my windling sheet, 50 
 
 And at the back o^ Mirry-land toun 
 Its thair we twa sail meet." 
 
 IV. 
 
 Sir Cawlint 
 
 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 inter- 
 esting and afiecting. 
 
 There is something peculiar in the metre 
 of this old ballad : it is not unusual to meet 
 with redundant stanzas of six lines ; but th« 
 
SIR CAUXINE. 
 
 65 
 
 occasional insertion of a double third or 
 fourth line, as ver. 31, &c., is an irregularity 
 I do not remember to have seen elsewhere. 
 
 It may be proper to inform the reader be- 
 fore 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 tour- 
 nament (probably with some peculiar solem- 
 nities) was called " holding a Round Table.^' 
 Dugdale 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 tourneament to be held at Kenil- 
 worth; where he sumptuously entertained 
 an hundred knights, and as many ladies, for 
 three days ; the like whereof was never be- 
 fore in England ; and there began the Round 
 Table (so called by reason that the place 
 wherein they practised those feats was envi- 
 roned 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 added, that 
 Matthew Paris frequently calls justs and 
 tournaments Hastiludia Mensce Rotundce. 
 
 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 con- 
 formable to real manners : it being a prac- 
 tice derived from the earliest times among 
 all tJie 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 stanching the 
 wounds of their lovers, and the wives those 
 of their husbands.* And even so late as the 
 time of Queen Elizabeth, it is mentioned 
 among the accomplishments of the ladies of 
 her court, that the " eldest of them are skil- 
 ful in surgery." See Harrison's Description 
 of England, prefixed to Hollingshed's Chron- 
 icle, &c. 
 
 THE FIRST PART. 
 
 In Ireland, ferr over the sea. 
 There dwelleth a bonnye kinge ; 
 
 And with him a yong and comlye knighte, 
 Men call him Syr Cauline. 
 
 * See Northern Antiquities, &c., vol. i. p. 318, vol. ii. p. 
 100, Memoires de la Chevalerie, torn. i. p. 44. 
 
 The kinge had a ladye to his daughter, 5 
 
 In fashyon she hath no peere ; 
 And princely wightes that ladye wooed 
 
 To be theyr wedded feere. 
 
 Syr Cauline loveth her best of all. 
 But nothing durst he saye ; 10 
 
 Ne descreeve 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, 15 
 
 To care-bed went the knighte. 
 
 One while he spred his armes him fro, 
 
 One while he spred them nye : 
 And aye ! but I winne that ladyes love, 
 
 For dole now I mun die. 20 
 
 And whan our parish-masse was done, 
 
 Oar kinge was bowne to dyne : 
 He sayes. Where is Syr Cauline, 
 
 That is wont to serve the wyne ? 
 
 Then aunswerde him a courteous knighte, 25 
 And fast his handes gan wringe : 
 
 Sir Cauline is sicke, and like to dye 
 Without a good leechinge. 
 
 Fetche me downe my daughter deere, 
 
 She is a leeche fulle fine : 30 
 
 Goe take him doughe, and the baken bread, 
 And serve him with the wyne soe red ; 
 Lothe I were him to tine. 
 
 Fair Christabelle to his chaumber goes, 
 Her maydens followyng nye : 35 
 
 well, she sayth, how doth my lord ? 
 sicke, thou fayr ladyfe. 
 
 Nowe ryse up wightlye, man for shame, 
 
 Never lye soe cowardice ; 
 For it is told in my fathers halle, 40 
 
 You dye for love of mee. 
 
 Fayre ladye, 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, 45 
 
 No longer wold I lye. 
 
 Sir knighte, my father is a kinge, 
 
 I am his onlye heire ; 
 
66 
 
 SIR CAULINE. 
 
 Alas ! and well you knowe, syr knighte, 
 I never can be youre fere. 50 
 
 ladye, thou art a kinges daughter, 
 
 And I am not thy peere, 
 But let me doe some deedes of armes 
 
 To be your bacheleere. 
 
 55 
 
 Some deedes of armes if thou wilt doe, 
 
 My bacheleere 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 brodinge ; 60 
 
 And dare ye, syr knighte, wake there all 
 nighte 
 Untill the fayre morninge ? 
 
 For the Eldridge knighte, so mickle of mighte, 
 
 "Will examine you beforne : 
 And never man bare life a,waye, 66 
 
 But he did him scath and scorne. 
 
 That knighte he is a fond paynim, 
 And large of limb and bone ; 
 
 And but if heaven may be thy speede, 
 Thy life it is but gone. 
 
 70 
 
 Nowe on the Eldridge hiUes He walke,* 
 
 For thy sake, faire ladie ; 
 And He either bring you a ready tokfen, 
 
 Or He never more you see. 
 
 The lady is gone to her own chamb^re. 
 
 Her maydens follovring bright : 
 Syr Cauline lope from care-bed soone, 
 And to the Eldridge hills is gone. 
 For to wake there all night. 
 
 Unto midnight, that the moone did rise, 
 
 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. 
 
 75 
 
 80 
 
 85 
 
 And soone he spyde on the mores so broad, 
 
 A furyous wight and fell ; 
 A ladye bright his brydle led, 
 
 Clad in a fayre kyrtfell ; 
 
 Perhaps wake, as in vet. 61. 
 
 And soe fast he called on Syr Cauline, 90 
 
 man, I rede thee flye, 
 
 For * but' if cryance comes till my heart, 
 
 1 weene but thou mun dye. 
 
 He sayth, ' No' cryance comes till my heart, 
 Nor in fayth, I wyll not flee ; 95 
 
 For, cause thou minged not Christ before, 
 The less me dreadeth thee. 
 
 The Elridge knighte, he pricked his steed ; 
 
 Syr Cauline bold abode : 
 Then either shooke his trustye speare, 100 
 And the timber those two children* bare 
 
 Soe soone in sunder slode. 
 
 Then tooke they out theyr two good swordes, 
 
 And layden on full faste, 
 Till helme and hawberke, mail and sheelde, 
 
 They all were well-nye brast. 106 
 
 The Eldridge knight was mickle of might. 
 
 And stiffe in stower did stande. 
 But Syr Cauline with a * backward' stroke 
 
 He smote oflF 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 brande 
 
 All over his head so hye : 
 And here I sweare by the holy roode, 
 
 Nowe caytiffe, thou shalt dye. 
 
 115 
 
 Then up and came that ladye brighte, 
 
 Fast wringing of her hande : 
 For the maydens love, that most you love, 
 
 Withold that deadlye brande : 120 
 
 For the maydens love, that most you love. 
 
 Now smyte no more I praye ; 
 And aye whatever thou wilt, my lord. 
 
 He shall thy bests obaye. 124 
 
 Now sweare to mee, thou Eldridge knighte. 
 
 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 Prefaoe to Child '{^e 
 y. 109, aukeward, MS. 
 
SIR CAULINE. 
 
 67 
 
 The Eldridge knighte gave up his armes 
 With many a sorrowfulle sighe ; 
 
 And sware to obey Syr Caulines hest, 135 
 Till the tyme that he shold 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. 140 
 
 Then he tooke up the bloudy 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, 145 
 
 As hard as any flint : 
 And he tooke ofi* those ringes five, 
 
 As bright as fyre and brent. 
 
 Home then pricked Syr Cauline 
 
 As light as leafe on tree : 150 
 
 I-wys he neither stint ne blanne, 
 
 Till he his lady see. 
 
 Then downe he knelt upon his knee 
 
 Before that lady gay : 
 ladye, I have bin on the Eldridge hills : 155 
 
 These tokens I bring away. 
 
 Now welcome, welcome, Syr Cauline, 
 
 Thrice welcome unto mee, 
 For now I perceive thou art a true knighte. 
 
 Of valour bolde and free. 160 
 
 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, 165 
 
 And fette a gentill sighe : 
 Alas ! syr knighte, how may this bee. 
 
 For my degree's soe highe ? 
 
 But sith thou hast hight, thou comely youth, 
 To be my batchilere, 170 
 
 He promise if thee I may not wedde 
 I will have none other fere. 
 
 Then shee held forthe her lilly-white hand 
 
 Towards that knighte so free ; 
 He gave to it one gentill kisse, 175 
 
 His heart was brought from bale to blisse, 
 
 The teares sterte from his ee. 
 
 But keep my counsayl, Syr Cauline, 
 
 Ne let no man it knowe ; 
 For and ever my father sholde it ken, 180 
 
 I wot we wolde us sloe. 
 
 From that day forthe that ladye fayre 
 Lovde Syr Cauline, the knighte: 
 
 From that day forthe he only joyde 
 
 Whan shee was in his sight. 185 
 
 Yea, and oftentimes they mette 
 
 Within a fayre arboure, 
 Where they in love and sweet daliaunce 
 
 Past manye a pleasaunt houre. 
 
 tit In this conclusion of the First Part, 
 and at the beginning of the Second, the reader 
 will observe a resemblance to the story 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, " Every white, ^' &c. viz. 
 
 " But as extremes are short of ill and good, 
 And tides at highest mark regorge their 
 
 flood; 
 So fate, that could no more improve their j oy, 
 Took a malicious pleasure to destroy." 
 Tancred, 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 5 
 
 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 found his daughter and Syr Cauline 
 
 There sette in daliaunce sweet. 
 
 10 
 
 The kinge hee sterted forthe, i-wys, 
 
 And an angrye man was hee : 
 Nowe, traytoure, thou shalt hange or drawe, 
 
 And rewe shall thy ladle. 16 
 
 Then forthe Syr Cauline he was ledde, 
 And throwne in dungeon deepe : 
 
68 SIR CAULINE. 
 
 And the ladye into a towre so hye 
 
 But a stranger wight, whom no man knewe, 
 
 There left to wayle and weepe. 20 
 
 He wan the prize eche daye. ' 
 
 The queene she was Syr Caulines friend, 
 
 His acton it was all of blacke, 65 
 
 And to the kinge sayd shee : 
 
 His hewberke, and his sheelde, 
 
 I praye you save Syr Caulines life. 
 
 Ne noe man wist whence he did come. 
 
 And let him banisht bee. 
 
 Ne noe man knewe where he did gone, 
 
 
 When they oa.m e from the feelde. 
 
 Now, dame, that traitor shall be sent 25 
 
 
 Across the salt sea fome : 
 
 And now three days were prestlye past 70 
 
 But here I will make thee a band, 
 
 In feates of chivalrye, 
 
 If ever he come within this land, 
 
 When lo upon the fourthe morninge 
 
 A foule deathe is his doome. 
 
 A sorrowfuUe sight they see. 
 
 All woe-begone was that gentil knight 30 
 
 A hugye giaunt stiffe and starke. 
 
 To parte from his lady^ ; 
 
 All foule of limbe and lere ; 75 
 
 And many a time he sighed sore, 
 
 Two goggling eyen like fire farden. 
 
 And cast a wistfulle eye : 
 
 A mouthe from eare to eare. 
 
 Faire Christabelle, from thee to parte. 
 
 
 Farre lever had I dye. 35 
 
 Before him came a dwarffe full lowe, 
 
 
 That waited on his knee, 
 
 Faire Christabelle, that ladye bright. 
 
 And at his backe five heads he bare, 80 
 
 Was had forthe of the towre ; 
 
 All wan and pale of blee. 
 
 But ever shee droopeth in her minde, 
 
 
 As nipt by an ungentle winde 
 
 Sir, quoth the dwarfie, and louted lowe, 
 
 Doth some faire lillye flowre. 40 
 
 Behold that hend Sold^in ! 
 
 
 Behold these heads I beare with me ! 
 
 And ever shee doth lament and weepe 
 
 They are kings which he hath slain. 85 
 
 To tint her lover soe : 
 
 
 Syr Cauline, thou little think'st on mee, 
 
 The Eldridge knight is his own cousine. 
 
 But I will still be true. 
 
 Whom a knight of thine hath shent : 
 
 
 And hee is come to avenge his wrong, 
 
 Many a kinge, and manye a duke, 45 
 
 And to thee, all thy knightes among. 
 
 And lorde of high degree. 
 
 Defiance here hath sent. 90 
 
 Bid sue to that fayre ladye of love ; 
 
 
 But never shee wolde them nee. 
 
 But yette he will appease his wrath 
 
 
 Thy daughters love to winne : 
 
 When manye a daye was past and gone, 
 
 And but thou yeelde him that fayre mayd, 
 
 Ne comforte she colde finde, 50 
 
 Thy halls and towers must brenne. 
 
 The kynge proclaimed a tourneament, 
 
 
 To cheere his daughters mind : 
 
 Thy head, syr king, must goe with mee ; 95 
 
 
 Or else thy daughter deere ; 
 
 And there came lords, and there came knights, 
 
 Or else within these lists soe broad 
 
 Fro manye a farre countrye, 
 
 Thou must finde him a peere. 
 
 To break a spere for theyr ladyes love 55 
 
 
 Before that faire ladye. 
 
 The king he turned him round aboute. 
 
 
 And in his heart was woe : 100 
 
 And many a ladye there was sette 
 
 Is there never a knighte of my round tabl^. 
 
 In purple and in palle : 
 
 This matter will undergoe ? 
 
 But faire Christabelle soe woe-begone 
 
 
 Was the fayrest of them all. 60 
 
 Is there never a knighte amongst yee all 
 
 
 Will fight for my daughter and mee ? 
 
 Then manye a knight was mickle of might 
 
 Whoever will fight yon grimme sold^n, 105 
 
 Before his ladye gaye : 
 
 Right fair his meede shall bee. 
 
SIR CAULINE. 
 
 69 
 
 For hee shall have my broad lay-lands, 
 
 And of my crowne be heyre ; 
 And he shall winne fayre Christabelle 
 
 To be his wedded fere. 110 
 
 But every knighte of his round tabl^ 
 
 Did stand both still and pale : 
 For v^'henever they lookt on the grim sold^n, 
 
 It made their hearts to quail. 
 
 All woe-begone vras that fayre lady^, 115 
 When she sawe no helpe v^as nye : 
 
 She cast her thought on her owne true-love, 
 And the teares gusht from her eye. 
 
 Up then sterte the stranger knighte, 
 
 Sayd, ladye, be not affrayd : 120 
 
 He fight for thee v^ith his grimme soldsin, 
 Thoughe he be unmacklye made. 
 
 And if thou v^ilt lend me the Eldridge.sworde, 
 
 That lyeth w^ithin thy bowre, 
 I trust in Christe for to slay this fiende 125 
 
 Thoughe he be stiffe in stowre. 
 
 Goe fetch him downe the Eldridge sworde, 
 The king he cryde, with speede : 
 
 Nowe heaven assist thee, courteous knighte ; 
 My daughter is thy meede. 130 
 
 The gyaunt he stepped into the lists, 
 
 And sayd, Awaye, awaye : 
 I sweare, as I am the hend soldiln, 
 
 Thou lettest me here all daye. 
 
 Then forthe the stranger knight he came 
 In his blacke armoure dight ; 136 
 
 The ladye sighed a gentle sighe, 
 " That this were my true knighte !" 
 
 And nowe the gyaunt and knighte be mett 
 Within the lists soe broad ; 140 
 
 And now with swordes soe sharpe of Steele, 
 They gan to lay on load. 
 
 The soldan strucke the knighte a stroke, 
 
 That made him reele asyde ; 
 Then woe-begone was that fayre ladyfe 145 
 
 And thrice shee deeply sighde. 
 
 The soldan strucke a second stroke, 
 
 And made the bloude to flowe : 
 All pale and wan was that ladye fayre. 
 
 And thrice she wept for woe. 150 
 
 The soldan strucke a third fell' stroke, 
 Which brought the knighte on his knee : 
 
 Sad sorrow pierced that ladyes heart. 
 And she shriekt loud shriekings three. 
 
 The knighte he leapt upon his feete, 155 
 
 All recklesse of the pain : 
 Quoth hee. But heaven be now my speede, 
 
 Or else I shall be slaine. 
 
 He grasped his sworde with mayne and 
 mighte. 
 
 And spying a secrette part, 160 
 
 He drave it into the soldan's syde, 
 
 And pierced him to the heart. 
 
 Then all the people gave a shoute, 
 When they sawe the soldan falle : 
 
 The ladye wept, and thanked Christ, 165 
 That had reskewed her from thrall. 
 
 And nowe the kinge with all his barons 
 
 Rose uppe from offe his seate. 
 And downe he stepped intd the listes, 
 
 That curteous knighte to greete. 170 
 
 But he for payne and lack of bloude 
 
 Was fallen into a swounde, 
 And there all walteringe in his gore, 
 
 Lay lifelessse on the grounde. 174 
 
 Come downe, come downe, my daughter deare, 
 
 Thou art a leeche of skille ; 
 Farre lever had I lose halfe my landes. 
 
 Than this good knighte sholde spille. 
 
 Downe then steppeth that fayre ladyfe 
 
 To helpe him if she maye ; 180 
 
 But when she did his beavere raise. 
 
 It is my life, my lord, she sayes. 
 And shriekte and swound awaye. 
 
 Sir Cauline juste lifte up his eyes 
 
 When he heard his ladye crye, 185 
 
 ladye, I am thine owne true love ; 
 
 For thee I wisht to dye. 
 
 Then giving her one par tinge looke, 
 
 He closed his eyes in death, 
 Ere Christabelle, that ladye milde, 190 
 
 Begane to drawe her breathe. 
 
 But when she found her comelye knighte 
 
 Indeed was dead and gone. 
 She layde her pale cold cheeke to his, 
 
 And thus she made her moane : 195 
 
70 
 
 EDWARD, EDWARD. 
 
 staye, my deare and onlye lord, 
 For mee thy faithfulle feere ; 
 
 'Tis meet that I shold fullowe thee, 
 Who hast bought my love soe deare. 
 
 Then fayntinge in a deadlye swoune, 2.00 
 
 And with a deepe-fette sighe, 
 That burst her gentle hearte in twayne 
 
 Fayre Christabelle did dye. *^* 
 
 V. 
 
 ilrtoarir, ^laMxX 
 
 A SCOTTISH BALLAD. 
 
 From a MS. copy transmitted from Scotland. 
 
 10 
 
 QuHY dois zour brand sae drop wi' bluid, 
 Edward, Edward ? 
 Quhy dois zour brand sae drop wi' bluid? 
 And quhy sae sad gang zee, ? 
 0, I hae killed my hauke sae guid, 
 
 Mither, mither : 
 0, I hae killed my hauke sae guid : 
 
 And I had nae mair hot hee, 0. 
 
 Zour haukis bluid was nevir sae reid,- 
 
 Edward, Edward. 
 Zour haukis bluid was nevir sae reid, 
 
 My deir son I tell the, 0. 
 0, I hae killed my reid-roan steid, 
 
 Mither, mither : 
 0, I hae killed my reid-roan steid, 15 
 
 That erst was sae fair and free, 0. 
 
 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, 0. 20 
 
 0, I hae killed my fadir deir, 
 
 Mither, mither : 
 0, I hae killed my fadir deir. 
 
 Alas ! and wae is mee, ! 
 
 And quhatten penance wul ze drie for that, 25 
 
 Edward, Edward ? 
 And quhattan penance will ze drie for that ? 
 
 My deir son, now tell me, 0. 
 He set my feit in zonder boat, 
 
 Mither, mither: 30 
 He set my feit in zonder boat. 
 
 And He fare ovir the sea, 0. 
 
 And quhat wul ze doe wi' zour towirs and 
 zour ha', 
 
 Edward, Edward? 
 
 And quhat wul ze doe wi' zour towirs and 
 zour ha', 35 
 
 That ware sae fair to see, ? 
 He let thame stand til they doun fa', 
 
 Mither, mither i 
 He let thame stand til they doun fa', 39 
 
 For here nevir mair maun I bee, 0. 
 
 And quhat wul ze leive to zour bairns and 
 zour wife, 
 
 Edward, Edward ! 
 And quhat wul ze leive to zour bairns and 
 zour wife, 
 
 Quhan ze gang ovir the sea, ? 
 The warldis room, let thame beg throw 
 life, 45 
 
 Mither, mither ; 
 The warldis room, let thame beg throw 
 life. 
 
 For thame nevir mair wul I see, 0. 
 
 And quhat wul ze leive to zour ain mither 
 deir, 
 
 Edward, Edward? 50 
 And quhat wul ze leive to zour ain mither 
 deir? 
 
 My deir son, now tell me, 0. 
 The curse of hell frae me sail ze beir, 
 Mither, mither : 
 The curse of hell frae me sail ze beir, 55 
 Sic counseils ze gave to me, 0. 
 
 This curious Song was transmitted to the 
 Editor by Sir David Dalrymple, Bart., late 
 Lord Hailes. 
 
KING ESTMERE. 
 
 71 
 
 YI. 
 
 ^iitg (&^tmtxt 
 
 This old Romantic Legend (which is given 
 from two copies, one of them in the Editor's 
 folio MS., but which contained very great vari- 
 ations) bears marks of considerable antiqui- 
 ty, 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 em- 
 pire there vras not fully extinguished before 
 the year 1^1. The Mahometans are spo- 
 ken 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 re- 
 turn the following polite message to a Paynim 
 king's fair daughter, who had fallen in love 
 with him, and sent two Saracen knights to in- 
 vite him to her bower : 
 
 " I wyll not ones stirre off this grounde, 
 To speake with an heathen hounde. 
 Unchristen houndes, I rede you fle, 
 Or I your harte bloud shall se." f 
 
 Indeed they return the compliment by call- 
 ing him elsewhere "A Christen hounde." J 
 
 This was conformable to the real manners 
 of the barbarous ages : perhaps the same ex- 
 cuse will hardly serve our bard ; for that the 
 Adland should be found lolling or leaning at 
 his gate (ver. 35) may be thought per- 
 chance a little out of character. And yet the 
 great painter of manners, Homer, did not 
 think it inconsistent with decorum to repre- 
 sent a king of the Taphians 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 an- 
 cient manners by our own. 
 
 Before I conclude this article, I cannot help 
 observing that the reader will see, in this bal- 
 
 * See a short Memoir at the end of this Ballad, Note flf. 
 t Sign. C. ii. b. % Sign. C. i. b. 
 
 g Odyss. A. 105. 
 
 10 
 
 lad, the character of the old Minstrels (those 
 successors of the bards) placed in a very re- 
 spectable light ;* here he will see one of them 
 represented mounted on a fine horse, accom- 
 panied with an attendant to bear his harp 
 after him, and to sing the poems of his com- 
 posing. Here he 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 
 seenf) made no scruple to enter the Danish 
 camp, and was at once admitted to the king's 
 head-quarters. I 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 Nor- r. 
 way, was wont to seat them at his table above ^ 
 all the officers of his court : and we find an- '^ 
 other 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 rid- 
 ing into the hall while the kings were at ta- 
 ble, 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. II 
 
 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 Bednal, &c. 
 
 f See the Essay on the ancient Minstrels prefixed to this 
 work. 
 
 J Even so late as the time of Eroissart, we find Min- 
 strels and Heralds mentioned together, as those who might 
 securely go into an enemy's country. Cap. cxl. 
 
 § Bartholini Antiq. Dan. p. 173. Northern Antiquities, 
 
 &c., vol. i. pp. 386, 389, &c. 
 
 II See also the account of Edward II., in the Essay on the 
 Minstrels, and Note (X.) 
 
72 
 
 KING ESTMERE. 
 
 Hearken to me, gentlemen, 
 
 Come and you shall heare ; 
 He tell you of two of the boldest brethren 
 
 That ever borne y-were. 
 
 The tone of them was Adler younge, 5 
 
 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 : 10 
 
 When will ye marry a wyfe, brother, 
 A wyfe to glad us all ? 
 
 Then bespake him Kyng Estmere, 
 
 And answered him hastilee : 
 I know not that ladye in any land 15 
 
 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. 20 
 
 Sales, Reade me, reade me, deare brother. 
 
 Throughout merry England, 
 Where we might find a messenger 
 
 Betwixt us towe to sende. 
 
 Sales, You shal ryde yourselfe, brother, 25 
 
 He beare you companye ; 
 Many throughe fals messengers are deceived, 
 
 And I feare lest soe shold wee. 
 
 Thus the renisht them to ryde 
 
 Of twoe good renisht steeds, 30 
 
 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 Adland 35 
 
 Rearing himselfe theratt. 
 
 Now Christ thee save, good Kyng Adlknd ; 
 
 Now Christ you save and see, 
 Sayd, You be welcome, King Estmere, 
 
 Right hartilye to mee. 40 
 
 You have a daughter, said Adler younge, 
 Men call her bright and sheene, 
 
 v. 3, brother, 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. 
 
 My brother wold marrye her to his wiffe. 
 Of Englande to be queene. 
 
 Yesterday was att my deere daughter 45 
 Syr Bremor the Kyng of Spayne; 
 
 And then she nicked him of naye, 
 And I doubt sheele do you the same. 
 
 The Kyng of Spayne is a foule paynim, 
 And 'leeveth on Mahound ; 50 
 
 And pitye it were that fayre lady^ 
 Shold marrye a heathen hound. 
 
 But grant to me, sayes Kyng Estmere, 
 
 For my love I you praye ; 
 That I may see your daughter deero 55 
 
 Before I goe hence awaye. 
 
 Although itt is seven yeers and more 
 Since my daughter was in halle, 
 
 She shall come once downe for your sake 
 To glad my guestfes alle. 60 
 
 Downe then came that mayden fayre, 
 
 With ladyes laced in pall. 
 And halfe a hundred of bold knightes. 
 
 To bring her from bowre to hall ; 
 And as many gentle squiers, 65 
 
 To tend upon them all. 
 
 The talents of golde were on her head sette, 
 Hanged low downe to her knee ; 
 
 And everye ring on her small fingfer 
 
 Shone of the chrystall free. 70 
 
 Sales, God you save, my deere mad^m ; 
 
 Sales, God you save and see. 
 Said, You be welcome, Kyng Estmere, 
 
 Right welcome unto mee. 
 
 And if you love me, as you saye, 75 
 
 Soe well and hartilye. 
 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 ; 80 
 
 What he sayd yesterdaye. 
 
 He wold pull downe my halles and castles. 
 And reave me of my lyfe, 
 
 v. 46, The king his sonne of Spayn, fol. MS 
 
KING ESTMERE. 
 
 73 
 
 I cannot blame him if he doe, 85 
 
 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. 90 
 
 Plight me your troth, nowe, Kyng Estmere, 
 By heaven and your righte hand, 
 
 That you vrill marrye me to your wyfe, 
 And make me queene of your land. 
 
 Then King Estmere he plight his troth 95 
 
 By heaven and his righte hand. 
 That he wolde marrye her to his wyfe. 
 
 And make her queene of his land. 
 
 And he tooke leave of that ladye fayre. 
 To goe to his owne countree, 100 
 
 To fetche him dukes and lordes and knightes. 
 That marryed the might bee. 
 
 They had not ridden scant a myle, 
 A myle forthe of the towne, 
 
 Bnt in did come the Kyng of Spayne, 
 With kemp^s many one. 
 
 105 
 
 But in did come the Kyng of Spayne, 
 
 With manye a bold barone, 
 Tone day to marrye Kyng Adlands daughter, 
 
 Tother daye to carrye her home. 110 
 
 Shee sent one after Kyng Estm^-e 
 
 In all the spede might bee, 
 That he must either turne againe and i&ghte, 
 
 Or goe home and loose his ladyfe. 
 
 One whyle then the page he went, 1 15 
 
 Another while he ranne ; 
 Till he had oretaken King Estmere, 
 
 I wis, he never blanne. 
 
 Tydings, tydings, Kyng Estmere ! 
 
 What tydinges nowe, my boye ? 120 
 
 tydinges I can tell to you, 
 
 That will you sore annoye. 
 
 You had not ridden scant a mile, 
 
 A mile out of the towne, 
 But in did come the Kyng of Spayne 125 
 
 With kempes many a one : 
 
 V. 89, of tbe king Ms sonne of Spaine, fol. MS. 
 
 But in did come the Kyng of Spayne 
 
 With manye a bold barone. 
 Tone daye to marrye King Adlands daughter, 
 
 Tother daye to carry her home. 130 
 
 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 ladyfe. 
 
 Sales, Reade me, reade me, deere brother. 
 My reade shall ryde* at thee, 136 
 
 Whether it is better to turne and fighte. 
 Or goe home and loose my ladye. 
 
 Now hearken to me sayes Adler yonge, 
 And your reade must risef at me, 140 
 
 I quicklye will devise a waye 
 To sette thy ladye free. 
 
 My mother was a westerne woman, 
 
 And learned in gramary6,J 
 And when I learned at the schole, 145 
 
 Something shee taught itt mee. 
 
 There growes an hearbe within this field, 
 
 And ifi" it were but knowne. 
 His color, which is whyte and redd, 
 
 It will make blacke and browne : 150 
 
 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, 155 
 
 Out of the north countrye ; 
 And He be your boy, soe faine of fighte. 
 
 And beare your harpe by your knee. ■ 
 
 And you shal be the best harper. 
 
 That ever tooke harpe in hand ; 160 
 
 And I wil be the best singer, 
 
 That ever sung in this lande. 
 
 Itt shal be written in our forheads 
 
 All and in grammaryfe. 
 That we towe are the boldest men 165 
 
 That are in all Christenty5. 
 
 And thus they renisht them to ryde, 
 On tow good renish steedes ; 
 
 * Sic MS. It should probably be ryse, i. e. my course 
 shall arise from thee. See ver. 140. 
 
 t Sic MS. X See at the end of this ballad, note *^*. 
 
74 
 
 KING ESTMERE. 
 
 And when they came to King Adlands hall, 
 Of redd gold shone their weedes. 170 
 
 And whan the came to Kyng Adlands hall, 
 
 Untill the fayre hall yate, 
 There they found a proud porter 
 
 Rearing himselfe thereatt. 174 
 
 Sayes, Christ thee save, thou proud porter ; 
 
 Sayes, Christ thee save and see. 
 Nowe you be welcome, sayd the porter, 
 
 Of what land soever ye bee. 
 
 Wee beene harpers, sayd Adler younge, 
 Come out of the northe countrye ; 180 
 
 Wee beene 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 wold saye King Estmere and his brother 
 
 Were com6n untill this towne. 186 
 
 Then they pulled out a ryng of gold, 
 
 Layd itt on the porters arme : 
 And ever we will thee, proud porter, 
 
 Thow wilt saye us no harme. 190 
 
 Sore he looked on Kyng Estmfere ; 
 
 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 bitte, 
 
 Light in King Bremors beard. 
 
 Sales, Stable thy steed, thy proud harpfer. 
 Sales, stable him in the stalle : 200 
 
 It doth not beseeme a proud harpfer 
 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 205 
 
 Were able him to beate ? 
 
 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 
 
 V. 202, To stable his steede, fol. MS. 
 
 let that man come downe, he said, 
 
 A sight of him wold 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 Kjmg of 
 Spaine, 
 
 And how what aileth thee ? -220 
 
 He sales. It is writt in his forhead 
 
 All and in gramaryfe, 
 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 borde. 
 And wold have gone from the king. 
 
 Stay thy harpe, thou proud harper, 
 
 For Gods love I pray thee, 230 
 
 For and thou playes as thou beginns, 
 Thou'lt till* my bryde from mee. 
 
 He stroake upon his harpe againe. 
 
 And playd a pretty thinge ; 
 The ladye lough a loud laughter, 235 
 
 As shee sate by the king. 
 
 Sales, 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 ye doe with my harpe, * he sayd,' 
 
 If I did sell it yee ? 
 " To playe my wiffe and me a Fitt,f 
 
 When abed together wee bee." 244 
 
 Now sell me, quoth hee, thy bryde soe gay. 
 
 As shee sitts 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. Vid. Gloss. 
 
 f i. e. a tune, or strain of music. See Gloss. 
 
KING ESTMERE. 
 
 75 
 
 Hee played agayne both loud and shrille, 
 
 And Adler he did syng, 
 '* ladye, this is thy owne true love ; 255 
 
 Noe harper, but a kyng. 
 
 " ladye, this is thy owne true love, 
 
 As playnlye thou mayest see ; 
 And He rid thee of that foule paynim, 
 
 Who partes thy love and thee." 260 
 
 The ladye looked, the ladye blushte, 
 
 And blushte and lookt agayne. 
 While Adler he hath drawne his brande, 
 
 And hath the Sow^dan slayne. 
 
 Up then rose the kemperye men, 265 
 
 And loud they gan to crye : 
 Ah ! traytors, yee have slayne our kyng, 
 
 And therefore yee shall dye. 
 
 Kyng Estmere threwe the harpe asyde, 
 And swith he drew his brand ; 270 
 
 And Estmere he, and Adler yonge 
 Right stiffe in stour can stand. 
 
 And aye their swordes soe sore can byte, 
 
 Through e help of Gramary^, 
 That soone they have slayne the kempery 
 men, 275 
 
 Or forst them forth to flee. 
 
 Kyng Estmere tooke that fayre ladyfe, 
 
 And marryed her to his wiffe, 
 And brought her home to merry England 
 
 With her to leade his life. 280 
 
 *^* The word Gramarye, which occurs sev- 
 eral 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 necroman- 
 cy itself. 
 
 t^t Termagaunt (mentioned above), is the 
 name given in the old romances to the god of 
 the Saracens : in which he is constantly link- 
 ed 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 dilTers from the pre- 
 ceding, it 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 applica- 
 ble to the true God, how shall we account for 
 its being so degraded ? Perhaps Tyn-magan 
 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 de- 
 ities ; and therefore the first Christian mis- 
 sionaries rejected it as profane and improper 
 to be applied to the true God. Afterwards, 
 when the irruptions of the Saracens into Eu- 
 rope, 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 therefore made no scruple to 
 give the ancient name of Termagant to the 
 God of the Saracens : just in the same man- 
 ner as they afterwards used the name of Sar- 
 azen to express any kind of pagan or idolater. 
 In the ancient romance of Merline (in the 
 Editor's folio MS.) the Saxons themselves 
 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 Crusades, both Mahound 
 and Termagaunt made their frequent appear- 
 ance 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 threats 
 used by some papist magistrates to his wife, 
 speaks of them as " grennyng 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 
 oflBcer [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. 
 
76 
 
 SIR PATRICK SPENCE. 
 
 hands of such Tarmagants." [So the orig. 
 dated May 2, 1593, preserved by the care of 
 the Rev. Thomas Jenyns Smith, Fellow of 
 Dulw. Coll.] — Hence we may conceive the 
 force of Hamlet's expression in Shakspeare, 
 where, condemning a ranting player, he says, 
 " I could have such a fellow whipt for ore- 
 doing Termaga.nt : 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 Ter- 
 magant was anciently 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 east- 
 ern tyrant : this appears from a curious pas- 
 sage in Stow's Annals [p. 458]. In a stage- 
 play, " the people know right well, that he that 
 plaieth the sowdain is percase a sowter [shoe- 
 
 maker] ; yet if one should cal him by his 
 owne name, while he sta.ndeth in his majestie, 
 one of his tormentors might hap to break his 
 head." The sowdain or soldan, was a name 
 given to the Sarazen king (being only a more 
 rude pronunciation of the word sultan), as 
 the soldan of Egypt, the soudan of Persia, 
 the sowdan of Babylon, &c., who were gene- 
 rally represented as accompanied vrith grim 
 Sarazens, whose business 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 
 Tervagaunte : 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 borrow- 
 ed each others' romances. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Sir latritli Spnc^, 
 
 A SCOTTISH BALLAD, 
 
 is given from two MS. copies, transmit- 
 ted 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 navigation, such as used 
 the northern seas were very liable to ship- 
 wreck in the wintry months : hence a law 
 was enacted in the reign of James III. (a 
 law which was frequently repeated after- 
 wards), "That there be na schip frauched 
 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 hath 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 probar 
 ble that, like the Theban Hercules, he hath 
 engrossed the renown of other heroes. 
 
 The king sits in Dumferling toune, 
 
 Drinking the blude-reid wine : 
 quhar will I get guid saildr, 
 
 To sail this schip of mine ? 
 
 Up and spak an eldern knicht, 5 
 
 Sat at the kings richt kne : 
 Sir Patrick Spence is the best sailor, 
 
 That sails upon the se. 
 
 The king has written a braid letter,* 
 And signd it wi' his hand ; 
 
 10 
 
 * A braid letter, i. e. open, or patent; in opposition to 
 close Rolls. 
 
ROBIN HOOD AND GUY OF GISBORNE. 
 
 And sent it to Sir Patrick Spence, 
 Was walking on the sand. 
 
 The first line that Sir Patrick red, 
 
 A loud lauch lauched he : 
 The next line that Sir Patrick red, 15 
 
 The teir blinded his ee. 
 
 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 ? 20 
 
 Mak hast, mak haste, my mirry men all, 
 Our guid schip sails the morne. 
 
 say na sae, my master deir, 
 For I feir a deadlie storme. 
 
 Late late yestreen I saw the new moone 25 
 Wi' the auld moone in hir arme ; 
 
 And I feir, I feir, my deir master, 
 That we will com to harme. 
 
 our Scots nobles wer richt laith 
 
 To weet their cork-heild schoone ; 30 
 
 Bot lang owre a,' the play wer playd, 
 Thair hats they swam aboone. 
 
 lang, lang, may thair ladies sit 
 
 Wi' thair fans into their hand, 
 Or eir they se Sir Patrick Spence 35 
 
 Cum sailing to the land. 
 
 lang, lang, may the ladies stand 
 Wi' thair gold kerns in their hair, 
 
 Waiting for thair ain deir lords. 
 
 For they'll se thame na mair. 40 
 
 Have owre, have owre to Aberdour,* 
 
 It's fiftie fadom deip : 
 And thair lies guid Sir Patrick Spence, 
 
 Wi' the Scots lords at his feit.f 
 
 VIII. 
 
 %a]im |00Jr m)i ittg 0f ^istorttt 
 
 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 severity 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 yeomanry of this kingdom 
 were everywhere 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 their num- 
 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 the which Robin Hood, and 
 Little John, renowned theeves, 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 mortuo mart, 
 
 t An ingenious friend thinks the Author of Hardyknute 
 has borrowed several expressions and sentiment-s from the 
 foregoing, and other old Scottish songs in this collection. 
 
78 
 
 EOBIN HOOD AND GUY OF GISBORNE. 
 
 the onset. He suffered no woma.n to be op- 
 pressed, violated, or otherwise molested ; poore 
 mens goods he spared, abundantlie relieving 
 them vrith 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 theeves he affirmeth him 
 to be the prince, and the most gentle theefe." 
 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 erected 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 an epi- 
 taph, which,' if genuine, must have been in- 
 scribed on his tombstone near the nunnery 
 of Kirklees in Yorkshire ; where (as the story 
 goes) he was bled to death by a treacherous 
 nun to whom he applied for phlebotomy : 
 
 *^£ar unir^rit^aJr Isis laitl sttdcn 
 lai? xoltxt £arl of tuntiit^tuu 
 ntK KXtix htx K} 1)U SKt ^zuis 
 ait pijil kaulif im B^oiin ^tuis 
 sitk utiain? KS^i un is mzn 
 hil HSn^Ianii nihix si n%zn. 
 joiiit 24. fesl. Isz'kzmhxis, 1217. 
 
 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.f Yet the most ancient 
 poems on Robin Hood make no mention of 
 this Earldom. He is expressly asserted to 
 have been a yeomanj in a very old legend in 
 verse preserved in the archives of the public 
 library at Cambridge,^ in eight fyties 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. 
 t Stukeley, in his Palaeographia Britannica, No. II. 1746. 
 I See also the following ballad, v. 147. g Num. D. 5, 2, 
 
 " Lythe and lysten, gentylmen, 
 That be of free-bore blode : 
 I shall you tell of a good yeman, 
 His name was Robyn hode. 
 
 " Robyn was a proude out-lawe. 
 Whiles he walked on grounde ; 
 So curteyse an outlawe as he was one, 
 Was never none yfounde." &c. 
 
 The printer's colophon is, "(^ Explicit 
 Kinge Edwarde 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 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, called, " A newe playe for to be played 
 in Maye games very plesaunte and full of 
 pastyme. <S^ {.'.)3." 
 
 I shall conclude these 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 
 nothygn at all. Fol. 26, Ed. 1550. 
 
 See also in Bp. Latimer's Sermonsf 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. Walker'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, 
 1788, 4to. 
 
 Some liberties were, by the Editor, taken 
 
 * Old Plays, 4to. K. vol. x. 
 t Ser. 6th before K. Ed. Apr. 12, 
 Lat. p. 122. 
 
 ,75, Gilpin'B life of 
 
ROBIN HOOD AND GUY OF GISBORNE. 
 
 79 
 
 with this ballad ; which, in this Edition, hath 
 "been brought nearer to the folio MS. 
 
 When shaws beene sheene, and shradds full 
 fayre, 
 
 And leaves both large and longe, 
 Itt is merrye walking in the fayre forr^st 
 
 To heare the small birdes songe. 
 
 The woodweele sang, and wold not cease, 5 
 
 Sitting upon the spraye, 
 Soe lowde, he awakened Robin Hood, 
 
 In the greenwood where he lay. 
 
 Now by my faye, sayd joUye Robin, 
 
 A sweaven I had this night ; 10 
 
 I dreamt me of two wighty yemen, 
 That fast with me can fight. 
 
 Methought they did mee beate and binde, 
 
 And toke my bow mee froe ; 
 If I be Robin alive in this lande 15 
 
 He 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 loude this night, 
 
 To-morrow it may be still. 20 
 
 Buske yee, bowne yee, my merry men all, 
 
 And John shall goe with mee. 
 For He goe seeke yon wight yoemen, 
 
 In greenwood where the bee. 
 
 Then the cast on their gownes of grene, 25 
 And tooke theyr bowes each one ; 
 
 And they away to the greene forrfest 
 A shooting forth are gone. 
 
 Untill they come to the merry greenwood, 
 Where they had gladdest bee, 30 
 
 There were the ware of a wight yeomlin, 
 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 capuU hyde 35 
 
 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. 40 
 
 Ver. 1, For Shaws the MS. has shales : and shradds should 
 perhaps he swards : i. e. the surface of the ground : viz. 
 " when the fields were m their beauty :" or perhaps shades. 
 11 
 
 Ah ! John, by me thou settest noe store, 
 
 And that I farley finde; 
 How offt send I my men beffore, 
 
 And tarry my selfe behinde ? 
 
 It is no cunning a knave to ken, 45 
 
 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, 
 
 So they parted Robin and John ; 50 
 
 And John is gone to Barnesdale : 
 The gates* he knoweth eche one. 
 
 But when he came to Barnesdale, 
 Great heaviness there hee hadd. 
 
 For he found tow of his owne fellow^s 55 
 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. 60 
 
 One shoote now I will shoote, quoth John, 
 With Christ his might and mayne ; 
 
 He make yond fellow that flyes soe fast, 
 To stopp he shall be fayne. 
 
 Then John bent up his long bende-bow, 65 
 
 And fetteled 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 ; 70 
 
 For now this day thou art my bale. 
 My boote when thou shold bee. 
 
 His shoote it was but loosely shott, 
 Yet flewe not the arrowe in vaine ; 
 
 For itt mett one of the sherriffes men, 75 
 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 green wood slade 
 To meet with Little John's arrowe. 80 
 
 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. 
 
 * i. e. ways, passes, paths, ridings. Gate is a common 
 word in the North for way. 
 
80 
 
 ROBIN HOOD AND GUY OF GISBORNE. 
 
 Thou shalt be drawen by dale and downe, 85 
 
 And hanged hye on a hill. 
 But thou mayst fayle of thy purpose, quoth 
 John, 
 
 If itt be Christ his will. 
 
 Let us leave talking of Litle John, 
 And thinke of Robin Hood, 
 
 How he is gone to the wight yeomkn. 
 Where under the leaves he stood. 
 
 90 
 
 Good morrowe, good ftUowe, said Robin so 
 
 fayre, 
 
 " Good morrowe, good fellowe," quoth he : 
 
 Methinkes by this bowe thou beares in thy 
 
 hande 95 
 
 A good archere thou sholdst bee. 
 
 I am wilfull of my waye, quo' the yeman, 
 
 And of my morning tyde. 
 He lead thee through the wood, sayd Robin ; 
 
 Good fellow. He be thy guide. 100 
 
 I seeke an outl^we, the straunger sayd. 
 
 Men call him Robin Hood ; 
 Rather lid meet with that proud outl^we 
 
 Than forty pound soe good. 
 
 Now come with me thou wighty yeman, 105 
 And Robin thou soone shalt see : 
 
 But first let us some pastime find 
 Under the greenwood tree. 
 
 First let us some mastery e make 
 
 Among the woods so even, 110 
 
 Wee may chance to meet with Robin Hood 
 
 Here att some unsett steven. 
 
 They cutt them downe two summer shroggs. 
 That grew both under a breere, 
 
 And sett them threescore rood in twaine 115 
 To shoot the prickes y-fere. 
 
 Leade on, good fellowe, quoth Robin Hood, 
 
 Leade on, I doe bidd thee. 
 Nay by my faith, good fellowe, 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 shoote soe. 
 
 The second shoote had the wightye yeman. 
 He shote within the garl^nde : 126 
 
 But Robin he shott far better than hee, 
 For he clave the good pricke wande. 
 
 A blessing upon thy heart, he sayd ; 
 
 Good fellowe, thy shooting is goode ; 130 
 For an thy hart be as good as thy hand, 
 
 Thou wert better than Robin Hoode. 
 
 Now tell me thy name, good fellowe, sayd he, 
 
 Under the leaves of lyne. 
 Nay by my faith, quoth bolde Robin, 135 
 
 Till thou have told me thine. 
 
 I dwell by dale and downe, quoth hee, 
 And Robin to take Ime sworne ; 
 
 And when I am called by my right name- 
 I am Guye of good Gisbdrne. 140 
 
 My dwelling is in this wood, sayes Robin, 
 
 By thee I set right nought : 
 I am Robin Hood of Barnfesdale, 
 
 Whom thou so long hast sought. 
 
 He that had neither beene kithe nor kin. 145 
 Might have seene a full fayre sight. 
 
 To see how together these yeomen went 
 With blades both browne* and bright. 
 
 To see how these yeomen together they fought 
 Two howres of a summers day : 150 
 
 Yett neither Robin Hood nor Sir Guy 
 Them fettled to flye away. 
 
 Robin was reachles on a roote, 
 
 And stumbled at that tyde ; 
 And Guy was quicke and nimble with-all. 
 
 And hitt him ore the left side. 156 
 
 Ah, deare lady, sayd Robin Hood, * thou 
 That art both mother and may,-* 
 
 I think it was never mans destinye 
 
 To dye before his day. -. 160 
 
 * The common epithet for a sword or other offensive 
 weapon, iu the old metrical romances, is brown. As " brown 
 brand," or " brown sword, brown bill," &c. ; and sometimes 
 even "bright brown sword." Chaucer applies the word 
 rustle 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. 
 
EOBIN HOOD AND GUY OF GISBORNE. 
 
 81 
 
 Robin thought on our ladye 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, 165 
 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, 170 
 
 That he was never on woman born, 
 Cold tell whose head it was. 
 
 Sales, Lye there, lye there, now Sir Guye, 
 
 And with me be not wrothe ; 
 If thou have had the worse strokes at my 
 hand, 175 
 
 Thou shalt have the better clothe. 
 
 Robin did off his gowne of greene. 
 
 And on Sir Guy did it throwe. 
 And hee put on that capull hyde, 
 
 That cladd him topp to toe. 180 
 
 The bowe, the arrowes, and litle home. 
 
 Now with me I will beare ; 
 For I will away to Barn^sdale, 
 
 To see how my men doe fare. 
 
 Robin Hood sett Guyes home to his mouth, 
 And a loud blast in it did blow. 186 
 
 That beheard the sheriffe of Nottingham, 
 As he leaned under a lowe. 
 
 Hearken, hearken, sayd the sheriffe, 
 
 I heare nowe tydings good, 190 
 
 For yonder I heare Sir Guye's home blowe. 
 And he hath slaine Robin Hoode. 
 
 Yonder I heare Sir Guye's home blowe, 
 
 Itt blowes soe well in tyde. 
 And yonder comes that wightye yeoman, 195 
 
 Cladd in his capull hyde. 
 
 Come hyther, come hyther, thou good Sir 
 Guy, 
 
 Aske what thou wilt of mee. 
 0, I will none of thy gold, sayd Robin, 
 
 Nor I will none of thy fee : 200 
 
 But now I've slaine the master, he sayes, 
 Let me go strike the knave ; 
 
 Ver. 163, awkwarde, MS. 
 
 This is all the rewarde I aske ; 
 Nor noe other will I have. 
 
 Thou art a madman, said the sheriffe, 205 
 Thou sholdest have had a knight's fee : 
 
 But seeing thy asking hath beene soe bad, 
 Well granted it shale be. 
 
 When Litle John heard his master speake, 
 Well knewe he it was his steven : 210 
 
 Now shall I be looset, quoth Litle John, 
 With Christ his might in heaven. 
 
 Fast Robin hee hyed him to Little John, 
 He thought to loose him belive ; 
 
 The sheriffe and all his companye 215 
 
 Fast after him did drive. 
 
 Stand abacke, stand abacke, sayd Robin ; 
 
 Why draw you mee soe neere ? 
 Itt was never the use in our country^. 
 
 One's shrift another shold heere. 220 
 
 But Robin pulled forth an Irysh 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 : 226 
 
 When the sheriffe saw Little John bend his 
 bow. 
 He fettled him to be gone. 
 
 Towards his house in Nottingham towne 
 He fled full fast away ; 230 
 
 And soe did all his companye : 
 Not one behind wold stay. 
 
 But he cold neither runne soe fast. 
 
 Nor away soe fast cold ryde, 
 Bat Litle John with an arrowe so broad 235 
 
 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." 
 
82 
 
 AN ELEGY ON HENRY FOURTH EARL OE NORTHUMBERLAND. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Jin €^5(g m l^ntj imxt\ €ml at ^fixt\mkxM)i. 
 
 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 melan- 
 choly event happened at the earl's seat at 
 Cocklodge, near Thirske, 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 difierent 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, 
 
 Quaeque suo patri tristia justa cano. 
 Ast ubi perlegit, dubiam sub mente volutet 
 
 Fortunam, cuncta quag male 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 fate, the dolefulle destenny 
 Of him that is gone, alas ! withoute restore. 
 Of the blode* royall descendinge nobelly ; 
 Whos lordshepe doubtles was slayne la- 
 mentably 5 
 Thorow tresun ageyn hym compassyd and 
 
 wrought ; 
 Trew to his prince, in word, in dede, and 
 thought. 
 
 Of hevenly poems, Clyo calde by name 
 In the college of musis goddess hystoriall, 
 
 Adres the to me, whiche am both halt and 
 lame 10 
 
 In elect uteraunce 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 lineally descended from the Emperor 
 Charlemagne and the ancient Kings of France, by his 
 ancestor Josceline du Lovain (son of Godfrey Duke of 
 Brabant), who took the name of Percy on marrying the 
 heiress of that house in the reign of Hen, U., Vid. Camden 
 Britan. Edmondson, &c. 
 
AN ELEGY ON HENRY FOURTH EARL OF NORTHUMBERLAND. 
 
 83 
 
 Of noble actes auncyently enrolde, 15 
 
 Of famous princis and lordes of astate, 
 
 By thy report ar wonte to extold, 
 
 Regestringe trewly every formare date ; 
 Of thy bountie after the usuall rate, 
 
 Kyndle in me suche plenty of thy nobles, 
 
 Thes sorrowfulle dities that I may shew ex- 
 pres. 20 
 
 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, 
 Confeterd togeder of commoun concente, 25 
 
 Falsly to slo ther moste singular goode lorde ? 
 
 It may be registerde of shamefull recorde. 
 
 So noble a man, so valiaunt lorde and knight, 
 
 Fulfilled with honor, as all the worlde dothe 
 
 ken ; 30 
 
 At his commaundement, whiche had both 
 
 day and night 
 
 Knyghtisand 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. 35 
 
 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 rekening were dis- 
 cust. 40 
 
 What shuld I flatter ? what shulde I glose or 
 
 paynt ? 
 Fy, fy for shame, their harts wer to faint. 
 
 In Englande and Fraunce, which gretly was 
 
 redouted ; 
 
 Of whom both Flaunders and Scotland 
 
 stode in drede ; 44 
 
 To whome grete astates 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 befal. 
 
 I say, ye commoners, why wer ye so stark 
 mad ? 50 
 
 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 ; 55 
 
 Well may you be called comones most un- 
 kynd. 
 
 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 : 60 
 Your hap was unhappy, to ill was your 
 
 Whatmovyd you agayn hym to war or to fight? 
 What aylde you to sle your lord agyn all right? 
 
 The grounde of his quarel was for his sove- 
 
 reyn lord, 64 
 
 The welle concernyng of all the hole lande, 
 
 Demaundyng soche dutyes as nedis most acord 
 
 To the right of his prince which shold 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 hable to have saide him nay. 
 
 But ther was fals packinge, or els I am be- 
 gylde; 71 
 
 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 dou- 
 ble chayn, 75 
 And held with the commouns under a cloke, 
 Whiche kindeled the wyld fyre that made all 
 this smoke. 
 
 The commouns renyed ther taxes to pay 
 
 Of them demaunded and asked by the 
 
 kinge ; 
 
 With one voice importune, they playnly said 
 
 nay : 80 
 
 They buskt them on a bushment themself 
 
 in baile to bringe : 
 Agayne the king's plesure to wrastle or to 
 wringe, 
 
84 
 
 AN ELEGY ON HENRY FOURTH EARL OF NORTHUMBERLAND. 
 
 Bluntly as bestis withe boste and with cry 
 They saide, they forsede not, nor carede not 
 to dy. 
 
 The noblenes of the northe this valiant lorde 
 
 and knyght, 85 
 
 As man that was innocent of trechery or 
 
 trayne, 
 
 Presed forthe boldly to witstand 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 : 90 
 
 Bot all they fled from hym for falshode or 
 fere. 
 
 Barons, knights, squyers, one and alle, 
 Togeder with servaunts of his famuly, 
 
 Turnd their backis, and let ther master fall, 
 Of whos [life] they counted not a fiye ; 95 
 Take up whos wolde for them, they let 
 hymly 
 
 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 ; 100 
 
 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, 106 
 
 The famous erle of Northumberlande : 
 
 Of knightly prowls the sworde pomel and 
 
 hylt, 
 
 The mighty lyoun* doutted by se and lande ! 
 
 dolorous chaunce of fortuns fruward 
 
 hande ! 110 
 
 "What man remembring how shamfully he was 
 
 slayne. 
 From bitter weepinge himself kan restrayne ! 
 
 cruell Mars, thou dedly god of war ! 
 dolorous Teusday, dedicate to thy name, 
 
 * Alluding to his crest and supporters. Doutted is con- 
 tracted for redoubted. 
 
 When thou shoke thy sworde so noble a man 
 
 to mar ! 115 
 
 grounde ungracious, unhappy be thy fame, 
 
 Whiche wert endyed with rede blode of the 
 
 same ! 
 
 Moste noble erle ! fowle mysuryd grounde 
 
 Whereon he gat his fynal dedely wounde I 
 
 Atropos, of the fatall systers thre, 120 
 Goddes mooste cruell unto the lyf of man, 
 All merciles, in the ys no pitfe ! 
 homycide, whiche sleest all that thou 
 
 kan, 
 So forcibly upon this erle thow ran, 
 That with thy sworde enharpid of mortall 
 drede, 125 
 
 Thou kit asonder his perfight vitall threde ! 
 
 My wordis unpullysht be nakide and playne, 
 
 Of aureat poems they want ellumynynge ; 
 
 Bot by them to knoulege ye may attayne 
 
 Of this lordis dethe and of his murdrynge. 
 
 Which whils he lyvyd had fuyson of every 
 
 thing, 131 
 
 Of knights, of squyers, chef lord of toure 
 
 and toune, 
 Tyl fykkill fortune began on hym to frowne. 
 
 Paregall to dukis, with kings he myght com- 
 pare, 
 Surmountinge in honor all erls he did ex- 
 cede, 135 
 To all cuntreis aboute hym reporte me I dare. 
 Lyke to Eneas benygne in worde and dede, 
 Valiaunt as Hector in every marciall nede, 
 Provydent, discrete, circumspect, and wyse, 
 Tyll the chaunce ran agayne him of fortune's 
 duble dyse. 140 
 
 What nedethe me for to extoU 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 sum what wright supprisid with hartly 
 lust, 145 
 
 Truly reportinge his right noble astate, 
 Immortally whiche is immaculate. 
 
 His noble blode never disteynyd was, 
 
 Trew to his prince for to defende his right, 
 
 Doublenes hatinge, fals maters to compas, 
 Treytory and treson he bannesht out of 
 syght, 151 
 
 With trowth to medle was all his hole delyght, 
 
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 quere of the musis nyne 155 
 
 Iq me all onely wer sett and comprisyde, 
 
 Enbrethed with the blast of influence dyvyne, 
 As perfightly as could be thought or devy- 
 
 syd; 
 To me also allthouche it were promysyde 
 
 Of laureat Phebus holy the eloquence, 160 
 
 All were too litill for his magnyficence. 
 
 yonge lyon, bot tender yet of age. 
 
 Grow and encrese, remembre thyn astate, 
 God the assyst unto thyn herytage, 164 
 
 And geve the grace to be more fortunate, 
 Agayne rebellyouns arme to make debate. 
 And, as the lyoune, whiche is of bestis kinge. 
 Unto thy subjectis be kurteis and benyngne. 
 
 1 pray God sende the prosperous lyf and long, 
 
 Stabille thy mynde constant to be and fast. 
 
 Right to mayntein, and to resist all wronge: 
 
 All flattringe faytors abhor and from the 
 
 cast, 172 
 
 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. 175 
 
 Wythe hevy chere, with dolorous hart and 
 
 mynd, 
 
 Eche man may sorow in his inward thought, 
 
 Thys lords death, whose pere is hard to fynd 
 
 Allgyf Englond and Fraunce were thorow 
 
 saught. 
 Al kings, all princes, all dukes, well they 
 ought 180 
 
 Bothe temporall and spiritual! 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- 
 teynd 
 In fee, as menyall men of his housold, 185 
 Whom he as lord worsheply manteynd: 
 To sorowfull weping they ought to be con- 
 streynd, 
 
 As oft as thei call to ther remembraunce, 
 Of ther good lord the fate and dedely chaunce. 
 
 perlese prince of hevyn emperyalle, 190 
 That with one worde formed al thing of 
 noughte ; 
 Hevyn, hell, and erth obey unto thi kail ; 
 Which to thy resemblance wondersly hast 
 
 wrought 
 All mankynd, whom thou full dere hast 
 boght. 
 With thy blode precious our finaunce thou 
 dyd pay, " 195 
 
 And us redemed, from the fendys pray : 
 
 To the pray we, as prince incomperable, 
 As thou art of mercy and pite the weU, 
 
 Thou bringe unto thy joy etermynable 
 The sowle of this lorde from all daunger 
 of hell, 200 
 
 In endles blis with the to byde and dweU 
 
 In thy palace above the orient. 
 
 Where thou art lorde, and God omnipotent. 
 
 queene of mercy, lady full of grace. 
 Maiden moste pure, and goddis moder dere. 
 
 To sorowfull harts chef comfort and solace, 206 
 Of all women floure withouten pere. 
 Pray to thy son above the starris clere, 
 
 He to vouchesaf by thy mediatioun 
 
 To pardon thy servant, and bringe to salva- 
 cion. 210 
 
 In joy tryumphant the hevenly yerarchy. 
 With all the hole sorte of that glorious 
 place, 
 His soule mot recyve into ther company 
 Thorowe bounte of hym that formed all 
 
 solace : 
 Well of pite, of mercy, and of grace, 215 
 The father, the son, and the holy goste 
 In Trinitate one God of myghts moste. 
 
 t-j-t 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. 
 
86 
 
 THE TOWER OF DOCTRINE. 
 
 X. 
 
 €\t ®0ton 0f g0drint 
 
 The reader has here a specimen of the de- 
 scriptive powers of Stephen Hawes, a cele- 
 brated poet in the reign of Henry YII., 
 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 Governaunce 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, 
 Farre in the west neare to the element, 
 
 And as I dyd then unto it approche, 
 Upon the toppe I sawe refulgent 
 The royal tower of Morall Document, 5 
 
 Made of fine copper with turrettes fayre and 
 
 Which against Phebus shone soe marveyl- 
 ously. 
 
 That for the very perfect bryghtnes 
 What of the tower, and of the cleare sunne 
 
 I Gould nothyng behold the goodlines 10 
 
 Of that palaice, 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, 15 
 And often mused of the great hyghnes 
 
 Of the craggy rocke which quadrant did ap- 
 peare : 
 B.ut the fayre tower, (so much of ryches 
 Was all about,) sexangled doubtles ; 
 
 Gargeyld with grayhoundes, and with many 
 lyons, 20 
 
 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 25 
 
 With goodly pypes, in their mouthes 
 ituned, 
 That with the wynd they piped a daunce 
 Iclipped Amour de la hault plesaunce. 
 
 The toure was great of marveylous wydnes. 
 To whyche ther was no way to passe but 
 one, 30 
 
 Into the toure for to have an intres : 
 A grece there was ychesyld all of stone 
 Out of the rocke, on whyche men dyd gone 
 Up to the toure, and in lykewyse dyd I 
 With bothe the Grayhoundes in my com- 
 pany -.f 35 
 
 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, 40 
 
 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, 44 
 
 Where was a fountayne depured of plesance, 
 
 A noble sprynge, a ryall conduyte-hode, 
 
 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, towers, P. C. V. 44, besy courte, P. C. V. 49, par- 
 tyes, P. C. 
 
 * Greyhounds, Lions, Dragons, were at that time the 
 royal supporters, 
 t This alludes to a former part of the Poem. 
 
THE CHILD OF ELLE. 
 
 87 
 
 Of whyche there flowed foure ryvers ryght 
 clere, 50 
 
 Sweter than Nylus* or Ganges was ther 
 odoure : 
 Tygrys or Eufrates unto them no pere : 
 I dyd than taste the aromatyke lycoure, 
 Fragraunt of fume, and swete as any fioure; 
 And in my mouth it had a marveylous scent 
 Of divers spyces, I knewe not what it ment. 
 
 And after thys further forth me brought 
 Dame Countenaunce into a goodly Hall, 
 
 Of jasper stones it was wonderly wrought: 
 Thy wyndowes cleare depured all of crys- 
 tall, 60 
 
 And in the roufe on hye over all 
 
 Of golde was made a ryght crafty vyne ; 
 Instede of grapes the rubies there did shyne. 
 
 The flore was paved with berall clarified, 
 With pillers made of stones precious, 65 
 
 Like a place of pleasure so gayely glorified. 
 It myght be called a palaice glorious, 
 So muche delectable and solacious ; 
 
 The hall was hanged hye and circuler 
 
 With cloth of arras in the rychest maner, 70 
 
 That treated well of a ful noble story. 
 
 Of the doubty waye to the Tower Peril- 
 lous ;* 
 Howe a noble knyght should wynne the vic- 
 tory 
 Of many a serpente foule and odious. 
 
 XI. 
 
 t ciiiiiy 0f mt, 
 
 is given from a fragment in the Edi- 
 tor's folio MS. : which though extremely de- 
 fective 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 con- 
 siders how difficult it must be to imitate the 
 afiecting 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 bedight, 
 
 And yonder lives the Child of Elle, 
 A younge and comely knighte. 
 
 The Child of Elle to his garden went, 5 
 
 And stood at his garden pale. 
 Whan, lo ! he beheld fair Emmelines page 
 
 Come trippinge downe the dale. 
 
 The Child of Elle he hyed him thence, 
 Y-wis he stoode not stille, 
 
 10 
 
 12 
 
 t Nysus, P, C. 
 
 And soone he mette fair Emmelines page 
 Come climbing up the hille. 
 
 Nowe Christe thee save, thou little foot-page, 
 Now Christe thee save and see ! 
 
 Oh tell me how does thy ladye gaye, 15 
 
 And what may thy tydinges bee ? 
 
 My lady she is all woe-begone, 
 
 And the teares they fiille from her eyne ; 
 And aye she laments the deadlye feude 
 
 Betweene her house and thine. 20 
 
 And here shee sends thee a silken scarfe 
 
 Bedewde with many a teare, 
 And biddes thee sometimes thinke on her. 
 
 Who loved thee so deare. 
 
 And here she sends thee a ring of golde 25 
 The last boone thou mayst have. 
 
 And biddes thee weare it for her sake, 
 When she is layde in grave. 
 
 For, ah ! her gentle heart is broke, 
 
 And in grave soone must shee bee, 30 
 
 Sith her father hath chose her a new new love, 
 And forbidde her to think of thee. 
 
 * The story of the poem. 
 
Her father hath brought her a carlish knight, 
 Sir John of the north countr^ye, 
 
 And within three dayes shee must him wedde, 
 Or he vowes he will her slaye. 36 
 
 Nowe hye thee backe, thou little foot-page, 
 
 And greet thy ladye from mee, 
 And tell her that I her owne true love 
 
 Will dye, or sette her free. 40 
 
 Nowe hye thee backe, thou little foot-page, 
 
 And let thy fair ladye know 
 This knight will I bee at her bowre wind6we. 
 
 Betide me weale or woe. 
 
 The boye he tripped, the boye he ranne, 45 
 
 He neither stint ne stayd 
 Untill he came to fair Emmelines bowre 
 
 Whan kneeling downe he sayd, 
 
 ladye, I've been with thy own true love. 
 And he greets thee well by mee ; 50 
 
 This night will he be at thy bowre-wind6we, 
 And dye or sette thee free. 
 
 Nowe daye was gone and night was come. 
 
 And all were fast asleepe, 
 All save the ladye Emmeline, 55 
 
 Who sate in her bowre to weepe : 
 
 And soone she heard her true loves voice 
 
 Lowe whispering at the walle, 
 Awake, awake, my deare lady^, 
 
 Tis I thy true love call. 60 
 
 Awake, awake, my ladye deare, 
 Come, mount this faire palfr^ye; 
 
 This ladder of ropes will lette thee downe, 
 He carrye thee hence awaye. 
 
 Nowe nay, nowe nay, thou gentle knight, 65 
 
 Nowe nay, this may not bee ; 
 For aye shold I tint my maiden fame. 
 
 If alone I should wend with thee. 
 
 ladye, thou with a knighte so true 
 
 Mayst safely wend alone, 70 
 
 To my ladye mother I will thee bringe. 
 Where marriage shall make us one. 
 
 " My father he is a baron bolde, 
 
 Of lynage proude and hye ; 
 And what would he saye if his daughter 75 
 
 Awaye with a knight should fly ? 
 
 Ah ! well I wot, he never would rest. 
 Nor his meate should doe him no goode, 
 
 Until he had slayne thee. Child of Elle, 
 And seene thy deare hearts bloode.'' 80 
 
 ladye wert thou in thy saddle sette, ^ 
 And a little space him fro, 
 
 1 would not care for thy cruel father. 
 
 Nor the worst that he could doe. 
 
 ladye, wert thou in thy saddle sette, 85 
 And once without this walle, 
 
 1 would not care for thy cruel father. 
 Nor the worst that might befalle. 
 
 Faire Emmeline sighed, fair Emmeline wept. 
 And aye her heart was woe : 90 
 
 At length he seized her lilly-white hand, 
 And downe the ladder he drewe ; 
 
 And thrice he clasped her to his breste. 
 
 And kist her tenderlie : 
 The teares that fell from her fair eyes 95 
 
 Kanne like the fountayne free. 
 
 Hee mounted himselfe on his steede so talle. 
 
 And her on a fair palfr^ye. 
 And slung his bugle about his necke. 
 
 And roundlye they rode awaye. 100 
 
 All this beheard her owne damsfeUe, 
 
 In her bed whereas shee ley. 
 Quoth shee, My lord shall knowe of this, 
 
 Soe I shall have golde and fee. 
 
 Awake, awake, thou baron bolde ! 105 
 
 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 115 
 
 Come galloping over the downe : 
 
 And formost came the carlish knight. 
 Sir John of the north countrdye : 
 
 " Nowe stop, nowe stop, thou false traitdure. 
 Nor carry that ladye awaye. 120 
 
THE CHILD OF ELLE. 
 
 89 
 
 For she is come of hye linkage, 
 
 And was of a ladye borne, 
 And ill it beseems 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 ; 126 
 
 A knight mee gott, and a ladye me bore, 
 Soe never did none by thee. 
 
 But light nowe downe, my ladye faire, 
 
 Light downe, and hold my steed, 130 
 
 While I and this discourteous knighte 
 Doe trye this arduous deede. 
 
 But light nowe downe, my deare lady^, 
 Light downe, and hold my horse ; 
 
 While I and this discourteous knight 135 
 Doe trye our valour's force. 
 
 Fair Emmeline sighed, fair Emmeline wept. 
 
 And aye her heart was woe, 
 While twixt her love and the carlish knight 
 
 Past many a baleful bio we. 140 
 
 The Child of Ella hee fought soe well, 
 As his weapon he waved amaine. 
 
 That soone he had slaine the carlish knight. 
 And layd him upon the plaine. 
 
 And nowe the baron and all his men 145 
 
 Full fast approached nye : 
 Ah ! what may ladye Emmeline doe 
 
 Twere nowe no boote to flye. 
 
 Her lover he put his home to his mouth. 
 And blew both loud and shrill, 150 
 
 And soone he saw his owne merry men 
 Come ryding over the hill. 
 
 " Nowe hold thy hand, thou bold baron, 
 
 I pray thee hold thy hand. 
 Nor ruthless rend two gentle hearts 155 
 
 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. 160 
 
 give consent, shee may be mine, 
 
 And bless a faithfuU paire : 
 My lands and livings are not small, 
 
 My house and lineage faire : 
 
 My mother she was an earl's daughter, 165 
 And a noble 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 tremblinge stand : 170 
 
 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. 
 
 175 
 
 Oft have you called your Emmeline 
 Your darling and your joye ; 
 
 let not then your harsh resolves 
 Your Emmeline destroye. 
 
 180 
 
 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 deepe revolving thought he stoode, 185 
 
 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 ; 190 
 
 Here take my deare and only child, 
 And with her half my land : 
 
 Thy father once mine honour wrongde 
 
 In dayes of youthful pride ; 
 Do thou the injurye repayre 195 
 
 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. 200 
 
 4f * 
 
 fit From the word Mrke 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, kirh is used in the common dialect 
 for church, as well as beyond the Tweed. 
 
90 
 
 EDOM 0' GORDON. 
 
 XII. 
 
 d£lj0m ®' i0rt0it, 
 
 A SCOTTISH BALLAD, 
 
 was printed at Glasgow, by Robert 
 
 and Andrew Foulis, mdcclv. 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 au- 
 thor was English or Scotch, the difference 
 originally was not great. The English Bal- 
 lads are generally of the North of England, 
 the Scottish are of the South of Scotland, 
 and of consequence the country of Ballad- 
 singers was sometimes subject to one crown, 
 and sometimes to the other, and most fre- 
 quently 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 hap- 
 pily nothing remains but the ruins of the cas- 
 tles, where the more daring and successful 
 robbers resided. The House or Castle of the 
 Rbdes 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 fact, 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 versS,. — The foregoing observa- 
 tion, 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 diffe- 
 rent 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 sail we draw till, 5 
 
 My mirry men and me ? 
 We wul gae to the house o' the Rodes, 
 
 To see that fair ladie. 
 
EDOM 0' GORDON. 
 
 91 
 
 The lady stude on hir castle wa^ 
 
 Beheld baith dale and down : 10 
 
 There she was ware of a host of men 
 Cum ryding towards the toun. 
 
 see ze nat, my mirry men 2J ? 
 
 see ze nat quhat I see ? 
 Methinks I see a host of men : 
 
 1 marveil quha they be. 
 
 15 
 
 She weend it had been hir luvely lord, 
 
 As he cam ryding hame ; 
 It was the traitor Edom 0' Gordon, 
 
 Quha reckt nae sin nor shame. 20 
 
 She had nae sooner buskit hirsel, 
 
 And putten on hir goun, 
 But Edom 0' Gordon and his men 
 
 Were round about the toun. 
 
 They had nae sooner supper sett, 25 
 
 Nae sooner said the grace, 
 But Edom 0' Gorden and his men 
 
 Were light about the place. 
 
 The lady ran up to hir towir head, 
 
 Sa fast as she could hie, 30 
 
 To see if by hir faire speeches 
 She could wi' him agree. 
 
 But (Juhan he see this lady saif. 
 
 And hir yates all locked fast. 
 He fell into a rage of wrath, 35 
 
 And his look was all aghast. 
 
 Cum doun to me, ze lady gay. 
 
 Cum doun, cum doun to me : 
 This night sail ye lig within mine armes, 
 
 To-morrow my bride sail be. 40 
 
 I winnae cum doun, ze fals Gordon, 
 
 I winnae cum doun to thee ; 
 I winnae forsake my ain dear lord, 
 
 That is sae far frae me. 
 
 Give owre zour house, ze lady fair, 45 
 
 Give cure zour house to me, 
 Or I sail brenn yoursel therein, 
 
 Bot and zour babies three. 
 
 I winnae give owre, ze false Gordon, 
 To nae sik traitor as zee : 50 
 
 And if ze brenn my ain dear babes, 
 My lord shall make ze drie. 
 
 But r^ach my pistoll, Glaud, my man,* 
 
 And charge ze well my gun •* 
 For, but an I pierce that bluidy butcher, 55 
 
 My babes we been undone. 
 
 She stude upon hir castle wa'. 
 
 And let twa bullete flee •* 
 She mist that bluidy butchers hart. 
 
 And only raz'd his knee. 60 
 
 Set fire to the house, quo' fals Gordon, 
 
 All wood wi' dule and ire : 
 Fals lady, ze sail rue this deid. 
 
 As ze bren in the fire. 
 
 Wae worth, wae worth ze, Jock my man, 65 
 
 I paid ze weil zour fee ; 
 Quhy pu' ze out the ground-wa' stane. 
 
 Lets in the reek to me ? 
 
 And ein wae worth ze, Jock my man, 
 
 I paid ze well zour hire ; 70 
 
 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, 75 
 
 Maun either doe or die. 
 
 then bespaik hir little son. 
 
 Sate on the nurses knee ; 
 Sayes, Mither deare, gi' owre this house, 
 
 For the reek it smithers me. 80 
 
 I wad gie a' my gowd, my childe, 
 
 Sae wald I a' my fee, 
 For ane blast 0' the western wind. 
 
 To blaw the reek frae thee. 
 
 then bespaik hir dochter dear, 85 
 
 She was bath jimp and sma: 
 row me in a pair of sheits. 
 
 And tow me owre the wa. 
 
 They rowd hir in a pair 0' sheits, 
 
 And towd hir owre the wa : 90 
 
 But on the point of Gordon's spear 
 
 She gat a deadly fa. 
 
 bonnie bonnie was hir mouth. 
 And cherry were hir cheiks, 
 
 * These three linea are restored from Foulis's edition, 
 and the fol. MS., which last reads " the bullets," in v. 58. 
 
92 
 
 EDOM 0' GORDON. 
 
 And clear clear was hir zellow hair, 
 
 Whereon the reid bluid dreips. 95 
 
 Then wi^ his spear he turnd hir owre, 
 
 gin hir face was wan ! 
 
 He sayd, Ze are the first that eir 
 
 1 wisht alive again. 100 
 
 He turnd hir owre and owre againe, 
 
 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', 105 
 
 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 see the fire 
 
 Cum flaming owre hir head, 
 She wept and kist her children twain, 115 
 
 Sayd, Bairns, we been but dead. 
 
 The Gordon then his bougill blew, 
 
 And said, ' Awa', * awa' ; 
 This house o' the Rhodes is a* in flame, 
 
 1 hauld it time to ga'. 120 
 
 then bespyed hir ain dear lord. 
 
 As hee cam owr the lee ; 
 He sied his castle all in blaze 
 
 So far as he could see. 
 
 Then sair, sair, his mind misgave, 125 
 
 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 ; 130 
 
 v. 98, 102, Gin, &c., a Scottish idiom to express, great 
 admiration, V, 109, 110, Thame, &c., i. e. Them that look 
 after omens of ill luck, ill luck will follow. 
 
 I For he that is hindmost of the thrang 
 Sail neir get guid o' me. 
 
 Than sum they rade, and some they rin, 
 
 Fou fast out-owr the bent ; 
 But eir the foremost could get up, 135 
 
 Baith lady and babes were brent. 
 
 He wrang his hands, he rent his hair, 
 
 And wept in teenefu^ muid : 
 traitors, for this cruel deid 
 
 Ze sail weep teirs o' bluid. 140 
 
 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. 
 
 tjt Since the foregoing ballad was first 
 printed, the subject of it has been found re- 
 corded in Abp. Spotswood's History of the 
 Church of Scotland, p. 259 ; who informs us, 
 that 
 
 " Anno 1571. In the north parts of Scot- 
 land, 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, es- 
 pecially upon the Forbes Having 
 
 killed Arthur Forbes, brother to the Lord 
 Forbes. . . . Not long after he sent to sum- 
 mon 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 
 who signs his name H. H. (Newcastle, May 
 9,) in the Gentleman's Magazine for May, 
 1775, p. 219. 
 
 THE END OP THE FIRST BOOK. 
 
BALLADS THAT ILLUSTRATE SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 SERIES THE FIRST. 
 BOOK II. 
 
 laltete t|at lltasttEte Sfeato^^aa. 
 
 Our great dramatic poet having occasion- 
 ally 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 Skakspeare, 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'a Acct. of Theat. of Europe, 
 &c. &c. These were all the author had seen when he first 
 drew up this Essay. 
 
 probably 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 Osborne's Harleyan 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,"t &c., being a trans- 
 lation from the Dutch language, in which he 
 is named TJlenspiegle. 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 
 rogueries to his master. The story thus pro- 
 ceeds : "And than in the meane season, while 
 Howleglas, was parysh clarke, at Easter they 
 should play the Ressurrection of our Lorde : 
 and for because than the men wer not learned, 
 nor 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 leman with one iye. Than it 
 fortuned that the tyme was come that they 
 
 * See Ben Johnson's Poetaster, act iii. sec. 4, and hia 
 Masque of The Fortunate Isles. Whalley's edit. vol. ii. p. 
 49, vol. vi. p. 190. 
 
 t Howleglass is said in the preface to have died in MCOCCi. 
 At the end of the book, in mcccl. 
 
94 
 
 ON THE ORIGIN OF THE ENGLISH STAGE. 
 
 must playe, and the Aungel asked them 
 whom they sought, and than sayd they, as 
 Howleglas had shewed and lerned them afore, 
 and than answered they, We seke the priests 
 leman with one iye. And than the prieste 
 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 ; 
 amd 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 noyse 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 frequently required 
 the representation of some allegorical per- 
 sonage, such as Death, Sin, Charity, Faith, 
 and the like, by degrees the rude poets of 
 those unlettered ages began to form complete 
 dramatic pieces consisting entirely of such 
 personifications. These 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 something 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 rea- 
 son I shall give a short analysis of them both. 
 
 One of them is entitled "Every Man.^f 
 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 mo- 
 nologue spoken by the Messenger (for that 
 was the name generally given by our ances- 
 
 * ^. Imprtnted . . BY Wtlltam Copland : -without date, 
 4to. bl. let. among Mr. Garrick's Old Plays, K. vol. X. 
 
 t This play has been reprinted by Mr. Hawkins in his 
 3 vols, of Old Plays, entitled, " The Origin of the English 
 Drama," 12mo. Oxford, 1773. See vol. i. p. 27. 
 
 tors to the Prologue on their rude stage) : 
 then God* is represented ; who, after some 
 general complaints on the degeneracy of man- 
 kind, calls for Death, and orders him to bring 
 before his tribunal Every-man, for so is callei 
 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 for relief in this distress to Fel- 
 lowship, 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,f introduces him 
 to her sister Knowledge, 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 ex- 
 pires on the stage ; Good Dedes still accom- 
 panying him to the last. Then an Aungell 
 descends to sing his Requiem ; and the Epi- 
 logue is spoken by a person, called Doctour, 
 who recapitulates the whole, and delivers the 
 moral : 
 
 " T[. This memoriall men may have in mynde, 
 Ye herers, take it of worth old and yonge. 
 And forsake Pryde, for he deceyveth you in 
 
 thende. 
 And remembre Beauts, 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 ter- 
 ror and pity, and therefore may not impro- 
 perly 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, 
 
 f The before-mentioned are male characters, 
 
 % i. e. The Five Senses. These are frequently exhibited 
 
 as five distinct personages upon the Spanish stage (see 
 
 Riccoboni, p. 98) ; but our moralist has represented them 
 
 all by one character. 
 
ON THE ORIGIN OF THE ENGLISH STAGE. 
 
 y5 
 
 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,"t 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 degene- 
 racy of the age, declare their resolution of 
 stemming the torrent. Pity then is left upon 
 the stage, and presently found by Frewyll, 
 representing a lewd debauchee, who, with his 
 dissolute companion Imaginacion, relate their 
 manner of life, and not without humour de- 
 scribe the stews 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 viscious, who glory in every act of 
 wickedness : at length two of them quarrel, 
 and Pity endeavours to part the fray; on this 
 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, Erewill appears again ; and, after re- 
 lating in a very comic manner some of his 
 rogueries and escapes from justice, is rebuked 
 by the two holy men, who, after a long alter- 
 cation, at length convert him and his libertine 
 
 * See more of every man, in Series the Second, Pref. to 
 B. ii., note. 
 
 t "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. 
 
 13 
 
 companion Imaginacioun from their vicious 
 course of life : and then the play ends with a 
 few verses from Perseverance 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, bating 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 come- 
 dies in form soon after took place, especially 
 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 ; and an eminent French writer thinks 
 it was even the first attempt towards the re- 
 
 * Apud Dunestapliam .... quendum ludum de sancta 
 Katerina {quern miracula mlgariter appeUamus) fecit. Ad 
 qtiCB decoranda, pdiit a sacrista sancti Albani, ut sibi Capm 
 Chorales accommodarentur, et obtinuit. Et fidt ludus ilie de 
 sancta Katerina. Vitae Abbat. ad fin. 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 earijr 
 writings of Fitz-Stephens : quoted below. 
 
ON THE ORIGIN OF THE ENGLISH STAGE. 
 
 vival of Dramatic Entertainments in all 
 Europe ; being long before the Representa- 
 tions 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. t In the subsequent age of 
 Chaucer, " Plays of Miracles" in Lent were 
 the common resort of idle gossips. J 
 
 They do not appear to have been so pre- 
 valent on the continent, for the learned his- 
 torian 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 par- 
 ticular 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, un- 
 known 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 ap- 
 pear from the Houshold Book of the fifth 
 Earl of Northumberland, A. D. 1512 :||— 
 
 * Vid. Abrege Chron. de I'Hist. de France, par M. 
 Renault, k I'ann. 1179. 
 
 f See Fitz-Stephens's Description of London, preserved 
 by Stow (and reprinted with notes, &c., by the Rev. Mr. 
 Pegge, in 1774, 4to.), Londonia pro spectuculis thcatralibus, 
 pro Ivdis scenicis, Ivdos habet sanctiores, rcpresentationes 
 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 Rexjuvenis, Rex 
 filius, and sometimes they were jointly named Reges 
 Anglios. 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. Tyr- 
 whitt's Ed. 
 
 g M. L'Enfant. Tid. Hist, du Cone, de Constance, vol. 
 ii. p. 440. 
 
 II " The regulations and establishments of the houshold 
 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 domeai- 
 tic 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 writynge 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 lordship kepe a chapell and 
 be at home, them of his lordschipes chapell, 
 if they doo play the play of the Nativite uppon 
 cristynmes day in the mornnynge in my lords 
 chapell befor his lordship— xxs." Sect. XLIV. 
 p. 343. 
 
 " Item, ... to them of his lordship chap- 
 pell and other his lordshipis servaunts that 
 doith play the play befor his lordship uppon 
 Shrof-Tewsday at night yerely in reward 
 — xs.'^ Ibid. p. 345. 
 
 " Item, .... to them ... .that playth the 
 play of Resurrection upon estur day in the 
 mornnynge in my lordis ' chapell' befor his 
 lordshipe — xxs.'' Ibid. 
 
 " Item, My lorde useth and accustomyth 
 yerly to gyf hym which is ordynede to be the 
 Master of the Revells yer^y in my lordis 
 hous in cristmas for the overseyinge and or- 
 deringe of his lordschips playes, interludes 
 and dresinge that is plaid befor his lordship 
 in his hous in the xijth dayes of Cristenmas 
 and they to have in rewarde for that cans 
 yerly — xxs." Ibid. p. 346. 
 
 " Item, My lorde useth and accustomyth 
 to gyf every of the iiij. Parsones that his lord- 
 schip admyted as his Players to com to his 
 lordship yerly at Cristynmes ande at all other 
 such tymes as his lordship shall comande 
 them for playing of playe and interludes 
 affor his lordship in his lordshipis hous for 
 every of their fees for an hole yere" . . . Ibid, 
 p. 351. 
 
 •' Item, to be payd ... for rewards to Play- 
 ers for playes playd at Cristynmas by strane- 
 
 in presents to their fnends. — Although begun in 1512, some 
 of the Regulations were composed so late as 1525. 
 
ON THE ORIGIN OF THE ENGLISH STAGE. 
 
 97 
 
 geres in my house after xxd.* every play, 
 by estimacion somme — xxxiijs, inj."t Sect. 
 1, p. 22. 
 
 " Item, My Lorde usith, and accustometh 
 to gif yerely when his lordshipp is at home, 
 to every erlis Players that comes to his lord- 
 shipe betwixt Cristynmas ande Candelmas, 
 if he be his special lorde & frende & Kyns- 
 man— xxs.^' Sect. XLIIII. p. 340. 
 
 " Item, My lorde usith and accustomyth to 
 gyf yerely, when his lordship is at home to 
 every lordis Players, that comyth to his lord- 
 shipe betwixt Crystynmas and Candilmas — 
 X8." 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,"t the author enumerating the 
 most common trades or callings, as " carpen- 
 ters, coopers, joyners," &c., mentions 
 
 " Players, purse-cutters, money batterers, 
 Golde-washers, tomblers, 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 Tilth's reign, John Ras- 
 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 declarynge many proper points of 
 Philosophy Naturall, and of Dyvers Straunge 
 Landys,^ &c. It is observable that the 
 
 * This was not so small a siim 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. 
 
 ■j- At this rate the number of plays acted must have 
 been twenty. 
 
 X Pr. at the Sun in Fleet St. by W. de Worde, no date, 
 b. i. 4to. 
 
 g Mr. Garrick has an imperfect copy, (Old Plays, i. vol. 
 iii.) The dramatis personse are, "^. The Messenger [or 
 Prologue]. Nature naturate ; Humany te ; Studyous Desire ; 
 Sensuall Appetyte; The Taverner; Experyence; Tgno- 
 raunce. (Also yf ye lyste ye may brynge in a dysgysynge.") 
 
 poet speaks of the discovery of America as 
 then recent : 
 
 " Within this xx yere 
 
 Westwarde be founde new landes 
 
 That we never harde tell of before this,^' &c. 
 
 The AVest 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 Houshold 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 Juventus,"* written 
 under Edward VI., the exits and entrances 
 began to be noted in the margin :t 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. YIII., 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, " f . Of certeyn conclusions 
 prouvynge the yerthe must nedes be rounde, and that yt 
 
 is in circumference above xxi M. myle." " f . Of certeyne 
 
 points of cosmographye — 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 own countrymen. 
 
 * Described in Series the Second, preface to book ii. 
 The Dramatis Personae of this piece are "f. Messenger, 
 Lusty Juventus, Good Counsail, Knowledge, Sathan the 
 devyll, Hypocrisie, Fellowship, Abominable-lyring, an har- 
 lot], God's merciful promises." 
 
 f I have also discovered some few Exeats and IMrats 
 in the very old interlude of the " Fo\ir Elements." 
 
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. 
 " Corboduc," a regular tragedy, was acted in 
 1561 ;t 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- 
 graye, B. D., had republished a Latin comedy, called " Aco- 
 lastus," with an English version. Holingshed tells ns 
 (vol. iii. p. 850), that so early as 1520 the king had " a good 
 comedie of Plautus plaied" before him at Greenwich ; but 
 this was in Latin, as Mr. Farmer informs us in his curious 
 " Essay on the Learning of Shakespeare," Svo. p. 31. 
 
 t 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. 
 
 II Reprinted among Dodsley's Old Plays, vol. i. 
 
 ^ In some of these appeared characters full as extrar 
 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 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 ^neid. 
 
 What mighl 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 Mirrour 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 writerf 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," J founded on the story of the massacre 
 of the Danes, as it happened on St. Brice's 
 night, November 13, 1002.§ The play in 
 question was performed by certain 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. 
 
 I" Catal. of Royal and Noble Authors, vol. p. 1667. 
 
 X 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 Laneham's Letter, mentioned 
 below. 
 
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 per- 
 formance ; 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 be- 
 tween 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 cap- 
 tive by our English women. "f 
 
 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, t had of late been suppressed, at the in- 
 stance of some well meaning but precise 
 preachers, of whose " sourness" herein the 
 townsmen complain ; urging that their play 
 was "without example of ill manners, papis- 
 try, 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 re- 
 cover the old rhymes, or to procure new ones, 
 to accompany the action ; which if it origi- 
 nally represented " the outrage and importa- 
 ble 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 
 
 * Ro. Laneham, whose Letter, containing a full descrip- 
 tion of the Shows, &c., is reprinted at large in Nicholls'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 Txtesday, 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 
 Higgons, that St. Brice's Eve was still celebrated by the 
 Northern English in commemoration of this mascacre 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.) 
 
 t Laneham, p. 37. % Ibid. p. 33. 
 
 9 Ibid. II Ibid. p. 32. 
 
 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.f 
 
 "Whatever this old play, or " storial show,"t 
 was at the time it was exhibited to Queen 
 Elizabeth, it had probably our young Shak- 
 speare 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 
 laught well," and rewarded the performers 
 with two bucks and five marks in money : 
 who, " what rejoicing upon their ample re- 
 ward, and what triumphing upon the good 
 acceptance, vaunted their play was never so 
 dignified, nor ever any players before so bea- 
 tified:" 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. In- 
 deed the dramatic cast of many parts of that 
 superb entertainment, which continued nine- 
 teen days, and was the most splendid of the 
 kind ever attempted in this kingdom ; the 
 addresses to the Queen in the personated cha- 
 racters of Sybille, a savage man, and Sylva- 
 nus, 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 efiect on a young imagination, 
 whose dramatic powers were hereafter to as- 
 tonish the world. 
 
 But that the historical play was considered 
 by our old writers, and by Shakspeare him- 
 self, as distinct from tragedy and comedy, 
 will sufficiently appear from various passages 
 
 * Laneham, p. 33. 
 
 t The Rhymes, &c., prove this play to have been in Eng- 
 lish, whereas Mr. Thos. Warton thinks the Mysteries com- 
 posed before 1328 were in Latin. Malone's Shaksp. vol. 
 ii. pt. ii. p. 9. 
 
 X Laneham, p. 32. 
 
 § See Nichols's Progresses, vol. i. p. 57. 
 
 II Laneham, p. 38, 39. This was on Sunday evening, 
 July 9. 
 
100 
 
 ON THE OKIGIN 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.^f — Beaumont 
 and Fletcher, in the prologue to " The Cap- 
 tain," say, 
 
 " This is nor Comedy, nor Tragedy, 
 Nor History." 
 
 Poloniusin "Hamlet" commends the actors, 
 as the best in the world, " either for tragedie, 
 comedie, historic, pastorall," &c. And Shak- 
 speare's friends, Heminge and Condell, in the 
 first folio edition of his plays, in 1623, J have 
 not only entitled their book "Mr. William 
 Shakspeare's comedies, histories, and trage- 
 dies :" but in their table of contents have 
 arranged them under those three several 
 heads ; placing in the class of histories, " K. 
 John, Richard II., Henry IV., 2 pts. Henry 
 v., Henry VI., 3 pts. Rich. IIL, and Henry 
 VIII.;" to which they might have added such 
 of his other plays as have their subjects 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 faculty e of 
 playenge comedies, tragedies, enterludes, 
 stage-playes, and such other like." — Butwhen 
 Shakspeare's histories had become the orna- 
 ments of the stage, they were considered by 
 the public, and by himself, as a formal and ne- 
 cessary species, and are thenceforth so distin- 
 
 * The Creation of the World, acted at Skinners Well 
 in 1409. 
 
 t 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. 
 
 X The same distinction is continued in the 2d and 3d 
 folios, &c. 
 
 g See Malone's Shaksp. vol. i. part ii. p. 31. 
 
 II 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 
 faculty 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."t The same appears 
 in an admonition issued in 16371 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-historyes, 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, 1760)11 to Thomas Killegrew, 
 Esq., and Sir William Davenant, knt., by which 
 
 * See Malone's Shaksp. vol. i. pt. ii. p. 40. 
 
 t Ibid. p. 49. Here Histories, or Historical Plays, are 
 found totally to have excluded the mention of Tragedies ; 
 a proof of their superior popularity. In an Order for the 
 King's Comedians to attend K. Charles I. in his summer's 
 progress, 1636 (Ibid. p. 144), Histories are not particularly 
 mentioned : but so neither are tragedies : they being briefly 
 directed to " act playes, comedyes, and interludes, without 
 any lett," &c. t Ibid, p. 139. 
 
 g This is believed to be the date by Mr. Malone, vol. ii. 
 pt. ii. p. 239. " II Ibid. p. 244. 
 
ON THE ORIGIN OF THE ENGLISH STAGE. 
 
 101 
 
 they have authority to erect two companies 
 of players, and to fit up two theatres " for 
 the representation of tragydies, comedyes, 
 playes, operas, and all other entertainments 
 of that nature." 
 
 But while Shakspeare was the favourite 
 dramatic poet, his histories 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,* that, in a conversation with 
 Ben Jonson, our bard 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 Shakspeare 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 pre- 
 scribed for his own observance, then we ought 
 not to try Shakspeare'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 difiference 
 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 CEconomy 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,"t were 
 in those days the usual accommodations 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 )t 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 Playhouses in Bishopgate 
 street, and on Ludgate Hill, which are not among the 
 seventeen 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 Shaksp. vol. 
 i. pt. ii. p. 48. 
 
 t So, I think, we may infer from the following passage, 
 viz. " How many are there, who, according to their several 
 qualities, spend 2d., 3d., 4d., 6d., 12d., 18d., 2s.. and some- 
 times 4s. or 5s. at a play-house day by day, if coach-hire , boat- 
 hire, tobacco, wine, beere, and such like vaine expences, 
 which playes do usually occasion, be cast into the reckon- 
 ing?" Prynne's Hystriom. p. 322. 
 
 But that tobacco was smoked in the playhouses, appears 
 from Taylor the water-poet, in his proclamation for tobacco's 
 propagation. •' Let play-houses, drinking-schools, taverns, 
 &c., be continually haunted with the contaminous vapours 
 of it ; nay (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 a 
 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. 
 
 X See the extracts above, in p. 139, from the Earl of 
 Northumb. Houshold Book. 
 
 I See the Pref. to Dodsley's Old Plays.— The author of 
 an old invective against the Stage, called a third Blast of 
 Retrait from Plaies, Ac, 1580, 12mo., says, "Alas! that 
 private affection should so raigne in the nobilitie, that to 
 pleasure their servants, and to upholde them in their 
 vanitye, they should restraine the magistrates from exe- 
 cuting their oflBce ! . . . . 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 truelie, are become beggers for their ser- 
 I vants. For comonlie the good-wil, men beare to their Lordes, 
 makes them draw the stringes of their purses to extend 
 their liberalifcie." Vid. pag. 75, 76, &c. 
 
102 
 
 ON THE ORIGIN OF THE ENGLISH STAGE. 
 
 travelled from one gentlemen's house to ano- 
 ther. 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 ad- 
 mission were often very low. Some houses 
 had penny-benches. t The " two-penny gal- 
 lery" is mentioned in the prologue to Beau- 
 mont and Fletcher's Woman-Hater, J and 
 seats of three-pence and a groat seem to be 
 intended in the passage of Prynne above re- 
 ferred 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 
 
 * Stephen Gosson, in his Schoole 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 hyerlings of some of our Players, which stand at 
 revirsion of vi s. by the week, jet under gentlemena noses 
 in sutis of silke, exercising themselves to prating on the 
 stage, and common scoffing when they come ahrode, 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 everye one that professeth the qualitie so 
 abused himselfe, for it is well knowen, that some of them 
 are sober, discreete, properly learned, honest housholders 
 and citizens, well-thought on among their neighbours at 
 home" [he seems to mean Edw. Allen above mentioned], 
 " though the pryde of their shadowes (I meane those hange- 
 byes, whom they succour with stipend) cause them to be 
 somewhat il-talked of abroad." 
 
 In a subsequent period we have the following satirical 
 fling at the showy exterior and supposed profits of the 
 actors of that time. — Vid. Greene's Groatsworth of Wit, 
 1625, 4to. " What is your profession ?" — " Truly, sir, .... 
 
 I am a Player." " A Player ? I took you rather for 
 
 a Gentleman df great living; for, if by outward habit men 
 should be censured, I tell you, you would be taken for a 
 Bubatantial man." " So I am where I dwell .... What, 
 though the world once went hard with me, when I was 
 fayue to carry my playing-fardle a foot-backe: iempora 
 mviantur .... for my very share in playing apparel will 
 not be sold for two hundred pounds .... Nay more, I can 
 serve to make a pretty speech, for I was a country author, 
 passing at a Moral, &c." See Roberto's Tale, sign. D. 3. b. 
 
 t So a MS. of Oldys, from Tom Nash, an old pamphlet- 
 writer. And this is confirmed by Taylor the Water-poet, in 
 his Praise of Beggerie. p. 99. 
 
 " Yet have I seen a begger with his many, fsc vermin] 
 Come at a play-house, all in for one penny." 
 
 X So in the Belman's Night-walks by Decker, 1616, 4to. 
 " Pay thy two-pence to a player, in this gallery thou mayest 
 Bit 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.f 
 
 The day originally set apart for theatrical 
 exhibition appears to have been Sunday; pro- 
 bably 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 ;t 
 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 
 
 talks of "The six-penny Roomes in Playhouses;" and 
 leaves a legacy to one whom he calls " Arch-tobacco taker 
 of England, in ordinaries, upon stages both common and 
 private." 
 
 * Sbaksp. Prol. to Hen. VIII.— Beaum. and Fletch. Prol. 
 to the Captain, and to the Mad-lover. 
 
 t This etymology hath been objected to by a very inge- 
 nious writer (see Malone's Shaksp. vol. i. pt. ii. p. 59), 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 be applied to a church. — But who- 
 ever is acquainted with the licentiousness 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 nameof jsii, so applied at Cam- 
 bridge, must be deemed to have been a cant phrase, until 
 it can be shown that the area in other churches was usually 
 so called. 
 
 J So Ste. Gosson, in his Schoole of abuse, 1579, 12mo., 
 speaking of the players, says, " These, because they are 
 allowed to play every Sunday, make iiii or v. Sundayes 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 placing on 
 the Sabboth-daie .... To plaie on the Sabboth is but a 
 privilege of sufferance, and might with ease be repelled, 
 were it thoroughly followed," pag. 61, 62. So again, " Is 
 not the Sabboth of al other dales the most abused ? . . . 
 Wherefore abuse not so the Sabboth-daie, my brethren ; 
 leave not the temple of the Lord." .... "Those unsaverie 
 morsels of unseemelie sentences passing out of the mouth 
 of a ruffenlie plaier, doth more content the hungrie humors 
 of the rude multitude, and carrieth better rellish in their 
 mouthes, than the bread of the worde," &c. Vid. pag. 63, 
 65, 69, &c. I do not recollect that exclamations of this kind 
 occur in Prynne, whence I conclude that this enormity 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 maisters, or as reteiners, 
 are priviledged to roave abroad, and permitted to publish 
 their mametree in everie temple of God, and that through- 
 out England, unto the horrible contempt of praier." 
 
 g " He entertaines us" (says Overburv in his character 
 of an Actor) " in the best leasure of our life, that is, be 
 
ON THE ORIGIN OF THE ENGLISH STAGE. 
 
 103 
 
 by daylight.* All female parts were per- 
 formed by men, no English actress being 
 ever seen on the public stage,t before the 
 Civil Wars. 
 
 Lastly, with regard to the playhouse furni- 
 ture and ornaments, a writer of King Charles 
 the Second's time, X who well remembered 
 the preceding age, assures us, that in gene- 
 ral " they had no other scenes nor decorations 
 of the stage, but only old tapestry, and the 
 stage strewed with rushes, with habits ac- 
 cordingly."^ 
 
 Yet Coryate thought our theatrical exhibi- 
 tions, &c., splendid when compared with what 
 he saw abroad. Speaking of the theatre for 
 
 tweene meales ; the most unfit time either for study, or 
 bodily exercise." — Even so late as in the reign of Cha. II., 
 plays generally began at 3 in the afternoon. 
 
 * See Biogr. Brit. i. 117, n. D. 
 
 1 1 say " no English Actress — on the public stage," be- 
 cause Prynne speaks of it as an unusual enormity, that 
 "they had French-women actors in a play not long since 
 personated in Blackfriars Playhouse." This was in 1629, 
 vid. page 215. And though female parts were performed 
 by men or boys on the public stage, yet, in masques at 
 court, the queen and her ladies made no scruple to perform 
 the principal parts, especially in the reigns of James I. and 
 Charles 1. 
 
 Sir William Davenant, after the Restoration, introduced 
 women, scenery, and higher prices. See Gibber's Apology 
 for his own Life. 
 
 X See a short Discourse on the English Stage, subjoined 
 to Flecknor's " Love's Kingdom," 1674, 12mo. 
 
 2 It appears from an Epigram of Taylor, the Water- 
 poet, that one of the principal Theatres in his time, viz. 
 The Globe on the Bankside, Southwark (which Ben Jonson 
 calls the Glory of the Bank, and Fort of the whole parish), 
 had been covered with thatch till it was burnt down in 
 1813.— See Taylor's Sculler, Epig. 22, p. 31. Jonson's Exe- 
 cration on Vulcan. 
 
 Puttenham tell us they used Vizards in his time, " partly 
 to supply the want of players, when there were more parts 
 than there were persons, or that it was not thought meet 
 to trouble princes chambers with too many folkes." Art 
 of Eng. Poes. 1589, p. 26. From the last clause, it should 
 seem that they were chiefly used in the Masques at Court. 
 
 comedies at Venice, he says, " The house is 
 very beggarly and base, in comparison of our 
 stately playhouses in England : neyther can 
 their actors compare with ours for apparrell, 
 shewes, and musicke. Here I observed cer- 
 taine 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 some- 
 times used in London : and they performed it 
 with as good a grace, action, gesture, and 
 whatsoever 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 sub- 
 sisted in the Metropolis before the Civil Wars, 
 there must have been a great difference be- 
 tween their several accommodations, orna- 
 ments, and prices ; and that some would be 
 much more showy than others, though proba- 
 bly all were much inferior in splendour to the 
 two great theatres after the Restoration. 
 
 *^* The preceding Essay, although some 
 of the materials are new arranged, hath re- 
 ceived no alteration deserving notice, from 
 what it was in the Second edition, 1767, ex- 
 cept in Section iv., which in the present im- 
 pression 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," (Shaksp. vol. i. pt. ii., 1790), hath 
 added greatly to our knowledge of the econo- 
 my and usages of our ancient theatres. 
 
 * Coryate's Crudities, 4to., 1611, p. 247. 
 
 14 
 
104 
 
 ADAM BELL, CLYM OF THE CLOUGH, 
 
 Jltam §ril, dip 0f i\t €lm^\, m)i William jaf €lmM^y 
 
 — were three noted outlaws, whose skill 
 in archery rendered them formerly as famous 
 in the North of England, as Eobin 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 forrester 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 lt>rought Adam Bell, and Clim of the 
 Clough, 
 And William a Clowd6slee 
 To shoot with our Forester for forty mark ; 
 And 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 poets. Shakspeare, 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 dexte- 
 rity 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. 1, 
 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 fear they'l shoot at him. 
 
 Works, 1673, fol. p. 291. 
 
 I have only to add further 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 ofiicers 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 Lothburge 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. 
 
AND WILLIAM OF CLOUDESLY. 
 
 105 
 
 PART THE FIRST. 
 
 Mery it was in the grene forest 
 
 Amonge the levfes grene, 
 Whereas men hunt east and west 
 
 Wyth bowes and arrowes kene ; 
 
 To raise the dere out of theyr denne ; 5 
 
 Suche sightes hath ofte bene sene ; 
 
 As by thre yemen of the north countr^y, 
 By them it is I meane. 
 
 The one of them hight Adam Bel, 
 
 The other Clym of the Clough,* 10 
 
 The thyrd was William of Cloudesly, 
 An archer good ynough. 
 
 They were outlawed for venyson, 
 
 These yemen everyehone ; 
 They swore them brethren upon a day 15 
 
 To Englyshe wood for to gone. 
 
 Now lith and lysten, gentylmen, 
 That of myrthes loveth to here : 
 
 Two of them were single men, 
 The third had a wedded fere. 20 
 
 Wyllyam was the wedded man, 
 Muche more than was hys care : 
 
 He sayde to hys brethren upon a day, 
 To Carleile he would fare. 
 
 For to speke with fayre Alyce his wife, 25 
 
 And with his chyldren thre. 
 By my trouth, sayde Adam Bel, 
 
 Not by the counsell of me : 
 
 For if ye go to Carlile, brother. 
 
 And from thys wylde wode wende, 30 
 
 If that the justice may you take, 
 
 Your lyfe were at an ende. 
 
 If that I come not to-morowe, brother, 
 
 By pryme to you agayne, 
 Truste you then that I am ' taken/ 35 
 
 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 winddwe 
 
 Shortlye and anone. 40 
 
 V. 24, Caerld, in P. C. passim. V. 35, take, P. C. tane, MS. 
 
 * Clym of the ClougJi means Clem. [Clement] of the Cliff : 
 for so Clough. signifies in the North. 
 
 Wher be you, fayre Alyce, he sayd, 
 
 My wife and chyldren three ? 
 Lyghtly let in thyne owne husb^nde, 
 
 Wyllyam of Cloudeslee. 
 
 Alas ! then sayde fayre Alyce, 45 
 
 And syghed wonderous sore, 
 Thys place hath ben besette for you 
 
 Thys halfe a yere and more. 
 
 Now am I here, sayde Cloudeslee, 
 
 I would that in I were. 50 
 
 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 pleased hym with that she had, 55 
 
 Whome she loved as her lyfe. 
 
 There lay an old wyfe in that place, 
 
 A lytle besyde the fyre, 
 Whych Wyllyam had found of charytyfe 
 
 More than seven yere. 60 
 
 Up she rose, and forth shee goes, 
 Evill mote shee speede therfore ; 
 
 For shee had sett no foote on ground 
 In seven yere before. 
 
 She went unto the justice hall, 65 
 
 As fast as she could hye ; 
 Thys nyght, shee sayd, is come to town 
 
 Wyllyam of Cloudesly^. 
 
 Thereof the justice was full fayne, 
 
 And so was the shirife also : 70 
 
 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, 75 
 
 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. 80 
 
 There they besette that good yem^n 
 
 Round about on every syde : 
 Wyllyam hearde great noyse of folkes, 
 
 That thither-ward fast hyed. 
 
106 
 
 ADAM BELL, CLYM OF THE CLOUGH, 
 
 Alyce opened a backe wynd6we, 
 
 And loked all aboute, 85 
 
 She was ware of the justice and shirife bothe, 
 
 Wyth a full great route. 
 
 Alas! treason, cryed Alyce, 
 
 Ever wo may thou be, 90 
 
 Goe into my chamber, my husband, she sayd, 
 
 Swete Wyllyam of Cloudeslee. 
 
 He toke hys sweard and hys bucler, 
 Hys bow and hys chyldren thre, 
 
 And wente into hys strongest chamber, 95 
 Where he thought surest to be. 
 
 Fayre Alyce, like a lover true. 
 
 Took a pollaxe in her hande : 
 Said, He shall dye that cometh in 
 
 Thys dore, whyle I may stand. 100 
 
 Cloudeslee bente a right good bowe, 
 
 That was of a trusty tre, 
 He smot the justice on the brest, 
 
 That hys arowe burst in three. 
 
 ' A' curse on his harte, saide William, 105 
 
 Thys day thy cote dyd on ! 
 If it had ben no better then myne. 
 
 It had gone nere thy bone, 
 
 Yelde the Cloudesl^, sayd the justise. 
 And thy bowe and thy arrowes the fro. 
 
 * A' curse on hys hart, sayd fair Alyce, 111 
 That my husband councelleth so. 
 
 Set fyre on the house, saide the sherife, 
 
 Syth it wyll no better be, 
 And brenne we therin William, he saide, 
 
 Hys wife and chyldren thre. 116 
 
 They fyred the house in many a place 
 
 The fyre flew up on hye ; 
 Alas ! then cryed fayre Alice, 
 
 I se we here shall die. 120 
 
 William openyd a backe wynd6w, 
 
 That was in hys chamber bye. 
 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 : 126 
 
 For Christfes love do them no harme. 
 But wreke you all on me. 
 
 V. 85, sic. MS. shop window, P. 0. 
 
 Wyllyam shot so wonderous well, 
 
 Tyll hys arrowes were all agoe, 130 
 
 And the fyre so fast upon hym fell. 
 That hys bowstryng brent in two. 
 
 The sparkles brent and fell upon 
 
 Good Wyllyam of Cloudeslfe : 
 Than was he a wofull man, and sayde, 135 
 
 Thys is a cowardes death to me. 
 
 Leever had I, sayd Wyllyam, 
 
 With my sworde in the route to renne, 
 Then here among my enemyes wode 
 
 Thus cruelly to bren. 140 
 
 He toke hys sweard 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 stroakes, 
 So fersly on them he ran : 146 
 
 Then they threw wyndowes and dores on him, 
 And so toke that good yem^n. 
 
 There they hym bounde both hand and fote. 
 And in a deepe dungeon hym cast : 150 
 
 Now, Cioudesle, sayd the justice, 
 Thou shalt be hanged in hast. 
 
 * A payre of new gallowes, sayd the sherife, 
 
 Now shal I for thee make ; 
 And the gates of Carleil shal be shutte : 155 
 
 No man shal come in therat. 
 
 Then shall not helpe Clym of the Cloughe, 
 
 Nor yet shall Adam Bell, 
 Though they came with a thousand mo, 
 
 Nor all the devels in hell. 160 
 
 Early in the mornynge the justice uprose, 
 
 To the gates first can he gone. 
 And commaunded to be shut full close 
 
 Lightil^ everychone. 
 
 Then went he to the markett place. 165 
 
 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 gallow-tre ? 170 
 
 They sayde to hange a good yem^n, 
 
 Called Wyllyam of Cloudeslfe. 
 
 V. 151, sic. MS. hye Justice, P. C. 
 from the fol. MS. and P. C. 
 
 V. 153, 4, are contracted 
 
AND WILLIAM OF CLOUDESLY. 
 
 107 
 
 That lytle boye was the towne swyne-heard, 
 
 And kept fayre Alyces swyne ; 
 Oft he had seene William in the wodde, 175 
 
 And geun hym there to dyne. 
 
 He went out att a crevis of the wall, 
 And lightly to the woode dyd gone ; 
 
 There met he with these wightye yemen 
 Shortly and anone. 180 
 
 Alas ! then sayd the lytle boye, 
 
 Ye tary here all too longe ; 
 Cloudeslee is taken, and dampned to death, 
 
 And readye for to honge. 
 
 Alas ! then sayd good Adam Bell, 185 
 
 That ever we saw thys daye ! 
 He had better have tarryed with us, 
 
 So ofto as we dyd him praye. 
 
 He myght have dwelt in greene for^ste, 
 Under the shadowes greene, 190 
 
 And have kepte both hym and us att reste, 
 Out of all trouble and teene. 
 
 Adam bente a ryght good bow, 
 
 A great hart sone hee had slayne ; 194 
 Take that, chylde, he sayde, to thy dynner, 
 
 And bring me myne arrowe agayne. 
 
 Now gow we hence, sayed these wightye yeo- 
 men, 
 
 Tarrye we no longer here ; 
 We shall hym borowe by God his grace, 
 
 Though we buy it full dere. 200 
 
 To Caerleil 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. 
 
 And when they came to mery Carleile, 
 
 All in ' the' mornyng tyde, 
 They founde the gates shut them untyll 
 
 About on every syde. 
 
 Alas ! then sayd good Adam Bell, 5 
 
 That ever we were made men ! 
 These gates be shut so wouderous fast. 
 
 We may not come therein. 
 
 V. 179, yonge men, P. C. V. 190, sic MS. shadowes sheene, 
 P C. v. 197, jolly yeomen, MS. wight yong men, P. C. 
 
 * See Gloss. 
 
 Then bespake hym Clym of the Clough, 
 Wyth a wyle we wyl us in bryng ; 10 
 
 Let us saye we be messengers, 
 
 Streyght come nowe from our king. 
 
 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. 
 
 15 
 
 Then Adam Bell bete on the gates 
 With strokes great and stronge : 
 
 The porter marvelled, who was therat. 
 And to the gates he thronge. 20 
 
 Who is there now, sayde the porter. 
 What maketh all thys knockinge ? 
 
 We be tow messengers, quoth Clym of the 
 Clough, 
 Be come ryght from our kyng. 
 
 25 
 
 We have a letter, sayd Adam Bel, 
 To the justice we must itt bryng ; 
 
 Let us in our message to do. 
 
 That we were agayne to the kyng. 
 
 Here commeth none in, sayd the porter, 
 By hym that dyed on a tre, 30 
 
 Tyll a false thefe be hanged. 
 Called Wyllyam of Cloudeslfe. 
 
 Then spake the good yeman Clym of tho 
 Clough, 
 
 And swore by Mary fre, 
 And if that we stande long wythout, 35 
 
 Lyke a thefe hanged shalt thou be. 
 
 Lo ! here we have the kynges scale : 
 What, Lurden, art thou wode ? 
 
 The porter went* it had been so, 
 And lyghtly dyd off hys hode. 
 
 40 
 
 45 
 
 Welcome is my lordes seale, he saide 
 
 For that ye shall come in. 
 He opened the gate full shortly e : 
 
 An euyl openyng for him. 
 
 Now are we in, sayde Adam Bell, 
 
 Wherof we are full faine ; 
 But Christ he knowes, that harowed hell, 
 
 How we shall com out agayne. 
 
 V. 38, Lordeyne, P. C. 
 
 * L e. weened, thought, (which last is the reading of the 
 folio MS.)— Calais, or Rouen, was taken from the English 
 by showing the governor, who could not read, a letter with 
 the king's seal, which was all he looked at. 
 
108 
 
 ADAM BELL, CLYM OF THE CLOUGH, 
 
 Had we the keys, said Clim of the Clough, 
 Ryght wel then shoulde we spede, 50 
 
 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, 55 
 
 And toke hys keys hym fro. 
 
 Now am I porter, sayd Adam Bel, 
 
 Se brother the keys are here. 
 The worst porter to merry Carleile 
 
 That ' the' had thys hundred yere. 60 
 
 And now wyll we our bowes bend, 
 
 Into the towne wyll we go. 
 For to delyuer our dere brother. 
 
 That lyeth in care and wo. 
 
 Then they bent theyr good ewe bowes, 65 
 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 justice with a quest of squyers, 
 That judged William hanged to be. 
 
 70 
 
 And Cloudesl^ lay ready there in a cart, 
 Fa.st bound both fote and hand ; 
 
 And a stronge rop about hys necke, 75 
 
 All readye for to hange. 
 
 The justice called to hym a ladde, 
 Cloudeslees clothes hee shold have. 
 
 To take the measure of that yemkn, 
 
 Ther after to make hys grave. 80 
 
 I have sene as great mervaile, said Cloudesle, 
 
 As betweyne thys and pryme. 
 He that maketh a grave for mee, 
 
 Hymselfe may lye therin. 
 
 Thou speakest proudlye, said the justice, 85 
 I will thee hange with my hande. 
 
 Full wel herd this his brethren two, 
 There styll as they dyd stande. 
 
 * So Ascham in his Toxophilus gives a precept ; " The 
 Btringe must be rounde;" (p. 149, ed. 1761;) otherwise, we 
 may conclude from mechanical principles, the arrow will 
 not fly true. 
 
 Then Cloudesle cast his eyen asyde. 
 
 And saw hys * brethren twaine 90 
 
 At a corner of the market place, 
 Redy the justice for to slaine. 
 
 I se comfort, sayd Cloudesle, 
 
 Yet hope I well to fare. 
 If I might have my handes at wyll 95 
 
 Ryght lytle wolde I care. 
 
 Then spake good Adam Bell 
 
 To Clym of the Clough so free, 
 Brother, se you marke the justyce wel, 
 
 Lo ! yonder you may him se : 100 
 
 And at the shyrife shote I wyll 
 Strongly wyth an arrowe kene ; 
 
 A better shote in mery Carleile 
 Thys seven yere was not sene. 
 
 They loosed their arrowes both at once, 105 
 
 Of no man had tbey dread ; 
 The one hyt the justice, the other the sheryfe, 
 
 That both theyr sides gan blede. 
 
 All men voyded ; that them stode nye. 
 When the justice fell to the grounde, 110 
 
 And the sherife nye him by ; 
 Eyther had his deathes wounde. 
 
 All the citezens fast gan flye, 
 
 They durst no longer abyde : 
 There lyghtly they losed Cloudeslee, 115 
 
 Where he with ropes lay tyde. 
 
 Wyllyam start to an officer of the towne, 
 Hys axe * from' hys hand he wronge, 
 
 On eche syde he smote them downe, 
 
 Hee thought he taryed too long. 120 
 
 Wyllyam sayde to his brethren two, 
 
 Thys daye let us lyve and die, 
 If ever you have nede, as I have now, 
 
 The same shall you finde by me. 
 
 They shot so well in that tyde, 125 
 
 Theyr stringes wer of silke ful sure, 
 
 That they kept the stretes on every side 
 That batayle did long endure. 
 
 They fought together as brethren true, 
 Lyke hardy men and bolde, 130 
 
 Many a man to the ground they threw 
 And many a herte made colde. 
 
 V. 105, lowsed thre, P. C. Ver. 103, can Wed, 
 
AND WILLIAM OF CLOUDESLY. 
 
 109 
 
 But when their arrowes were all gon, 
 
 Men preced to them full fast, 
 They drew theyr swordfes then anone, 135 
 
 And theyr bowes from them cast. 
 
 They went lyghtlye on theyr way, 
 Wyth swordes and buclers 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, 145 
 
 Wyth hym a ful great route : 
 These yemen dred hym full sore. 
 
 Of theyr lyves they stode in great doute. 
 
 The mayre came armed a full great pace. 
 With a pollaxe in hys hande ; 150 
 
 Many a strong man wyth him was, 
 There in that stowre to stande. 
 
 The mayre smot at Cloudeslee with his bil, 
 
 Hys bucler he brast in two, 
 Full many a yeman with great evyll, 155 
 
 Alas ! Treason they cryed for wo. 
 Kepe well the gates fast, they bad. 
 
 That these traytours therout not go. 
 
 But al for nought was that they wrought. 
 For so fast they downe were layde, 160 
 
 Tyll they all thre, that so manfuUi fought. 
 Were gotten without, abraide. 
 
 Have here your keys, sayd Adam Bel, 
 
 Myne office I here forsake, 
 And yf you do by my eounsell 165 
 
 A new porter do ye make. 
 
 He threw theyr keys at theyr heads, 
 
 And bad them well to thryve,t 
 And all that letteth any good yeman 
 
 To come and comfort his wyfe. 170 
 
 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. 
 
 V. 148, For of, MS. 
 
 * Outhorne is an old term signifying the calling forth 
 of subjects to arms by the sound of a horn. See Cole's 
 Lat. Diet. Bailey, &c. 
 
 t This is spoken ironically. 
 
 When they came to Englyshe wode, 175 
 
 Under the trusty tre, 
 There they found bowes full good, 
 
 And arrowes full great plentye. 
 
 So God me help, sayd Adam Bell, 
 
 And Clym of the Clough so fre, 180 
 
 I would we were in mery Carleile, 
 Before that fayre meynye. 
 
 They set them downe, and made good chere. 
 
 And eate and dranke full well. 
 A second fyt of the wightye yeomen : 185 
 
 Another I wyll you tell. 
 
 PART THE THIRD. 
 
 As they sat in Englyshe wood. 
 
 Under the green-wode tre. 
 They thought they herd a woman wepe, 
 
 But her they mought not se. 
 
 Sore then syghed the fayre Alyce : 5 
 
 * That ever I sawe thys day V 
 For nowe is my dere husband slayne. 
 
 Alas ! and wel-a-way ! 
 
 Myght I have spoken wyth hys dere brethren, 
 Or with eyther of them twayne, 10 
 
 To show them what him befell. 
 My hart were out of payne. 
 
 Cloudesl^ walked a lytle beside, 
 
 He looked under the grene wood lynde. 
 
 He was ware of his wife, and chyldren three. 
 Full wo in harte and mynde. 16 
 
 Welcome, wyfe, then sayde Wyllyam, 
 
 Under ' this' trusti tre : 
 I had wende yesterday, by swete saynt John, 
 
 Thou sholdest me never ' have' se. 20 
 
 " 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, said Adam Bell, 25 
 
 I-wis it is no bote : 
 The meate, that we must supp withall. 
 
 It runneth yet fast on fote. 
 
 v. 175, merry green wood, MS. V. 185, see part i. v. 197. 
 Y. 20, never had se, P. C. and MS. 
 
 X 
 
110 
 
 ADAM BELL, CLYM OF THE CLOUGH, 
 
 Then went they downe into a launde, 
 
 These noble archares all thre ; 30 
 
 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 bouldly stode by me 35 
 
 When I was slayne full nye. 
 
 Then went they to supp^re 
 
 Wyth such meate as they had ; 
 And thanked God of ther fortune : 
 
 They were both mery and glad. 40 
 
 And when they had supped well, 
 
 Certayne withouted lease, 
 Cloudeslfe sayd, We wyll to our kyng. 
 
 To get us a charter of peace. 
 
 Alyce shal be at our sojournyng 45 
 
 In a nunnery here besyde ; 
 My tow sonnes shall wyth her go, 
 
 And there they shall abyde. 
 
 Myne eldest son shall go wyth me ; 
 
 For hym have * you* no care : 50 
 
 And he shall bring you worde agayn, 
 
 How that we do fare. 
 
 Thus be these yemen to London gone, 
 
 As fast as they myght ' he,'* 
 Tyll they came to the kynges palh^ce, 55 
 
 Where they woulde nedes 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 therat. 60 
 
 They preced prestly into the hall, 
 
 Of no man had they dreade : 
 The porter came after, and dyd them call, 
 
 And with them began to chyde. 
 
 The usher sayde, Yemen, what wold ye have? 
 
 I pray you tell to me : 66 
 
 You myght thus make offycers shent : 
 
 Good syrs, of whence be ye ? 
 
 Syr, we be out-lawes of the forest 
 Certayne withouten lease ; 70 
 
 And hether we be come to the kyng, 
 To get us a charter of peace. 
 
 V. 50, hare I no care, P, C. 
 * i. e. hie, hasten. 
 
 And whan they came before the kyng. 
 As it was the lawe of the lande. 
 
 The kneled down without lettyng, 75 
 
 And eche held up his hand. 
 
 The sayed, Lord, we beseche the here, 
 
 That ye wyll graunt us grace ; 
 For we have slayne your fat falow dere 
 
 In many a sondry place. 80 
 
 What be your nams, then said our king, 
 
 Anone that you tell me ? 
 They sayd, Adam Bell, Clim of the Clough, 
 
 And Wyllyam of Cloudesl^. 
 
 Be ye those theves, then sayd our kyng, 85 
 
 That men have tolde of to me? 
 Here to God I make an avowe. 
 
 Ye shal be hanged al thre. 
 
 Ye shal be dead without mercy, 
 
 As I am kynge of this lande. 90 
 
 He commanded his officers everichone, 
 
 Fast on them to lay hande. 
 
 Then they toke these good yemen, 
 
 And arested them al thre : 
 So may I thryve, sayd Adam Bell, 95 
 
 Thys game lyketh not me. 
 
 But, good lorde, we beseche you now, 
 
 That yee graunt us grace, 
 Insomuche as ' frely' we be to you come, 
 
 ' As frely' we may fro you passe, 100 
 
 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 ; 105 
 
 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, 110 
 
 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, 115 
 
 And graunted it shal be. 
 
 V. Ill, 119, sic. MS. bowne, P. C. 
 
AND WILLIAM OF CLOUDESLY. 
 
 Ill 
 
 Then, good my lord, I you beseche, 
 
 These yemen graunt ye me. 
 Madame, ye myght have asked a boone, 119 
 
 That shuld have been worth them all thre. 
 
 Ye myght have asked towres, and townes, 
 
 Parkes and forestes plente. 
 None soe pleasant to my pay, shee sayd ; 
 
 Nor none so lefe to me. 
 
 Madame, sith it is your desyre, 125 
 
 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 ; 130 
 
 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, then sayd our king ; 135 
 
 Wash, felos, and to meate go ye. 
 
 They had not setten but a whyle 
 
 Certayne without lesynge, 
 There came messengers out of the north 
 
 With letters to our kyng. 140 
 
 And whan the came before the kynge. 
 They knelt down on theyr kne ; 
 
 And sayd. Lord, your officers grete you well, 
 Of Carleile in the north cuntrfe. 
 
 How fareth my justice, sayd the kyng, 145 
 
 And my sherife also ? 
 Syr, they be slayne without leasynge, 
 
 And many an officer mo. 
 
 Who hath them slayne ? sayd the kyng ; 
 
 Anone that thou tell me. 150 
 
 "Adam Bell, and Clime of the Clough, 
 
 And Wyllyam of Cloudesle." 
 
 Alas, for rewth ! 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 
 
 y. 130, God a mercye, MD. 
 
 The kyng hee 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 harte 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 queues 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 Cloudesle ; 
 
 By him that for me dyed, 
 I hold hymn never no good archar, 195 
 
 That shoteth at buttes so wyde. 
 
 'At what a butte now wold ye shote V 
 
 I pray thee tell to me. 
 At suche a but, syr, he sayd, 
 
 As men use in my countree. 200 
 
 Wyllyam wente into a fyeld. 
 
 And * with him^ his two brethren : 
 
 There they set up two hasell roddes 
 Twenty score paces betwene. 
 
 V. 168, 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. 
 
 15 
 
112 ADAM BELL, CLYM OF THE CLOUGH, AND WILLIAM OF CLOUDESLY. 
 
 I hold him an archar, said Cloudeslfe, 
 
 205 
 
 He prayed the people, that wer there, 
 
 
 That yonder wande cleveth in two. 
 
 
 That they ' all still wold' stand, 
 
 250 
 
 Here is none suche, sayd the kyng, 
 
 
 For he that shoteth for such a wager 
 
 
 Nor no man can so do. 
 
 
 Behoveth a stedfast hand. 
 
 
 I shall assaye, syr, sayd Cloudeslfe, 
 
 
 Muche people prayed for Cloudesly, 
 
 
 Or that I farther go. 
 
 210 
 
 That his lyfe saved myght be, 
 
 
 Cloudesly with a bearyng arowe 
 
 
 And whan he made hym redy to shote, 
 
 255 
 
 Clave the wand in two. 
 
 
 There was many weeping ee. 
 
 
 Thou art the best archer, then said the king, 
 
 ' But' Cloudeslfe clefte the apple in two, 
 * His sonne he did not nee.' 
 
 
 Forsothe that ever I se. 
 And yet for your love, sayd Wyllyam, 
 
 215 
 
 Over Gods forbode, sayde the kinge, 
 That thou shold shote at me. \ 
 
 260 
 
 I wyll do more maystery. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 I geve thee eightene pence a day, 
 
 
 I have a sonne is seven yere olde, 
 
 
 And my bowe shalt thou here, 
 
 
 He is to me full deare ; 
 
 
 And over all the north country 
 
 
 I wyll hym tye to a stake ; 
 
 
 I make the chyfe rydfere. 
 
 
 All shall se, that he here ; 
 
 220 
 
 
 
 
 
 And I thyrtene pence a day, said the quene. 
 
 And lay an apple upon hys head, 
 
 
 By God, and by my fay ; 
 
 266 
 
 And go syxe score paces hym fro, 
 
 
 Come feche thy payment when thou wylt, 
 
 And I my selfe with a broad arow 
 
 
 No man shall say the nay. 
 
 
 Shall cleve the apple in two. 
 
 
 Wyllyam, make the a gentleman 
 
 
 Now haste the, then sayd the kyng, 
 
 225 
 
 Of clothyng, and of fe : 
 
 270 
 
 By hym that dyed on a tre, 
 
 
 And thy two brethren, yemen of my chambre, 
 
 But yf thou do not, as thou hest sayde, 
 
 
 For they are so semely to se. 
 
 
 Hanged shalt thou be. 
 
 
 Your sonne, for he is tendre of age. 
 
 
 And thou touche his head or gowne, 
 
 
 Of my wyne-seller he shall be ; 
 
 
 In syght that men may se, 
 
 230 
 
 And when he commeth to mans estate, 
 
 275 
 
 By all the sayntes that be in heaven, 
 
 
 Better avaunced shall he be. 
 
 
 I shall hange you all thre. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 And, Wyllyam, bring me your wife, said the 
 
 That I have promised, said William, 
 
 
 quene, 
 
 
 That I wyll never forsake. 
 
 
 Me longeth her sore to se r 
 
 
 And there even before the kynge 
 
 235 
 
 She shall be my chefe gentlewoman, 
 
 
 In the earth he drove a stake : 
 
 
 To governe my nursery e. 
 
 280 
 
 And bound therto his eldest sonne, 
 
 
 The yemen thanked them all curteously 
 
 
 And bad hym stand styll thereat ; 
 And turned the childes face him fro, 
 Because he should not start. 
 
 240 
 
 To some byshop wyl we wend. 
 Of all the synnes, that we have done, 
 To be assoyld at his hand. 
 
 
 
 
 So forth be gone these good yemen, 
 
 285 
 
 An apple upon his head he set, 
 
 
 As fast as they might ' he' ;* 
 
 
 And then his bowe he bent : 
 
 
 And after came and dwelled with the kynge, 
 
 Syxe score paces they were meaten, 
 
 
 And dye good men all thre. 
 
 
 And thether Cloudesly went. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Thus endeth the lives of these good yemen ; 
 
 There he drew out a fayr brode arrowe. 
 
 245 
 
 God send them eternall blysse ; 
 
 290 
 
 Hys bowe was great and longe, 
 
 
 And all, that with a hand-bowe shoteth : 
 
 
 He set that arrowe in his bowe. 
 That was both styffe and stronge. 
 
 
 That of heven may never mysse. Amen. 
 
 Ver. 252, steedye, MS. Ver. 265, And I gave the xvij 
 
 
 
 pence, P. C. Ver. 282, And sayd to some Bishopp wee will 
 
 Ver. 208, sic. MS., none that, can, P. C. Ver. 212, tc 
 
 ,P.C. 
 
 wend, MS. 
 
 
 Ver. 222, i. e. 120 yards. Ver. 243, sic. MS., out mel 
 
 t, p. c. 
 
 * he, i. e. hie, hasten. See the Glossary. 
 
 
THE AGED LOVER RENOUNCETH LOVE. 
 
 113 
 
 IL 
 
 %\t Jlg^lj f 0te ^tmmtWi f 0lJt 
 
 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 corrrupted by the ballad- 
 singers of Shakspeare'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 meetre, and the aptnesse 
 of his descriptions such as he taketh upon 
 him to make, namely in sundry of his songs, 
 wherein he showeth the counter/ait action 
 very lively and pleasantly." Arte of Eng. 
 Poesie, 1589, p. 51. See another song by 
 this poet in Series the Second, No. VIII. 
 
 I LOTH 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 leave, 5 
 
 My fansies all are fled ; 
 And tract of time begins to weave 
 
 Gray heares upon my bed. 
 
 For Age with steling steps 
 
 Hath clawde me with his crowch, 10 
 
 And lusty ' Youthe' away he leapes, 
 
 As there had been none such. 
 
 Ver. 6, be, P. C. [printed copy in 1557.] V. 10, Crowch 
 perhaps should be clouch, clutch, grasp. Ver. 11, Life away 
 she, P. C. 
 
 * Harl. MSS. num. 1703, § 25. The readings gathered 
 from that copy are distinguished here by inverted commas. 
 The text is printed from the " Songs," &c., of the Earl of 
 Surrey and others, 1557, 4to. 
 
 My muse doth not delight 
 
 Me, as she did before : 
 My hand and pen are not in plight, 15 
 
 As they have bene of yore. 
 
 For Reason me denies, 
 
 ' Air youthly idle rime ; 
 And day by day, to me she cries, 
 ^ Leave off these 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. 
 
 20 
 
 The harbenger of death, 25 
 
 To me I se him ride, 
 The cough, the cold, the gasping breath, 
 
 Doth bid me to provide 
 
 A pikeax and a spade, 
 
 And eke a shrowding shete, 30 
 
 A house of clay for to be made 
 
 For such a guest most mete.-j 
 
 Me thinkes I heare the clarke, 
 
 That knoles the careful! knell ; 
 And bids me leave my * wearye' warke, 35 
 
 Ere nature me compell. 
 
 My kepers * knit the knot, 
 
 That youth doth laugh to scome, 
 
 Of me that * shall bee cleane' forgot, 
 
 As I had ' ne'er' bene borne. 40 
 
 Thus must I youth geve up, 
 Whose badge I long did weare : 
 
 To them I yeld the wanton cup. 
 That better may it beare. 
 
 V. 18, This, P. C. Ver. 23, So Ed. 1583 ; 'tis hedge in Ed. 
 1557, hath caught him, MS. V. 30, wyndynge-sheete, MS. 
 V. 34, bell, MS. Y. 35, wofull. P. C. V. 38, did, P. C. V. 
 39, clene shal be, P. C. V. 40, not, P. C. 
 
 * Alluding perhaps to Ecdes. xii. 3. 
 
114 JEPHTHAH JUDGE OP ISRAEL. 
 
 Lo here the bared skull ; 
 
 45 
 
 And shipped me into the land, 
 
 
 By whose balde signe I know, 
 
 
 From whence I first was brought. 
 
 
 That stouping age away shall pull 
 
 
 
 
 • What' youthful yeres did sow. 
 
 
 And ye that bide behinde. 
 Have ye none other trust: 
 
 
 For Beautie with her band, 
 
 
 As ye of claye were cast by kinde, 
 
 55 
 
 These croked cares had wrought, 
 
 50 
 
 So shall ye ' turne' to dust. 
 
 
 III. 
 
 I^rt^l^ I^^P Jtrf Isrel 
 
 In Shakspeare'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 retriev- 
 ed 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 k 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. '0 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 shew you more." 
 
 Edit. 1793, vol. XV. p. 133. 
 
 Have you not heard these many years ago, 
 
 Jeptha was judge of Israel ? 
 He had one only daughter and no mo,' 
 The which he loved passing well : 
 And, as by lott, 
 God wot. 
 It so came to pass, 
 As Gods will was. 
 That great wars there should be, 
 And none should be chosen chief but he 
 
 10 
 
 15 
 
 And when he was appointed judge, 
 
 And chieftain of the company, 
 A solemn vow to God he made ; 
 If he returned with victory, 
 At his return 
 To burn 
 The first live thing, 
 * * * * 
 
 That should meet with him then, 
 
 Ofi" 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. 56, wast, P. C. 
 
A KOBYN JOLLY KOBYN. 
 
 115 
 
 But wlien 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, 35 
 
 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 : 40 
 
 •X- -je * * 
 
 " What thou hast spoke 
 Do not revoke : 
 
 What thou hast said, 45 
 
 Be not affraid ; 
 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 ; 51 
 
 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. 
 
 |i mm pig i06p. 
 
 In his "Twelfth Night," Shakspeare in- 
 troduces 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 " Nugae Antiquse," 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." [sing- 
 ing.] 
 " Tell me how thy lady does." 
 
 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 super- 
 seded by the proper readings of the old song 
 itself, which is here printed from what ap- 
 pears the most ancient of Dr. Harrington's 
 poetical MSS., and which has, therefore, been 
 marked No. I. (soil. 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 authori- 
 ties. Among the rest, this song is there at- 
 tributed 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. 
 
116 
 
 A SONG TO THE LUTE IN MUSICKE. 
 
 A KOBYN, 
 
 Jolly Robyn, 
 Tell me how thy leman doeth, 
 And thou shalt knowe of myn. 
 
 " My lady is unkyinde perde." 
 
 Alack ! why is she so ? 
 " She loveth another better than me : 
 
 And yet she will say no." 
 
 I fynde no such doublenes x 
 
 I fynde women true. 
 My lady loveth me dowtles, 
 
 And will change for no newe. 
 
 10 
 
 " Thou art happy while that doeth last ; 
 
 But I say, as I fynde, 
 That women's love is but a blast, 15 
 
 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." 20 
 
 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. 
 
 % ^m^ t0 i\t %tt m Itwsklit 
 
 This sonnet (which is ascribed to Richard 
 Edwards^" in the " Paradise of Daintie Devi- 
 ses," fo. 31, b.) is by Shakspeare made the 
 subject of some pleasant ridicule in his "Ro- 
 meo and Juliet," act iv. sc. 5, where he intro- 
 duces Peter putting this question to the mu- 
 sicians. 
 
 ^' 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 
 
 Ver. 4, shall, MS. 
 
 * Concerning Mm, see Wood's Athen. Oxon. and Tanner's 
 Biblioth.; also Sir John Hawkin's Hist, of Music, &c. 
 
 is not inelegant), as at those forced and unna- 
 tural explanations often given by us painful 
 editors and expositors of ancient authors. 
 
 This copy is printed from an old quarto 
 MS. in the Cotton Library (Vesp. A. 2-5), en- 
 titled, " Divers things of Hen. viij's time :" 
 with some corrections from The Paradise of 
 Dainty Devises, 1596. 
 
 Where gripinge grefes the hart would wounde, 
 And dolefulle dumps the mynde oppresse, 
 
 There musicke with her silver sound 
 With spede is wont to send redresse ; 
 
 Of trobled mynds, in every sore, 5 
 
 Swete musicke hathe a salve in store. 
 
 In joye yt maks our mirthe abounde, 
 In woe yt cheres our hevy sprites ; 
 
 Be strawghted heads relyef hath founde, 9 
 By musickes pleasaunte swete delightes: 
 
 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, 15 
 
 In seas, whom pyrats would destroy, 
 A dolphin saved from death most sharpe 
 Arion playing on his harpe. 
 
KING COPHETUA AND THE BEGGAR-MAID. 
 
 117 
 
 heavenly gyft, that rules the mynd, 19 
 Even as the sterne dothe rule the shippe ! 
 musicke, whom the Gods assinde 
 
 To comforte manne, whom cares would 
 nippe ! 
 Since thow bothe man and heste doest move, 
 What beste ys he, wyll the disprove ? 
 
 -»••- 
 
 VI. 
 
 Png &^\tixu u^ i\t l^gpr-SJEft, 
 
 — ^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 it " 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.f 
 
 In the 2d part of Hen. lY., act v. sc. 3, 
 Falstaff is introduced affectedly saying to 
 Pistoll, 
 
 " 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, J 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 t > Song i. Book ii. of this toI. p. 158. 
 
 t Since this conjecture first occurred, it has been disco- 
 vered that " shot so trim" was the genuine reading. See 
 Shakspeare ed. 1793, xiv. 393. 
 
 X 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 Affrica 
 
 A princely wight did raine, 
 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 pierse 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, 
 
 And laid him on his bed, 
 A thousand heapes of care did runne 
 
 Within his troubled head : 
 
 25 
 
118 
 
 KING COPHETUA AND THE BEGGAR-MAID. 
 
 For now he meanes to crave her love, 
 And now he seekes which way to proove 
 How he his fancie might remoove, 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, S5 
 
 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. 
 Then from his bed he soon arose, 45 
 
 And to his pallace gate he goes ; 
 Full little then this begger knowes 
 
 When she the king espies. 
 
 The Gods preserve your majesty, 
 
 The beggers all gan cry : 50 
 
 Vouchsafe to give your charity 
 
 Our childrens food to buy. 
 The king to them his pursse did cast, 
 And they to part it made great haste ; 
 This silly woman was the last 55 
 
 That after them did hye. 
 The king he caVd her back againe, 
 And unto her he gave his chaine ; 
 And said. With us you shal remaine 
 
 Till such time as we dye : 60 
 
 For thou, quoth he, shalt be my wife, 
 
 And honoured for my queene ; 
 With thee I meane to lead my life, 
 
 As shortly shall be scene : 
 Our wedding shall appointed be, 65 
 
 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. 
 Penelophon,"* king, quoth she : 70 
 
 With that she made a lowe courtsey ; 
 
 A trim one as I weene. 
 
 * Shakspeare (who alludes to this ballad in his " Love's 
 Labour lost," act. iv. sc. 1), gives the Beggar's name Zendo- 
 pTwn, according to all the old editions : but this seems to be 
 a corruption ; for Penelophon, in the text, sounds more like 
 the name of a woman. — The story of the King and the 
 Beggar is also alluded to in K. Rich. II. act v. sc. 3. 
 
 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 blusheth scarlet red. 
 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, 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 proverbe old is come to passe. 
 The priest, when he begins his masse. 
 Forgets that ever clerke he was ; 95 
 
 He knowth not his estate. 
 
 Here you may read, Cophetua, 
 
 Though long time fancie-fed. 
 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. 
 Disdaine no whit, lady deere, 105 
 
 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 
 
 During their princely raigne : 110 
 
 And in a tombe were buried both, 
 
 As writers sheweth plaine. 
 The lords they tooke it grievously. 
 The ladies tooke it heavily. 
 The commons cryed pitiously, 115 
 
 Their death to them was paine, 
 Their fame did sound so passingly 
 That it did pierce the starry sky. 
 And throughoute all the world did flye 
 
 To every princes realme.* 
 
 v. 90, i. e. tramped the streets. V. 105, Here the Poet 
 addresses himself to his mistress. V. 112, She-weth was 
 anciently the plur. numb. 
 
 * An ingenious friend thinks the two last stanzas should 
 change place. 
 
TAKE THY OLD CLOAK ABOUT THEE. 
 
 119 
 
 vn. 
 
 %At % illif €lml atot i\tt 
 
 — 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 v^ithout corruptions, vphich are 
 here removed by the assistance of the Scottish 
 Edition. Shakspeare, in his Othello, act ii., has 
 quoted one stanza, vpith some variations, 
 which are here adopted : the old MS. read- 
 ings of that stanza are however given in the 
 margin. 
 
 This wdnters 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, 6 
 
 Shee sayd unto me quietlye, 
 Rise up, and save cow Cumbockes liffe, 
 
 Man, put thine old cloake about thee. 
 
 He. 
 
 Bell, why dost thou flyte * and scorne ?' 
 Thou kenst my cloak is very thin : 10 
 
 Itt is soe bare and overworne 
 A cricke he theron cannot renn : 
 
 Then He no longer borrowe nor lend, 
 ' For once He new appareld bee, 
 
 To-morrow He to towne and spend,' 15 
 
 For He have a new cloake 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 fayle ; 20 
 
 1 wold be loth to see her pine, 
 
 Good husband, councell take of mee, 
 It is not for us to go soe fine, 
 
 Man, take thine old cloake about thee. 
 
 He. 
 
 My cloake it was a very good cloake, 25 
 
 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 He have a new cloake about mee. 
 
 She. 
 It is four and forty e yeeres agoe 
 
 Since the one of us the other did ken, 
 And we have had betwixt us towe 35 
 
 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 
 
 He. 
 
 Bell my wiffe, why dost thou * floute !' 
 
 Now is nowe, and then was then : 
 Seeke now all the world throughout. 
 
 Thou kenst not clownes from gentlemen. - 
 
 They are cladd in blacke, greene, yellowe, or 
 
 gray, 45 
 
 Soe far above their owne degree : 
 Once in my life He * doe as they,' 
 
 For He have a new cloake about mee. 
 
 She. 
 King Stephen was a worthy peere, 
 
 His breeches cost him but a crowne, 50 
 He held them sixpence all too deere ; 
 
 Therefore he calld the taylor Lowne. 
 He was a wight of high renowne, 
 
 And thouse but of a low degree : 
 Itt's pride that putts this countrye downe, 55 
 
 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 ;' 60 
 Itt's not for a man with a woman to threape, 
 
 Unlesse he first gave oer the plea : 
 As wee began wee now will leave. 
 
 And He take mine old cloake about mee. 
 
 V. 41, flyte, MS. V. 49, King Harry . . a very good king, 
 MS. V. 50, 1 trow his hose cost but, MS. V. 51, He thought 
 them 12d. to deere, MS. V. 52, elowne, MS. .V. 53, He 
 ■was king and ware the crowne, MS. 
 
120 
 
 WILLOW, WILLOW, WILLOW. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 «ito, wiitoto, maim. 
 
 It is from the following stanzas that Shak- 
 speare has taken his song of the " Willow," 
 in his Othello, act iv. sc. 3, though somewhat 
 varied and applied by him to a female cha- 
 racter. 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^ her for- 
 tune, 
 
 Aud she died singing it." 
 
 Ed. 1793, vol. XV. p. 613. 
 
 This is given from a black-letter copy in 
 the Pepys collection, thus entitled, "A Lover's 
 Complaint, being forsaken of his Love." To 
 a pleasant tune. 
 
 A POORE soule sat sighing under a sicamore 
 tree; 
 willow, willow, willow ! 
 With his hand on his bosom, his head on his 
 knee : 
 willow, willow, willow 1 
 willow, willow, willow ! 5 
 
 Sing, the greene willow shall be my gar- 
 land. 
 
 He sigh'd in his singing, and after each grone. 
 
 Come willow, &c. 
 I am dead to all pleasure, my true-love is 
 gone; 
 willow, &c. 10 
 
 Sing, the greene willow shall be my gar- 
 land. 
 
 My love she is turned ; untrue she doth prove ; 
 
 willow, &c. 
 She renders me nothing but hate for my love. 
 
 willow, &c. 15 
 
 Sing, the greene willow, &c. 
 
 pitty me, (cried he), ye lovers, each one ; 
 willow, &c. 
 
 Her heart's hard as marble ; she rues not my 
 mone. 
 willow, &c. 20 
 
 Sing, the greene willow, &c. 
 
 The cold streams ran by him, his eyes wept 
 apace ; 
 willow, &c. 
 The salt tears fell from him, which drowned 
 his face : 
 willow, &c. 25 
 
 Sing, the greene willow, &c. 
 
 The mute birds sate by him, made tame by 
 his mones ; 
 willow, &c. 
 The salt tears fell from him, which softened 
 the stones. 
 willow, &c. 30 
 
 Sing, the greene willow, &c. 
 
 Let nobody blame me, her scornes I do prove; 
 
 willow, &c. 
 She was borne to be faire ; I, to die for her 
 love. 
 
 willow, &c. 35 
 
 Sing, the greene willow, &c. 
 
 that beauty should harbour a heart that's 
 so hard ! 
 
 Sing willow, &c. 
 My true love rejecting without all regard. 
 
 willow, &c. 40 
 
 Sing, the greene willow, &c. 
 
 Let love no more boast him in palace or 
 bower ; 
 willow, &c. 
 For women are trothles, and flote in an 
 houre. 
 willow, &c. 45 
 
 Sing, the greene willow, &c. 
 
 But what helps complaining? In vaine I 
 complaine : 
 willow, &c. 
 
WILLOW, WILLOW, WILLOW. 
 
 121 
 
 I must patiently suffer her scorne and dis- 
 daine. 50 
 
 willow, &c. 
 Sing, the greene willow, &c. 
 
 Come, all you forsaken, and sit down by me, 
 
 willow, &c. 
 He that 'plaines of his false love, mine's 
 falser than she. 
 
 willow, &c. 55 
 
 Sing, the greene willow, &c. 
 
 The willow wreath weare I, since my love did 
 fleet; 
 willow, &c. 
 A garland for lovers forsaken most meete. 
 
 willow, &c. 
 Sing, the greene willow shall he my gar- 
 land! 
 
 PART THE SECOND. 
 
 LowE lay'd by my sorrow, begot by disdaine; 
 
 willow, willow, willow ! 
 Against her to cruell, still still I complaine, 
 
 willow, willow, willow ! 
 
 willow, willow, willow ! 5 
 
 Sing, the greene willow shall be my gar- 
 land! 
 
 love too injurious, to wound my poore 
 heart ! 
 
 willow, &c. 
 To suffer the triumph, and joy in my smart ; 
 
 willow, &c. 10 
 
 Sing, the greene willow, &c. 
 
 willow, willow, willow ! the willow garland, 
 
 willow, &c. 
 A sign of her falsenesse before me doth stand : 
 
 willow, &c. 15 
 
 Sing, the greene willow, &c. 
 
 As here it doth bid to despair and to dye, 
 
 wiUow, &c. 
 So hang it, friends, ore me in grave where I 
 lye: 
 willow, &c. 20 
 
 Sing, the greene willow shall be my gar- 
 land. 
 
 In grave where I rest mee, hang this to the 
 view, 
 willow, &c. 
 
 Of all that doe knowe her, to blaze her untrue. 
 willow, &c. 25 
 
 Sing, the greene willow, &c. 
 
 With these words engraven, as epitaph meet, 
 
 willow, &c. 
 " Here lyes one, drank poyson for potion most 
 sweet." 
 
 willow, &c. 30 
 
 Sing, the greene willow, &c. 
 
 Though she thus unkindly hath scorned my 
 love, 
 
 willow, &c. 
 And carelessly smiles at the sorrowes I prove ; 
 
 willow, &c. 35 
 
 Sing, the greene willow, &c. 
 
 I cannot against her unkindly exclaim, 
 
 willow, &c. 
 Cause once well I loved her, and honoured 
 her name: 
 
 willow, &c. 40 
 
 Sing, the greene willow, &c. 
 
 The name of her sounded so sweete in mine 
 eare, 
 willow, &c. 
 It rays'd my heart lightly, the name of my 
 deare ; 
 willow, &c. 45 
 
 Sing, the greene willow shall be my gar- 
 land. 
 
 As then ^twas my comfort, it now is my 
 griefe ; 
 willow, &c. 
 It now brings me anguish ; then brought me 
 reliefe. 
 willow, &c. 50 
 
 Sing, the greene willow, &c. 
 
 Farewell, faire false hearted: plaints end 
 with my breath ! 
 willow, willow, willow ! 
 Thou dost loath me, I love thee, though cause 
 of my death. 
 willow, willow, willow ! 
 willow, willow, willow ! 
 Sing, the greene willow shall be my gar- 
 land. 
 
 16 
 
122 
 
 SIR LANCELOT DU LAKE. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Sir Ionl0t )Jtt Safet 
 
 This ballad is quoted in Shakspeare's 
 second part of Henry IV., act ii. The sub- 
 ject of it is taken from the ancient romance 
 of King Arthur (commonly called Morte 
 Arthur), being a poetical translation of chap, 
 cviii., cix., ex., in part 1st, as they stand in 
 ed. 1634, 4to. In the older editions the chap- 
 ters 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 
 Eobin Hood. It is taken from the following 
 stanza of " Robin Hood and the Pindar of 
 Wakefield :"— 
 
 All this beheard three wighty 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 every 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 5 
 
 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, 10 
 
 Wherein some knights did far excel! 
 And eke surmount the rest. 
 
 But one Sir Lancelot du Lake, 
 
 Who was approved well, 
 He for his deeds and feats of armes 15 
 
 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 iii a forrest wide, 
 And met a damsell faire, 
 
 Who told him of adventures great, 
 Wherto he gave great eare. 
 
 20 
 
 25 
 
 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. 
 
 Wheras a mighty knight doth dwell, 
 
 That now is of great fame : 30 
 
 Therfore tell me what wight thou art. 
 And what may be thy name. 
 
 " My name is Lancelot du Lake." 
 
 Quoth she, it likes me than : 
 Here dwells a knight who never was 35 
 
 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. 40 
 
 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 ; 45 
 
 And Tarquin soon he spyed : 
 Who drove a horse before him fast. 
 
 Whereon a knight lay tyed. 
 
 Sir knight, then sayd Sir Lancel6tt, 
 Bring me that horse-load hither, 50 
 
 And lay him downe, and let him rest ; 
 Weel try our force together : 
 
 For, as I understand, thou hast, 
 Soe far as thou art able. 
 
 v. 29, WJiere is often read by our old writers for whereas; 
 here it is just the contrary. 
 
SIR LANCELOT DU LAKE. 
 
 123 
 
 Done great despite and shame unto 55 
 
 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. 60 
 
 That^s over much, quoth Lancelott tho, 
 
 Defend thee by and by. 
 They sett their speares unto their steeds. 
 
 And eache att otiier flie. 
 
 They coucht theire speares (their horses ran, 
 As though there had beene thunder), 66 
 
 And strucke them each immidst their shields, 
 Wherewith they broke in sunder. 
 
 Their horsses backes brake under them, 
 The knights were both astound : 70 
 
 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 eagerlye 75 
 
 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, 80 
 
 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 : 85 
 
 Soe that thou be not hee, 
 I will deliver all the rest. 
 
 And eke accord with thee. 
 
 That is well said, quoth Lancelott ; 
 
 But sith it must be soe, 90 
 
 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. 
 
 95 
 
 Thy wish thou hast, but yet unknowne, 
 
 I am Lancelot du Lake, 
 Now knight of Arthurs Table Round ; 
 
 King Hands son of Schuwake ; 100 
 
 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, 105 
 
 Then welcome shalt thou bee : 
 Wherfore see thou thyself defend. 
 
 For now defye I thee. 
 
 They buckled then together so, 
 
 Like unto wild boares rashing :* 110 
 
 And with their swords and shields they ran 
 
 At one another slashing : 
 
 The ground besprinkled was wyth blood : 
 
 Tarquin began to yield ; 
 For he gave backe for wearmesse, 115 
 
 And lowe did beare his shield. 
 
 This soone Sir Lancelot espyde. 
 
 He leapt upon him then, 
 He pulFd him downe upon his knee. 
 
 And rushing off his helm, 120 
 
 Forthwith he strucke his necke in two. 
 
 And, when he had soe done. 
 From prison threescore knights and four 
 
 Delivered everye one. 
 
 * Eashing 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. xiv. 
 p. 193), where the quartos read, 
 
 " Nor thy fierce sister 
 In his anointed flesh rash boarish fangs." 
 So in K. Richard III, act iii., sc. 2 (vol. x. p. 567, 583). 
 " He dreamt 
 To night the Boar had rased off his helm." 
 
124 
 
 GERNUTUS THE JEW OF VENICE. 
 
 €fituW^ imMll t0 l^illis, 
 
 — 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 Princely Delights," 12mo. bl. let. 
 In the same scene of the Tvfelfth-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, it 
 will be sufficient here to give the first stanza : 
 
 The Ballad op Constant Susanna. 
 
 There dwelt a man in Babylon 
 
 Of reputation great by fame ; 
 
 He took to wife a faire wom^n, 
 
 Susanna she was callde 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 : 5 
 
 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 
 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, hie thee ! 
 Nay stay, and do no more deny me. 
 
 Once more adieu, I see loath 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 where I may come thither. 
 
 What shall I doe ? my love is now departed. 
 
 She is fair, as she is cruel-hearted. 26 
 
 She would not be intreated, with prayers 
 
 oft repeated, 
 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 
 
 XL 
 
 ^txmtm i\t l^to 0f Mitt 
 
 In the " Life of Pope Sixtus V., translated 
 from the Italian of Greg. Leti, by the Rev. 
 Mr. Farneworth, folio," is a remarkable pas- 
 sage to the following effect. 
 
 " It was reported in Rome, that Drake had 
 
 taken and plundered St. Domingo in Hispan- 
 iola, and carried ofi" 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 
 
GERNUTUS THE JEW OF VENICE. 
 
 125 
 
 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 swore 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 afiair, 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 *' Jewe, 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 for Shakspeare's " Merchant of Ven- 
 ice," the earliest edition 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, 5 
 
 Which never thought to dye, 
 Nor ever yet did any good 
 
 To them in streets that lie. 
 
 His life was like a barrow hogge, 
 
 That liveth many a day, 10 
 
 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, 15 
 
 Till it be spread abroad. 
 
 So fares it with the usurer. 
 
 He cannot sleep in rest. 
 For feare the thief e will him pursue 
 
 To plucke him from his nest. * 20 
 
 His heart doth thinke on many a wile. 
 
 How to deceive the poore ; 
 His mouth is almost ful of mucke, 
 
 Y'et still he gapes for more. 
 
 * Warton, ubi supra. 
 
 t Compared with the Ashmole Copy. 
 
126 
 
 GERNUTUS THE JEW OF VENICE. 
 
 His wife must lend a shilling, 25 
 
 For every weeke a penny, 
 Yet bring a pledge, that is double worth, 
 
 If that you will have any. 
 
 And see, likewise, you keepe your day, 
 Or else you loose it all : 30 
 
 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 : 
 
 35 
 
 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 40 
 
 Whatsoever he would demand of him. 
 
 And pledges he should have. 
 No, (quoth the Jew with Searing lookes,) 
 
 Sir, aske what you will have. 
 
 No penny for the loane of it 45 
 
 For one year you shall pay 
 You may doe me as good a turne. 
 
 Before my dying day. 
 
 But we will have a merry j east. 
 For to be talked long : 50 
 
 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, 55 
 
 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. 60 
 
 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 argiiment for usury taken from Jacob's manage- 
 ment 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 65 
 
 With cap and bended knee. 
 And sayde to him, Of curtesie 
 
 I pray you beare with mee. 
 
 My day is come, and I have not 
 
 The money for to pay : 70 
 
 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 75 
 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 : 80 
 
 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, 86 
 
 For other means they could not find. 
 But he that day must dye. 
 
 THE SECOND PART. 
 
 " Of the Jews crueltie ; setting foorth the 
 mercifulnesse of .the Judge towards the Mar- 
 chant. 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 5 
 
 They offered, him to save. 
 Gernutus sayd, I will no gold : 
 
 My forfeite I will have. 
 
 A pound of fleshe is my demand, 
 
 And that shall be my hire. 10 
 
 Then sayd the judge. Yet, good my friend. 
 Let me of you desire 
 
 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. 
 
 15 
 
GERNUTUS THE JEW OF VENICE. 
 
 127 
 
 No : no : quoth he ; no : judgement here : 
 
 For this it shall be tride, 
 For I will have my pound of fleshe 
 
 From under his ri|];ht side. 20 
 
 It grieved all the companie 
 
 His crueltie to see, 
 For neither friend nor foe could helpe 
 
 But he must spoyled bee. 
 
 The bloudie Jew now ready is 25 
 
 With whetted blade in hand,* 
 To spoyle the bloud of innocent, 
 
 By forfeit of his bond. 
 
 And as he was about to strike 
 
 In him the deadly blow : 30 
 
 Stay (quoth the judge) thy crueltie ; 
 
 I charge thee to do so. 
 
 Sith needs thou wilt thy forfeit have. 
 
 Which is of flesh a pound : 
 See that thou shed no drop of bloud, 35 
 
 Nor yet the man confound. 
 
 For if thou doe, like murderer 
 
 Thou here shalt hanged ly : 
 Likewise of flesh see that thou cut 
 
 No more than longes to thee : 40 
 
 For if thou take either more or lesse 
 
 To the value of a mite, 
 Thou shalt be hanged presently, 
 
 As is both law and right. 
 
 Gernutus now waxt franticke mad, 45 
 
 And wotes not what to say ; 
 Quoth he at last. Ten thousand crownes 
 
 I will that he shall pay ; 
 
 And so I graunt to set him free. 
 
 The judge doth answere make ; 50 
 
 You shall not have a penny given ; 
 
 Your forfeyture now take. 
 
 At the last he doth demaund 
 
 But for to have his owne. 
 No, quoth the judge, doe as you list, 55 
 
 Thy judgement shall be showne. 
 
 * The passage In Shakspeare bears so strong a resem- 
 blance to this, as to render it probable that the one suggested 
 the other. See act iv, sc. 2. 
 
 '' .Bass. Why dost thou whet thy knife so earnestly? &c." 
 
 17 
 
 Either take your pound of flesh, quoth he, 
 
 Or cancell me your bond. 
 cruell judge, then quoth the Jew, 
 
 That doth against me stand ! 60 
 
 And so with griping grieved mind 
 
 He biddeth them fare-well. 
 * Then' all the people prays'd the Lord, 
 
 That ever this heard tell. 
 
 Good people, that doe heare this song, 65 
 
 For trueth I dare well say, 
 That many a wretch as ill as hee 
 
 Doth live now at this day ; 
 
 That seeketh nothing but the spoyle 
 
 Of many a wealthy man, 70 
 
 And for to trap the innocent 
 Deviseth what they can. 
 
 From whome the Lord deliver me, 
 
 And every Christian too. 
 And send to them like sentence eke 75 
 
 That meaneth so to do. 
 
 printed, the Editor hath had reason to believe 
 that both Shakspeare and the Author of this 
 ballad are indebted for their story of the Jew 
 1(however they came by it) to an Italian 
 Novel, which was first printed at Milan in 
 the year 1554, in a book entitled, II pecorone, 
 net quale si coniengono Cinqiianta Novelle 
 aniiche, &c., republished at Florence about 
 the year 1748, or 9. — The Author was Ser. 
 Giovanni Fiorentino, who wrote in 1378 ; 
 thirty years after the time in which the scene 
 of Boccace's Decameron is laid. (Vid. Manni 
 Istoria del Decameron di Giov. Boccac. 4to. 
 Fior. 1744. 
 
 That Shakspeare had his plot from the 
 Novel itself, is evident from his having some 
 incidents from it, which are not found in the 
 ballad : and I think it will also be found that 
 he borrowed from the ballad some hints that 
 were not suggested by the novel. (See above, 
 pt. 2, ver. 25, &c,, where, instead of that spi- 
 rited description of the whetted blade, &c., the 
 Prose Narrative coldly says, " The Jew had 
 prepared a razor," &c. See also some other 
 passages in the same piece.) This however is 
 spoken with diffidence, as I have at present 
 before me only the abridgment of the novel 
 which Mr. Johnson has given us at the end 
 
 V. 61, griped, Ashmol. copy. 
 
128 
 
 THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD TO HIS LOVE. 
 
 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. 
 
 %\t l^mwmU B\^\tx^ t0 ]in f 0te* 
 
 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 Raleigh ; 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 live with me, and be my lovepN 
 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. 
 
TITUS ANDKONICUS'S COMPLAINT. 
 
 129 
 
 There will we sit upon the rocks, 5 
 
 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, 10 
 
 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 linM choicely for the cold ; 15 
 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. 20 
 
 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 Keplt. 
 
 If that the World and Love were young. 
 And truth in every shepherd's toung, 
 
 These pretty pleasures might me move 
 To live with thee, and be thy love. 
 
 But time drives flocks from field to fold, 5 
 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 : 10 
 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 folly ripe, in reason rotten 16 
 
 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. 20 
 
 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. 
 
 ®tas JiKto0nia0'0 C0mgbmt. 
 
 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 ofiered above in 
 page 125, for the priority of the ballad of the 
 Jew of Venice may be admitted, somewhat 
 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 brothers, 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 latter she is betrothed to the emperor^s son: 
 in the play to his brother. 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 
 
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 ori- 
 ginally 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.f 
 
 The following is given from a copy in " The 
 Golden Garland," entitled as above ; com- 
 pared 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 
 these 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 fulle threescore 
 yeeres, 5 
 
 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 ; 10 
 
 * Mr. Malone thinks 1591 to be the sera when our author 
 commenced a ^rriter for the stage. See in his Shaksp. the 
 ingenious " Attempt to ascertain the order in which the 
 plays of Shakspeare were written." 
 
 t 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 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 15 
 
 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, 19 
 
 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 growe 
 
 soe proud. 
 That none like them in Rome might be allowd. 
 
 The Moore soe pleasMthis new-made empress' 
 eie, 25 
 
 That she consented to him secretlye 
 For to abuse her husbands marriage bed, 
 And soe in time a Blackamore she bred. 
 
 Then she, whose thoughts to murder were 
 inclinde, 29 
 
 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, 35 
 
 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 cruel wise, 41 
 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, 45 
 
 For to accuse them of that murderous deed. 
 
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 empresses 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 55 
 
 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. 60 
 
 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 sawe her in that woefull case, 65 
 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 sawe she could not write nor 
 speake, 69 
 
 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 emperfesse 
 Are doers of this hateful wickednesse." 76 
 
 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 been stroken lame. 
 
 The Moore delighting still in villainy 81 
 
 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 causM to strike it off with speede, 
 Whereat I grieved not to see it bleed, 86 
 But for my sonnes woult^ willingly impart, 
 And for their ransome send my bleeding heart. 
 
 But as my life did linger thus in paine, 89 
 They sent to me my bootlesse hand againe. 
 And therewithal the heades of my three 
 
 sonnes, 
 Which filled my dying heart with fresher 
 
 Then past reliefe, I upp and downe did goe, 
 And with my tears writ in the dust my woe: 
 I shot my arrowes* towards heaven hie 95 
 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) 99 
 
 To undermine and heare what I would say. 
 
 I fed their foolish veinesf 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 
 
 105 
 
 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. 
 
 109 
 
 * 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, men 
 bitter words." Ps. 64, 3. 
 
 t i. e. encouraged them in their foolish humours, or 
 fancies. 
 
1S2 
 
 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 slewe with bloudy knife, 
 And stabb'd the emperour immediatelie, 115 
 And then myself: even so did Titus die. 
 
 Then this revenge against the Moore was 
 
 found, 
 Alive they sett him halfe in the ground, 
 Whereas he stood untill such time he starv'd. 
 And soe God send all murderers may be 
 
 serv'd. 120 
 
 XIV. 
 
 %At l\mt f ip atoag* 
 
 The first stanza of this little sonnet, which 
 an eminent critic* justly admires for its ex- 
 treme sweetness, is found in Shakspeare'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,f &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 againe. 
 
 Scales of love, but seal'd in vaine. 
 
 Hide, oh hide those hills of snowe. 
 Which thy frozen bosom beares. 
 
 On whose tops the pinkes that growe 
 Are of those that April wears ; 
 
 But first set my poor heart free. 
 
 Bound in those icy chains by thee. 
 
 10 
 
 XV. 
 
 f ittg f m anJr \u i\m ^u^\kxL 
 
 The reader has here an ancient ballad on 
 the subject of King Lear, which (as a sensi- 
 ble female critic has well observed) J 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- 
 
 * Dr. Warburton in his Shakesp. 
 
 f Mr. Malone in his improved edition of Shakspeare's 
 Sonnets, &c., hath substituted this instead of Marlow's 
 Madrigal, printed above ; for which he hath assigned reasons 
 •which the reader may see in his vol. x. p. 340. 
 
 X Mrs. Lenox. Shakespeare illustrated, vol. iii. p. 302. 
 
 g See Jefifery of Monmouth, Holingshed, &c., who relate 
 Leir's history in many respects the same as the ballad. 
 
 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 Mmself. 
 
 It may be proper to observe, that Shaks- 
 peare was not the first of our Dramatic Poets 
 who fitted the story of Leio" 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- 
 ia, as it hath been divers and sundry times 
 lately acted, 1605, 4to." — This is a very poor 
 
KING LEIR AND HIS THREE DAUGHTERS. 
 
 133 
 
 and dull performance, 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 his retinue of 
 a select number of knights, 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, 5 
 
 Three daughters fair had he. 
 So princely seeming beautiful, 
 
 As fairer could not be. 
 
 So on a time it pleas'd the king 
 
 A question thus to move, 10 
 
 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 15 
 
 The kindest will appear. 
 
 To whom the eldest thus began ; 
 
 Dear fath«r, mind, quoth she, 
 Before your face, to do you good, 
 
 My blood shall render'd be : 20 
 
 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, 
 
 25 
 
 The worst of all extremities 
 
 I'll gently undertake : 
 And serve your highness night and day 
 
 AVith diligence and love ; 30 
 
 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 ? 36 
 
 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. ( 40 
 
 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, 45 
 
 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 pompal state and all my goods. 
 
 That lovingly I may 
 With those thy sisters be maintained 
 
 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 : 
 
 50 
 
 55 
 
 60 
 
 65 
 
 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 the king her virtues heard, 
 
 And this fair lady seen, 70 
 
 With fall consent of all his court 
 
 He made his wife and queen. 
 
 Her father King Leir this while 
 With his two daughters staid : 
 
134 
 
 KING LEIR AND HIS THREE DAUGHTERS. 
 
 Forgetful of their promised loves, 75 
 
 Full soon the same decay'd ; 
 And living in Queen Ragan's court, 
 
 The eldest of the tvrain, 
 She took from him his chiefest means, 
 
 And most of all his train. 80 
 
 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, 86 
 
 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. 
 
 90 
 
 95 
 
 Full fast he hies then to her court ; 
 Where when she heard his moan 
 Return'd him answer, That she griev'd. 
 
 That all his means were gone : 100 
 
 But no way could relieve his wants ; 
 Yet if that he would stay 
 I Within her kitchen, he should have 
 ''™' What scullions gave away. 
 
 When he had heard, with bitter tears, 105 
 
 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 ; 110 
 
 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 115 
 
 (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. 120 
 
 But there of that he was deny'd 
 Which she had promised late : 
 
 For once refusing, he should not 
 Come after to her gate. 
 
 Thus twixt his daughters for relief 125 
 
 He wandred up and down ; 
 Being glad to feed on beggars food, r\ 
 
 That lately' wore a crown. 
 
 And calling to remembrance then 
 
 His youngest daughters words, 130 
 
 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 135 
 
 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. 140 
 
 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. 
 
 Even thus possest with discontents, 145 
 
 He passed o're to France, 
 In hopes from foir Cordelia there. 
 
 To find some gentler chance ; 
 Most virtuous dame ! which when she heard 
 
 Of this her father's grief, 150 
 
 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 ; 156 
 
 Whose royal king, with noble mind 
 
 So freely gave consent. 
 To muster up his knights at arms. 
 
 To fame and courage bent. 160 
 
 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, 165 
 
 Was in the battel slain ; 
 Yet he 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 : 
 
 170 
 
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 sisters unto death 
 
 They doomed by consents ; 180 
 
 175 And being dead, their crowns they left 
 
 Unto the next of kin : 
 Thus have you seen the fall of pride, \ 
 
 And disobedient sin. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 |0ttt^ u)i ^gt 
 
 is found in a, little collection of Shak- 
 
 speare's Sonnets, entitled the "Passionate 
 Pilgrime,''* the greatest part of which seems 
 to relate to the amours of Venus and Adonis, 
 being little effusions of fancy, probably writ- 
 ten while he was composing his larger Poem 
 on that subject. The following seems in- 
 tended 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 pleasance, 
 
 Age is full of care ; 
 
 Youth like summer morn, 5 
 
 Age like winter weather, 
 Youth like summer brave, 
 
 Age like winter bare : 
 Youth is full of sport. 
 Ages breath is short ; 10 
 
 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 ; 15 
 
 0, my love, my love is young : 
 Age, I do defie thee ; 
 Oh, sweet shepheard, hie thee. 
 
 For methinks thou stayst too long. 20 
 
 *^* See Malone's Shaksp. vol. x., p. 325. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 %\t |t0liclis0me guk, gx t\t %mW$ (Bm^i iaidut 
 
 The following ballad is upon the same sub- 
 ject 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 toldf of Philip the Good, Duke 
 of Burgundy ; and is thus related by an old 
 
 * Mentioned aboye, song xi. b. ii. 
 
 t By Ludov. Viyes in Epis. and by Pont. Heuter, Rerum 
 Burgund. 1. 4. 
 
 18 
 
 English writer : " The said duke, at the mar- 
 riage of Eleonora, sister to the king of Portu- 
 gall, at Bruges in Flanders, which was sol- 
 emnised in the deepe of winter ; when as by 
 reason of unseasonable weather he could nei- 
 ther hawke nor hunt, and was now tired with 
 cards, dice, &c., and such other domestick 
 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 
 countrey fellow dead drunke, snorting on a 
 
136 
 
 FROLICKSOME DUKE ; OR, 
 
 bulke ; 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 ifras 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 believed it; would not 
 otherwise be persuaded, and so the jest 
 ended.''' Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy, 
 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 enti- 
 tled as above " To the tune of Fond boy.'' 
 
 Now as fame does report a young duke keeps 
 
 a court. 
 One that pleases 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, 5 
 
 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, 11 
 
 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. 16 
 
 In the 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 ; 20 
 
 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, 25 
 
 Which he straitways put on without longer 
 
 dispute : 
 With a star on his side, which the tinker offt 
 
 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 ? 29 
 
 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 : 34 
 
 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. 
 
THE FRIAR OF ORDERS GRAY. 
 
 m 
 
 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, 
 \r 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 : 60 
 
 ^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- 
 
 teries round. 
 Crying old brass to mend, for FU 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 : 
 Well I thank your good grace, and your love 
 
 I embrace, 71 
 
 I was never before in so happy a case. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 ^t ixmx 0f irhrs 6raj» 
 
 Dispersed through Shakspeare's plays are 
 innumerable little fragments of ancient bal- 
 lads, the entire copies of which could not be 
 recovered. Many of these 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 beades ; 
 18 
 
 And he met with a lady faire 
 Clad in a pilgrime's weedes. 
 
 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 
 
 0, 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. Shakesp. 
 vol. viii. p. 224. 
 
138 
 
 THE miAR OF ORDERS GRAY. 
 
 But chiefly by his face and mien, 
 
 That were so fair to view ; 
 His flaxen locks that sweetly curl'd, 
 
 And eyne of lovely blue. 
 
 lady, he is dead and gone ! 
 A 'Xady, he's dead and gone ! 
 And at his head a green grass turfe, 
 And at his heels 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 bedewed his grave 
 Within yon 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 ! 
 
 weep not, lady, weep not soe : 
 Some ghostly comfort seek : 
 
 Let not vain sorrow rive thy heart, 
 Ne teares bedew thy cheek. 
 
 do not, do not, holy friar. 
 
 My sorrows now reprove ; 
 For I have lost the sweetest youth. 
 
 That e'er wan ladyes love. 
 
 V^ 
 
 And nowe, alas ! for thy sad 
 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 grow againe. 
 
 Our joys as winged dreams doe flye. 
 Why then should sorrow last ? 
 
 Since grief but aggravates thy losse, 
 Grieve not for what is past. 
 
 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. 
 
 15 
 
 20 
 
 25 
 
 30 
 
 85 
 
 40 
 
 45 
 
 50 
 
 55 
 
 And will he ne'er come again ? 
 
 Will he ne'er come again? 
 Ah ! no, he is dead and laid in his grave, 
 
 For ever to remain. 60 
 
 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. 65 
 
 Men were deceivers ever : "Hi, 
 One foot on sea and one on land, 
 
 To one thing constant never. 
 
 Hadst thou been fond, he had been false, 
 And left thee sad and heavy ; 70 
 
 For young men ever were fickle found, 
 Since summer trees were leafy. 
 
 Now sae not soe, thou holy friar, 
 
 I pray thee say not soe ; 
 My love he had the truest heart : 75 
 
 he was ever true ! 
 
 And art thou dead, thou much-lov'd youth, 
 
 And didst thou dye for mee ? 
 Then farewell home ; for ever-more 
 
 A pilgrim I will bee. 80 
 
 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 85 
 
 Beneath this cloyster wall : 
 See through the hawthorn blows the cold 
 wind, 
 
 And drizzly rain doth fall. 
 
 stay me not, thou holy friar ; 
 
 stay me not, I pray ; 90 
 
 No drizzly rain that falls on me. 
 
 Can wash my fault away. 
 
 Yet stay, fair lady, turn again, 
 
 And dry those pearly tears ; 
 For see beneath this gown of gray 95 
 
 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. 100 
 
THE MORE MODERN BALLAD OF CHEVY-CHASE. 
 
 139 
 
 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 105 
 
 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 bal- 
 lad 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 in- 
 debted 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. 
 
 %\t mm P^i^rn §allai 0f Cpg-ilifease. 
 
 At the beginning of this volume we gave 
 the old original Song of " Chevy-Chase." 
 The reader has here the more improved edi- 
 tion 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 ver- 
 sification, and generally the sentiment and 
 diction ; yet some few passages retain more 
 dignity in the ancient copy ; at least the ob- 
 soleteness 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 stanza 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 stanza which describes the 
 fall of Montgomery is somewhat more ele- 
 vated 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 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 to 
 
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, notwith- 
 standing 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 earls 
 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 bydys the yerl Douglas upon the Bent J" 
 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 accor- 
 dingly runs quite ofi" from the subject.* 
 
 " To drive the deer with hound and horn 
 Earl Douglas had the bent." v. 109. 
 
 One may also observe a generous impar- 
 tiality in the old original bard, when in the 
 conclusion of his tale he represents both na- 
 tions as quitting the field, without any re- 
 proachful reflection on either: though he gives 
 to his own countrymen the credit of being 
 the smaller number. 
 
 " Of fifteen hundred a.rchers 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 bal- 
 
 * In the present edition, instead of the unmeaning lines 
 here censured, an insertion is made of four stanzas modern- 
 ized from the ancient copy. 
 
 lad, 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 Scottish spiers 
 Went hame but fifty-three : 
 Of twenty hundred Englishmen 
 Scarce fifty-five did flee." 
 
 And to countenance this change he has sup- 
 pressed the two stanzas between ver. 240 and 
 ver. 249. — From that edition I have here re- 
 formed the Scottish names, which in the 
 modern English ballad appeared to be cor- 
 rupted. 
 
 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 com- 
 plains of the antiquated phrase of " Chevy_ 
 Chase," could never have seen this improved 
 copy, the language of which is not more an- 
 cient than that he himself used. It is proba- 
 ble that the encomiums of so admired a wri- 
 ter excited some bard to revise the ballad, 
 and to free it from those faults he had object- 
 ed 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 genera- 
 tion 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 manifestly superior a character to the Scotch com- 
 mander above the English." See Say's Essay on the Num- 
 bers of Paradise Lost, 4to., 1745, p. 167. 
 
 This appears to me a groundless conjecture; the lan- 
 guage 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 f 
 see Series the Second, No. x. ver. 23. 
 
THE MORE MODERN BALLAD OF CHEVY-CHASE. 
 
 141 
 
 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 
 towards the end of summer they would come 
 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 Miscellanies 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, Svo. 
 
 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 deere with hound and home, 5 
 
 Erie Percy took his way. 
 The child may rue that is unborne. 
 
 The hunting of that day. 
 
 The stout Erie of Northumberland 
 
 A vow to God did make, 10 
 
 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 Erie Douglas came, 15 
 
 In Scottland where he lay : 
 
 Who sent Erie Percy present word, 
 
 He would prevent his sport. 
 The English Erie, not fearing that, 
 
 Did to the woods resort, 20 
 
 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, 25 
 
 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 ; 30 
 
 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. 
 
 35 
 
 The hounds ran swiftly through the woods, 
 The nimble deere to take,* 
 
 Yer. 36, That they were, fol. MS. 
 * The Chiviot Hills aud circumjacent Wastes are at pro- 
 sent void of Deer, and almost stripped of their woods ; but 
 formerly they had enough of both to justify the description 
 attempted here and in the Ancient Ballad of Chevt-Chase. 
 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 Brushe-Wood, and 
 some Okke ; Grownde ovargrowne with Linge, and some 
 with Morse. I have harde say that Chivet HiUs stretchethe 
 
142 
 
 THE MORE MODERN BALLAD OF CHEVY-CHASE. 
 
 That with their cryes the hills and dales 
 An eccho shrill did make. 40 
 
 Lord Percy to the quarry went, 
 
 To view the slaughter'd deere ; 
 Quoth he, Erie Douglas promised 
 
 This day to meet me heere : 
 
 But if I thought he wold not come, 45 
 
 Noe longer wold I stay. 
 With that, a brave younge gentleman 
 
 Thus to the Erie did say : 
 
 Loe, yonder doth Erie Douglas come, 
 
 His men in armour bright ; 50 
 
 Full twenty hundred Scottish speres 
 All marching in our sight ; 
 
 All men of pleasant Tivydale, 
 East by the river Tweede : 
 
 cease your sports, Erie Percy said, 55 
 And take your bowes with speede. 
 
 And now with me, my countrymen, 
 
 Your courage forth advance ; 
 For there was never champion yett 
 
 In Scotland or in France, 60 
 
 That ever did on horsebacke come. 
 But if my hap it were, 
 
 1 durst encounter man for man, 
 "With him to break a spere. 
 
 Erie Douglas on his milke-white steede, 65 
 
 Most like a baron bold. 
 Rode formost of his company. 
 
 Whose armour shone like gold. 
 
 Show me, sayd hee, whose men you bee. 
 That hunt soe boldly heere, 70 
 
 That, without my consent, doe chase 
 And kill my fallow-deere. 
 
 The first man that did answer make 
 
 Was noble Percy hee ; 
 Who sayd. Wee list not to declare, 
 
 Nor shew whose men wee bee. 
 
 Yet wee will spend our deerest blood, 
 Thy cheefest harts to slay. 
 
 75 
 
 XX miles. There is greate Plente of Redde-Dere, and Roo 
 
 BuKKES." Itin. vol. Tii. p. 56. This passage, which 
 
 did not occur when pages 74, 75, were printed off, confirm the 
 accounts there giyen of the Stagge and the Roe. 
 
 Then Douglas swore a solempne oathe 
 
 And thus in rage did say, 80 
 
 Ere thus I will out-braved bee, 
 
 One of us two shall dye : 
 I know thee well, an erle thou art ; 
 
 Lord Percy, soe am I. 
 
 85 
 
 But trust me, Percy, pittye it were 
 And great offence to kill 
 
 Any of these our guiltlesse men, 
 For they have done no ill. 
 
 Let thou and I the battell trye, 
 
 And set our men aside. 90 
 
 Accurst bee he, Erie Percy sayd, 
 
 By whom this is denyed. 
 
 Then stept a gallant squier forth, 
 
 Witherington was his name. 
 Who said, I wold not have it told 95 
 
 To Henry our king for shame, 
 
 That ere my captaine fought on foote 
 
 And I stood looking on. 
 You bee two erles, sayd Witherinton 
 
 And I a squier alone : 100 
 
 He doe the best that doe I may, 
 
 While I have power to stand : 
 While I have power to weeld my sword, 
 
 He 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, 
 As Chieftan stout and good. 110 
 
 As valiant Captain, all unmoved 
 The shock he firmly stood. 
 
 His host he parted had in three. 
 
 As Leader ware and try'd. 
 And soon his spearmen on their foes 115 
 
 Bare down on every side. 
 
 * The four stanzas here enclosed in brack- 
 ets, which are borrowed chiefly fram the an- 
 cient copy, are offered to the reader instead of 
 the following lines, which occur in the editor's 
 folio MS. 
 
THE MORE MODERN BALLAD OF CHEVY-CHASE. 
 
 143 
 
 To drive the deere with hound and home, 
 
 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 : 120 
 
 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, 125 
 
 Noe slacknes there was found ; 
 And many a gallant gentleman 
 
 Lay gasping on the ground. 
 
 Christ ! it was a griefe to see. 
 
 And likewise for to heare, 130 
 
 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, 135 
 
 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. 140 
 
 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, 145 
 
 And this report of thee. 
 Thou art the most courageous knight 
 
 That ever I did see. 
 
 Noe, Douglas, quoth Erie Percy then, 
 
 Thy profi'er I doe scorne ; 150 
 
 1 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 Erie Douglas to the heart, 155 
 
 A deepe and deadlye blow : 
 19 
 
 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. 160 
 
 Then leaving lifie, Erie Percy tooke 
 
 The dead man by the hand ; 
 And said, Erie Douglas, for thy life 
 
 Wold I had lost my land. 
 
 165 
 
 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 Erie Douglas dye, * 170 
 
 Who streight in wrath did vow revenge 
 Upon the Lord Percye : 
 
 Sir Hugh Mountgomery was he call'd, 
 Who, with a speare most bright. 
 
 Well-mounted on a gallant steed, 175 
 
 Ran fiercely through the fight ; 
 
 And past the English archers all, 
 Without all dread or feare ; 
 
 And through Erie Percyes body then 
 He thrust his hatefull speare ; 
 
 180 
 
 With such a v^ement force and might 
 
 He did his body gore. 
 The stafi" 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 Mountgomeryo, 
 
 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 ; 
 
 185 
 
 190 
 
 195 
 
144 
 
 THE MOEE MODERN BALLAD OF CHEVY-CHASE. 
 
 For when they rung the evening-bell,* 
 The battle scarce was done. 200 
 
 With stout Erie Percy, there was slaine 
 
 Sir John of Egerton,t 
 Sir Robert Ratcliff, and Sir John, 
 
 Sir James that bold barron ; 
 
 And with Sir George and stout Sir James, 
 Both knights of good account, 206 
 
 Good Sir Ralph Raby there was slaine, 
 Whose prowesse did surmount. 
 
 For AYitherington needs must I wayle 
 As one in doleful dumpes ;t 
 
 For when his leggs were smitten off. 
 He fought upon his stumpes. 
 
 210 
 
 And with Erie Douglas, there was slaine 
 
 Sir Hugh Mountgomerye, 
 Sir Charles Murray, that from the feeld 215 
 
 One foote wold never flee. 
 
 Sir Charles Murray, of Ratcliff, too. 
 His sisters sonne was hee ; 
 
 Sir David Lamb, so well esteem'd. 
 Yet saved cold not bee. 
 
 220 
 
 225 
 
 And the Lord Maxwell in like case 
 Did with Erie Douglas dye : 
 
 Of twenty hundred Scottish speres 
 Scarce fifty-five did flye. 
 
 Of fifteen 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 ; 230 
 
 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, 235 
 
 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 
 " Evensong hell," or hell for vespers of the original author, 
 before the Reformation. Vide suprk, pag. 57, v. 97. 
 
 t For the surnames, see the Notes at the end of the 
 Ballad. 
 
 $ i. e. " T, as one in deep concern, must lament." The 
 construction here has generally been misunderstood. The 
 old MS. rea<is wofuU dumpes. 
 
 The newes was brought to Eddenborrow, 
 Where Scottlands king did raigne. 
 
 That brave Erie Douglas suddenlye 
 
 Was with an arrow slaine : 240 
 
 heavy newes, King James did say, 
 Scottland may witnesse bee, 
 
 1 have not any captaine more 
 Of such account as hee. 
 
 Like tydings to King Henry came, 245 
 
 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 ; 250 
 
 I trust I have within my realme. 
 Five hundred as good as he : 
 
 Yett shall not Scotts nor Scotland say, 
 
 But I will vengeance take : 
 111 be revenged on them all, 255 
 
 For brave Erie Percyes sake. 
 
 This vow full well the king performed 
 
 After, at Humbledowne ; 
 In one day, fifty knights were slayne. 
 
 With lords of great renowne ; 260 
 
 And of the rest, of small account. 
 
 Did many thousands dye : 
 Thus endeth the hunting of Chevy-Chase, 
 
 Made by the Erie Percy. 
 
 God save our king, and bless this land 265 
 
 With plenty e, joy, and peace ; 
 And grant henceforth, that foule debate 
 
 ^Twixt noblemen may cease. 
 
 *^* Since the former impression of these 
 volumes hath been published, a new edition 
 of CoUins's Peerage, 1779, &c., ix. vols. 8vo., 
 which contains, in volume ii. p. 334, an histor- 
 ical passage, which may be thought to throw 
 considerable light on the subject of the pre- 
 ceding Ballad : viz. 
 
 "In this .... year, 1436, according to 
 Hector Boethius, w^as fought the battle of 
 Pepperden, not far from the Cheviot Hills, 
 between the Earl of Northumberland [lid 
 Earl, son of Hotspur], and Earl William 
 Douglas, of Angus, with a small army of 
 about four thousand men each, in which the 
 
DEATH'S FINAL CONQUEST. 
 
 145 
 
 latter had the advantage. As this seems to 
 have been a private conflict between these 
 two great Chieftains of the Borders, 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 Ogerton, 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 Bridgwater ; 
 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.] Thiswas a family much 
 distinguished in Northumberland. Edw. 
 Radcliff'e, mil., was sherifi" of that county in 
 17 of Hen. VII., and others of the same sur- 
 name afterwards. (See Fuller, p. 313.) Sir 
 
 George Ratclifi^, 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 
 1715. The Editor's folio MS., however, reads 
 here. Sir Robert Harclifie 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 Hearone, 
 in p. 55, ver. 114. 
 
 Ver. 207. Rahy.'] This might be intended 
 to celebrate one of the ancient possessors of 
 Raby Castle, in the county of Durham. Yet 
 it is written Rebbye, in the fol. MS., andlooks 
 like a corruption of Rugby or Rokeby, an 
 eminent family in Yorkshire. See p. 56, p. 
 26. 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. Mnrray.] So the Scot, edit.— 
 The common copies read Murrel. The fol. 
 MS. gives the line in the following peculiar 
 manner, 
 
 *' Sir Roger Heuer of Harcliffe too." 
 Ver. 219. Laml.] The folio MS. has 
 " Sir David Lambwell, well esteemed^' 
 
 This seems evidently corrupted from Lwdalo 
 or Liddell, in the old copy, see pages 55, 62. 
 
 -••»- 
 
 II. 
 
 Jeatl]'s i\m\ dwnp^sl 
 
 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, set. 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 ; 
 
146 
 
 THE RISING IN THE NORTH. 
 
 There is no armour against fate : 
 Death lays his icy hands on kings : 
 
 Scepter and crown 5 
 
 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 laurels 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 ' - "^'N 
 
 Smell sweet, and blossom in the dust. / 
 
 III. 
 
 %\t llisittg in t\t |:0rl|. 
 
 The subject of this ballad is the great 
 Northern Insurrection in the 12th year of Eli- 
 zabeth, 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 Protest- 
 ant 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) un- 
 dertook to break the matter to her ; but before 
 he could find an opportunity, the afiair 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 com- 
 mitted 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 clem- 
 ency, 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 Topclifi'e in Yorkshire. 
 When rising hastily out of bed, he withdrew 
 to the Earl of Westmoreland, at Brancepeth, 
 where the country came in to them, and press- 
 ed them to take arms in their own defence. 
 They accordingly set up their standards, de- 
 claring 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 
 bannerf (on which was displayed the cross, 
 together with the five wounds of Christ), was 
 borne by an ancient gentleman, Richard Nor- 
 ton, Esq., of Norton-conyers : who with his 
 sons (among whom, Christopher, Marma- 
 duke, and Thomas, are expressly named by 
 Camden], distinguished himself on this occa- 
 sion. Having entered Durham, they tore the 
 Bible, &c., and caused mass to be said there: 
 they then marched on to Clifibrd 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 orerlooked in the ballad. 
 f Besides this, the ballad mentions the separate banners 
 of the two noblemen. 
 
THE RISING IN THE NORTH. 
 
 147 
 
 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 Dudley, 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 
 aff'ected 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 mee, 
 And I will sing of a noble earle, 
 
 The noblest earle in the north countrle. 
 
 Earle Percy is into his garden gone, 5 
 
 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, 1 1 
 
 And faire fall truth and honestie. 
 
 Now nay, now nay, my ladye gay, 
 Alas ! thy counsell suits not mee ; 
 
 Mine enemies prevail so fast, 15 
 
 That at the court I may not bee. 
 
 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. 20 
 
 Now nay, now nay, thou lady faire, 
 
 The court is full of subtiltie ; 
 And if I goe to the court, lady, 
 
 Never more I may thee see. 
 
 Yet goe to the court, my lord, she sayes, 25 
 And I myselfe 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, 30 
 
 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 35 
 
 In all the haste that ever may bee. 
 
 -t 
 
 '^i' 
 
 Commend me to that gentleman. 
 And beare this letter here fro mee 
 
 And say that earnestly I praye. 
 He will ryde in my companie. 
 
 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 ; 
 
 40 
 
 45 
 
 * This lady was Anne, daughter of Henry Somerset, Earl 
 of Worcester. 
 
148 
 
 THE KISING IN THE NORTH. 
 
 And tooke the letter betwixt his hands, 
 And lett the gentleman it see. 
 
 And when the letter it was redd 
 Affore that goodlye companye, 
 
 I wis, if you the truthe wold know, 
 There was many a weepynge eye. 
 
 50 
 
 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 jeopardy ? 55 
 
 Father, my counselle's fair and free ; 
 
 That erle he is a noble lord, 
 And whatsoever to him you bight, 
 
 I wold not have you breake your word. 60 
 
 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, 65 
 
 Gallant men I trowe you bee : 
 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, 
 father, till the daye we dye 
 
 We'll stand by that good erle and thee. 
 
 70 
 
 Gramercy now, my children deare, 
 
 You showe yourselves right bold and brave ; 
 
 And whethersoe'er I live or dye, 75 
 
 A fathers blessing you shal have. 
 
 But what sayst thou, Francis Norton, 
 That art mine oldes.t sonn and heire : 
 
 Somewhat lyes brooding in thy breast ; 
 Whatever it bee, to mee declare. 80 
 
 Father, you are an aged man. 
 
 Your head is white, your bearde is gray ; 
 It were a shame at these your yeares 
 
 For you to ryse in such a fray. 
 
 Now fye upon thee, coward Francis, 85 
 
 Thou never learnedst this of mee : 
 
 When thou wert yong and tender of age, 
 Why did I make soe much of thee ? 
 
 But, father, I will wend with you, 
 
 Unarm'd and naked will I bee ; 90 
 
 And he that strikes against the crowne, 
 Ever 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. 
 
 95 
 
 With them the noble Nevill came, 
 The erle of Westmorland was hee : 
 
 At Wetherbye they mustred their host. 
 Thirteen thousand faire to see. 100 
 
 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.'* 
 
 Erie Percy there his ancyent spred, 105 
 
 The Halfe-Moone shining all soe faire tf 
 
 The Nortons ancyent had the crosse. 
 
 And the five wounds our Lord did beare. 
 
 * Ver. 102, Dun Bull, &c. The supporters of the Nevilles 
 Earls of Westmoreland were Two Bulls Argent, ducally 
 collared gold, armed Or, &c. But I have not discovered 
 the device mentioned 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 Chyte in Yorkshire (of the Westmoreland 
 branch), gave for their crest, in 1513, a dog's (greyhound's) 
 head erased. — So that it is not improbable but Charles 
 Neville, the unhappy Earl of Westmoreland here men- 
 tioned, 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, more conformable to his known 
 bearings : 
 
 " Set me up my faire Dun Bull, 
 With Gilden Homes, hee heaves all soe hye." 
 
 t 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 Sarazens. In an ancient pedigree in 
 verse, finely illuminated on a roll of 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 accounting for the name of Gernon or 
 Algernon, often borne by the Percies ; who, he says, were 
 
 Gernon s fyrst named Brutys bloude of Troy : 
 
 Which valliantly fyghtynge in the land of Perse [Persia] 
 
 At pointe terrible ayance the miscreants on nyght. 
 
 An hevynly mystery was schewyd hym, old bookys reherse ; 
 
 In hys scheld did schyne a Mone veryfying her lyght, 
 
 Whych to all the ooste gave a perfytte fyght. 
 
 To vaynquys his enemys, and to deth them persue : 
 
 And therefore the Perses [Percies] the Crescent doth renew. 
 
 In the dark ages no family was deemed considerable that 
 
 did not derive its descent from the Trojan Brutus; or that 
 
 was not distinguished by prodigies and miracles. 
 
NORTHUMBERLAND BETRAYED BY DOUGLAS. 149 
 
 Then Sir George Bowes he straitwaye rose, 
 After them some spoyle to make : 110 
 
 Those noble erles turn'd backe againe, 
 And aye they vowed that knight to take. 
 
 That baron he to his castle fled 
 To Barnard castle then fled hee. 
 
 The uttermost walles were eathe to win, 115 
 The earles have wonne them presentlie. 
 
 The uttermost walles were lime and bricke ; 
 
 But thoughe they won them soon anone, 
 Long e'er they wan the innermost walles, 
 
 For they were cut in rocke of stone. 120 
 
 Then newes unto leeve London came 
 In all the speede that ever might bee, 
 
 And word is brought to our royall queene 
 Of the rysing in the North countrie. 
 
 Her grace she turned her round about, 125 
 And like a royall queene shee swore,* 
 
 I will ordayne them such a breakfast, 
 As never was in the North before. 
 
 /* This is qmte in character : her majesty would Bome- 
 ( times swear at her nobles, as well as box their ears. 
 
 Shee caus'd thirty thousand men berays'd 
 With horse and harneis faire to see ; 130 
 
 She caused thirty thousand men be raised, 
 To take the earles i' th' North countrie. 
 
 Wi' them the false Erie "Warwick went, 
 Th' Erie Sussex and the Lord Hunsden ; 
 
 Untill they to Yorke castle came 
 
 I wiss, they never stint ne blan. 135 
 
 Now spred thy ancyent, Westmorland, 
 Thy dun bull faine would we spye : 
 
 And thou, the Erie o' Northumberland, 
 Now rayse thy half moone up on hye. 140 
 
 But the dun bulle is fled and gone. 
 And the halfe moone vanished away : 
 
 The Erles, though they were brave and bold, 
 Against soe many could not stay. 
 
 Thee, Norton, wi^' thine 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. 
 
 AVi' them full many a gallant wight 
 
 They cruellye bereav'd of life : 150 
 
 "^nd many a childe made fatherlessefvx /^/M-'i-/ 
 And widowed many a tender wife. 
 
 IV, 
 
 |[0r%mtelanlj §ttrHgclr bji ^m^ks. 
 
 This ballad may be considered as the se- 
 quel 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 hon- 
 our 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 Scot- 
 land, who sent him to the castle of Lough- 
 leven, then belonging to William Douglas. — 
 All the writers of that time assure us, that 
 Hector, who was rich before, fell shortly after 
 
 into poverty, and became so infamous, that to 
 take ^xPector'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 de- 
 pended on Elizabeth for protection, an ele- 
 gant 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 ac- 
 count, and shared between Morton and his 
 kinsman Douglas, the form9r of whom, dur- 
 ing his exile in England, had been much in- 
 
150 
 
 NORTHUMBERLAND BETRAYED BY DOUGLAS. 
 
 debted to Northumberland's friendship, the 
 abandoning this unhappy nobleman to inevi- 
 table destruction, was deemed an ungrateful 
 and mercenary act." Robertson's Hist. 
 
 So far History coincides with this ballad, 
 which was apparently written by some north- 
 ern bard soon after the event. The interpo- 
 sal 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 vari- 
 ations ; 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 an- 
 other Ballad on the escape of the Earl of 
 Westmoreland, who got safe into Flanders, 
 and is feigned in the ballad to have under- 
 gone 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 ! 5 
 
 It was my sore and heavye 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 : 10 
 
 He dwelleth on the border side, 
 
 To him I'll goe right privilie. 
 
 Thus did the noble Percy 'plaine, 
 With a heavy heart and wel away, 
 
 When he with all his gallant men 15 
 
 On Bramham 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. 20 
 
 /False Hector to Earl Murray sent, 
 
 '. To shew him where his guest did hide: 
 
 Who sent him to the Lough-lev^n, 
 With William Douglas to abide. 
 
 And when he to the Douglas came, 25 
 
 He halched him right courteouslie, 
 
 Say'd, Welcome, welcome, noble earle, 
 Here thou shalt safelye bide with mee. 
 
 When he had in Lough-leven been 
 
 Many a month and many a day s 30 
 
 To the regent* the lord wardenf sent, 
 That bannisht 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. 36 
 
 Earle Percy at the supper sate 
 With many a goodly gentleman : 
 
 The wylie Douglas then bespake. 
 
 And thus to flyte with him began : 40 
 
 What makes you be so sad, my lord. 
 And in your mind so sorrowfully fe ? 
 
 To-morrow a shootinge will bee held 
 Among the lords of the North country^. 
 
 The butts are sett, the shooting's made, 
 And there will be great royaltye : 
 
 And I am sworn e into my bille. 
 Thither to bring my Lord Percye. 
 
 45 
 
 I'll give thee my hand, thou gentle Douglas, 
 And here by my true faith, quoth hee, 60 
 
 If thou wilt ryde to the worldes end 
 I will ryde in thy companye. 
 
 And then bespake a lady faire, 
 Mary k Douglas was her name : 
 
 You shall byde here, good English lord, 
 My brother is a traitorous man.' | 
 
 55 
 
 (^ 
 
 He is a traitor stout and strong. 
 
 As I tell you in privitie : 
 For he hath tane liverance of the earle, J 
 
 Into England nowe to 'liver thee^? 
 
 Now nay, now nay, thou goodly lady. 
 The regent is a noble lord : 
 
 60 
 
 * James Douglas, Earl of Morton, elected regent of Scot- 
 land, November 24, 1572. 
 t Of one of the English marches. Lord Hunsden. 
 t Of the Earl of Morton, the Regent. 
 
NORTHUMBERLAND BETRAYED BY DOUGLAS. 
 
 151 
 
 Ne for the gold in all England 
 
 The Douglas wold not break his word. 
 
 
 Yet step one moment here aside, 
 lie sliowe you all your foes in field. 
 
 
 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. 
 
 65 
 
 Lady, I never loved witchcraft, 
 
 Never dealt in privy wyle ; 
 But evermore held the high-waye 
 
 Of truth and honour, free from guile. 
 
 105 
 
 Betweene England and Scotland it wold 
 breake truce, 
 
 And friends againe they wold never bee, 
 If they shold 'liver a banisht erle 71 
 
 Was driven out of his own countrie. 
 
 M-las! alas ! my lord, she sayes, 
 ( Nowe mickle is their traitorie ; 
 Then lett my brother ryde his wayes, 75 
 And tell those English lords from thee, 
 
 If you'll not come yourselfe, my lorde. 
 Yet send your chamberlaine with mee ; 
 
 Let me but speak three words with him, 111 
 And he shall come again to thee. 
 
 James Swynard with that lady went, 
 
 She showed him through the weme of her 
 ring 
 
 How many English lords there were 115 
 Waiting for his master and him. 
 
 How that you cannot with him ryde. 
 Because you are in an ile of the sea,* 
 
 Then ere my brother come againe 
 To Edenborow castle f lie carry thee. 
 
 80 
 
 And who walkes yonder, my good lady, 
 So royally^ on yonder greene ? 
 
 yonder is the Lord Hunsdfen :* 
 Alas ! he'll doe you drie and teene. 
 
 120 
 
 To the Lord Hume I will thee bring. 
 He is well knowne a true Scots lord. 
 
 And he will lose both land and life, 
 Ere he with thee will break his word. 
 
 
 And who beth yonder, thou gay ladye. 
 That walkes so proudly him beside ? 
 
 That is Sir William Drury,t shee sayd, 
 A keene captkine hee is and tryde. 
 
 
 Much is my woe. Lord Percy sayd. 
 When I thinke on my own countrie. 
 
 When I thinke on the heavye happe 
 My friends have sufi'ered there for mee 
 
 85 
 
 How many miles is itt, madkme. 
 Betwixt yond English lords and mee ? 
 
 Marry it is thrice fifty miles, 
 To saile to them upon the sea. 
 
 125 
 
 Much is my woe, Lord Percy sayd, 90 
 And sore those wars my minde distresse ; 
 
 Where many a widow lost her mate, 
 And many a child was fatherlesse. 
 
 I never was on English ground, 
 
 Ne never sawe it with mine eye, 130 
 But as my book it sheweth mee ; ^- 
 And through my ring I may descry e.'^' 
 
 And now that I a banisht man 
 
 Shold bring such evil happe v^'ith mee, 
 To cause my faire and noble friends 
 
 To be suspect of treacherie : 
 
 95 
 
 My mother shee was a witch ladye. 
 And of her skille she learned mee ; 
 
 She wold let me see out of Lough-leven 
 What they did in London citie. 
 
 135 
 
 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. 
 
 100 
 
 But who is yond, thou ladye faire. 
 
 That looketh with sic an austerne face 
 
 Yonder is Sir John Foster,^ quoth shee, 
 Alas ! he'll do ye sore disgrace. 
 
 ? 
 
 140 
 
 If you'll give me no trust, my lord, 
 Nor unto mee no credence yield ; 
 
 
 He pulled his hatt downe over his browe ; 
 He wept ; in his heart he was full of woe : 
 
 * i. e. Lake of Leven, whicli Lath communication -witli 
 the sea. 
 t At that time in the hands of the opposite faction. 
 
 20 
 
 * The lord warden of the East marches. 
 
 t Governor of Berwick. 
 
 % Warden of the Middle-march. 
 
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 Swyn^rd, 
 I may not believe that witch ladie ; 146 
 
 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, 150 
 Yett have I never had noe outrake, 
 
 Ne no good games that I cold see. 
 
 Therefore I'U to yond shooting wend, 
 As to the Douglas I have hight : 
 
 Betide me weale, betide me woe, 155 
 
 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.* 160 
 
 /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, 165 
 And all the saylors were on horde ; 
 
 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 ! 170 
 
 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 ladie ; 
 
 If ought befall yond lady but good, 175 
 
 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. 
 
 180 
 
 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 : 
 
 * i. e. Where I was. An ancient idiom. 
 
 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. 
 
 190 
 
 185 
 
 Faire words, quoth he, they make fooles fame, 
 And that by thee and thy lord is seen : 
 
 You may hap to thinke itt soone enough, 195 
 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 Erie Percy againe, 
 
 To tell him what the Douglas sayd. 200 
 
 Hold upp thy head, man, quoth his lord ; 
 
 Nor therefore 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, 205 
 
 Other fifty mile upon the sea. 
 Lord Percy called to Douglas himselfe, 
 
 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 215 
 
 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. 220 
 
 When they had sayled other fifty mile, 
 
 Other fifty mile upon the sea ; 
 They landed low by Berwicke side, 
 
 A deputed ' laird' landed Lord Percye. 
 
 Then he at Yorke was doomde to die, 225 
 It was, alas ! a sorrowful sight : 
 
 Thus they betrayed that noble earle. 
 Who ever was a gallant wight. 
 
 * 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 folio-wing 
 stanza. 
 
MY MIND TO ME A KINGDOM IS. 
 
 153 
 
 V. 
 
 [g Pto t0 mt n l^ingkm xl 
 
 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, vrhere an impatient per- 
 son says, 
 
 " I am no such pil'd cynique to believe 
 That beggery is the onely happinesse, 
 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, Sonets, and 
 Songs of sadnes and pietie, made into Mu- 
 eicke of five parts: &c. By William Byrd, 
 one of the Gent, of the Queenes 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 natu- 
 ral 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 
 
 15 
 
 Loe ! thus I triumph like a king. 
 Content with that my mind doth bring. 
 
 I see how plentie surfets oft,v.\, 
 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. 
 
 No princely pompe, nor welthie store,-v/v' 
 No force to winne the victorie, 20 
 
 No wylie wit to salve a sore. 
 No shape to winne 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, 25 
 I little have, yet seek no more : r — - 
 
 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 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. 
 
 35 
 
 I joy not in no earthly blisse ; 
 
 I weigh not Cresus' welth a straw ; 
 For care, I care not what it is ; 
 
 I feare not fortunes fatall law : 
 My mind is such as may not move 
 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. 
 
 I kisse not where I wish to kill ; , 
 I feigne not love where most I hate; 
 
 40 
 
 45 
 
 50 
 
154 
 
 THE PATIENT COUNTESS. 
 
 ,^I breake no sleep to winne my will ; 
 I wayte not at the mighties gate : 
 I scorne no poore, I feare no rich ; 
 I feele no want, nor have too much. 
 
 The court, ne cart, I like, ne loath ; 
 Extreames are counted worst of all 
 \NThe golden meane betwixt them both 
 Doth Burest sit, and feares no fall ; 
 
 55 
 
 This is my choyce, for why I finde, 
 No wealth is like a quiet minde^r-^ 
 
 60 
 
 My welth is health, and perfect ease ;^^ 
 My conscience cleremy chiefe defence: 
 
 I never seeke by brybes to please, 
 Nor by desert to give offence : 
 
 Thus do I live, thus will I die ; 65 
 
 Would all did so as well as I !. 
 
 VI. 
 
 ®^^ lati^nt ^fiUuttH. 
 
 The subject of this tale is taken from that 
 entertaining colloquy of Erasmus, entitled 
 " Uxor M-Eix^piyaiJios, sivc Conjugium :" which 
 has been agreeably modernized by the late Mr. 
 Spence,in his little miscellaneous publication, 
 entitled " Moralities, &c., by Sir Harry Beau- 
 mont," 1753, 8vo. pag. 42. 
 
 The following stanzas are extracted from 
 an ancientpoem 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 bl. let. 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. W. Lond. 
 4to. :" this contains books xiv., xv., xvi. In 
 Ames's Typography is preserved the memory 
 of another publication of this writer's, enti- 
 tled, "Warner's Poetry," printed in 1580, 
 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 demise 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 
 
 111 husbands to live well : 
 As did the ladie of an earle, 5 
 
 Of whom I now shall tell. 
 
 An earle * ther^e was' had wedded, lov'd ; 
 
 Was lov'd, and lived long 
 Full true to his fayre countesse ; yet 
 
 At last he did her wrong. 10 
 
 Once hunted he untill the chace, 
 
 Long fasting, and the heat 
 Did house him in a peakish graunge 
 
 Within a forest great. 
 
 Where knowne and welcom'd (as the place 
 And persons might afi'orde) 16 
 
 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. 
 
 20 
 
 The poore old couple wisht their bread 
 Were wheat, their whig were perry, 
 
 Their bacon beefe, their milke and curds ^5 
 Were creame, to make him merry. 
 
 Mean while (in russet neatly clad, 
 
 With linen white as swanne, 
 Hterselfe more white, save rosie where 
 
 The ruddy colour ranne : 30 
 
THE PATIENT COUNTESS. 
 
 155 
 
 Whome naked nature, not the aydes 
 
 
 And thus she reasons with herselfe. 
 
 75 
 
 Of arte made to excell) 
 
 
 Some fault perhaps in me ; 
 
 
 The good man's daughter sturres to see 
 
 
 Somewhat is done, that soe he doth ; 
 
 
 That all were feat and well ; 
 
 
 Alas ! what may it bee ? 
 
 
 The earle did marke her, and admire 
 
 35 
 
 
 
 Such beautie there to dwell. 
 
 
 How may I winne him to myself ? 
 
 
 
 
 He is a man, and men 
 
 80 
 
 Yet fals he to their homely fare, 
 
 
 Have imperfections ; it behooves 
 
 
 And held him at a feast : 
 
 
 Me pardon nature then. 
 
 
 But as his hunger slaked, so 
 
 
 To checke him were to make him checke* 
 
 An amorous heat increast. 
 
 40 
 
 Although hee now were chaste 
 
 
 
 
 A man controuled of his wife. 
 
 85 
 
 When this repast was past, and thanks, 
 
 
 To her makes lesser haste. 
 
 
 And welcome too ; he sayd 
 
 
 
 
 Unto his host and hostesse, in 
 
 
 If duty then, or daliance may 
 
 
 The hearing of the mayd : 
 
 
 Prevayle to alter him ; 
 I will be dutifull, and make 
 
 
 Yee know, quoth he, that I am lord 
 
 45 
 
 My selfe for daliance trim. 
 
 90 
 
 Of this, and many townes ! 
 
 
 
 
 I also know that you be poore. 
 
 
 So was she, and so lovingly 
 
 
 And I can spare you pownes. 
 
 
 Did entertaine her lord, 
 As fairer, or more faultles none 
 
 
 Soe will I, so yee will consent, 
 
 
 Could be for bed or bord. 
 
 
 That yonder lasse and I 
 
 50 
 
 
 
 May bargaine for her love ; at least, 
 
 
 Yet still he loves his leiman, and 
 
 95 
 
 Doe give me leave to trye. 
 
 
 Did still pursue that game. 
 
 
 Who needs to know it ? nay who dares 
 
 
 Suspecting nothing less, than that 
 
 
 Into my doings pry ? 
 
 
 His lady knew the same : 
 Wherefore to make him know she knew, 
 
 
 First they mislike, yet at the length 
 
 55 
 
 She this devise did frame : 
 
 100 
 
 For lucre were misled ; 
 
 
 * 
 
 
 And then the gamesome earle did wowe 
 
 
 AYhen long she had been wrong'd and so 
 
 ught 
 
 The damsell for his bed. 
 
 
 The foresayd meanes in vaine. 
 She rideth to the simple graunge 
 
 
 He took her in his armes, as yet 
 
 
 But with a slender traine. 
 
 
 '^^^^o coyish to be kist, 
 As mayds that know themselves belov'd, 
 
 60 
 
 She lighteth, entreth, greets them well 
 
 105 
 
 And yieldingly resist. 
 
 
 And then did looke about her. 
 The guiltie houshold knowing her. 
 
 
 In few, his offers were so large 
 
 She lastly did consent ; 
 With whom he lodged all that night. 
 
 
 Did wish themselves Avithout her ; 
 
 
 65 
 
 Yet, for she looked merily, 
 
 The lesse they did misdoubt her. 
 
 110 
 
 And early home he went. 
 
 
 When she had seen the beauteous wench 
 
 
 
 (Then blushing fairnes fairer) 
 
 
 He tooke occasion oftentimes 
 
 
 Such beauty made the countesse hold 
 Them both excus'd the rather. 
 
 
 In such a sort to hunt, 
 
 
 
 Whom when his lady often mist, 
 
 
 
 
 Contrary to his wont, 
 
 70 
 
 Who would not bite at such a bait? 
 Thought she : and who (though loth) 
 
 115 
 
 And lastly was informed of 
 
 
 . 
 
 
 
 His amorous haunt elsewhere, 
 
 
 * To check is a term in falconry, applied when a 
 
 hawk 
 
 It greev'd her not a little, though 
 
 
 stops and turns away from his proper pursuit: to check 
 also signifies to reprove or chide. It is in. this Terse used 
 
 She seem'd it well to beare. 
 
 
 in both senses. 
 
 
156 THE PATIENT COUNTESS. 
 
 So poore a wench, "but gold might tempi 
 
 b? 
 
 Who now return'd from far affaires 
 
 
 Sweet errors lead them both. 
 
 
 Did to his sweet-heart go. 
 
 
 Scarse one in twenty that had hragg'd 
 
 
 No sooner sat he foote within 
 
 155 
 
 Of proffer'd gold denied, 
 
 120 
 
 The late deformed cote. 
 
 
 Or of such yeelding beautie baulkt, 
 
 
 But that the formall change of things 
 
 
 But, tenne to one, had lied. 
 
 
 His wondering eies did note. 
 
 
 Thus thought she : and she thus declares 
 
 But when he knew those goods to be 
 
 
 Her cause of coming thether ; 
 
 
 His proper goods ; though late. 
 
 160 
 
 My lord, oft hunting in these partes, 
 
 125 
 
 Scarce taking leave, he home returnes 
 
 
 Through travel, night or wether, 
 
 
 The matter to debate. 
 
 
 Hath often lodged in your house ; 
 
 
 The countesse was a-bed, and he 
 
 
 I thanke you for the same ; 
 
 
 With her his lodging tooke ; 
 
 
 For why ? it doth him jolly ease 
 
 
 Sir, welcome home (quoth shee); this night 
 
 To lie so neare his game. 
 
 130 
 
 For you I did not looke. 
 
 166 
 
 But, for you have not furniture 
 
 
 Then did he question her of such 
 
 
 Beseeming such a guest, 
 
 
 His stuffe bestowed soe. 
 
 
 I bring his owne, and come myselfe 
 
 
 Forsooth, quoth she, because I did 
 
 
 To see his lodging drest. 
 
 
 Your love and lodging knowe : 
 
 170 
 
 With that two sumpters were discharged 
 In which were hangings brave, 
 
 Silke coverings, curtens, carpets, plate, 
 And al such turn should have. 
 
 'l36 
 
 Your love to be a proper wench^ 
 Your lodging nothing lesse ; 
 
 I held it for your health, the house 
 More decently to dresse. 
 
 
 When all was handsomly disposed, 
 
 
 
 
 She prayes them to have care 
 
 140 
 
 Well wot I, notwithstanding her, 
 
 175 
 
 That nothing hap in their default. 
 
 
 Your lordship loveth me : 
 
 
 That might his health impair : 
 
 
 And greater hope to hold you such 
 By quiet, then brawles, ' you' see. 
 
 
 And, dam sell, quoth shee, for it seems 
 
 
 
 
 This houshold is but three. 
 
 
 Then for my duty, your delight, 
 
 
 And for thy parents age, that this 
 
 145 
 
 And to retaine your favour 
 
 180 
 
 Shall chiefely rest on thee ; 
 
 
 All done I did, and patiently 
 Expect your wonted 'haviour. 
 
 
 Do me that good, else would to God 
 
 
 
 
 He hither come no more. 
 
 
 Her patience, witte and answer wrought 
 
 So tooke she horse, and ere she went 
 
 
 His gentle teares to fall : 
 
 
 Bestowed gould good store. 
 
 150 
 
 When (kissing her a score of times) 
 Amend, sweet wife, I shall l-^^-^^ 
 
 185 
 
 Full little thought the countie that 
 
 
 He said, and did it : 'so each wife/ 
 
 
 His countesse had done so ; 
 
 
 Her husband may' recall. 
 
 
DOWSABELL. 
 
 157 
 
 VII. 
 
 g0tonljdl 
 
 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 Eglogs. Kow- 
 land's Sacrifice to the Nine Muses. London, 
 1593." 4to. They are inscribed with the 
 author's name at length " To the noble and 
 and valerous 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 eco- 
 logues 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 therefore is chiefly 
 given from the ancient copy, where it is thus 
 introduced by one of his shepherds : 
 
 Listen to mee, my lovely shepheards joy e, 
 And thou shalt heare, with mirth and 
 mickle glee, 
 
 A pretie 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 Isenbrasf 
 (alluded to in v. 3), as the reader may judge 
 from the following specimen : 
 
 Lordynges, lysten, and you shal here, &c. 
 ■X- -x- * * 
 
 Ye shall well heare of a knight, 
 That was in warre full wyght 
 
 And doughtye of his dede : 
 His name was Syr Isenbras, 10 
 
 Man nobler than he was 
 
 Lyved none with breade. 
 He was lyvely, large, and longe. 
 With shoulders broade, and armes stronge, 
 
 That myghtie was to se : | 15 
 
 * He was bom in 1563, and died in 1631. Big. Brit, 
 t As alfio Chaucer's Rhyme of Sir Topaa, 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 fee, &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 
 difi'erent translations of some French ori- 
 ginal, 
 
 Farre in the countrey of Arden, 
 There won'd a knight, hight Cassemen, 
 
 As bold as Isenbras : 
 Fell was he, and eger bent, 
 In battell and in tournament, 5 
 
 As was the good Sir Topas. 
 
 He had, as antique stories tell, 
 A daughter cleaped Dowsabel, 
 
 A mayden fayre and free : 
 And for she was her fathers heire, 10 
 
 Full well she was y-cond the ley re 
 
 Of mickle courtesie. 
 
 The silke well couth she twist and twine, 
 And make the fine march-pine, 
 
 And with the needle werke : 15 
 
 And she couth helpe the priest to say 
 His mattins on a holy-day, 
 
 And sing a psalme in kirke. 
 
 She ware a frock of frolicke greene. 
 
 Might well beseeme a mayden queene, 20 
 
 Which seemly was to see ; 
 A hoo^ to that so neat and fine, 
 In colour like the columbine, 
 
 Y-wrought full featously. 
 
 Her features all as fresh above, _ 25 
 
 As is the grasse that growes by Dove ; 
 And lyth as lasse of Kent. 
 
158 
 
 DOWSABELL. 
 
 Her skin as soft as Lemster wooll, 
 As white as snow on Peakish Hull, 
 Or swanne that swims in Trent. 
 
 30 
 
 This mayden in a morne betime 
 
 Went forth when May was in her prime, 
 
 To get sweete cetywall, 
 The honey-suckle, the harlocke, 
 The lilly and the lady smocke/ ^ 35 
 
 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 cranke, 
 
 And pip'd full merrilie. 
 
 40 
 
 45 
 
 He lear'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,* 50 
 
 Which helde prowd kings in awe : 
 But meeke he was as a lamb mought be ; 
 An innocent of ill as lief 
 
 Whom his lewd brother slaw. 
 
 The shepheard ware a sheepe-gray cloke, 55 
 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 meniveere. 60 
 
 His aule and lingell in a thong, 
 His tar-boxe on his broad belt hong. 
 
 His breech of coyntrie blewe ; 
 Full crispe and curled were his lockes, 
 His browes as white as Albion rocks : 
 
 So like a lover true. 
 
 65 
 
 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. 
 
 . * Alludi7ig to " Tamburlaine the Great, or the Scythian 
 Shepheard," 1590, 8vo., an old ranting play ascribed to 
 Marlowe. f So. Abel. 
 
 At length she tucked up her frocke, 
 White as a lilly was her smocke. 
 
 She drew the shepheard nye : 75 
 
 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, 80 
 
 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, 85 
 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. 90 
 
 With that she gan to vaile her head, 
 Her cheeks were like the roses red^' 
 
 But not a word she sayd : "" 
 With that the shepheard gan to frowne. 
 He threw his pretie pypes adowne, 95 
 
 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 foulde 100 
 Shall neither sheepe nor shepheard hould, 
 
 Except thou favour mee. 
 
 Sayth she. Yet lever were I dead, v 
 Then I should lose my mayden-head, 
 
 And all for love of men. - 105 
 
 Sayth he. Yet are you too unkind. 
 If in your heart you cannot finde 
 
 To love us now and then. 
 
 And I to thee will be as kinde ^ 
 
 As Colin was to Rosalinde, 110 
 
 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, 115 
 Down by the shepheard kneeled shee, 
 
 And him she sweetly kist : -^- 
 With that the shepheard whoop'd for joy, 
 Quoth he, Ther's never shepheards boy 
 
 That ever was so blist. ' 120 
 
ULYSSES AND THE SYREN. 
 
 159 
 
 VIII. 
 
 
 %\t iut^tii t0 f 0ij^. 
 
 
 From Beaumont and Fletcher ^s play, enti- 
 
 And there behold beauty still young. 
 
 
 tled The Lover's Progress, act iii. sc. 1. 
 
 That time can ne'er corrupt, nor death de- | 
 
 
 stroy, 
 
 
 Adieu, fond love, farewell you vranton powers ; 
 
 Immortal sweetness by fair angels sung. 
 
 
 I am free again. 
 
 And honoured by eternity and joy : 
 
 10 
 
 Thou dull disease of bloud and idle hours, 
 
 There lives my love, thither my hopes aspire, 
 
 Bewitching pain. 
 
 Fond love declines, this heavenly love grows 
 
 Fly to fools, that sigh away their time : 5 
 
 higher. 
 
 
 My nobler love to heaven doth climb, 
 
 
 
 E 
 
 — affords a pretty poetical contest between 
 
 
 
 Ulysses. 
 
 
 Pleasure and Honour. It is found at the end 
 
 Faire nymph, if fame or honour were 
 
 
 of "Hymen's Triumph: a pastoral tragi- 
 
 To be attain'd with ease. 
 
 10 
 
 comedie," written by Daniel, and printed 
 
 Then would I come and rest with thee 
 
 
 among his works, 4to, 1623.* — Daniel, who 
 
 And leave such toiles as these : 
 
 
 was a contemporary of Drayton's, and is said 
 
 But here it dwels, and here must I 
 
 
 to have been poet laureat to Queen Elizabeth, 
 
 With danger seek it forth ; 
 
 
 was born in 1562, and died in 1619. Anne 
 
 To spend the time luxuriously 
 
 15 
 
 Countess of Dorset, Pembroke, and Mont- 
 
 Becomes not men of worth. 
 
 
 gomery (to whom Daniel had been Tutor), has 
 
 
 
 inserted a small portrait of him in a full- 
 
 
 
 length picture of herself, preserved at Ap- 
 
 Syren. 
 
 
 pleby Castle, in Cumberland. 
 
 Ulysses, be not deceiv'd 
 
 
 This little poem is the rather selected for 
 
 With that unreall name : 
 
 
 a specimen of Daniel's poetic powers, as it 
 
 This honour is a thing conceiv'd, 
 
 
 is omitted in the later edition of his works, 
 
 And rests on others' fame. 
 
 20 
 
 2 vols. 12mo. 1718. 
 
 Begotten only to molest 
 
 
 Syren. 
 
 Our peace, and to beguile 
 
 
 (The best thing of our life) our rest, 
 
 
 Come, worthy Greeke, Ulysses come, 
 
 And give us up to toyle ! 
 
 
 Possesse these shores with me, 
 
 
 
 The windes and seas are troublesome. 
 
 Ulysses. 
 
 
 And here we may be free. 
 
 
 Here may we sit and view their toyle 5 
 t^ That travaile in the deepe, 
 
 Delicious nymph, suppose there were 
 
 25 
 
 Nor honor, nor report. 
 
 
 Enjoy the day in mirth the while, 
 
 Yet manlinesse would scorne to weare 
 
 
 And spend the night in sleepe. 
 
 The time in idle sport: 
 For toyle doth give a better touch 
 
 
 * In this edition it is collated with a copy printed at the 
 
 end of his " Tragedie of Cleopatra. London, 1607," 12nio. 
 
 21 
 
 To make us feele our joy ; 
 
 30 
 
160 
 
 CUPID'S PASTIME. 
 
 And ease findes tediousnes, as much 
 ' As labour yeelds annoy. 
 
 Syren. 
 
 Then pleasure likewise seemes the shore, 
 Whereto tendes all your toyle ; 
 
 "Which you forego to make it more, 35 
 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 
 
 Ulysses. 
 
 But natures of the noblest frame 
 
 These toyles and dangers please ; 
 And they take comfort in the same. 
 
 As much as you in ease : 
 And with the thought of actions past 45 
 
 Are recreated still : 
 "When pleasure leaves a touch at last 
 
 To show that it was ill. 
 
 Syren. 
 
 That doth opinion only 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 55 
 
 Receives more hurt than good. 
 
 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 : 60 
 
 To purge the mischiefes, that increase 
 
 And all good order mar : 
 For oft we see a wicked peace 
 
 To be well chang'd for war. 
 
 Syren. 
 
 Well, well, Ulysses, then I see 65 
 
 I shall not have thee here ; 
 And therefore I will come to thee,- 
 
 And take my fortune there. 
 I must be wonne that cannot win, 
 
 Yet lost were I not wonne : 70 
 
 For beauty hath created bin , 
 
 T' undoo or be undone. .„/ 
 
 Cwplj's fastimt 
 
 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. Oneedit. of Davison's 
 book was published in 1608. Godolphin was 
 bom 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 asleep. 
 
 Her golden hair o'erspread her face ;, 5 
 
 Her careless arms abroad were cast {\ 
 
 Her quiver had her pillows place ; 
 Her breast lay bare to every blast. 
 
THE CHARACTER OF A HAPPY LIFE. 
 
 161 
 
 The shepherd stood and gazM his fill ; 
 
 Nought durst he do ; nought durst he say; 
 Whilst chance, or else perhaps his will, 11 
 
 Did guide the god of love that way. 
 
 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 bee. 
 
 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, hies thence apace. 20 
 
 Scarce was he gone, but she awakes. 
 And spies the shepherd standing by : 
 
 Her bended bow in haste she takes, 
 And at the simple swain lets flye. 
 
 Forth flew the shaft, and pierc'd his heart, 
 That to the ground he fell with pain : 26 
 
 Tet up again forthwith be start, 
 And to the nymph he ran amain. 
 
 Amazed to see so strange a sight, 
 
 She shot, and shot, but all in vain ; 30 
 The more his wounds, the more his might. 
 
 Love yielded strength amidst his pain. 
 
 , Her angry eyes were great with tears, 
 
 She blames her hand, she blames her skill; 
 
 The bluntness of her shafts she fears, 35 
 And try them on herself she will. 
 
 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 glovM 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 45 
 
 Love found an entry to her heart : 
 At feeling of this new-come guest. 
 
 Lord ! how this gentle nymph did start ! 
 
 She runs not now ; she shoots no more ; 
 
 Away she throws both shaft and bow : 50 
 She seeks for what she shunn'd before. 
 
 She thinks the shepherds haste too slow. 
 
 Though mountains meet not, lovers may : 
 
 What other lovers do, did they : 
 The god of love sate on a tree, 55 
 
 And laught that pleasant sight to see. 
 
 XI. 
 
 %\t €\^xukx 0f E fajjg $xit 
 
 This little moral poem was writ by Sir 
 Henry Wotton, who died Provost of Eton 
 in 1639, Mt 72. It is printed from a little 
 collection of his pieces, entitled, " Reliquiae 
 Wottonianae," 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, 
 V vAnd simple truth his highest skill : 
 
 Whose passions not his masters are, 5 
 
 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 ; 10 
 Whose state can neither flatterers feed, 
 
 Nor ruine make oppressors great : 
 
 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 
 
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. 
 
 6iIJrn0j* 
 
 — ^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 Thom- 
 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 : 
 Forcow and ew 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. 
 
 GiLDEROT was a bonnie boy, 
 
 Had roses tull his shoone, 
 His stockings were of silken soy, 
 
 Wi' garters hanging doune : 
 It was, I weene, a comelie sight, 5 
 
 To see sae trim a boy ; 
 He was myjo and hearts delight. 
 
 My handsome Gilderoy. 
 
 Oh ! sike twa charming een he had, 
 A breath as sweet as rose, 
 
 10 
 
 He never ware a Highland plaid, 
 
 But costly silken clothes ; 
 He gained the luve of ladies gay, 
 
 Nane eir tull him was coy : 
 Ah ! wae is mee ! I mourn the day 15 
 
 For my dear Gilderoy. 
 
 My Gilderoy and I were born, 
 
 Baith in one toun together, —y 
 We scant were seven years beforn, 
 
 We gan to luve each other : 20 
 
 Our dadies 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 leaves 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 
 
 Oh ! that he still had been content, 
 
 Wi' me to lead his life ; 
 But, ah ! his manfu' heart was bent. 
 
 To stir in feates of strife : 
 And he in many a venturous deed, 45 
 
 His courage bauld wad try ; 
 
WINIFREDA. 
 
 163 
 
 And now this gars mine heart to bleed, 
 For my dear Gilderoj. 
 
 And when of me his leave he tuik, 
 
 The tears they wat mine ee, 50 
 
 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, 55 
 
 My handsome Gilderoy." 
 
 My Gilderoy baith far and near, 
 
 Was fear'd in every toun, 
 And bauldly bare away the gear^' 
 
 Of many a lawland loun : 60 
 
 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, 66 
 
 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, 70 
 
 Wi' sorrow neir had wat my cheek, 
 For my dear Gilderoy. 
 
 Giff Gilderoy had done amisse. 
 
 He mought hae banisht been ; 
 Ah ! what sair cruelty is this, 75 
 
 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. 80 
 
 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, 85 
 
 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, 90 
 
 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, 95 
 
 My winsome Gilderoy. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Minifr^ia* 
 
 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 nought to love displeasing 
 My Winifreda, move your care ; 
 
 Let nought delay the heavenly blessing. 
 Nor squeamish pride, nor gloomy fear. 
 
 What tho' no grants of royal donors 5 
 
 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, 9 
 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, 15 
 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. 20 
 
164 
 
 THE WITCH OF WOKEY. 
 
 Througli 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, 25 
 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, 30 
 
 You'll in your girls again be courted. 
 And I'll go a wooing in my boys. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 %\t m\u\ 0f mahu* 
 
 — 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. 
 
 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 
 petrifications: 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: 
 
 Oft have I heard the fearfull tale 
 
 From Sue, and Koger of the vale, 
 
 On some long winter's night. 
 
 Deep in the dreary dismall cell, 
 Which seem'd and was ycleped hell, 
 
 This blear-eyed hag did hide : 
 Nine wicked elves, as legends sayne. 
 She chose to form her guardian trayn( 
 
 And kennel near her side. 
 
 10 
 
 Here screeching owls oft made their nest. 
 While wolves its craggy sides possest. 
 
 Night-howling thro' the rock : 15 
 
 No wholesome herb could here be found ; 
 She blasted every plant around. 
 
 And blister'd every flock. 
 
 Her haggard face was fouU to see^. 
 
 Her mouth unmeet a mouth to bee'; 20 
 
 Her eyne of deadly leer. 
 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, 25 
 
 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. 30 
 
 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, 35 
 
 Sich mischief ne'er has been. 
 
BRYAN AND PEREENE. 
 
 165 
 
 He chauntede out his godlie booke, 
 He crost the water, blest the brooke, 
 
 Then — pater noster done,— 
 The ghastly hag he sprinkled o'er : 40 
 
 "When lo ! where stood a hag before, 
 
 Now stood a ghastly stone. 
 
 Full well 'tis known adown the dale : 
 Tho' passing strange indeed the tale, 
 
 And doubtfuU may appear, 45 
 
 I'm bold to say, there's never a one, 
 That has not seen the witch in stone, 
 
 With all her household gear. 
 
 But tho' this lernede clerke did well ; 
 
 With grieved heart, alas ! I tell, 50 
 
 She left this curse behind : 
 That Wokey-nymphs forsaken quite, 
 Tho' sense and beauty both unite. 
 
 Should find no leman kind. 
 
 For lo ! even, as the fiend did say, 55 
 
 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 : 
 Virtue'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. 
 
 Srpn u)i "itxtmt, 
 
 A WEST-INDIAN BALLAD, 
 
 — 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 : 
 
 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 whoso 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. 
 
166 
 
 GENTLE RIVER, GENTLE RIVER. 
 
 For Bryan he was tall and strong, 
 Right blythsome roll'd his een, 
 
 Sweet was his voice whene'er he sung, 
 He scant had twenty seen. 
 
 15 
 
 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. 20 
 
 Her raven hair plays round her neck, 
 
 Like tendrils of the vine ; 
 Her cheeks red dewy rosebuds deck. 
 
 Her eyes like diamonds shine. 
 
 Soon as his well-known ship she spied, 25 
 
 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 ; 30 
 
 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, 35 
 
 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. 40 
 
 Then through the white surf did she haste, 
 
 To clasp her lovely swain ; 
 When, ah ! a shark bit through his wastej-- 
 
 His heart's blood dy'd the main ! ') 
 
 He shriek'd ! his half sprang from the wave, 
 Streaming with purple gore, 46 
 
 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 : _ 50 
 
 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, '"-y'"^ 
 
 So may your lovers scape his doom, 55 
 
 Her hapless fate scape you. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 §nilt %x^n, §tmiU iibu. 
 
 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 Eomances, 
 and have collected them into volumes under 
 the titles of Ul Romancero, El Cancionero* 
 &c. Most of them relate to their conflicts 
 with the Moors, and display a spirit of gal- 
 
 * i. e. Tho ballad-singer. 
 
 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 
 
GENTLE RIVER, GENTLE RIVER. 
 
 167 
 
 Arabic or Morisco language. Indeed, from 
 the plain unadorned nature of the verse, and 
 the native simplicity of the language and 
 sentiment, vrhich runs through these 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 cen- 
 tury 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 
 afi'ected and obscure. 
 
 As a specimen of the ancient Spanish man- 
 ner, which very much resembles that of our 
 old English bards«and minstrels, the reader 
 is desired candidly to accept the two follow- 
 ing 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 Span- 
 ish language. As the first is a pretty close 
 translation, to gratify the curious it is ac- 
 companied with the original. The metre is 
 the same in all these old Spanish ballads : it 
 is of the most simple construction, and is 
 Btill used by the common people in their ex- 
 temporaneous songs, as we learn from Baret- 
 
 pone 
 nolle 
 
 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 alto- 
 gether difierent, as 
 
 casa meten arcos 
 cartas muere gamo 
 Yet has this kind of verse a sort of simple 
 harmonious flow, which atones for the im- 
 perfect nature of the rhyme, and renders it 
 not unpleasing to the ear. The same flow 
 of numbers has been studied in the follow- 
 ing 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 ; 
 
 Hio verde, rio verde,* 
 which could not be translated faithfully : 
 
 Verdant river, verdatit river, 
 would have given an affected stiffness to the 
 verse ; the great merit of which is easy sim- 
 plicity ; and therefore a more simple epithet 
 was adopted, though less poetical or expres- 
 sive. 
 
 * Literally, G)-een river, green river. Rio 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. 
 
 " Rio verde, rio verde, 
 
 Quanto cuerpo en ti se bana 
 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 senores de salva : 
 
 Murio gente de valia 
 
 De la nobleza de Espana. 
 
 " En ti murio don Alonso, 
 Que de Aguilar se llamaba ; 
 
 El valeroso Urdiales, 
 
 Con don Alonso acababa. 
 
 10 
 
 15 
 
 Gentle river, gentle river, 
 
 Lo, thy streams are stain'd with gore, 
 Many a brave and noble captain 
 
 Floats along thy willow'd shore. 
 
 All beside thy limpid waters, 5 
 
 All beside thy sands so bright, 
 
 Moorish Chiefs and Christian warriors 
 Join'd in fierce and mortal fight. 
 
 Lords, and dukes, and noble princes 
 On thy fatal banks were slain : 10 
 
 Fatal banks that gave to slaughter 
 All the pride and flower of Spain. 
 
 There the hero, brave Alonzo 
 Full of wounds and glory died: 
 
 There the fearless Urdiales 15 
 
 Fell a victim by his side. 
 
 22 
 
168 
 
 GFNTLE RIVER, GENTLE RIVER. 
 
 " Por un ladera arriba 
 
 El buen Sayavedra marcha ; 
 Naturel es de Sevilla, 
 
 De la gente mas granada. 20 
 
 " Tras el iba un Renegade, 
 
 Desta manera le habla ; 
 Date, date, Sayavedra, 
 
 No huyas de la batalla. 
 
 " Yo te conozco muy bien, 25 
 
 Gran tiempo estuve en tu casa ; 
 
 Y en la Pla9a de Sevilla 
 Bien te vide jugar cartas. 
 
 " Conozco a tu padre y madre, 
 
 Y a tu muger dona Clara ; 30 
 
 Siete anos fui tu cautivo, 
 
 Malamente me tratabas. 
 
 *' Y aora lo seras mio, 
 Si Mahoma me ayudara ; 
 
 Y tambien te tratare, 35 
 Como a mi me tratabas. 
 
 " Sayavedra que lo oyera, 
 
 Al Moro bolvio la cara ; 
 Tirole el Moro una flecha, 
 
 Pero nunca le acertaba. 40 
 
 " Hiriole Sayavedra 
 
 De una herida muy mala : 
 Muerto cayo el Renegado 
 
 Sin poder hablar palabra. 
 
 30 
 
 Lo ! vrhere yonder Don Saavedra 
 Thro^ their squadrons slow retires 
 
 Proud Seville, his native city, 
 
 Proud Seville his w^orth admires. 20 
 
 Close behind a renegado 
 
 Loudly shouts vs^ith taunting cry ; 
 Yield thee, yield thee, Don Saavedra, 
 
 Dost thou from the battle fly ? 
 
 Well I know thee, haughty Christian, 25 
 Long I liv'd beneath thy roof ; 
 
 Oft I've in the lists of glory 
 
 Seen thee win the prize of proof. 
 
 Well I know thy aged parents, 
 Well thy blooming bride I know ; 
 
 Seven years I was thy captive, 
 Seven years of pain and woe. 
 
 May our prophet grant my wishes. 
 Haughty chief, thou shalt be mine ; 
 
 Thou shalt drink that cup of sorrow, 35 
 Which I drank when I was thine. 
 
 Like a lion turns the warrior, 
 Back he sends an angry glare : 
 
 Whizzing came the Moorish javelin, 
 
 Vainly whizzing thro^ the air. 40 
 
 Back the hero full of fury 
 
 Sent a deep and mortal wound : 
 
 Instant sunk the Renegado, 
 
 Mute and lifeless on the ground. 
 
 *' Sayavedra fue cercado 
 De mucha Mora canalla, 
 
 Y al cabo cayo alii muerto 
 De una muy mala langada. 
 
 45 
 
 With a thousand Moors surrounded. 
 Brave Saavedra stands at bay : 
 
 Wearied out but never daunted, 
 Cold at length the warrior lay. 
 
 45 
 
 " Don Alonso en este tiempo 
 Bravamente peleava, 
 
 Y el cavallo le avian muerto, 
 Y le tiene por muralla.'' 
 
 50 
 
 Near him fighting great Alonzo 
 Stout resists the Paynim bands ; 
 
 From his slaughtered steed dismounted 
 Firm intrench'd behind him stands. 
 
 50 
 
 " Mas cargaron tantos Moros 
 Que mal le hieren y tratan : 
 
 De la sangre, que perdia, 
 Don Alonso se desmaya. 
 
 55 
 
 Furious press the hostile squadron. 
 Furious he repels their rage : 
 
 Loss of blood at length enfeebles : 
 Who can war with thousands wage ! 
 
 55 
 
 " Al fin, al fin cayo muerto 
 Al pie de un pena alta, 
 
 Muerto queda don Alonso, 
 
 Eterna fama ganara.^' 
 
 * * -H- * •}«■ -H- 
 
 60 
 
 Where yon rock the plain o'ershadows, 
 Close beneath its foot retir'd, 
 
 Fainting sunk the bleeding hero, 
 And without a groan expir'd. 
 * * * « -x- -x- 
 
 60 
 
ALCANZOR AND ZAIDA. 
 
 169 
 
 *^-^ In the Spanish original of the foregoing 
 
 The image of the "Lion" &c., in ver. 
 
 37, 
 
 ballad, follow a few more stanzas, but being 
 
 is taken from the other Spanish copy. 
 
 the 
 
 of inferior merit were not translated. 
 
 rhymes of which end in " ia" viz. 
 
 
 " Renegado'^ properly signifies an Apos- 
 
 
 
 tate ; but it is sometimes used to express an 
 
 " Sayavedra, que lo oyera 
 
 
 Infidel in general ; as it seems to do above in 
 
 Como un leon rebolbia. 
 
 V. 
 
 ver. 21, &c. ' 
 
 
 XYII. 
 
 
 ^Itn^tix 
 
 ni ^kM, 
 
 
 A MOORISH TALE, 
 
 
 IMITATED FROM THE SPANISH. 
 
 
 The foregoing version was rendered as liter- 
 
 When some horrid storm dispersing 
 
 
 al as the nature of the two languages would 
 
 O'er the wave his radiance flies. 
 
 
 admit. In the following a wider compass 
 
 
 
 hath been taken. The Spanish poem that 
 
 But a thousand times more lovely 
 
 25 
 
 was chiefly had in view, is preserved in the 
 
 To her longing lover's sight. 
 
 
 same history of the civil wars of Granada, 
 
 Steals half seen the beauteous maiden 
 
 
 f. 22, and begins with these lines : 
 
 Thro' the glimmerings of the night. 
 
 
 " Por la calle de su dama 
 
 Tip-toe stands the anxious lover, 
 
 
 Passeando se anda, &c." 
 
 Whispering forth a gentle sigh : 
 Alia* keep thee, lovely lady ; 
 
 30 
 
 Softly blow the evening breezes, 
 
 Tell me, am I doom'd to die ? 
 
 
 Softly fall the dews of night ; 
 
 
 
 Yonder walks the Moor Alcanzor, 
 
 Is it true the dreadful story, 
 
 
 Shunning every glare of light. 
 
 Which thy damsel tells my page, 
 
 
 
 That seduc'd by sordid riches 
 
 35 
 
 In yon palace lives fair Zaida, 5 
 
 Thou wilt sell thy bloom to age ? 
 
 
 Whom he loves with flame so pure : 
 
 
 
 Loveliest she of Moorish ladies ; 
 
 An old lord from Antiquera 
 
 
 He a young and noble Moor. 
 
 Thy stern father brings along : 
 But canst thou, inconstant Zaida, 
 
 
 Waiting for the appointed minute, 
 
 Thus consent my love to wrong ? 
 
 40 
 
 Oft he paces to and fro ; 10 
 
 
 
 Stopping now, now moving forwards, 
 
 If 'tis true now plainly tell me. 
 
 
 Sometimes quick, and sometimes slow. 
 
 Nor thus trifle with my woes ; 
 Hide not then from me the secret. 
 
 
 Hope and fear alternate seize him, 
 
 Which the world so clearly knows. 
 
 
 Oft he sighs with heart-felt care. 
 
 
 
 See, fond youth, to yonder window 15 
 
 Deeply sigh'd the conscious maiden. 
 
 45 
 
 Softly steps the timorous fair. 
 
 While the pearly tears descend : 
 Ah ! my lord, too true the story ; 
 
 
 / jXovely seems the moon's fair lustre 
 [/ To the lost benighted swain. 
 
 Here our tender loves must end. 
 
 
 
 
 When all silvery bright she rises, 
 
 Our fond friendship is discover'd. 
 
 
 Gilding mountain, grove, and plain. 20 
 
 Well are known our mutual vows : 
 All my friends are full of fury ; 
 
 50 
 
 Lovely seems the sun's full glory 
 X To the fainting seaman's eyes, 
 
 Storms of passion shake the house. 
 
 
 * Alia is the Mahometan name of God. 
 
 
170 ALCANZOR AND ZAIDA. 
 
 Threats, reproaches, fears surround me ; 
 
 Take this scarf a parting token ; * 
 
 My stern father breaks my heart : 
 
 When thou wear'st it think on me. 80 
 
 Alia knows how dear it costs me, 55 
 
 f 
 
 Generous youth, from thee to part. 
 
 Soon, lov'd youth, some worthier maiden 
 
 
 Shall reward thy generous truth : 
 
 Ancient wounds of hostile fury 
 
 Sometimes tell her how thy Zaida 
 
 Long have rent our house and thine ; 
 
 Died for thee in prime of youth. 
 
 Why then did thy shining merit 
 
 
 Win this tender heart of mine ? 60 
 
 — To him all amaz'd, confounded, 85 
 
 
 Thus she did her woes impart : 
 
 Well thou know'st how dear I lov'd thee 
 
 Deep he sigh'd, then cry'd, — Zaida ! 
 
 Spite of all their hateful pride, 
 
 Do not, do not break my heart. 
 
 Tho' I fear'd my haughty father 
 
 
 Ne'er would let me be thy bride. 
 
 Canst thou think I thus will lose thee ? 
 
 
 Canst thou hold my love so small ? 90 
 
 Well thou know'st what cruel chidings 65 
 
 No ! a thousand times I'll perish ! 
 
 Oft I've from my mother borne ; 
 
 My curst rival too shall fall. 
 
 What I've suffer'd here to meet thee 
 
 
 Still at eve and early morn. 
 
 Canst thou, wilt thou yield thus to them ? 
 
 
 break forth, and fly to me ! 
 
 I no longer may resist them : 
 
 This fond heart shall bleed to save thee, 95 
 
 All, to force my hand combine ; 70 
 
 These fond arms shall shelter thee. 
 
 And to-morrow to thy rival 
 
 
 This weak frame I must resign. 
 
 'Tis in vain, in vain, Alcanzor, 
 
 
 Spies surround me, bars secure : 
 
 Yet think not thy faithful Zaida 
 
 Scarce I steal this last dear moment, 
 
 Can survive so great a wrong ; 
 
 While my damsel keeps the door. 100 
 
 Well my breaking heart assures me 75 
 
 
 That my woes will not be long. 
 
 Hark, I hear my father storming ! 
 
 
 Hark, I hear my mother chide ! 
 
 Farewell then, my dear Alcanzor ! 
 
 I must go : farewell for ever ! 
 
 Farewell too my life with thee ! 
 
 Gracious Alia be thy guide ! 
 
 THE END OF THE THIRD BOOK. 
 
KICHAKD OF ALMAIGNE. 
 
 171 
 
 SERIES THE SECOND. 
 BOOK I. 
 
 Though 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 show the complexion of 
 the times so well as Ballads and Libels. Selden^s Table-talk. 
 
 iitl^arlj 0f ^Imu^ut 
 
 " 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 shows 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 Ro- 
 mans 30,006Z. 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 
 malevolence, 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 Eyre confirmed to him on his marriage 
 with Sanchia, daughter of the Count of Pro- 
 vence, in 1243 — ^Windsor Castle was the chief 
 fortress belonging to the king, and had been 
 garrisoned by foreigners : a circumstance 
 
 which furnishes out the burthen of each 
 stanza. 
 
 The 3d stanza alludes to a remarkable cir- 
 cumstance 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 main- 
 tained 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 
 these 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 
 than the time of Richard II. ; th being every 
 where expressed by the character p ; the y 
 
172 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF KING EDWARD THE FIRST. 
 
 is pointed after the Saxon manner, and the i 
 hath an oblique stroke over it. 
 
 SiTTETH alle stille, ant herkneth to me ; 
 The Kyng of Alemaigne, hi mi leaute, 
 Thritti thousent pound askede he 
 For te make the pees in the countre, 
 
 Ant so he dude more. 5 
 
 Richard, thah thou be ever trichard, 
 
 Tricthen shalt thou never more. 
 
 Richard of Alemaigne, whil that he wes kying, 
 He spende al is tresour opon swyvyng, 
 Haveth he nout of Walingford oferlyng, 10 
 Let him habbe, ase he brew, bale to dryng, 
 Maugre Wyndesore. 
 Richard, thah thou be ever, &c. 
 
 The kyng of Alemaigne wende do ful wel 
 He saisede the mulne for a castel, 15 
 
 With hare sharpe swerdes he grounde the stel. 
 He wende that the sayles were mangonel 
 To helpe Wyndesore. 
 Richard, thah thou be ever, &c. 
 
 The kyng of Alemaigne gederede ys host, 20 
 Makede him a castel of a mulne post, 
 Wende with is prude, ant is muchele host, 
 Brohte from Alemayne mony sori gost 
 To store Wyndesore. 
 Richard, thah thou be ever, &c. 25 
 
 By God, that is aboven ous, he dude muche 
 
 synne. 
 That lette passen over see the Erl of Warynne : 
 He hath robbed Engelond, the mores, ant th 
 
 fenne. 
 The gold, ant the selver, and y-boren henne, 
 For love of Wyndesore. 30 
 
 Richard, thah thou be ever, &c. 
 
 Ver. 2, kyn, MS. 
 
 SireSimonddeMountforthathsuorebiyschyn, 
 Hevede he nou here the Erl of Waryn, 
 Shuld he never more come to ys yn, 
 Ne with shelde, ne with spere, ne with other 
 
 gyn, 35 
 
 To help of Wyndesore. 
 
 Richard, thah thou be ever, &c. 
 
 Sire Simond de Montfort hath suore bi ys cop 
 Hevede he nou here Sire Hue de Bigot : 
 Al he shulde grante here twelfmoneth scot 
 Shulde he never more with his sot pot 41 
 To helpe Wyndesore. 
 Richard, thah thou be ever, &c. 
 
 Be the luef, be the loht, sire Edward, 
 Thou shalt ride sporeless o thy lyard 45 
 
 Al the ryhte way to Dovere-ward, 
 Shalt thou never more breke foreward ; 
 Ant that reweth sore 
 Edward, thou dudest as a shreward, 
 
 Forsoke thyn emes lore 50 
 
 Richard, &c. 
 
 *^-^ This ballad will rise in its importance 
 with the reader, when he finds that it is even 
 believed to have occasioned a law in our Sta- 
 tute Book, viz. " Against slanderous reports 
 or tales, to cause discord betwixt king and 
 people." (Westm. Primer, e. 34, anno 3. 
 Edw. I.) That it had this effect, is the opin- 
 ion of an eminent writer : See " Observations 
 upon the Statutes, &c.," 4to., 2d edit. 1766, p. 
 71. 
 
 However, in the Harl. Collection may be 
 found other satirical and defamatory rhymes 
 of the same age, that might have their share 
 in contributing to this first law against libels. 
 
 Ver. 40, g'te here, MS., i. e. grant their. Vid. Gloss. V. 
 44, This stanza was omitted in the former editions. 
 
 II. 
 
 ®n i\t ^mi\ at f mji ^JjtoHtlr % iinl 
 
 We have here an early attempt at elegy. 
 Edward I. died July 7, 1307, in the thirty- 
 fifth year of his reign, and sixty-ninth of his 
 age. This poem appears to have been com- 
 posed soon after his death. According to the 
 modes of thinking peculiar to those times, 
 
 the writer dwells more upon his devotion 
 than his skill in government ; and pays less 
 attention to the martial and political abilities 
 of this great monarch, in which he had no 
 equal, than to some little weaknesses of su- 
 perstition, which he had in common with all 
 
ON THE DEATH OF KING EDWARD THE FIRST. 
 
 173 
 
 his contemporaries. The king had in the 
 decline of life vowed an expedition to the 
 Holy Land ; but finding his end approach, he 
 dedicated the sum of 32,000Z. to the mainten- 
 ance of a large body of knights (one hundred 
 and forty say historians, eighty says our 
 poet), who were to carry his heart with them 
 into Palestine. This dying command of the 
 king was never performed. Our poet, with 
 the honest prejudices of an Englishman, at- 
 tributes this failure to the advice of the King 
 of France, whose daughter Isabel, the young 
 monarch who succeeded immediately married. 
 But the truth is Edward and his destructive 
 favourite Piers Gaveston spent the money 
 upon their pleasures. — To do the greater hon- 
 ous to the memory of his hero, our poet puts 
 his eloge in the mouth of the Pope, with the 
 same poetic license, as a more modern bard 
 would have introduced Britannia, or the Ge- 
 nius of Europe pouring forth his praises. 
 
 This antique elegy is extracted from the 
 same MS. volume as the preceding article ; 
 is found with the same peculiarities of writing 
 and orthography ; and, though written at near 
 the distance of half a century, contains little 
 or no variation of idiom : whereas the next 
 following poem by Chaucer, which was pro- 
 bably written not more than fifty or sixty 
 years after this, exhibits almost a new lan- 
 guage. This seems to countenance the opin- 
 ion of some antiquaries, that this great poet 
 made considerable innovations in his mother 
 tongue, and introduced many terms and new 
 modes of speech from other languages. 
 
 Alle, that beoth of huerte trewe, 
 
 A stounde herkneth to my song 
 Of duel, that Deth hath diht us newe, 
 
 That maketh me syke, ant sorewe among ; 
 Of a knyht, that wes so strong, 5 
 
 Of wham God hath don ys wille ; 
 Me-thuncheth that deth hath don us wrong, 
 
 That he so sone shall ligge stille. 
 
 Al Englond ahte for te knowe 
 
 Of wham that song fs, that y synge ; 10 
 Of Edward kyng, that lith so lowe, 
 
 Zent al this world is nome con springe : 
 Trewest mon of alle thinge, 
 
 Ant in werre war ant wys, 
 For him we ahte cure hounden vrrynge, 15 
 
 Of Christendome he ber the prys. 
 
 Byfore that oure kyng was ded, 
 
 He spek ase mon that wes in care, 
 " Clerkes, knyhtes, barons, he sayde, 
 
 Y charge ou by oure sware, 20 
 That ye to Engelonde be trewe. 
 
 Y deze, y ne may lyven na more ; 
 Helpeth mi sone, ant crouneth him newe, 
 
 For he is nest to buen y-core. 
 
 Ich biqueth myn herte arhyt, 
 
 That hit be write at my devys, 
 Over the see that Hue* be diht, 
 
 With fourscore knyhtes al of prys, 
 In werre that buen war ant wys, 
 
 Azein the hethene for te fyhte, 
 To Wynne the croiz that lowe lys, 
 
 Myself ycholde zef that y myhte.' 
 
 25 
 
 30 
 
 Kyng of Fraunce, thou hevedest * sinne, 
 
 That thou the counsail woldest fonde, 
 To latte the wille of * Edward kyng' 35 
 
 To wende to the holy londe : 
 That oure kyng hede take on honde 
 
 All Engelond to zeme ant wysse, 
 To wenden in to the holy londe 
 
 To wynnen us heveriche blisse. 40 
 
 The messager to the pope com. 
 
 And seyde that our kynge was ded : 
 Ys oune bond the lettre he nom, 
 
 Ywis his herte was full gret : 
 The Pope him self the lettre redde, 45 
 
 Ant spec a word of gret honour. 
 Alas ! he seid, is Edward ded ! 
 
 Of Christendome he ber the flour." 
 
 The Pope to is chaumbre wende, 
 
 For dol ne mihte, he speke na more ; 50 
 Ant after cardinals he sende. 
 
 That mucbe couthen of Cristes lore, 
 Bothe the lasse, ant eke the more, 
 
 Bed hem bothe rede ant synge : 
 Gret deol me myhte se there, 55 
 
 Mony mon is honde wrynge. 
 
 The Pope of Peyters stod at is masse 
 
 With ful gret solempnet^, 
 Ther me con the soule blesse : 
 
 *' Kyng Edward honoured thou be: 60 
 
 * The name of the person who was to preside oyer this 
 
 Ver. 33, snnne, MS. Ver. 35, Kyng Edward, MS. Ver. 
 43, ys is probably a contraction of in hys or yn his. Ver. 
 56, 59, Me, i. e. Men ; so in Robert of Gloucester passim. 
 
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. 
 
 65 
 
 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 ; 
 Wei ! longe we mowe clepe and crie 70 
 
 Er we a such kyng han y-founde." 
 
 Nou is Edward of Carnarvan 
 King of Engelond al aplyht, 
 
 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. 
 
 75 
 
 Al Engelond for to wysse ant dyht ; 
 Of gode knyhtes darh him nout fail. • 
 
 Thah mi tonge were mad of stel, 80 
 
 Ant min herte yzote of bras, 
 The godness myht y never telle, 
 
 That with kyng Edward was : 
 Kyng, as thou art cleped conquerour, 
 
 In uch bataille thou hadest prys ; 85 
 
 God bringe thi soule to the honour. 
 
 That ever 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 ende, 
 Bidde we God ant oure Ledy to thilke 
 blisse 
 Jesus us sende. Amen. 
 
 III. 
 
 gn ©rqinal '§uM bg €\mm. 
 
 This little sonnet, which hath escaped all 
 the editors of Chaucer'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 0. Though 
 so early adopted by them, our ancestors had 
 not the honour of inventing it: Chaucer 
 picked it up, along with other better things, 
 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. 
 
 LI. 
 
 YoTJRE two eyn will sle me sodenly, 
 I may the beaute of them not sustene. 
 So wendeth it thorowout my herte kene. 
 
 2. 
 
 And but your words will helen hastely 
 My hertis wound, while that it is grene, 
 Youre two eyn will sle me sodenly. 
 
 3. 
 
 Upon my trouth I sey yow feithfully, 
 That ye ben of my liffe and deth the queue, 
 For with my deth the trouth shal be sene. 
 Youre two eyn, &c. 
 
 IL 1. 
 
 So hath youre beauty fro your herte chased 
 Pitee, that me n' availeth not to pleyn ; 
 For daunger halt your mercy in his cheyne. 
 
 Giltless my deth thus have ye purchased ; 
 I sey yow soth, me nedeth not to fayn : 
 So hath your beaute fro your herte chased. 
 
 3. 
 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 
THE TURNAMENT OF TOTTENHAM. 
 
 175 
 
 2. 
 
 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-strike out of his sclat, 
 And he is strike out of my bokes clene: 
 For ever mo ' ther'^ is non other mene. 
 Syn I fro love escaped, &c. 
 
 IV. 
 
 %\t %mmmni 0f ®0te6m: 
 
 " OR THE WOOEING, WINNING, AND WEDDING OF TIBBE, THE REEV's DAUGHTER THERE." 
 
 r 
 
 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. Chaucer wrote his 
 Rhyme of Sir Thopas in ridicule of the latter; 
 and in the following poem we have a humor- 
 ous burlesque of the former. Without pre- 
 tending to decide whether the institution of 
 chivalry was upon the whole useful or per- 
 nicious in the rude ages, a question that has 
 lately employed many good writers,* it evi- 
 dently 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 sujficient to render it ob- 
 noxious to the graver part of mankind. Ac- 
 cordingly 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 au- 
 thority : and the proclamations against tilt- 
 ing 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 admi- 
 
 * See [Mr. Kurd's] Letters on Chivalry, 8vo. 1762. Me- 
 moires de la Chevalerie, par M. de la Curne des Palais, 1759, 
 2 torn. 12mo., &c. 
 
 23 
 
 rable 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 pre- 
 parations — the display of armour — the scutch- 
 eons and devices — the oaths taken on enter- 
 ing the lists — the various accidents of the en- 
 counter — 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. Wilhem Bedwell, rector of Totten- 
 ham, 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, 
 thought to have been some time parson of the 
 same parish, and author of another piece, en- 
 titled Passio Domini Jesu Chrisli. 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., be- 
 cause Turnaments were prohibited in that 
 
 This, MS. 
 
176 
 
 THE TURNAMENT OF TOTTENHAM. 
 
 reign, f' I do verily believe," says he, " that 
 this Turnament was acted before this procla- 
 mation of King Edward. For how durst 
 any to attempt to do that, although in sport, 
 which was so straightly forbidden, both by 
 the civill and ecclesiasticall power ? For al- 
 though 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 Turnaments were 
 in use down to the reign of Elizabeth. 
 
 In the first editions of this work, BedwelFs 
 copy was reprinted here, with some few con- 
 jectural emendations ; but as Bedwell seem- 
 ed to have reduced the orthography at least, 
 if not the phraseology, to the standard of 
 his own time, it was with great pleasure that 
 the Editor was informed of an ancient MS. 
 copy preserved in the Museum [Harl. MSS. 
 5396], which appeared to have been transcri- 
 bed 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 read- 
 ings 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 
 
 mynde ; 
 It were harme sych hardynes were holden 
 byhynde, 
 
 In story as we rede 5 
 
 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, 10 
 
 Ther was mad a shurtyng be the hy-way : 
 Theder com al the men of the con tray. 
 Of Hyssylton, of Hy-gate, and of Hakenay, 
 And all tUte swete swynkers. 
 
 Ther hopped Hawkyn, 15 
 
 Ther daunsed Dawkyn, 
 Ther trumped Tomkyn, 
 And all were trewe drynkers. 
 
 Tyl the day was gon and evyn-song past, 
 That thay schuld reckyn ther scot and ther 
 
 counts cast ; 
 Perkyn the potter into the press past, 21 
 And sayd Randol the refe, a dozter thou hast, 
 Tyb the dere : 
 
 Therfor faine wyt wold I, 
 
 Whych of all thys bachelery 25 
 
 Were best worthye 
 
 To wed hur to hys fere. 
 
 Upstyrt thos gadelyngys wy th ther lang staves, 
 And sayd, Randol the refe, lo ! thys lad raves ; 
 Boldely amang us thy dozter he craves ; 30 
 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 schuld he thys day sevenyzt, 
 Or elles zet to morn. 36 
 
 Then sayd Randolfe the refe, Ever be he 
 
 waryd 
 That about thys carpyng lenger wold be 
 
 taryd : 
 I wold not my dozter, that scho were miscaryd, 
 But at hur most worschip I wold scho were 
 maryd ; 
 
 Therfor a Turnament schal begynne 41 
 Thys day sevenyzt, — 
 Wyth aflaylfortofyzt: 
 And * he,' that is most of myght 
 vSchal brouke hur wyth wynne. 45 
 
 Whoso berys 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 'coppelP my brode-henne 'that' was 
 brozt out of Kent : 
 
 And my dunnyd kowe 50 
 
 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 he cont or centers. Ver. 48, dozty, MS. Ver. 
 49, coppled. We still use the phrase, " a copple-crowned 
 hen." 
 
THE TURNAMENT OP TOTTENHAM. 
 
 177 
 
 Ther was many ' a' bold lad ther bodyes to 
 
 bede : 55 
 
 Than thay toke thayr leve, 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, 60 
 
 For to kepe ther poUys, 
 Gode blake bollys, 
 For batryng of bats. 
 
 Thay sowed them in schepeskynnes, for thay 
 
 schuld 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 fors 
 Who schuld best fend hys cors : 70 
 He that had no gode hors, 
 He gat hym a mare. 
 
 Sych 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 schuld syt 
 soft, 
 
 And led * till the gap.' 
 For cryeng of the men 
 Forther wold not Tyb then, 
 Tyl scho 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 ; 85 
 
 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 feathers. Bedwell's copy has 
 Senvy, i. e. Mustard-seed. V. 77, And led hur to cap, MS. 
 V. 83, Bedwell's P. C. has " Ruel-Bones." V. 84, .safer stones, 
 MS. V. 85, wrotyn, i. e. wrought. P. C. reads written. V. 
 86, No catel [perhaps chatel] they had spared, MS. 
 
 When joly Gyb saw hur thare, 
 He gyrd so hys gray mare, 
 * That scho lete a fowkin' fare 
 At the rereward. 
 
 90 
 
 I wow to God, quoth Herry, I schal not lefe 
 
 behynde. 
 May I mete wyth Bernard on Bayard the 
 
 blynde, 
 Ich man kepe hym out of my wynde. 
 For whatsoever that he be, before me I fynde, 
 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 
 
 Whych of all thys bachelery ' 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 
 
 Poudred 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 fynde in the felde * thrustand here 
 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 Tybbe 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. 
 
178 
 
 THE TURNAMENT OF TOTTENHAM. 
 
 I am armed at the full ; 
 In myn armys I here wele 
 A doz trogh, and a pele, 
 A sadyll wythout a panell, 
 Wyth a fles of woU. 
 
 125 
 
 I make a vow, quoth Dudman, and swore be 
 
 the stra, 
 Whyls me ys left my ' mare/ thou gets hurr 
 
 not swa ; 
 For scho ys wele schapen, and lizt as the rae, 
 Ther is no capul in thys myle hefor hur 
 schal ga ; 130 
 
 Sche wul ne nozt hegyle : 
 Sche wyl me here, 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 wyrch * wyselyer' without any host : 
 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 jolyte, 
 Wyth so forth, Gybbe. 
 
 When thay had ther vowes made, furth can 
 
 thay hie, 145 
 
 Wyth flayles, and homes, and tr^impes mad 
 
 of tre : 
 Ther were all the bachelerys of that centre ; 
 Thay were dyzt in aray, as thaymselfes wold 
 be: 
 
 Thayr baners were ful bryzt 
 Of an old rotten fell ; 150 
 
 The cheveron of a plow-mell ; 
 And the schadow of a bell, 
 Poudred wyth the mone lyzt. 
 
 I wot yt ' was' ne chylder game, whan thay 
 togedyr met, 154 
 
 When ieha freke in the feld on hys feloy 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 to slatred, 
 
 Ther wer scheldys al to flatred, 160 
 
 Ver. 128, merth, MS. V. 137, swyselior, MS. V. 146, 
 flailes, and harnisse, P. C. V. 151, The Chiefe, P. C. V. 
 154, yt ys, MS. 
 
 Bollys and dysches al to schatred, 
 And many hedys brokyn. 
 
 There was clynkyng of cart-sade lys, and 
 
 clatteryng of Cannes ; 
 Of fele frekys in the feld brokyn were their 
 
 fannes ; 
 Of sum were the hedys brokyn, of sum the 
 
 brayn-pannes, 
 And yll were thay besene, or tnay went 
 thanns, 166 
 
 Wyth swyppyng of swepyls : 
 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 forty pens, a gode and a stoute! 
 That I may lyztly come of my noye oute, 
 For no cost wyl I spare. 176 
 
 He styrt up as a snale. 
 And hent 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 wery, that thay myzt 
 not ga, 
 
 But styl gon they 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 tumyd hym about in that ych thrang 
 
 Among thos wery boyes he wrest and he 
 
 wrang ; 191 
 
 He threw tham doun to the erth, and thrast 
 
 tham amang, 
 When he saw Tyrry away wyth Tyb fang, 
 And after hym ran ; 
 
 Off his horse he hym drogh, 195 
 
 And gaf hym of hys flayl inogh : 
 We te he ! quoth Tyb, and lugh, 
 Ye er a dughty man. 
 
 Ver. 168, The boyes were, MS. V. 170, creped then abont 
 in the croft, MS. V. 179, razt, MS. V. 185, stand, MS. 
 V. 189, sand, MS. 
 
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 
 syzt 200 
 
 "Wyth wyspes, and kexis, and ryschys there 
 
 lyzt, 
 To fetch hom ther husbandes, that were tham 
 trouth plyzt ; 
 
 And sum brozt gret harwos, 
 Ther husbandes hom to fetch, 
 Sum on dores, and sum on hech, 205 
 Sum on hyrdyllys, and som on crech. 
 And sum on whele-barows. 
 
 Thay gaderyd Perkyn about, 'on' everych 
 
 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 hyphalte, 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 bachelary, 
 When thay met togedyr. 225 
 
 *At that fest thay wer servyd with a ryche 
 
 aray. 
 Every fyve & fyve had a cokenay ; 
 And so thay sat in jolyte al the lung day ; 
 And at the last thay went to bed with ful 
 gret deray : 
 
 Mekyl myrth was them among ; 230 
 In every corner of the hous 
 Was melody delycyous 
 For to here precyus 
 Of six menys song.f 
 
 V. 
 
 iax % iittorg at ^ginc0urt. 
 
 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 redde pro victoria ! 
 
 OwRE kynge went forth to Normandy, 
 With grace and myzt of chivalry ; 
 The Grod for hym wrouzt marvelously. 
 Wherefore Englonde may calle, and cry 5 
 Deo gratias : 
 Deo gratias Anglia redde pro victoria. 
 
 Ver. 199, Thys, MS. V. 204, hom for to fetch, MS. V. 
 208, about everych side, MS. Y. 209, the gre, is wanting 
 in MS. V. 210, mothe, MS. V. 212, And they ifere 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, 15 
 Tyl he come to Agincourt coste. 
 
 Deo gratias, &c . 
 
 Ver. 218, trippand on, MS. 
 
 * In the former impressions, this concluding stanza was 
 only given from 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. 
 
 t Six-men's song, 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 Beetle ; i. e. a Beetle or Rammer worked by three men. 
 2 Hen. IV. A. I. sc. 3. 
 
180 
 
 THE NOT-BROWNE MAYD. 
 
 Than for sothe that knyzt comely 
 In Agincourt feld he fauzt manly, 
 Thorow grace of God most myzty 20 
 
 He had bothe the felde, and the victory. 
 Deo gratias, &c. 
 
 Ther dukys, and erlys, lorde and barone, 
 Were take, and slayne, and that wel sone, 
 
 And some were ledde in to Lundone 25 
 
 With joye, and merthe, and grete renone. 
 Deo gratias, &c. 
 
 Now gracious God he save owre kynge, 
 His peple, and all his wel wyllynge, 
 Gef him gode lyfe, and gode endynge, 30 
 That we with merth mowe savely synge 
 Deo gratias : 
 Deo gratias Anglia redde pro victoria. 
 
 VI. 
 
 %\t |[0t-lr0toit£ ilHg^, 
 
 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 the 
 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 June, 1707," 4to., being prefaced 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- 
 
THE NOT-BROWNE MAYD. 
 
 181 
 
 ferred from a resemblance of rhythmus or 
 style, the editor of these volumes has in his 
 ancient folio MS. a poem on the victory of 
 Floddenfield, V9^ritten in the same numbers, 
 with the same alliterations, and in orthogra- 
 phy, phraseology, and style nearly resembling 
 the Visions of Pierce Plow^man, 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 seemlie 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 soveraigne lord, &c. 
 
 With regard to the date of the following 
 ballad, we have taken a middle course, 
 neither placed it so high as Wanley 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 ;* 
 I Affyrmynge this, how that it is 
 
 A labour spent in vayne, 
 To love them wele ; for never a dele 5 
 
 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 10 
 
 Laboureth for nought : for from her thought 
 
 He is a banyshed man. 
 
 Ver. 2, woman. Prolusions, and Mr. West's copy. V. 11, 
 her, i. e. their. 
 
 * My friend, Mr. Farme, proposes to read the first lines 
 thus, as a Latinism : 
 
 Be, it right on' 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, 15 
 
 All utterly decayd ; 
 But, neverthelesse ryght good wytn^sse 
 
 In this case might be layd, 
 That they love true, and contintie : 
 
 Recorde the Not-browne Mayde : 20 
 
 "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 betwaine us late us dyscus 25 
 
 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 answ^re ; 30 
 
 Wherfore, all ye that present be 
 
 I pray you, gyve an ere 
 " I am the knyght ; I come by nygbt, 
 
 As secret as I can ; 
 Sayinge, Alas ! thus standeth the case, 35 
 
 I am a banyshed man.'' 
 
 ^HE. 
 
 And I your wyll for to fulfyll 
 
 In this wyll nat refuse ; 
 Trustying to shewe, in wordfes fewe, 
 
 That men have an yll use 40 
 
 (To theyr own shame) women to blame, 
 
 And causelesse them accuse ; 
 Therfore to you I answere nowe, 
 
 All women to excuse, — 
 Myne owne hart dere, with you what chere ? 
 
 I pray you, tell anone ; 46 
 
 For, in my mynde, of all mankynde 
 
 I love but you alone. 
 
 It standeth so ; a dede is do 
 
 Whereof grete harme shall growe : 50 
 
 My destiny is for to dy 
 
 A shamefull deth, I trowe ; 
 Or elles to fle: the one must be. 
 
 None other way I knowe. 
 But to withdrawe as an outlawe, 55 
 
 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. 60 
 
182 THE NOT-BROWNE MAYD. 
 
 SHE. 
 
 Rather than ye sholde thus for me 
 
 105 
 
 Lord, what is thys worldys blysse, 
 
 Be called an yll wom^n. 
 
 
 That changeth as the mone ! 
 
 Yet wolde I to the grene wode go 
 
 
 My somers day in lusty may 
 
 Alone, a banyshed man. 
 
 
 Is derked before the none. 
 
 
 
 I here you say, farewell : Nay, nay, 65 
 
 SHE. 
 
 
 We depart nat so sone. 
 
 Though it be songe of old and yonge, 
 
 
 Why say ye so ? wheder wyll ^ go ? 
 
 That I sholde be to blame. 
 
 110 
 
 Alas ! what have ye done ? 
 
 Theyrs be the charge, that speke so large 
 
 All my welfare to sorrowe and care 
 
 In hurtynge of my name : 
 
 
 Sholde chaunge, yf ye were gone ; 70 
 
 For I wyll prove, that faythfuUe love 
 
 
 For, in my mynde, of all mankynde 
 
 It is devoyd of shame ; 
 
 
 I love but you alone. 
 
 In your dystresse, and hevynesse. 
 To part with you, the same : 
 
 115 
 
 HE. 
 
 And sure all tbo, that do not so, 
 
 
 I can beleve, it shall you greve. 
 
 True lovers are they none ; 
 
 
 And somewhat you ^dystrayne ; 
 
 For, in my mynde, of all mankynde 
 
 
 But, aftyrwarde, your paynes harde 75 
 
 I love but you alone. 
 
 120 
 
 Within a day or twayne 
 
 
 
 Shall sone aslake ; and ye shall take 
 
 HE. 
 
 
 Comfort to you agayne. 
 
 I counceyle you, remember howe. 
 
 
 Why sholde ye ought ? for, to make thought. 
 
 It is no maydens lawe, 
 
 
 Your labour were in vayne. 80 
 
 Nothynge to dout, but to renne out 
 
 
 And thus I do ; and pray you to 
 
 To wode with an outl^we : 
 
 
 As hartely, as I can ; 
 
 For ye must there in your hand bere 
 
 125 
 
 For I must to the grene wode go. 
 
 A bowe, redy to drawe ; 
 
 
 Alone, a banyshed man. 
 
 And, as a thefe, thus must you lyve. 
 Ever in drede and awe ; 
 
 
 SHE. 
 
 Wherby to you grete harme myght growe : 
 
 Now, syth that ye have shewed to me 85 
 
 Yet had I lever than, 
 
 130 
 
 The secret of your mynde, 
 
 That I had to the grene wode go. 
 
 
 I shall be playne to you agayne, 
 
 Alone, a banyshed man. 
 
 
 Lyke as ye shall me fynde. 
 
 
 
 Syth it is so, that ye wyll go, 
 
 SHE. 
 
 
 I wolle not leve behynde : 90 
 Shall never be sayd, the Not-browne Mayd 
 
 Was to her love unkynde : 
 Make you redy, for so am I, 
 
 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 
 
 135 
 
 Allthough it were anone ; 
 
 1 "^ 
 To come on fote, to hunt, and shote 
 
 
 For, in my mynde, of all mankyude 95 
 
 To gete us mete in store ; 
 For so that I your company 
 
 
 I love but you alone. 
 
 
 HE. 
 
 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. 
 
 140 
 
 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, 100 
 
 
 Your wanton wyll for to fulfill. 
 
 * HE. 
 
 
 In grene wode you to play ; 
 
 
 
 And that ye myght from your delyght 
 
 For an outlawe this is the lawe. 
 
 145 
 
 No longer make delay. 
 
 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 
 
 and Mr. W. V. 94, Althought, Mr. W. 
 
 nat, Prol. and Mr. W. V. 138, and store, Camb. copy. 
 
THE NOT-BROWNE MAYD. 
 
 183 
 
 Without pytfe, hanged to be, 
 
 
 For, in my mynde, of all mankynde 
 
 
 And waver with the wynde, 
 
 
 I love but you alone. 
 
 
 If I had nede, (as God forbede !) 
 
 
 
 
 What rescous coude ye fynde ? 
 
 150 
 
 HE. 
 
 
 Forsoth, I trowe, ye and your bowe 
 
 
 If ye go thyder, ye must consyder, 
 
 
 For fere wolde drawe behynde : 
 
 
 Whan ye have lust to dyne. 
 
 
 And no mervayle ; for lytell avayle 
 
 
 There shall no mete be for you gete, 
 
 195 
 
 Were in your counceyle than : 
 
 
 Nor drinke, here, ale, ne wyne. 
 
 
 Wherfore I wyll to the grene wode go, 
 
 155 
 
 No schetes clene, to lye betwene, 
 
 
 Alone, a banyshed man. 
 
 
 Made of threde and twyne ; 
 None other house, but leves and bowes. 
 
 
 SHE. 
 
 
 To cover your hed and myne. 
 
 200 
 
 Ryght wele knowe ye, that women be 
 
 
 myne harte swete, this evyll dyete 
 
 
 But feble for to fyght ; 
 
 
 Sholde make you pale and wan ; 
 
 
 No womanhede it is indede 
 
 
 Wherfore I wyll to the grene wode go, 
 
 
 To be bolde as a knyght : 
 
 160 
 
 Alone, a banyshed man. 
 
 
 Yet, in such fere yf that ye were 
 
 
 
 
 With enemyes day or nyght, 
 
 
 SHE. 
 
 
 I wolde withstande, with bowe in hande 
 
 
 Amonge the wylde dere, such an arch^re, | 
 
 To grove them as I myght. 
 
 
 As men say that ye be. 
 
 206 
 
 And you to save ; as women have 
 
 165 
 
 Ne may nat fayle of good vitayle, 
 
 i 
 
 From deth * men* many one : 
 
 
 Where is so grete plenty : 
 
 
 For, in my mynde, of all mankynde 
 
 
 And water clere of the ryvere 
 
 
 I love but you alone. 
 
 
 Shall be full swete to me ; 
 With which in hele I shall ryght wele 
 
 210 
 
 HE. 
 
 
 Endure, as ye shall see ; 
 
 
 Yet take good hede ; for ever I drede 
 
 
 And, or we go, a bedde or two 
 
 
 That ye coude nat sustayne 
 
 170 
 
 I can provyde anone ; 
 
 
 The thornie wayes, the depe vall^ies, 
 
 
 For, in my mynde, of all mankynde 
 
 215 
 
 The snowe, the frost, the rayne, 
 
 
 I love but you alone. 
 
 
 The colde, the hete : for dry, or wete, 
 
 
 HE. 
 
 
 We must lodge on the playne : 
 And, us above, none other rofe 
 
 
 
 
 175 
 
 Lo yet, before, ye must do more, 
 
 
 But a brake bush, or twayne : 
 Which sone sholde greve you, I beleve ; 
 
 And ye wolde gladly than 
 That I had to the grene wode go. 
 
 Alone, a banyshed man. 
 
 
 Yf ye wyll go with me : 
 
 
 
 As cut your here up by your ere, 
 
 Your kyrtel by the kne ; 
 With bowe in hande, for to withstande 
 
 220 
 
 180 
 
 Your enemyes yf nede be : 
 And this same nyght before day-lyght, 
 
 
 SHE. 
 
 
 To wode-warde wyll I fle. 
 
 
 Syth I have here bene partyn^re 
 With you of joy and blysse, 
 
 I must also parte of your wo 
 Endure, as reson is : 
 
 
 Yf that ye wyll all this fulfill. 
 Do it shortely as ye can : 
 
 Els wyll I to the grene wode go, 
 Alone, a banyshed man. 
 
 225 
 
 Yet am I sure of one plesi^re 
 
 185 
 
 SHE. 
 
 
 And, shortely, it is this : 
 
 
 I shall as nowe do more for you 
 
 
 That, where ye be, me semeth, pard^, 
 
 
 Than longeth to womanhede; 
 
 230 
 
 I coude nat fare amysse. 
 
 
 To shote my here, a bowe to here. 
 
 
 Without more speche, I you beseche 
 
 
 To shote in tyme of nede. 
 
 
 That we were sone a^one ; 
 
 190 
 
 
 
 Ver. 150, socours, Prol. and Mr. W. V. 162, and 
 
 night. 
 
 Ver. 196, Neyther here, Prol, and Mr. W. V. 201, Lo 
 myn, Jlr. W. V. 207, May ye nat fayle, Prol. 11). May nat 
 
 Camb. Copy. V. 164, to helpe ye with my myght, Prol. and 
 
 fayle, Mr. W. V. 219, above your ere, Prol. V. 220, above 
 
 Mr. W. v. 172, frost and rayne, Mr. W. V. 174, Ye must. 
 
 the kne, Prol. and Mr. W. V. 223, the same, Prol. and 
 
 Prol. V. 190, shortley gone, Prol. and Mr. W. 
 
 24 
 
 
 Mr. W. 
 
 
184 
 
 THE NOT-BROWNE MAYD. 
 
 my swete mother, before all other 
 
 For you I have most drede : 
 But nowe, adue ! I must ensue, 235 
 
 Where fortune doth me lede. 
 All this make ye : Now let us fle : 
 
 The day comelh fast upon ; 
 For, in ray myndo, of all mankynde 
 
 I love but you alone. 240 
 
 Nay, nay, nat so ; ye shall nat go, 
 
 And I shall tell ye whj, 
 
 Your appetyght is to be lyght 
 
 Of love, I wele espy : 
 For, lyke as ye have sayed to me, 245 
 
 In lyke vfyse'fiardely 
 Ye w^olde ansv?-ere vrhosoever it were. 
 
 In way of company. 
 It is sayd of olde, Sone bote, sone colde ; 
 
 And so is a womkn. 250 
 
 Wherfore I to the wode wyll go, 
 
 Alone, a banyshed man. 
 
 Yf ye take hede, it is no nede 
 
 Such wordes to say by me ; 
 For oft ye prayed, and longe assayed, 255 
 
 Or I you loved, pardfe : 
 And though that I of auncestry 
 
 A barons daughter be, 
 Yet have you proved howe I you loved 
 
 A squyer of lowe degr^ ; 260 
 
 And ever shall, whatso befall ; 
 
 To dy therfore'^ anone ; 
 For, in my mynde, of all mankynde 
 
 I love but you alone. 
 
 A barons chylde to be begylde ! 265 
 
 It were a cursed dede ; 
 To be felkwe with an outlawe I 
 
 Almighty God forbede ! 
 Yet beter were, the pore squy^re 
 
 Alone to forest yede, 270 
 
 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, 275 
 
 Alone, a banyshed man. 
 
 Ver. 251, For I must to the grene wode go, Prol. and Mr. 
 W. V. 253, yet is, Camb. Copy. Perhaps for yt is. V. 262, 
 dy with him. Editor's MS. 
 
 * i. e. for this cause . . though I were to die for having 
 •oved 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. 280 
 
 Remember you wele, howe that ye dele ; 
 
 For, yf ye, as ye sayd, 
 Be so unkynde, to leve behynde 
 
 Your love, the Not-browne Mayd, 
 Trust me truly, that I shall dy 285 
 
 Sone after ye be gone ; 
 For, in my mynde, of all mankynde 
 
 I love but you alone. 
 
 Yf that ye went, ye sholde repent ; 
 
 For in the forest nowe 290 
 
 I have purvayed me of a mayd. 
 
 Whom I love more than you ; 
 Another fayr^re, than ever ye were, 
 
 I dare it wele avowe ; 
 And of ye bothe eche sholde be wrothe 295 
 
 With other, as I trowe : 
 It were myne ese, to lyve in pese ; 
 
 So wyll I, yf I can ; 
 Wherfore I to the wode wyll go. 
 
 Alone, a banyshed man. 300 
 
 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 fynde me soft, and kynde, 305 
 
 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 ;' 310 
 
 For, in my mynde, of all mankynde 
 
 I love but you alone. 
 
 HE. 
 
 Myne owne dere love, I se the prove-^ 
 
 That ye be kynde, and true : 
 Of mayde, and wyfe, in all my lyfe, 315 
 
 The best that ever I knewe. 
 
 Ver. 278, outbrayed, 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 wold I be that one. 
 
 Yer. 315, of all, Prol. and Mr. W. 
 
A BALET BY THE EARL RIVERS. 
 
 185 
 
 Be mery and glad, be no more sad, 
 
 The case is chaunged newe ; 
 For it were ruthe, that, for your truthe. 
 
 Ye sholde have cause to rewe. 320 
 
 Be nat dismayed ; whatsoever I 
 
 To you, whan I began ; 
 I wyll nat to the grene wode go, 
 
 I am no banyshed man. 
 
 SHE. 
 
 325 
 
 These tydings be more gladd to me. 
 
 Than to be made a queue, 
 Yf I were sure they sholde endure : 
 
 But it is often sene. 
 Whan men wyll breke promyse, they speke 
 
 The wordes on the splene. 330 
 
 Ye shape some wyle me to begyle, 
 
 And stele 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. 
 
 Ye shall nat nede further to drede 
 I will nat dyspar^ge 
 
 You, (God defend!) syth ye descend 
 
 Of so grete a lynage. 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 shortely as I can : 
 Thus have you won an erlys son 
 
 And not a banyshed man. 
 
 AUTHOR. 
 
 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 comfortable ; 
 Which sometyme 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. 
 
 31 law bs t\t «arl iito, 
 
 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 poetical 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- 
 
 Ver. 325, gladder, Prol. and Mr. W. 
 
 rary historian, who seems to have copied it 
 from the Earl's own handwriting : In tem- 
 pore, says this writer, incarcerationis apud 
 Fontem-fractum edldit unum Baletm anglicis, 
 ut mihi monstratum est, quod subsequitur sub 
 his verbis : Sum what Musing, &c. " Eossi 
 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 Sopgs 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 
 have, Prol. V. 348, and no banyshed, Prol. and Mr. W. 
 V. 352, This line wanting in Prol. and Mr. W. V. 355, 
 proved — loved, Prol. and Mr. W. lb. as loveth, Camb. V. 
 357, Eorsoth, Prol. and Mr. W. 
 
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 sighying, All desolate, 
 
 My remembrying 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 desperate 
 
 In such pore estate, Doe I endure, &c." 
 
 SuMWHAT musyng, And more mornyng, 
 In remembring The unstydfastnes ; 
 
 This world being Of such whelyng, 
 Me contrarieng, What may I gesse ? 
 
 I fere dowtles, Remediles, 
 
 Is now to sese My wofull chaunce, 
 [For unkyndness, Withouten less, 
 
 And no redress, Me doth avaunce, 
 
 With displesaunce, To my grevaunce, 
 And no suraunce Of remedy.] 
 
 Lo in this traunce, Now in substaunce, 
 Such is my dawnce, AVyllyng to dye. 
 
 Me thynkys truly, Bowndyn am I, 
 
 And that gretly, To be content ; 
 
 Seyng playnly, Fortune doth wry 
 
 All contrary From myn entent. 
 
 10 
 
 15 
 
 My lyff was lent Me to on intent, 
 Hytt is ny spent. Welcome fortune ! 
 
 But I ne went Thus to be shent, 
 
 But she hit ment : such is hur won. 20 
 
 VIII. 
 
 €nW$ ^mult: §g f0r^ f». 
 
 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) Yaux, 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 
 the passage at large. " In this figure [Coun- 
 terfait Action] the Lord Nicholas Vaux, a 
 noble gentleman and much delighted in vul- 
 gar making, and a man otherwise of no 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 Scaled, &g." p. 200.— For a far- 
 ther account 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 precede 
 ing Vol. Book II. No. II. 
 
 When Cupide scaled first the fortj-- -v 
 Wherein my hart lay wounded sore ; 
 
 The batry was of such a sort, 
 
 That I must yelde or die therfore. 
 
 There sawe I Love upon the wall, ' 5 
 
 How he his banner did display ; 
 
 Alarme, alarme, he gan to call : 
 And bad his souldiours kepe aray. 
 
 The armes, the which that Cupide bare 
 Were pearced hartes with teares besprent. 
 
 In silver and sable to declare 11 
 
 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 15 
 
 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 pouder he spared not 
 
 Assault ! assault ! to crye aloude. 20 
 
 There might you heare the cannons rore ; 
 
 £che pece discharged a lovers loke ; 
 Which had the power to rent, and tore 
 
 In any place wheras they toke. 
 
 Ver, 15, That fortune, Rossi Hist. V. 19, went, i. e. ween ed. 
 
CUPID'S ASSAULT: BY LORD VAUX. 
 
 187 
 
 And even with the trumpettes sowne 25 
 
 The scaling ladders were up set, 
 
 And Beautie walked up and downe, 
 With bow in hand, and arrowes whet. 
 
 /Tb-en first Desire began to scale, 
 A And shrouded him under * his* targe ; 30 
 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 argabushe in fleshe it lightes, 35 
 
 And duns the ayre with misty smokes. 
 
 And, as it is the souldiers use 
 
 When shot and powder gins to want, 
 
 I hanged up my flagge of truce, 
 
 And pleaded up for my liv^s grant. 40 
 
 When Fansy thus had mode her breche, 
 And Beauty entred with her band. 
 
 With bagge and baggage, sely wretch, 
 I yelded into Beauties hand. 
 
 Then Beautie bad to blow retrete, 45 
 
 And every souldier to retire. 
 And mercy wylFd with spede to fet 
 
 Me captive bound as prisoner. 
 
 Madame, quoth I, sith that this day 
 
 Hath served you at all assayes, 50 
 
 1 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 55 
 Or salve my sore, or let me die. 
 
 *^* Since the foregoing song was first 
 printed ofi", reasons have occurred, which in- 
 cline me to believe that Lord Vaux the poet 
 was not the Lord Nicholas Vaux, who died 
 in 1523, but rather a successor of his in the 
 title. — For in the first place it is remarkable 
 that all the old writers mention Lord Yaux, 
 the poet, as contemporary or rather posterior 
 to Sir Thomas Wyat, and the Earl of Surrey, 
 neither of which made any figure till long 
 after the death of the first Lord Nicholas 
 Vaux. Thus Puttenham, in his "Art of 
 English Poesie, 1589," in p. 48, having named 
 Skelton, adds, ** In the latter end of the same 
 
 V. 30, her, Ed. 1557. so Ed. 1585. 
 
 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 Italic, and there tasted 
 the sweet and stately measures and stile of 
 the Italian poesie . . greatly polished our rude 
 and homely manner of vulgar poesie . . 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 pieces 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 i 
 metre of Skelton and Hawes. — But what puts { 
 the matter out of all doubt, in the British j 
 Museum is a copy of his poem, 1 lotlie that I j 
 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 Queue 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.f 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 
 Queen 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. 
 
 t In the Paradise of Dainty Devises, 1596, he is called 
 sunply " liOrd Vaux the elder." 
 
188 
 
 SIR ALDINGAR. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Sir gilHitpr. 
 
 This old fabulous legend is given from the 
 editor's folio MS. with conjectural emenda- 
 tions, 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 Gunhilda, who is some- 
 times called Eleanor, and was married to the 
 emperor (here called King) Henry. 
 
 Our king he kept a false stew^rde, 
 
 Sir Aldingar they him call ; 
 A falser steward than he was one, 
 
 Servde not in bower nor hall. 
 
 He wolde have layne by our comelye queene. 
 Her deere worshippe to betraye : 6 
 
 Our queene she was a good womkn, 
 And evermore said him naye. 
 
 Sir Aldingar was wrothe in his mind, 
 "With her hee was never content, 10 
 
 Till traitorous 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 tooke the lazar upon his backe, 15 
 
 Him on the queenes bed has layne. 
 
 " Lye still, laz^r, wheras thou lyest, 
 Looke thou goe not hence away ; 
 
 lie make thee a whole man and a sound 
 In two bowers of the day."* 20 
 
 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, 25 
 
 Saye on the soothe to mee, 
 "Our queene hath chosen a new new love. 
 
 And shee will have none of thee. 
 
 * He protably insinuates that the king should heal him 
 by his power of touching for the King's Eyil. 
 
 "If shee had chosen a right good knight, 
 The lesse had beene her shame; 30 
 
 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, 35 
 
 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 holye rood, 
 
 Shall hang on the gallows tree. 40 
 
 He brought our king to the queenes chamber, 
 
 And opend to him the dore. 
 A lodlye love, king Harry says, 
 
 For our queene dame Elinore! 
 
 If thou were a man, as thou art none, 45 
 
 Here on my sword thoust 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 blee. 
 
 50 
 
 Now God you save, our queene, madame. 
 
 And Christ you save and see; 
 Heere you have chosen a newe newe love, 55 
 
 And you will have none of mee. 
 
 If you had chosen a right good knight, 
 The lesse had been your shame : 
 
 But you have chose you a lazer man, 
 
 A lazer both blinde and lame. 60 
 
 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, 65 
 My heart with griefs will brast. 
 
SIR ALDINGAR. 
 
 189 
 
 / 
 
 5I had thought swevens had never been true; 
 I have proved them true at last. 
 
 I dreamt in my sweven on thursday eve, 
 In my bed wheras I laye, 70 
 
 I dreamt a grype and a grimlie beast 
 Had carryed ray crowne awaye ; 
 
 My gorgett and my kirtle of golde, 
 
 And all my faire head-geere; 
 And he wold worrye me with his tush 75 
 
 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 grype, 
 
 That dead he downe did fall. 80 
 
 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, 85 
 
 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 brenn." 
 
 90 
 
 Then shee sent east, and shee sent west, 
 
 By north and south bedeene: 
 But never a champion colde she find, 95 
 
 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. 100 
 
 Then came one of the queenes dams^Ues, 
 ' ^ And knelt upon her knee, 
 V "Cheare up, cheare up, my gracious dame, 
 I trust yet helpe may be: 
 
 And here I will make mine avowe, 105 
 
 And with the same me binde; 
 That never will I return to thee. 
 
 Till I some helpe may finde." 
 
 Ver. 77, see below, ver. 137. 
 
 Then forth she rode on a faire palfraye 
 Oer hill and dale about: 110 
 
 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 damsMle, 115 
 When she found no helpe was nye. 
 
 All woe-begone was that faire damsfelle, 
 And the salt teares fell from her eye : 
 
 When lo ! as she rode by a rivers side, 
 She met with a tinye boye. 120 
 
 A tinye boye she mette, God wot, 
 
 All clad in mantle of golde ; 
 He seemed noe more in mans likenfesse. 
 
 Then a childe of four yeere olde. 
 
 Why grieve you, damselle faire, he sayd. 
 And what doth cause you moane? 126 
 
 The damselle scant wolde deigne a looke, 
 But fast she pricked on. 
 
 Yet turne againe, thou fa'ire damselle, 
 And greete thy queene from mee: 
 
 When bale is att hyest, boote is nyest, 
 Nowe helpe enoughe may bee. 
 
 130 
 
 Bid her remember what she dreamt 
 
 In her bedd, wheras shee laye ; 134 
 
 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. 140 
 
 Back then rode that faire damselle, 
 
 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, 145 
 
 No helpe appeared 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 ; 150 
 
 And nowe Queene Elinor forth was led, 
 
 A sorrowful sight to see 
 
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 boy they see. 
 
 "Away with that stake, away with those 
 ■^ brands, 165 
 
 And loose our comelye queene : 
 I am come to fight with Sir Aldingar, 
 
 And prove him a traitor keene." 
 
 Forthe then stood Sir Aldingar, 
 
 But when he saw the chylde, 170 
 
 He laughed, and scoffed and turned his back, 
 
 And weened he had been beguylde. 
 
 "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 puUd forth a well good sworde, 
 ^ So gilt it dazzled the ee ; 
 The first stroke stricken at Aldingar 
 
 Smote off his leggs by the knee. 180 
 
 ** Stand up, stand up, thou false trait6r, 
 /"" And fight upon thy feete, 
 For and thou thrive, as thou begin'st, 
 Of height wee shall be meete." 
 
 ^^> A priest, a priest, sayes Aldingar, 
 While I am a man alive. 
 
 185 
 
 A priest, a priest, sayes Aldingar, 
 Me for to houzle 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 blind and lame ; 
 I tooke 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, 
 " No we Christ forgive thee, Aldingar, 
 
 As freely I forgive." . 
 
 Here take thy queene, our King Harry^, 
 And love her as thy life, 206 
 
 For never had a king in Christen tye, 
 A truer and fairer wifer~\ 
 
 King Henrye ran to claspe his queene. 
 And loosed her full sone ; 210 
 
 Then turnd to look for the tinye boye ; „: 
 The boye 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 Henrye made him his head stew^rde 
 
 To wayte withinn his haU. "5^^* 220 
 
THE GABERLUNZIE MAN. 
 
 191 
 
 X. 
 
 t iabulunju itam 
 
 A SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 Tradition informs us that the author of 
 this song was King James Y. 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," begin- 
 ning thus : 
 
 *' Thair was a joUie 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, f where the in- 
 genious writer remarks, that there is some- 
 thing 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. 
 
 l^y^CHE pauky auld Carle came ovir the lee 
 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, 5 
 And down azout the ingle he sat, 
 j/'/My doehters shoulders he gan to clap. 
 And cadgiiy ranted and sang. 
 
 * sc. of a tinker, besgar. &c. Thus he used to visit a 
 smith's daughter at NidJry. near Edinburgh, 
 t Vol. II. p. 203. 
 
 25 
 
 wow ! quo he, were I as free, 
 
 As first when I saw this countrie, 10 
 
 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 slee twa togither were say'n, 15 
 
 When wooing they were sa thrang. 
 
 And ! quo he, ann 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. 20 
 
 And ! quoth she, ann I were as white, 
 As evir the snaw lay on the dike, 
 lid dead me braw, and lady-like, 
 
 And awa with thee lid gang. 
 
 Between the twa was made a plot ; 25 
 
 They raise a wee before the cock, 
 And wyliely they shot the lock, 
 
 And fast to the bent are they gane. 
 Up the morn the auld wife raise. 
 And at her leisure put on her claiths, 30 
 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 ! 35 
 
 For some of our geir will be gane. 
 Some ran to cofi'er, 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. 40 
 
 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 ben. 
 The servant gaed where the dochter lay, 45 
 The sheets was cauld, she was away. 
 And fast to her goodwife can say, 
 
 Shes afi'with the gaberlunzie-man.->( 
 
 Yer. 29, The Carline. Other copies. 
 
192 
 
 ON THOMAS LORD CROMWELL. 
 
 fy gar ride, and fy gar rin, 
 
 And hast ze, find these traitors agen ; 50 
 
 For shees be burnt, and hees be slein, 
 
 The wearyfou gaberlunzie-man. 
 Some rade upo horse, some ran a fit, 
 The wife was wood, and out o' her wit ; 
 She could na gang, nor yet could she sit, 55 
 
 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. 60 
 
 The pfiving 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 gaberlunzie-man. 
 
 kend my minny I were wi' zou, 65 
 
 Illfardly wad she crook her mou. 
 Sic a poor man sheld nevir trow, 
 
 Aftir the gaberlunzie-mon. 
 My dear, quo he, zee're zet owre zonge ; 
 And hae na learnt the beggars tonge, 70 
 To follow me frae toun to toun, 
 
 And Carrie the gaberlunzie on. 
 
 Wi' kauk and keel. 111 win zour bread,^ 
 And spindles and whorles for them wha need, 
 Whilk is a gentil trade indeed 75 
 
 The gaberlunzie to carrie — o. 
 Ill bow my leg and crook my knee. 
 And draw a black clout owre my ee, 
 A criple or blind they will cau me : 
 
 While we sail sing and be merrie— o. 
 
 XI. 
 
 (Bu %\mu fijrt Cr^mtoHl 
 
 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- 
 beller, Cromwell had many excellent quali- 
 ties : his great fault was too much obsequi- 
 yousness 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 compliance. 
 — The original copy printed at London in 
 1540, is entitled, "A newe ballade made 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 learne to spell. 
 
 Synge trolle on away. 
 
 When fortune lokyd the in thy face, — i^ 
 Thou haddyst fayre tyme, but thou lackydyst 
 grace ; 5 
 
 Thy cofera with golde thou fyllydst a pace. 
 
 Synge, &c. 
 
 Both plate and chalys came to thy fyst, 
 Thou lockydst them vp where no man wyst, 
 Tyll in the kynges treasoure suche thinges 
 were myst. 
 
 Synge, &c. 
 
 Both crust and crumme came thorowe thy 
 handes, 10 
 
 Thy marchaundyse sayled over the sandes, 
 Therfore nowe thou art layde fast in bandes. 
 
 Synge, &c. 
 
 Fyrste when kynge Henry, God saue his 
 
 grace ? 
 Perceyud myschefe kyndlyd in thy face, 
 Then it was tyme to purchase the a place. 15 
 
 Synge, &c. 
 
ON THOMAS LOKD CROMWELL. 
 
 193 
 
 Hys grace was euer of gentyll nature, 
 Mouyd with petye, and made the hys seruy- 
 
 ture ; 
 But thou, as a wretehe, 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. 21 
 
 Synge, &c. 
 
 Thou woldyst not learne to knowe these thre ; 
 But euer was full of iniquite : 
 Wherfore all this lande hathe ben troubled 
 with the. 
 
 Synge, &c. 
 
 All they, that were of the new trycke, 25 
 Agaynst the churche thou baddest them 
 
 stycke ; 
 Wherfore nowe thou haste touchyd the 
 
 quycke. 
 
 Synge, &c. 
 
 Bothe sacramentes and sacramentalles 
 Thou woldyst not suffre within thy walles ; 
 Nor let vs praye for all chrysten soules. 30 
 
 Synge, &c. 
 
 Of what generacyon thou were no tonge can 
 
 tell, 
 Whyther of Chayme, or Syschemell, 
 Or else sent vs frome the deuyll of hell. 
 
 Synge, &c. 
 
 Tho woldest neuer to vertue applye, 
 But couetyd euer to clymme to hye, 35 
 
 And nowe haste thou trodden thy shoo awrye, 
 
 Synge, &c. 
 
 Ver. 32, i. e. Cain or Ishmael. 
 
 Who-so-euer dyd winne thou wolde not lose ; 
 Wherfore all Englande doth hate the, as I 
 
 suppose 
 Bycause thou wast false to the redolent rose. 
 
 Synge, &c. 
 
 Thou myghtest have learned thy clothe to 
 flocke 40 
 
 Upon thy gresy fullers stocke : 
 
 Wherfore lay downe thy heade vpon this 
 blocke. 
 
 Synge, &c. 
 
 Yet saue that soule, that God hath bought. 
 And for thy carcas care thou nought. 
 Let it suffre payne, as it hath wrought. 45 
 
 Synge, &c. 
 
 God saue kyng Henry with all his power, 
 And prynce Edwarde that goodly flowre, 
 With al hys lordes of great honoure. 
 
 Synge trolle on awaye, syng trolle on away 
 Hevye and how rombelowe trolle on awaye. 
 
 tjf The foregoing Piece gave rise to a 
 poetic controversy, which was carried on 
 through a succession of seven or eight Bal- 
 lads written 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 YIIL, King Edward VI., 
 Queen Mary, Queen Elizabeth, King James 
 I., &c. 
 
 V. 41, Cromwell's father ia 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. 
 
194 
 
 HARPALUS. 
 
 
 c 
 ( 
 
 i 
 
 II. 
 
 
 AN ANCIENT ENGLISH PASTORAL. 
 
 
 This beautiful poem, which is perhaps the 
 
 Harpalus prevailed nought, 
 
 
 first attempt at pastoral writing in our lan- 
 
 His labour all was lost ; 
 
 
 guage, is preserved among the " Song 
 
 ;s and 
 
 For he was fardest from her thought, 
 
 
 Sonnettes" of the Earl of Surrey, &c. 
 
 , 4to., 
 
 And yet he loved her most. -^ 
 
 
 in that part of the collection which consists 
 
 
 
 of pieces by " Uncertain Auctours." 
 
 These 
 
 Therefore waxt he both pale and leane 
 
 25 
 
 poems were first published in 1557, ten 
 
 years 
 
 And drye as clot of clay : 
 
 
 after that accomplished nobleman fell 
 
 a vic- 
 
 His flesh e it was consumed cleane: 
 
 
 tim to the tyranny of Henry VIII., but it is 
 
 His colour gone away. 
 
 
 presumed most of them were composed be- 
 
 
 
 fore the death of Sir Thomas Wyatt in 
 
 1541. 
 
 His beard it had not long be shave ; 
 
 
 See Surrey's poems, 4to., fol. 19, 49. 
 
 
 His heare hong all unkempt: 
 
 30 
 
 Though written perhaps near half 
 
 \ een- 
 
 A man most fit even for the grave, 
 
 
 tury before the " Shepherd's Calender,' 
 
 * this 
 
 Whom spitefuU love had spent. 
 
 
 will be found far superior to any of those Ec- 
 
 
 
 logues, in natural unafi'ected sentiments, in 
 
 His eyes were red, and all * forewacht* 
 
 
 simplicity of style, in easy flow of versifica- 
 
 His face besprent with teares : 
 
 
 tion, and all other beauties of pastoral poetry. 
 
 It semde unhap had him long 'hatcht,' 
 
 35 
 
 Spenser ought to have profited more 
 
 by so 
 
 In mids of his dispaires. 
 
 
 excellent a model. 
 
 
 His clothes were blacke, and also bare ; 
 
 
 Phtlida was a faire mayde, 
 
 
 As one forlorne was he ; 
 
 
 As fresh as any flowre ; 
 
 
 Upon his head alwayes he ware 
 
 
 Whom Harpalus the Herdman prayde 
 
 A wreath of wyllow tree. 
 
 40 
 
 To be his paramour. 
 
 
 His beastes he kept upon the hyll, 
 
 
 Harpalus, and eke Corin, 
 
 5 
 
 And he sate in the dale ; 
 
 
 Were herdmen both yfere : 
 
 
 And thus with sighes and sorrowes shril. 
 
 And Phylida could twist and spinne 
 
 
 He gan to tell his tale. 
 
 
 And thereto sing full clere. 
 
 
 
 
 But Phylida was all to coye, 
 
 
 Oh Harpalus ! (thus would he say) 
 
 45 
 
 For Harpalus to winne : 
 For Corin was her onely joye. 
 Who forst her not a pinne. 
 
 10 
 
 Unhappiest under sunne ! 
 
 
 
 The cause of thine unhappy day, 
 By love was first begunne. 
 
 
 Ilow often would she flowers twine ? 
 
 
 For thou wentest first by sute to seeke 
 
 
 -^ How often garlandes make 
 
 
 A tigre to make tame, 
 
 50 
 
 Of couslips and of colombine ? 
 
 15 
 
 That settes not by thy love a leeke ; 
 
 
 And al for Corin's sake. 
 
 
 But makes thy griefs her game. 
 
 
 But Corin, he had haukes to lure, 
 
 
 As easy it were for to convert 
 
 
 And forced more the field : 
 
 
 The frost into ' a' flame ; 
 
 
 Of lovers lawe he toke no cure ; 
 
 
 As for to turne a frowarde hert, 
 
 55 
 
 For once he was begilde. 
 
 20 
 
 Whom thou so faine wouldst frame. 
 
 
 * First published in 1579. 
 
 Ver. 33, &c. The corrections are from Ed. 1574. 
 
EOBIN AND MAKYNE. 
 
 195 
 
 Corin he liveth car^lesse : 
 
 He leapes among the leaves : 
 He eates the frutes of thy redresse: 
 
 Thou * reapst/ he takes the sheaves. 60 
 
 My beastes, a whyle your foode refraine, 
 And harke your herdmans sounde ; 
 
 Whom spitefull love, alas ! hath slaine, 
 Through-girt with many a vrounde. 
 
 happy be ye, beastes wilde, 65 
 That here your pasture takes : 
 
 1 se that ye be not begilde 
 
 Of these your faithfull makes. 
 
 The hart he feedeth by the hinde : 
 
 The bucke harde by the do : 70 
 
 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 75 
 
 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 t6 deare. 80 
 
 What reason is that crueltie 
 With beautie should have part? 
 
 Or els that such great tyranny 
 Should dwell in womans hart ? 
 
 85 
 
 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. 
 
 Cupide, graunt this my request, 
 
 And do not stoppe thine eares, 90 
 
 That she may feele within her brest 
 The paines of my dispaires : 
 
 Of Corin * who' is carelesse, 
 
 That she may crave her fee : 
 As I have done in great distresse, 95 
 
 That loved her faithfuUy. 
 
 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 unjustly thus 
 
 Hath murdred with disdaine." 
 
 XIII. 
 
 l0biti n)s Italipt 
 
 AN ANCIENT SCOTTISH PASTORAL. 
 
 The palm of pastoral poesy is here con- 
 tested 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 bal- 
 lad, 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 Ban- 
 natyne, 1568, Edinb. 1770, 12mo." Mr. Ro- 
 
 bert 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 cen- 
 tury: 
 
 " In Dumferling, he [Death] hath tane Broun, 
 With gude Mr. Robert Henryson." 
 
 Indeed some little further insight into the 
 history of this Scottish bard is gained from 
 
196 
 
 ROBIN AND MAKYNE. 
 
 the title prefixed to some of his poems pre- 
 served in the British Museum ; viz., " The 
 morall Fabillis of Esop compylit be Maister 
 Robert Henrisoun, Scolmaister of Dumferm- 
 ling, 1571." Harleian MSS. 3865, ^ 1. 
 
 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 the 
 "Ancient Scottish Poems printed from Ban- 
 natyne's MS.," above referred to. 
 
 Robin sat on the gude grene hill, 
 
 Keipand a flock of fie, 
 Quhen mirry Makyne said him till, 
 
 " Robin, rew on me : 
 I haif thee luivt baith loud and still, 5 
 
 Thir towmonds twa or thre ; 
 My dule in dern bot gifi" thou dill, 
 
 Doubtless but dreid 111 die." 
 
 Robin replied, Now by the rude, 
 
 Naithing of luve I knaw, 10 
 
 But keip my sheip undir yon 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 ? 15 | 
 
 Fain wald I leir that law. ! 
 
 " The law of luve gin thou wald leir, 
 /' Tak thair an A, B, C ; 
 Be heynd, courtas, and fair of feir, 
 
 Wyse, hardy, kind and frie, 20 
 
 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, 25 
 
 I wat not quhat is luve ; 
 But I haif marvel in certaine 
 
 Quhat makes thee thus wanrufe. 
 The wedder is fair, and I am fain ; 
 
 My sheep gais hail abuve ; 30 
 
 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 no danger. 
 Bannatyne's MS. 
 
 " Robin, tak tent unto my tale, 
 
 And wirk all as I reid ; 
 And thou sail haif my heart all hale 35 
 
 Eik and my maiden-heid : 
 Sen God, he sendis bute for bale, 
 
 And for murning remeid, 
 I'dern with thee bot gif I dale, 
 
 Doubtless I am but deid." 40 
 
 Makyne, 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, 45 
 
 Frae thay begin to steir, 
 Quhat lyes on heart I will nocht hyd, 
 
 Then Makyne mak gude cheir. 
 
 "Robin, thou reivs me of my rest; 
 
 I luve bot thee alane." 50 
 
 Makyne, adieu ! the sun goes west, 
 
 The day is neir-hand gane. 
 " Robin, in dule I am so drest, 
 
 That luve will be my bane." 
 Makyne, gae luve quhair-eir ye list, 55 
 
 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. 60 
 
 " Robin, my hinny, 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, 65 
 
 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, 70 
 
 " 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 full fair dale 75 
 
 Assemblit all his sheip. 
 Be that some part of Makyne's ail. 
 
 Out-throw his heart could creip ; 
 Hir fast he foUowt to assail, 
 
 And till her tuke gude keip. 80 
 
GENTLE HERDSMAN. 
 
 197 
 
 Abyd, abyd, thou fair Makyne, 
 
 A word for ony thing ; 
 For all my luve, it sail be thyne, 
 
 Withouten departing. 
 All hale thy heart for till have myne, 85 
 
 Is all my coveting ; 
 My sheip to morn quhyle houris nyne, 
 
 Will need of nae keiping. 
 
 " Robin, thou hast heard sung and say, 
 
 In gests and storys auld, 90 
 
 ■ TJie man that will not when he may, 
 / Sail have nocht when he wald. 
 I pray to heaven baith nicht and day, 
 
 Be eiked their cares sae cauld, 
 That presses first with thee to play, 95 
 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 : 100 
 
 There may nae j anglers us espy, 
 
 That is in luve contrair ; 
 Therin, Makyne, baith you and I 
 
 Unseen may mak repair. 
 
 " Robin, that warld is now away, 105 
 
 And quyt brocht till an end: 
 And nevir again thereto, perfay. 
 
 Sail it be as thou wend ; 
 For of my pain thou made but play ; 
 
 I words in vain did spend : 110 
 
 As thou hast done, sae sail 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 leil, 115 
 
 Quhyle I may live but lett, 
 Never to fail as uthers feill, 
 
 Quhat grace so eir I get. 
 " Robin, with thee I will not deill ; 
 
 Adieu, for this we met.'' 120 
 
 Makyne went hameward blyth enough, a / 
 
 Outowre the holtis hair ; 
 Pure Robin murnd, and Makyne leugh; 
 
 Scho sang, and he sicht sair : 
 And so left him bayth wo and wreuch, 
 
 In dolor and in care, 126 
 
 Keipand his herd under a heuch, 
 
 Amang the rushy gair. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 DIALOGUE BETWEEN A PILGRIM AND HERDSMAN. 
 
 The scene of this beautiful old ballad is 
 laid near Walsingham, in Norfolk, where was 
 anciently an image of the Virgin Mary, fa- 
 mous over all Europe for the numerous pil- 
 grimages 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 car- 
 ried to Chelsea, and there burnt in the pre- 
 sence 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 sup- 
 plements have been attempted, which, for 
 greater exactness, are in this one ballad dis- 
 tinguished 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. 
 
198 
 
 GENTLE HERDSMAN. 
 
 Gentle heardsman, tell to me, 
 
 Of curtesy I thee pray, 
 Unto the towne of Walsingham 
 
 Which is the right and ready way. 
 
 lam 
 
 " Unto the towne of Walsingh 
 
 The way is hard for to be gon , 
 
 And verry 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 soe grievous and soe ill. 
 
 10 
 
 " -Thy yeeares are young, thy face is faire. 
 Thy witts are weake, thy thoughts are 
 greene ; 
 
 Time hath not given thee leave, as yett, 15 
 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. 20 
 
 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, 25 
 
 My wayward cruelty could kill: 
 And though my teares will nought avail, 
 
 Most dearely I bewail him still. 
 
 Se was the flower o/ noble wights, 
 
 None ever more sincere colde bee ; 30 
 
 Of comely mien and shape hee was, 
 And tenderlye hee loved mee. 
 
 When thus I saw he Zoved me well, 
 I grewe so proud his ^aine to see, 
 
 That 1, who did not know myselfe, 35 
 
 Thought scorne 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, 
 Unlesse I willed him soe to doe. 40 
 
 * Three of the following stanzas have been finely para- 
 phrased by Dr. Goldsmith, in his charming ballad of 
 "Edwin and Emma;" the reader of taste will have a 
 pleasure in comparing them with the original. 
 
 Thus being wearyed with delayes 
 
 To see I pittyed not his greeffe. 
 He gott him to a secrett place. 
 
 And there he dyed without releeffe. 
 
 And for his sake these weeds I weare, 45 
 
 And sacriffiice my tender age ; 
 And every day He begg my bread. 
 
 To undergo this pilgrimage. 
 
 Thus every day I fast and pray 
 
 And ever will doe till I dye ; 50 
 
 And gett me to some secrett place. 
 
 For soe did hee, and soe will I. 
 
 Now, gentle heardsman, aske no more, 
 But keepe my secretts I thee pray: 
 
 Unto the towne of Walsingham 55 
 
 Show me the right and readye way. 
 
 " Now goe thy wayes, and God before ! 
 
 For he must ever guide thee still : 
 Turne downe that dale, 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 Percy, 5th Earl of 
 Northumberland." Printed 1770, 8vo. 
 
 Sect. XLIIL, page 337, &c. 
 
 Item, My Lorde usith yerly to send afor Mi- 
 chaelmas for his Lordschip's Offerynge to 
 our Lady of Walsyngeham. — iiij d. 
 
 Item, My Lorde usith ande accustumyth to 
 sende yerely for the unholdynge of the 
 Light of Wax which his Lordschip fyndith 
 birnynge yerly befor our Lady of Wal- 
 syngham, contenynge xj lb. of Wax in it 
 
 < And' still I try'd each fickle art, 
 
 Importunate and Tain ; 
 And while his passion touch'd my heart, 
 
 I triumph'd in his pain. 
 
 'TOl quite dejected with my scorn 
 
 He left me to my pride ; 
 And sought a solitude forlorn. 
 
 In secret, where he dy'd. 
 
 But mine the sorrow, mine the f&vlt, 
 
 And well my life shall pay ; 
 I'll seek the solitude he 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 BO for him will I. 
 
after vij d. ob. for the fyndynge of every 
 lb. redy wrought by a covenaunt maid with 
 the Channon by great, for the hole yere, 
 for the fyndinge of the said Lyght byrn- 
 ning, — vi s. viiij d. 
 Item, My Lorde usith and accustomith to 
 syende yerely 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, — 
 xij d. 
 Item, My Lorde usith and accustomyth yerely 
 to send to the Prest that kepith the Light, 
 lyghtynge of it at all service tymes daily 
 thorowt the yere, — iij s. iiij d. 
 
 XV. 
 
 estors^ 
 
 story of great fame among our an 
 
 cestor§T 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 Actron, 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 repentance, 
 
 "I hope I shall be hanged to-morrow,'^ 
 
 for \^Ifeareme\ 1 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 Keeve,'' 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. 
 
 t Nor in that of the Barker mentioned below. 
 
 26 
 
 Hee shold not touch this tonne : 
 He wold be wroth with John I hope, 
 Therefibre 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 historic betweene 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 refers the curious reader to it, 
 as an imperfect and incorrect copy of the old 
 original ballad. 
 
 In summer time, when leaves grow green^^.. 
 
 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 home, and eke with bowe ; 
 
200 
 
 KING EDWARD IV. AND THE TANNER OF TAMWORTH. 
 
 To Drayton Basset he tooke his waye, 
 With all his lordes a rowe. 
 
 And he had ridden ore dale and downe 
 By eight of clocke in the day, 10 
 
 When he was ware of a bold tanner, 
 Come ryding along the waye. 
 
 A fayre russet coat the tanner had on 
 
 Fast buttoned under his chin, 
 And under him a good cow-hide, 15 
 
 And a mare of four shilling."^ 
 
 Nowe stand you still, my good lordes all, m 
 
 Under the grene wood spraye ; 
 And I will wend to yonder fellowe, 
 
 To weet what he will saye. 20 
 
 God speede, God speede thee, sayd our king. 
 
 Thou art welcome, sir, sayd hee. 
 " The readyest waye to Drayton Basset 
 
 I praye thee to shewe to mee.'' 
 
 " To Drayton Basset woldst thou goe, 25 
 Fro the place where thou dost stand ? 
 
 The next payre of gallowes thou comest unto, 
 Turne in upon thy right hand." 
 
 That is an unreadye waye, sayd our king. 
 Thou doest but jest I see ; 30 
 
 Nowe shewe me out the nearest waye. 
 And I pray the wend with mee. 
 
 Awaye with a vengeaunce ! quoth the tanner : 
 
 I hold thee out of thy witt : 
 All daye have I rydden on Brooke my mare, 
 
 And I am fasting yett. 36 
 
 " 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." 40 
 
 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. 
 
 * In the reign of Edward IV. Dame Cecili, 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. id. to buy him an horse." Vid. Har- 
 leian Catalog. 2176, 27.— Now if 13s. 4d. would purchase a 
 steed fit for a person of quality, a tanner's horse might 
 reasonably be valued at four or five shillings. 
 
 God give thee joy of them, sayd the king, 45 
 
 And send them well to priefe. 
 The tanner wolde faine have beene away, 
 
 For he weende he had beene a thiefe. 
 
 What art thou, hee sayde, thou fine felldwe. 
 Of thee I am in great feare, 50 
 
 For the cloathes, thou wearest upon thy backe, 
 Might beseeme a lord to weare. 
 
 I never stole them, quoth our king, 
 
 I tell you, sir, by the roode. 
 "Then thou playest, as many an unthriffc 
 doth, 55 
 
 And standest in midds of thy goode."* 
 
 ^f^ 
 
 What tydinges heare you, sayd the 
 
 As you ryde farre and neare ? 
 " I heare no tydinges, sir, by the masse, 
 
 But that cowe-hides are deare." 60 
 
 "Cowe-hides! cowe-hides! what things are 
 those ? 
 
 I marvell what they bee ?" 
 What art thou a foole ? the tanner reply'd ; 
 
 I carry one under mee. 
 
 What craftsman art thou, said the king, 65 
 
 I praye thee tell me trowe. 
 " I am a barker,f sir, by my trade ; 
 
 Nowe tell me what art thou V 
 
 I am a poore courtier, sir, quoth he, 
 
 That am forth of service worne ; 70 
 
 And faine I wolde thy prentise bee, 
 Thy cunninge for to learne. 
 
 Marrye heaven forfend, the tanner replyde, 
 
 That thou my prentise were : 
 Thou woldst spend more good than I shold 
 winne 75 
 
 By fortye 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 wold change. 80 
 
 " Why if with me thou faine wilt change. 
 As change full well maye wee, 
 
 * i. e. hast no other wealth, but what thou carriest about 
 thee. 
 t i. e. a dealer in bark. 
 
KING EDWARD IV. AND THE TANNER OF TAMWORTH. 
 
 201 
 
 By the faith of my bodye, thou proude fel- 
 16we, 
 I will have some boot 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 : 90 
 
 Thy horse is unrulye and wild, I wiss ; 
 Aye skipping here and theare." 
 
 "What boote wilt thou have? our king re- 
 p¥d; 
 
 Now tell me in this stound. 
 " Noe pence, nor half-pence, by my faye, 95 
 
 But a noble in gold so round." 
 
 " Here's twentye groates of white moneye, 
 
 Sith thou wilt have it of mee." 
 I would have sworne now, quoth the tanner, 
 
 Thou hadst not had one penni^. 100 
 
 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, 105 
 
 I sweare, so mought I thee ; 
 Thy foule cowe-hide I wolde not beare, 
 
 If thou woldst give it to mee. 
 
 The tanner hee tooke his good cowe-hide. 
 That of the cow was hilt ; 110 
 
 And threwe it upon the king's sadMle, 
 That was soe fayrelye gilte. 
 
 " Now help me up, thou fine felldwe, 
 
 'Tis time that I were gone : 
 When I come home to Gyllian my wife, 115 
 
 Sheel say I am a gentilmon." 
 
 ^ 
 
 The king he tooke him up by the legge ; 
 
 The tanner a f * * lett fall. 
 Nowe marrye, good fellowe, sayd the kyng, 
 
 Thy courtesye is but small. 120 
 
 When the tanner he was in the kinges sa- 
 d^lle. 
 
 And his foote in his stirrup was ; 
 He marvelled greatlye in his minde, 
 
 Whether it were golde or brass. 
 
 But when his steede saw the cows taile wagge, 
 And eke the blacke cowe-horne ; 126 
 
 He stamped, and stared, and awaye he ranne, 
 As the devill had him borne. 
 
 The tanner he puUd, the tanner he sweat. 
 And held by the pummil fast : 130 
 
 At length the tanner came tumbling downe ; 
 His necke he had well-nye brast. 
 
 Take thy horse again with a vengeance, he 
 
 With mee he shall not byde. 
 "My horse wolde have borne thee well 
 enoughe, 135 
 
 But he knewe not of thy cowe-hide. 
 
 " 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." 140 
 
 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 twentye pound." 
 
 " Here's twentye groates out of my purse ; 
 
 And twentye I have of thine : 146 
 
 And I have one more, which we will spend 
 
 Together at the wine." 
 
 The king set a bugle home to his mouthe, 
 And blewe both loude and shrille : 150 
 
 And soone came lords, and soone came 
 knights. 
 Fast ryding over the hille. 
 
 Nowe, out alas ! the tanner he cryde, 
 
 That ever I sawe this daye ! 
 Thou art a strong thiefe, yon come thy fel- 
 lowes 
 
 Will beare my cowe-hide away. 156 
 
 They are no thieves, the king replyde, 
 
 I sweare, soe mote I thee : 
 But they are the lords of the north countr^y. 
 
 Here come to hunt with mee. 160 
 
 And soone before our king they came, 
 And knelt downe on the grounde : 
 
 Then might the tanner have beene awaye, 
 And had lever than twentye pounde. 
 
202 
 
 AS YE CAME FROM THE HOLY LAND. 
 
 A coller, a coUer, here : sayd the king, 165 
 
 A coller he loud gan crye : 
 Then woulde he lever then twentye pound, 
 
 He had not beene so nighe. 
 
 A coller, a coller, the tanner he sayd, 
 I trowe it will breed sorrowe : 
 
 After a coller commeth a halter, 
 I trow I shall be hanged to-morrowe. 
 
 Be not afraid, tanner, said our king ; 
 I tell thee, so mought I thee, 
 
 170 
 
 Lo here I make thee the best esquire 
 That is in the North countrie.* 
 
 175 
 
 For Plumpton-parke I will give thee, 
 
 With tenements faire beside : 
 'Tis worth three hundred markes by 
 yeare. 
 
 To maintaine thy good cowe-hide. 180 
 
 the 
 
 Gramercye, my liege, the tanner replyde, / 
 For the favour thou hast me showne ; 'H«. 
 
 If ever thou comest to merry Tamwdrth, 
 Neates leather shall clout thy shoen. 
 
 -<•►- 
 
 XVI. 
 
 ^s 2^ tmt ixm t\t |0lg "gmt 
 
 DIALOGUE BETWEEN A PILGRIM AND TRAYELLEK. 
 
 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 reprint- 
 ing. 
 
 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. 
 
 # " Hermets on a heape, with hoked staves, 
 
 Wenten to Walsingham, and her f wenches after." 
 
 f 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 while the remembrance of 
 them was fresh in the minds of the people. 
 
 As ye came from the holy land 
 
 Of blessed Walsingham, 
 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 Inode 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 "Curt 
 alia," 4to. 
 
HARDYKNUTE. 
 
 203 
 
 " How should I know your true love, 5 
 
 That have met many a one, 
 As I came from the holy land, 
 
 That have hoth come, and gone V 
 
 My love is neither white,"* nor hrowne, 
 But as the heavens faire ; 10 
 
 There is none hath her form divine, 
 Either in earth, or ayre. 
 
 " Such an one did I meet, good sir, 
 
 With an angelicke face ; 
 Who like a nymphe, a queene appeard 
 
 Both in her gait, her grace." 
 
 15 
 
 Yes : she hath cleane forsaken me, 
 
 And left me all alone ; 
 Who some time loved me as her life. 
 
 And called me her owne. 20 
 
 " 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, 25 
 
 Growe old now as you see ; 
 Love liketh not the falling fruite, 
 
 Nor yet the withered tree. 
 
 For love is like a carelesse childe. 
 
 Forgetting promise past : 30 
 
 He is blind, or deaf, whenere 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, 35 
 And lost ev'n with a toye. 
 
 Such is the love of womankinde, 
 
 Or Loves faire name abusde, 
 Beneathe which many vaine desires, 
 
 And follyes are excusde, 40 
 
 ' 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. 
 
 |arJfgIinM;t^ 
 
 A SCOTTISH FRAGMENT. 
 
 As this fine morsel of heroic poetry 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 Pitferran, in Scot- 
 land, who was killed in America, along with 
 General Braddock, in 1755),pretendedshehad 
 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- 
 
 * sc. Angels. 
 
204 
 
 HARDYKNUTE. 
 
 formed, that the late "William Thompson, the 
 Scottish musician, who published the "Or- 
 pheus 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 stept 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 5 
 
 Wrought Scotland mickle wae : 
 And ay his sword tauld to their cost, 
 
 He was their deadlye fae 
 
 High on a hill his castle stood, 
 
 "With ha's and towers a height 10 
 
 And goodly chambers fair to se, 
 
 "Where he lodged mony a knight. 
 His dame sae peerless anes and fair, 
 
 For chast and beauty deem'd 
 Nae marrow had in all the land, 15 
 
 Save Elenor the queen. 
 
 in. 
 
 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 : 20 
 
 Four yet remain, lang may they live 
 
 To stand by liege and land ; 
 High was their fame, high was their migkt. 
 
 And high was their command. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Great love they bare to Fairly fair 
 
 Their sister saffc and dear. 
 Her girdle shaw'd her middle gimp, 
 
 And gowden glist her hair. 
 What waefu' wae her beauty bred ! 
 
 Waefu' to young and auld, 
 Waefu' I trow to kyth and kin, 
 
 As story ever tauld. 
 
 The King of Norse in summer tyde, 
 PuflPd up with pow'r and might, 
 
 25 
 
 30 
 
 Landed in fair Scotland the isle 35 
 
 With mony a hardy knight. 
 The tydings to our good 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 faes stand on the strand, 
 Full twenty thousand glittering spears 
 
 The king of Norse commands. ^^ 
 Bring me my steed Mage dapple gray, ^5 
 
 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, 50 
 
 To draw his sword, the dread of faes, 
 
 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." 56 
 
 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 ; 60 
 
 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. 
 
 His sons in manly sport and glee, 65 
 
 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've other sport to bide. 70 
 
 And soon they hy'd them up the hill, 
 
 And soon were at his side. 
 
 " Late late the yestreen I ween'd in peace 
 
 To end my lengthened life. 
 My age might well excuse my arm 75 
 
 Frae manly feats of strife. 
 But now that Norse do's proudly boast 
 
 Fair Scotland to inthrall. 
 
HAEDYKNUTE. 
 
 205 
 
 It's ne'er be said of Hardyknute, 
 
 
 XVI. 
 
 
 He fear'd to figlit or fall. 
 
 80 
 
 " Sir knight, gin you were in my bower, 
 To lean on silken seat, 
 
 
 XI. 
 
 
 My lady's kindly care you'd prove. 
 
 
 " Robin of Rothsay, bend thy bow, 
 
 
 Who ne'er knew deadly hate. 
 
 
 Thy arrows shoot sae leel, 
 
 
 Herself wou'd watch you a' the day, 
 
 125 
 
 - That mony a comely countenance 
 
 
 Her maids a dead of night ; 
 
 
 They've turned to deadly pale. 
 
 
 And Fairly fair your heart wou'd chear, 
 
 
 Brade Thomas, take you but your lance, 
 
 85 
 
 As she stands in your sight. 
 
 
 You need nae weapons mair. 
 
 
 
 
 If you fight wi't as you did anes 
 
 
 XVII. 
 
 
 'Gainst Westmoreland's fierce heir. 
 
 
 " Arise, young knight, and mount your stead ; | 
 
 
 
 Full lowns the shynand day : 
 
 130 
 
 XII. 
 
 
 Choose frae my menzie whom ye please 
 
 
 " 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, 
 
 90 
 
 To lead you on the way." 
 With smileless look, and visage wan, 
 
 The wounded knight reply'd, 
 " Kind chieftain, your intent pursue. 
 
 For here I maun abyde. 
 
 135 
 
 My blade of mettal clear. 
 
 
 XYIII. 
 
 
 If faes but ken'd the hand it bare, 
 They soon had fled for fear. 
 
 95 
 
 To me nae after day nor night 
 Can e're be sweet or fair, 
 
 
 XIII. 
 
 
 But soon beneath some draping tree. 
 
 
 
 Cauld death shall end my care." 
 
 140 
 
 " Farewell my dame sae peerless good, 
 
 
 With him nae pleading might prevail ; 
 
 
 (And took her by the hand), 
 
 
 Brave Hardyknute to gain 
 
 
 Fairer to me in age you seem, 
 
 
 With fairest words, and reason strong. 
 
 
 Than maids for beauty fam'd. 
 
 100 
 
 Strave courteously in vain. 
 
 
 My youngest sou shall here remain 
 
 
 
 
 To guard these stately towers, 
 
 
 XIX. 
 
 
 And shut the silver bolt that keeps 
 
 
 Syne he has gane far hynd out o'er 
 
 145 
 
 Sae fast your painted bowers.'' 
 
 
 Lord Chattan' s land sae wide ; 
 That lord a worthy wight was ay 
 
 
 XIY. 
 
 
 When faes his courage sey'd : 
 
 
 And first she wet her comely cheiks, 
 
 105 
 
 Of Pictish race by mother's side. 
 
 
 And then her boddice green. 
 
 
 When Picts rul'd Caledon, 
 
 150 
 
 Her silken cords of twirtle twist. 
 
 
 Lord Chattan claim'd the princely maid 
 
 
 Well plett with silver sheen ; 
 
 
 When he sav'd Pictish crown. 
 
 
 And apron set with mony a dice 
 
 
 
 
 Of needle-wark sae rare. 
 
 110 
 
 XX. 
 
 
 Wove by nae hand, as ye may guess, 
 
 
 Now with his fierce and stalwart train. 
 
 
 Save that of Fairly fair. 
 
 
 He reach'd a rising hight, 
 
 
 
 
 Quhair braid encampit on the dale, 
 
 155 
 
 XY. 
 
 
 Norss menzie lay in sicht. 
 
 
 And he has ridden o'er muir and moss. 
 
 
 " Yonder my valiant sons and feirs 
 
 
 O'er hills and mony a glen, 
 
 
 Our raging revers wait 
 
 
 When he came to a wounded knight 
 
 115 
 
 On the unconquert Scottish sward 
 
 
 Making a heavy mane ; 
 
 
 To try with us their fate. 
 
 160 
 
 " Here maun I lye, here maun I dye, 
 
 
 
 
 By treacherie's false guiles ; 
 
 
 XXI. 
 
 
 Witless I was that e'er ga faith 
 
 
 Make orisons to him that sav'd 
 
 
 To wicked woman's smiles." 
 
 120 
 
 Our sauls upon the rude ; 
 
 - « 
 
206 
 
 HARDYKNUTE. 
 
 Syne bravely shaw your veins are fiU'd 
 
 With Caledonian blude." 
 Then furth he drew his trusty glave, 165 
 
 "While thousands all around 
 Drawn frae their sheaths glanc'd in the sun ; 
 
 And loud the bougies sound. 
 
 To joyn his king adoun the hill 
 
 In hast his merch he made, 170 
 
 While, playand pibrochs, minstralls meit 
 
 Afore him stately strade. 
 "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 thrawn; 
 
 For thrang scarce cou'd they flee ; 
 The darts clove arrows as they met. 
 
 The arrows dart the tree. 180 
 
 Lang did they rage and fight fu' fierce. 
 
 With little skaith to mon, 
 But bloody bloody was the field. 
 
 Ere that lang day was done. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 185 
 
 The King of Scots, that sindle brook'd 
 
 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, 
 
 I wat it's bled a score. 190 
 
 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, 
 waefu' chance ! there pinn'd his hand 
 
 In midst between his een. 200 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 " Revenge, revenge, cry'd 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 marked, 205 
 
 It pierced his neck in twa, 
 His hands then quat the silver reins, 
 
 He low as earth did fa'. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 " Sair bleids my liege, sair, sair he bleids !" 
 
 Again wi' might he drew 210 
 
 And gesture dread his sturdy bow, 
 
 Fast the braid arrow flew : 
 Wae to the knight he ettled at ; 
 
 Lament now Queen Elgreed ; 
 High dames too wail your darling's fall, 215 
 
 His youth and comely meed. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 " Take aff, take ajff 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 gift frae me, and bid 
 
 Him venge the blood it bears ; 
 Say, if he face my bended bow. 
 
 He sure nae weapon fears." 
 
 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 
 
 I soon shall make him wail, 230 
 
 That e'er my sword was made sae sharp, 
 
 Sae saft his coat of mail." 
 
 That brag his stout heart cou'd na bide, 
 
 It lent him youthfu' micht : 
 " 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, 
 
 He garr'd his body bleed. 240 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 Norss' een like gray gosehawk's stairM 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, 
 
HARDYKNUTE. 
 
 207 
 
 As laigh as he to ladies us'd 
 In courtly guise to lout. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 Fu^ soon he raisM his bent body, 
 
 His bow he marvell'd sair, 250 
 
 Sin blows till then on him but darr'd 
 
 As touch of Fairly fair : 
 Norse marvell'd too as sair as he 
 
 To see his stately look ; 
 Sae soon as e'er he strake a fae, 255 
 
 Sae soon his life he took. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 Where like a fire to heather set 
 
 Bauld Thomas did advance, 
 Ane sturdy fae with look enrag'd 
 
 Up toward him did prance ; 260 
 
 He spurr'd his steid through thickest ranks 
 
 The hardy youth to quell, 
 Wha stood unmov'd at his approach 
 
 His fury to repell. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 " That short brown shaft sae meanly trimm'd, 
 
 Looks like poor Scotlands gear, 266 
 
 But dreadfull seems the rusty point !" 
 
 And loud he leugh in jear. 
 " Oft Britons blood has dimm'd its shine ; 
 
 This point cut short their vaunt :" 270 
 Syne pierced the boasters bearded cheek ; 
 
 Nae time he took to taunt. 
 
 Short while he in his saddle swang. 
 
 His stirrup was nae stay, 
 Sae feeble hang his unbent knee 275 
 
 Sure taiken he was fey : 
 Swith on the harden't clay he fell, 
 
 Right far was heard the thud : 
 But Thomas look't nae as he lay 
 
 All waltering in his blud : 280 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 With careless gesture, mind unmov't, 
 
 On roade he north the plain ; 
 His seem in throng of fiercest strife, 
 
 When winner ay the same : 
 Not yet his heart dames dimplet cheek 285 
 
 Could mease soft leve to bruik. 
 Till vengefu^ Ann returned his scorn, 
 
 Then languid grew his luik. 
 27 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 In thraws of death, with walowit cheik, 
 
 All panting on the plain, 
 The fainting corps of warriours lay, 
 
 Ne're to arise again ; 
 Ne're to return to native land, 
 
 Nae mair with blithsome sounds 
 To boast the glories of the day. 
 
 And shaw their shining wounds. 
 
 On Norways coast the widowit dame 
 
 May wash the rocks with tears, 
 May lang luik ow'r the shipless seas 
 
 Before her mate appears. 
 Cease, Emma, cease to hope in vain ; 
 
 Thy lord lyes in the clay ; 
 The valiant Scots nae revers thole 
 
 To carry life away. 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 290 
 
 295 
 
 300 
 
 305 
 
 Here on a lee, where stands a cross 
 
 Set up for monument. 
 Thousands fu' fierce that summer's day 
 
 Fiird keen war's black intent. 
 Let Scots, while Scots, praise Hardyknute 
 
 Let Norse the name ay dread, 310 
 
 Ay how he faught, aft how he spar'd 
 
 Shall latest ages read. 
 
 Now loud and chill blew th' westlin wind, 
 
 Sair beat the heavy shower. 
 Mirk grew the night ere Hardyknute 315 
 
 Wan near his stately tower. 
 His tow'r that us'd wi' torches blaze 
 
 To shine sae far at night, 
 Seem'd now as black as mourning weed, 
 
 Nae marvel sair he sighed. 320 
 
 XLI. 
 
 " There's nae light in my lady's bower. 
 
 There's nae light in my ha' ; 
 Nae blink shines round my Fairly fair, 
 
 Nor ward stands on my wa'. 
 " What bodes it ? Robert, Thomas, say ;"— 
 
 Nae answer fitts their dread. 326 
 
 " Stand back, my sons, I'le be your guide !" 
 
 But by they past with speed. 
 
 As fast I've sped o'er Scotlands faes," — ■ 
 There ceas'd his brag of weir, 330 
 
208 
 
 HARDYKNUTE. 
 
 Sair sham'd to mind ought but his dame, 
 
 And maiden Fairly fair. 
 Black fear he felt, but what to fear 
 
 He wist nae yet ; wi' dread 
 Sair shook his body, sair his limbs, 335 
 
 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 Binning, 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 vn'itten 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 Clerk, 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, Zo 
 dow7i, — 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. 156, Norse squadrons. — 
 V. 158, regand revers. — v. 170, his strides he 
 bent. — V. 171, minstrals play and Pibrochs 
 fine. — V. 172, statety went. — v. 182, man. — 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 feared a' cou'd be 
 fear'd. 
 
 The editor was also informed, on the au- 
 thority of Dr. David Clerk, M. D., of Edin- 
 burgh (son of the aforesaid 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 slaw speede, 
 
 Scarce could they reach their aim ; 
 Or reach'd, scarce blood the round point drew, 
 
 'Twas all but shot in vain : 
 Rigli strengthy arms forfeebled grew, 
 
 Sair wreck'd wi' that day's toils : 
 E'en 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. 
 Nae echo heard in double dints. 
 
 Nor the lang-winding horn, 
 Nae mair she blew out brade as she 
 
 Did eir that summers morn. 
 
 THE END OP BOOK THE FIRST. 
 
A BALLAD OF LUTHER, ETC. 
 
 209 
 
 SERIES THE SECOND. 
 BOOK II. 
 
 Jl lalk^ 0f "gui^tx, % |05^ a €nVml anJr u fttstanimati. 
 
 In the former Book we brought down this 
 second Series of poems as low as about the 
 middle of tho sixteenth century. We now 
 find the Muses deeply engaged in religious 
 controversy. The sudden revolution wrought 
 in the opinions of mankind by the Reforma- 
 tion, 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 altera- 
 tions made in the established religion by 
 Henry VIII., the sudden changes it under- 
 went 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 
 pen was engaged in the dispute. The fol- 
 lowers of the Old and New Profession (as 
 they were called) had their respective ballad- 
 makers ; and every day produced some popu- 
 lar sonnet for or against the Reformation. 
 The following ballad, and that entitled " Lit- 
 tle John Nobody,^' maj?- 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 ; espe- 
 cially 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 pul- 
 pit : — 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, ye children, &c." 
 
 * Take a specimen from his liigh encomiums on the 
 priesthood : 
 
 " There is no emperour, kyug, duke, ne baron. 
 That of God hath commissyon. 
 As hath the leest preest in the world beynge. 
 
 * * * 
 
 God hath to them more power gyvien, 
 Than to any aungell, that is in heven; 
 With V. words he may consecrate 
 Goddes body in flesshe, and blode to take, 
 And handeleth his maker bytweene his handes. 
 The preest byndeth and unbindeth all bandes, 
 Both in erthe and in heven. — 
 Thou ministers 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 alone on preesthode. 
 
 God gave preest that dignite, 
 
 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. 
 
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 imbibed in their 
 youth; for thus the devil is introduced la- 
 menting 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 teacher, 
 The father a foole, the chylde a preacher." 
 
 Of the plays above mentioned, to the first 
 is subjoined the following, Printer's Colo- 
 phon, ^ " Thus endeth this moral playe of 
 Every Man. T[ Imprinted 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 Richarde 
 Pynson. 
 
 The other is intitled, "An interlude called 
 Luffcy Juventus 'J' and is thus distinguished 
 at the end : *' Finis, quod R. Wever. Im- 
 prynted at London in Paules churche yeard 
 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 "Origin 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 wolues a fall. 
 And is become our strong defence : 
 For they thorowe a false pretens 5 
 
 From Christes blonde dyd all us leade,* 
 
 , * i. e. denied us the Cup, see below, ver. 94. 
 
 Gettynge from every man his pence, 
 As satisfactours for the deade. 
 
 For what we with our Flayles coulde get 
 
 To kepe our house, and survauntes ; 10 
 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 easelye lyved. 
 
 That for fatnesse theyr belyes pantes, 15 
 So greatlye have they us deceaued. 
 
 They spared not the fatherlesse. 
 The carefull, nor the pore wydowe ; 
 
 They wolde have somewhat more or lesse, 
 If it above the ground did growe : 20 
 
 But now we husbandmen do knowe 
 
 Al their subteltye, and theyr false caste ; 
 For the Lorde hath them overthrowe 
 
 With his swete word now at the laste. 
 
 DOCTOR MARTIN LUTHER. 
 
 25 
 
 Thou antichrist, with thy thre crownes, 
 
 Has usurped kynges powers. 
 As having power over realmes and townes, 
 
 Whom thou oughtest to serve all houres. 
 
 Thou thinkest by thy jugglyng colours 
 Thou maist lykewise Gods word oppresse ; 
 
 As do the deceatful foulers, 31 
 
 When they theyr nettes craftelye dresse. 
 
 Thou flatterest every prince, and lord, 
 
 Thretening poore men with swearde and 
 fyre; 
 
 All those, that do followe Gods worde, 35 
 To make them cleve to thy desire, 
 Theyr bokes thou burnest in flaming fire ; 
 
 Cursing with boke, bell, and candell. 
 Such as to reade them have desyre. 
 
 Or with them are wyllynge to meddell. 40 
 
 Thy false power wyl I bryng dovm, 
 Thou shalt not raygne 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, 45 
 
 But I wyll fyght with Gods worde ; 
 Which is now so open and eleare, 
 
 That it shall brynge the under the borde.* 
 
 * i. e. Make thee knock under the table. 
 
JOHN ANDERSON MY JO. 
 
 2H 
 
 THE POPE. 
 
 Though I brought never so many to hel, 
 And to utter dampnacion, 50 
 
 Throughe myne ensample, and consel, 
 Or thorow any abhominacion, 
 Yet doth our lawe excuse my fashion. 
 
 And thou, Luther, arte accursed ; 
 
 For blamynge me, and my condicion, -55 
 
 The holy decres have the condempned. 
 
 Thou stryvest against my purgatory, 
 Because thou findest it not in scripture ; 
 
 As though I by myne auctorite 
 Myght not make one for myne honoure. 60 
 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 w^ell. 
 
 As for scripture, I am above it ; 
 
 Am not I Gods hye vicare ? 
 Shulde I be bounde to followe it, 
 
 As the carpenter his ruler ?* 
 
 Nay, nay, hereticks ye are, 
 That will not obey my auctoritie. 
 
 With this sworde I wyll declare. 
 That ye shal al accursed be. 
 
 65 
 
 70 
 
 THE CARDINAL. 
 
 I am a Cardinal! of Home, 
 
 Sent from Christes hye vicary, 
 To graunt pardon to more, and sume, 75 
 
 That wil Luther resist strongly : 
 
 He is a greate hereticke treuly, 
 And regardeth to much the scripture ; 
 
 For he thinketh onely thereby 
 To subdue the popes high honoure : 80 
 
 Receive ye this pardon devoutely, 
 And loke that ye agaynst 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, 85 
 
 Allthough ye be overcome 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 pard5n : 
 They thinke from all destruction 
 
 By Christes bloud to be saved, 
 
 Fearynge not our excommunicacion, 
 
 Therefore shall they al be dampned. 
 
 90 
 
 95 
 
 II. 
 
 |0^ii §ittlj^rs0n mg |0. 
 
 A SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 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 (preaerved 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, 
 
 * i. e. his rule. 
 
 With ane Priest, that is not gredy, 
 And lay ane deid corpse thame by, 
 And, throw virtue of thame three. 
 That deid corpse sail qwyknit 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 
 
212 
 
 LITTLE JOHN NOBODY. 
 
 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 ofi*ensive. 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 ofi"- 
 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, 
 1568, it appears, that Thomas Bassendyne, 
 
 printer in Edinburgh, printed " a psalme 
 bulk, in the end whereof was found printit 
 anebaudy sang, called 'Welcome Fortunes.^"* 
 
 John Anderson my jo, cum in as ze gae by, 
 And ze sail 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 
 threven ? 
 
 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. 
 
 SittU |0|n |;0b0ig. 
 
 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 ; 
 whereas 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 ejQfect 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 afiectation or singularity ; his versifica- 
 tion is that of Pierce Plowman's Visions, in 
 
 * See also Biograph. Briant. 1st ed. vol. i. p. 177. 
 
LITTLE JOHN NOBODY. 
 
 213 
 
 ■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'f 
 
 that freake, 
 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 
 
 Thou lyest, quoth I, thou losel, like a leud 
 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 caitives count to be come of Cains 
 
 kind ;t 
 But that I little John Nobody durst not 
 
 speake. 
 
 * Perhaps He left talk. f feigned, MSS. and P. 0. 
 
 X Cain's kind.] So in Pierce the Plowman's creed, the 
 proud friars are said to be 
 
 " Of Caymes kind." Vid. Sig. C. ij. b. 
 
 For our reverend father hath set forth an order, 
 Our service to be said in our seigneurs 
 
 tongue ; 
 As Solomon the sage set forth the scripture ; 
 Our sufii-ages, and services, with many a 
 
 sweet song, 
 With homilies, and godly books us among, 
 That no stifi*, stubborn stomacks 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 mischiefe they 
 
 wil him wreake ; 
 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 baudery, Gods com- 
 mandments breake: 
 
 But of these frantic il fellowes, few of them 
 do thrife ; 
 Though I little John Nobody dare not 
 
 If thou company with them, they wil cur- 
 rishly carp, and not care 
 
 According to their foolish 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 : 
 
214 
 
 THE HEIR OF LINNE. 
 
 Therefore pray we to that prince, that with 
 
 his bloud us bought, 
 That he wil mend that is amiss : for many a 
 
 manful freyke 
 Is sorry for these sects, 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 eccho did cause 
 me to hear. 
 
 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. 
 
 lY. 
 
 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 vrith 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 5 
 
 From bandes, wherein are innocents in- 
 closed : 
 Causing the guiltles to be straite reserved, 
 And freeing those that death hath well de- 
 served. 
 But by her envie can be nothing wroughte, 
 So God send to my foes all they have thoughte. 
 
 A. D. MDLV. EliZABETHE, PrISONNER. 
 
 -<♦»- 
 
 nx 0f "gxMt. 
 
 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 
 
 * then, MSS. and P. C. 
 
 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. 
 
 * Hercules, MS. and P. C. 
 
 Ver. 4, Could bears, is an ancient idiom, equivalent to 
 Did bear or Hath borne. See below the Beggar of Bednal 
 Green, ver. 57, Could say. 
 
THE HEIR OF LINNE. 
 
 215 
 
 PART THE FIRST. 
 
 Lithe 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, 5 
 
 His mother a lady of high degree ; 
 
 But they, alas ! were dead, him froe, 
 And he lov'd keeping companie. 
 
 To spend the daye with merry cheare, 
 
 To drinke and revell every night, 10 
 
 To card and dice from eve to morne, 
 It was, I ween, his hearts delighte. 
 
 To ride, to runne, to rant, to roare, 
 To alwaye. spend and never spare, 
 
 I wott, an' it were the king himselfe, 15 
 
 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. 20 
 
 His father had a keen stew^rde, 
 
 And John o' the Scales was called bee : 
 
 But John is become a gentel-man, 
 And John has gott both gold and fee. 
 
 Sayes, "Welcome, welcome, Lord of Linne, 25 
 Let nought disturb thy merry cheere ; 
 
 Iff thou wilt sell thy landes soe broad. 
 Good store of gold He give thee heere. 
 
 My gold is gone, my money is spent; 
 
 My lande nowe take it unto thee : 30 
 
 Give me the golde, good John o' the Scales, 
 
 And thine for aye my lande shall bee. 
 
 Then John he did him to record draw. 
 And John he cast him a gods-pennie ;* 
 
 But for every pounde that John agreed, 35 
 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. 40 
 
 * i. e. earnest-money ; from the French " Denier k 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 fenne, 
 
 All but a poore and lonesome lodge. 
 That stood far off in a lonely glenne. 
 
 For soe he to his father hight. 45 
 
 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, 49 
 
 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, 55 
 And he that spares, ne'er mote he thee. 
 
 They ranted, drank, and merry made. 
 Till all his gold it waxed thinne ; 
 
 And then his friendes they slunk away ; 
 They left the unthrifty heire of Linne. 60 
 
 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 monhj. 
 
 Nowe well-aday, sayd the heire of Linne, 65 
 Nowe well-adaye, 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 ? 70 
 
 He 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, 75 
 
 And bade him sharpely 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. 80 
 
 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. 
 
216 
 
 THE HEIR OF LINNE. 
 
 85 
 
 Now He away to lonesome lodge, 
 
 For there my father bade me wend : 
 When all the world should frown on raee 
 ^^ there shold find a trusty friend. 
 
 PART THE SECOND. 
 
 Away then hyed the heire of Linne 
 Oer hill and holt, and moor and fenne, 
 
 Untill he came to lonesome lodge, 
 That stood so lowe in a lonely glenne. 
 
 He looked up, he looked downe, 5 
 
 In hope some comfort for to winne : 
 
 But hare and lothly were the walles. 
 
 Here's sorry cheare, quo' the heire of Linne. 
 
 The little windowe dim and darke 
 
 "Was hung with ivy, brere, and yewe ; 10 
 
 No shimmering sunn here ever shone. 
 No halesome breeze here ever blew. 
 
 No chair, ne table he mote spye, 
 
 No chearful hearth, ne welcome bed. 
 
 Nought save a rope with penning noose, 15 
 That dangling hung up o'er his head. 
 
 And over it in broad letters. 
 
 These words were written so plain to see : 
 "Ah ! gracelesse wretch, hast spent thine all 
 
 And brought thyselfe to penurie ? 20 
 
 " All this my boding mind misgave, 
 I therefore left this trusty friend : 
 
 Let it now sheeld thy foule disgrace. 
 And all thy shame and sorrows end." 
 
 Sorely shent wi' this rebuke, 25 
 
 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 three : 30 
 
 " 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, 35 
 And to the ground come tumbling hee. 
 
 Astonyed lay the heire of Linne, 
 Ne knewe if he were live or dead : 
 
 At length he looked, and sawe a bille, 
 And in it a key of gold so redd. 
 
 40 
 
 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-fere.* 
 
 Two were full of the beaten golde, 45 
 
 The third was full of white monhj ; 
 
 And over them in broad letters 
 These words were written so plaine to see •, 
 
 *' Once more, my sonne, I sette thee clere ; 
 
 Amend thy life and follies past ; 50 
 
 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, 55 
 
 This readej shall guide me to the end. 
 
 Away then went with a merry cheare. 
 Away then went the heire of Linne ; 
 
 I wis, he neither ceas'd ne blanne, 59 
 
 Till John o' the Scales hous^e he did winne. 
 
 And when he came to John o' the Scales, 
 Upp at the speere§ then looked hee ; 
 
 There sate three lords upon a rowe, 
 Were drinking of the wine so free. 
 
 And John himselfe sate at the bord-head, 65 
 Because now lord of Linne was hee. 
 
 I pray thee, he said, good John o' the Scales, 
 One forty pence for to lend mee. 
 
 Away, away, thou thriftless loone ; 
 
 Away, away, this may not bee : 70 
 
 For Christs curse on my head, he sayd, 
 
 If ever I trust thee one pennie. 
 
 Ter. 60, an old northern phrase. 
 
 * in-fere, i. e. together. M^a vvd^ {'^'^ ' ^ ^ ""^ ^ 
 t i. e. unless I amend. J i. e. advice, counsel. 
 
 § Perhaps the Hole in the door or window, by which it 
 
 was speered, i. e. sparred, fastened, or shut. — In Bale's 2d 
 
 Part of the Acts of Eng. Votaries, we have this phrase (fol. 
 
 38). "The dors therof oft tymes opened and speared 
 
 agayen. 
 
THE HEIR OF LINNE. 
 
 217 
 
 Then bespake the heire of Linne, 
 
 To John o' the Scales wife then spake he : 
 Madame, some almes on me bestowe, 75 
 
 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. 80 
 
 Then bespake a good fellowe, 
 
 "Which sat at John o' the Scales his bord ; 
 Sayd, Turn againe, thou heire of Linne ; 
 
 Some time thou wast a well good lord : 
 
 Some time a good fellow thou hast been, 85 
 And sparedst not thy gold and fee ; 
 
 Therefore He 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 : 90 
 
 For well I wot thou hadst his land. 
 And a good bargain 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, 95 
 But I did lose by that barg^ine. 
 
 And here I proffer thee, heire of Linne, 
 Before these lords so faire and free. 
 
 Thou shalt have it backe again better cheape. 
 By a hundred markes, than I had it of thee. 
 
 I drawe you to record, lords, he said. 101 
 With that he cast him a gods pennie : 
 
 Ver. 34, of Part I., and 102, of Part H., cast is the readuig 
 »f the MS. 
 
 Now by my fay, sayd the heire of Linne, 
 And here, good John, is thy money. 
 
 And he pull'd forth three bagges of gold, 105 
 And layd them down upon the bord : 
 
 All woe begone was John o' the Scales, 
 Soe shent he cold say never a vrord. 
 
 He told him forth the good red gold, 
 
 He told it forth mickle dinne. 110 
 
 The gold is thine, the land is mine, 
 And now Ime againe the Lord of Linne. 
 
 Sayes, Have thou here, thou good fellowe. 
 Forty pence thou didst lend mee : 
 
 Now I am againe the Lord of Linne, 115 
 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 bounteous heart, 
 I wis, good fellowe, I were to blame. 120 
 
 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, said 
 hee: 126 
 
 Christs curse light on me, if ever again 
 
 I bring my lands in jeopardy. *^^ 
 
 tit In the present edition of this ballad 
 several ancient readings are restored from tha 
 folio MS. 
 
218 
 
 GASCOIGNE'S PRAISE OF THE FAIR BRIDGES. 
 
 VI. 
 
 (^mm^u'$ l^xm 0f % im §rftg^s, atetoaris f aig Sante^ 
 
 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 Walthamstoe :" 
 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, en- 
 titled, "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"t (the Dodsley's Miscellany 
 of those times), will hardly be found one 
 rough or inharmonious line: J whereas the 
 numbers of Jonson, Donne, and most of their 
 contemporaries, frequently ofi'end the ear, 
 
 * Observation on the Faerie Queen, Vol. II. p. 168. 
 
 f Printed in 1578, 1596, and perhaps oftener, in 4to. 
 black-letter. 
 
 X The same is true of most of the poems in the " Mirrour 
 of Magistrates," 1563, 4to., and also of " Surrey's Poems," 
 1557. 
 
 like the filing of a saw.-^«Pfirhaps this is in 
 some measure to be accounted for from the 
 growing pedantry of that age, and from the 
 writers afi'ecting 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) pro- 
 perly 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, bounde 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 orna- 
 mental 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 
 or some other title page containing the same 
 device, suggested to Rubens that well-known 
 design of a similar kind, which he has intro- 
 duced into the Luxemburgh gallery,t and 
 which has been so justly censured for the 
 unnatural manner of its execution. 
 
 In court whoso demaundes 
 What dame doth most excell ; 
 
 For my conceit I must needes say, 
 Faire Bridges beares the beh-^^-vv^ 
 
 * Henrie Pinneman. 
 
 1 Le Terns decouvre la Verite. 
 
GASCOIGNE'S PRAISE OF THE FAIR BRIDGES. 
 
 219 
 
 Upon whose lively eheeke, 5 
 
 Yet when he felte the flame 
 
 
 To prove my judgment true, 
 
 Gan kindle in his brest, 
 
 
 ^ The rose and lillie seeme to strive 
 ,^^ For equall change of hewe : 
 
 And herd dame Nature boast by hir 
 
 
 To break him of his rest, 
 
 
 And therewithal! so well 
 
 His hot newe-chosen love 
 
 45 
 
 Hir graces all agree ; 10 
 
 He chaunged into hate. 
 
 
 No frowning cheere dare once presume 
 
 And sodeynly with mightie mace 
 
 
 In hir sweet face to bee. 
 
 ^Gan rap hir on the pate. 
 
 
 Although some lavishe lippes, 
 
 It greeved Nature muche 
 
 
 Which like some other best, 
 
 To see the cruell deede : 
 
 50 
 
 "Will say, the blemishe on hir browe 15 
 
 Mee seemes I see hir, how she wept 
 
 
 Disgraceth aU the rest. 
 
 To see hir dearling bleede. 
 
 
 Thereto I thus replie ; 
 
 God wotte, they little knowe 
 The hidden cause of that mishap, 
 
 Nor how the harm did growe : 20 
 
 Wei yet, quod she, this hurt 
 Shal have some helpe I trowe: 
 
 And quick with skin she coverd it, 
 That whiter is than snowe. 
 
 55 
 
 For when dame Nature first 
 
 
 
 _JB[ad framde hir heavenly face, 
 
 Wherwith Dan Cupide fled. 
 
 
 '' And thoroughly bedecked it 
 
 For feare of further flame. 
 
 
 "With goodly gleames of grace ; 
 
 When angel-like he saw hir shine. 
 
 
 
 Whome he had smit with shame. 
 
 60 
 
 It lyked hir so well : 25 
 
 
 
 Lo here, quod she, a peece 
 
 Lo, thus was Bridges hurt 
 
 
 For perfect shape, that passeth all 
 
 In cradel of hir kind. 
 
 
 Appelles^ worke in Greece. 
 
 The coward Cupide brake hir browe 
 To wreke his wounded mynd. 
 
 
 This bayt may chaunce to catche 
 
 
 The greatest God of love, 30 
 Or mightie thundring Jove himself, 
 (^ That rules the roast above. 
 
 The skar still there remains ; 
 No force, there let it bee : 
 
 65 
 
 There is no cloude that can eclipse 
 
 
 But out, alas ! those wordes 
 
 So bright a sunne, as she. 
 
 
 Were vaunted all in vayne : 
 
 
 
 And some unseen wer present there, 35 
 
 *^* The lady here celebrated was Catha- 
 
 Pore Bridges, to thy pain. 
 
 rine, daughter of Edmond second Lord 
 
 
 Chandos, wife of William Lord Sands. 
 
 See 
 
 For Cupide, crafty boy, 
 
 CoUins's Peerage, vol. ii., p. 133, ed. 1779. | 
 
 Close in a corner stoode. 
 
 
 __ 
 
 ^ Not blyndfold then, to gaze on hir : 
 
 Ver. 62, In cradel of hir kind : i. e. in the cradle of her 
 
 I gesse it did him good. 40 
 
 fisunily. See Waxton's Observations, vol. II. p. 137. 
 
 
220 
 
 FAIR ROSAMOND. 
 
 YII. 
 
 im |l0S»m0nt 
 
 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 Eleanor 
 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 enlarge- 
 ments, is thus given by StoAV. " Rosamond, 
 the fayre daughter of Walter Lord Clifford, 
 concubine to Henry II. (poisoned by Queen 
 Elianor, as some thought), dyed at Wood- 
 stocke [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 secret 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 
 thridde, 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 nunnes, beside Oxford, with these verses 
 upon her tombe : 
 
 " Hie jacit in tumbS., Rosa mundi, non Rosa 
 munda ; 
 Non redolet, sed olet, quae 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 vaults 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 Ro- 
 samond's bower is differently related. Holins- 
 hed speaks of it as "the common report of 
 the people,. that the queene .... founde hir 
 out by a silken thread, which 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, fal- 
 len from Rosamund's lappe, as shee sate to n 
 take ayre, and suddenly fleeing from the'^ 
 sight of the searcher, the end of her silke 
 fastened to her foot, and the clew still un- 
 winding, remained behinde : which 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 surprise, 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 conjec- 
 ture) ; they only give us to understand, that 
 the queen treated her harshly ; with furious 
 menaces, we may suppose, and sharp expos- 
 tulations, which 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 en- 
 graven the figure of a cwjp. This, which perhaps 
 at first was an accidental ornament (perhaps 
 only the Chalice), might in after-times sug- 
 gest the notion that she was poisoned ; at 
 least this construction was put upon it, when 
 
 * Tho. Allen of Gloc. Hall, Oxon. who died in 1632, aged 
 90. See Hearne's rambling discourse concerning Rosamond, 
 at the end of Gul. Neubrig. Hist. vol. ill. p. 739. 
 
FAIR ROSAMOND. 
 
 221 
 
 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 weav- 
 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 resided 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 nunnes, called 
 Godstow, .... and when he had entred the 
 church to pray, he saw a tombe in the mid- 
 dle of the quire, covered with a pall of silke, 
 and set about 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 
 keepe themselves from unlawful! and ad- 
 vouterous company with men." Annals, 
 p. 159. 
 
 History further informs us that king John 
 repaired Godstow nunnery, and endowed it 
 with yearly revenues, " 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 Rosamunds. 
 Her bones were closid in lede, and withyn 
 that bones were closyd yn lether. When it 
 was opened a very swete smell came owt of 
 
 * Vid. Reign of Henry 11., in Speed's History, writ by 
 Dr. Barcham, Dean of Bocking. 
 
 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- 
 espe (or Long-sword) earl of Salisbury, 
 and Geoffrey bishop of Lincolne.f 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 King Henry 
 fell in love with Rosamond in 1149, 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. 
 
 t Afterwards Archbishop of York, temp. Eich. I. 
 
222 
 
 FAIR ROSAMOND. 
 
 tagenet, " Natus est 5° Henry II. [1159.] Fac- 
 tus est miles 25° Henry II. [1179.] Elect, in 
 Episcop. Lincoln, 28°HenryII. [1182.]" Vid. 
 Chron. de Kirkstall, (Domitian XII.) Drake's 
 Hist, of York, p. 422. 
 
 The ballad of 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, 5 
 
 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 ; 10 
 
 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 15 
 
 For mastership did strive. 
 
 Yea Rosamonde, fair Rosamonde, 
 
 Her name was called so, 
 To whom our queene, dame Ellinor, 
 
 Was known a deadlye foe. 20 
 
 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 25 
 
 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, 30 
 
 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 35 
 
 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 : 40 
 
 For why, the kinges ungracious sonne, 
 
 AVhom he did high advance. 
 Against his father raised warres 
 
 Within the realme of France. 
 
 But yet before our comelye king 45 
 
 The English land forsooke, 
 Of Rosamond, his lady faire, 
 
 His farewelle thus he tooke : 
 
 " My Rosamonde, my only Rose, 
 
 That pleasest best mine eye : 50 
 
 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 55 
 
 I bid thee nowe farwelle ! 
 
 For I must leave my fairest flower, 
 
 My sweetest Rose, a space, 
 And cross the seas to famous France, 
 
 Proud rebelles to abase. 60 
 
 But yet, my Rose, be sure thou shalt 
 
 My coming shortlye see, 
 And in my heart, when hence I am, 
 
 He beare my Rose with mee.^' 
 
 When Rosamond, that ladye brighte, 65 
 
 Did heare the king saye soe, 
 The sorrowe of her grieved heart 
 
 Her outward lookes did showe ; 
 
 And from her cleare and crystal! eyes 
 The teares gusht out apace, 70 
 
 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 75 
 
 Her vital 1 spirits faile ; 
 
FAIK ROSAMOND. 
 
 223 
 
 And falling down all in a swoone 
 
 Before king Henryes face, 
 Full oft he in his princelye armes 
 
 Her bodye did embrace ; 80 
 
 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. 86 
 
 Because, quoth shee, to bloodye warres 
 
 My lord must part awaye. 
 
 But since your grace on forrayne coastes 
 Amonge your foes unkinde 90 
 
 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. 96 
 
 Or lett mee, in your royal tent. 
 
 Prepare your bed at nighte. 
 And with sweete baths refresh your grace. 
 
 At your returne from fighte. 100 
 
 So I your presence may enjoye, 
 
 No toil I will refuse ; 
 But wanting you, my life is death : 
 
 Nay, death lie rather choose. 
 
 " Content thy self, my dearest love ; 105 
 
 Thy rest at home shall bee 
 In Englandes sweet and pleasant isle ; 
 
 For travell fits not thee. 
 
 Faire ladies brooke not bloodye warres ; 
 
 Soft peace their sexe delightes : 110 
 
 ' Not rugged campes, but courtlye bowers ; 
 
 Gay feastes, nor cruell fightes.' 
 
 My Rose shall safely here abide. 
 
 With musicke passe the day ; 
 Whilst I, amonge the piercing pikes, 115 
 
 My foes seeke far awaye. 
 
 My Rose shall shine in pearle, and golde. 
 
 Whilst Ime in armour dighte ; 
 Gay galliards here my love shall dance, 
 
 Whilst I my foes goe fighte. 120 
 
 29 
 
 And you. Sir Thomas, whom I truste 
 
 To bee my loves defence ; 
 Be careful! of my gallant Rose 
 
 When I am parted hence." 
 
 And therewithal! he fetcht a sigh, 125 
 
 As though his heart would breake : 
 
 And Rosamonde, for very griefe. 
 Not one plaine word could speake. 
 
 And at their parting well they mighte 
 In heart be grieved sore : 130 
 
 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 EUinor, 135 
 
 To Woodstocke 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. 140 
 
 And when that they had wounded him, 
 The queene this thread did gette. 
 
 And went where ladye Rosamonde 
 Was like an angell sette. 
 
 145 
 
 But when the queene with stedfast eye 
 
 Beheld her beauteous face. 
 She was amazed in her minde 
 
 At her exceeding grace. 
 
 Cast ofi" from thee those robes, she said, 
 That riche and costlye bee : 150 
 
 And drinke thou up this deadlye draught, 
 Which I have brought to thee. 
 
 Then presentlye upon her knees 
 Sweet Rosamonde did falle ; 
 
 And pardon of the queene she craved 
 For her ofiences all. 
 
 155 
 
 " Take pitty on my youthful! yeares, 
 Faire Rosamonde did crye ; 
 
 And lett mee not with poison stronge 
 Enforced bee to dye. 
 
 I will renounce my sinful! life. 
 And in some cloyster bide ; 
 
 Or else be banisht, if you please. 
 To range the world soe wide. 
 
 160 
 
224 
 
 QUEEN ELEANOR'S CONFESSION. 
 
 And for the fault which I have done, 165 
 
 Though I was forced theretoe, 
 Preserve my life, and punish mee 
 
 As you thinke meet to doe." 
 
 And with these words, her lillie handes 
 She wrunge full often there ; 170 
 
 And downe along her lovely face 
 Did trickle many a teare. 
 
 But nothing could this furious queene 
 
 Therewith appeased bee ; 
 The cup of deadlye poyson stronge, 175 
 
 As she knelt on her knee, 
 
 Shee gave this comelye dame to drinke ; 
 AVho tooke it in her hand. 
 
 And from her bended knee arose. 
 
 And on her feet did stand : 180 
 
 And casting up her eyes to heaven, 
 
 Shee did for mercye calle ; 
 And drinking up the poison stronge, 
 
 Her life she lost withalle. 
 
 And when that death through everye limbe 
 Had showde its greatest spite, 186 
 
 Her chiefest foes did plaine confesse 
 Shee was a glorious wight. 
 
 Her body then they did entomb, 
 
 When life was fled away. 
 At Godstowe, neare to Oxford towne, 
 
 As may be scene this day. 
 
 190 
 
 VIII. 
 
 (^um ^lmmf$ €mfmm. 
 
 ** 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 that 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, Avhich 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 ; 
 whatever 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 wom^n, 
 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, 5 
 
 By one, by two, by three ; 
 "Earl marshal]. He go shrive the queene, 
 
 And thou shalt wend with mee." 
 
QUEEN ELEANOR'S CONFESSION. 
 
 225 
 
 A boone, a boone ; quoth earl marshMl, 
 
 
 The next vile thing that ever I did, 
 
 45 
 
 And fell on his bended knee ; 
 
 10 
 
 To you He not denye. 
 
 
 That whatsoever Queene Elianor saye, 
 
 
 I made a boxe of poyson strong, 
 
 
 No harme therof may bee. 
 
 
 To poison King Henrye. 
 
 
 He pawne my landes, the king then cryd 
 
 
 Thats a vile sinne, then sayd the king, 
 
 
 My sceptre, crowne, and all, 
 
 
 May God forgive it thee ! 
 
 50 
 
 That whatsoere Queen Elianor sayes, 
 
 15 
 
 Amen, amen, quoth earl marshall ; 
 
 
 No harme thereof shall fall. 
 
 
 And I wish it so may bee. 
 The next vile thing that ever I did, 
 
 
 Do thou put on a fryars coat, 
 
 
 To you I will discover ; 
 I poysoned fair Rosamonde, 
 All in fair Woodstocke bower. 
 
 
 And He put on another ; 
 And we will to Queen Elianor goe 
 
 
 55 
 
 Like fryar and his brother. 
 
 20 
 
 Thats a vile sinne, then sayd the king ; 
 
 
 Thus both attired then they goe : 
 
 
 May God forgive it thee ! 
 
 
 When they came to Whitehall, 
 
 
 Amen, amen, quoth earl marshall ; 
 
 
 The bells did ring, and the quiristers sing, 
 
 And I wish it so may bee. 
 
 60 
 
 And the torches did lighte them all. 
 
 
 
 
 
 Do you see yonders little boye. 
 
 
 When that they came before the queene, 
 
 25 
 
 A tossing of the balle ? 
 
 
 They fell on their bended knee ; 
 
 
 That is earl marshalls eldest sonne, 
 
 
 A boone, a boone, our gracious queene. 
 
 
 And I love him the best of all. 
 
 
 That you sent so hastilee. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Do you see yonders little boye, 
 
 65 
 
 Are you two fryars of France, she sayd. 
 
 
 A catching of the balle ? 
 
 
 As I suppose you bee ? 
 
 30 
 
 That is king Henryes youngest sonne, 
 
 
 But if you are two Englishe fryars. 
 
 
 And I love him the worst of all. 
 
 
 You shall hang on the gallowes tree. 
 
 
 His head is fashyon'd like a bull ; 
 
 
 We are two fryars of France, they sayd, 
 
 
 His nose is like a boare. 
 
 70 
 
 As you suppose we bee. 
 
 
 No matter for that, king Henrye cryd. 
 
 
 We have not been at any masse 
 
 35 
 
 I love him the better therfore. 
 
 
 Sith we came from the sea. 
 
 
 The king pulled off his fryars coate. 
 And appeared all in redde : 
 
 
 The first vile thing that ever I did, 
 
 
 1 
 She shrieked, and cryd, and wrung her hands, | 
 
 I will to you unfolde ; 
 
 
 And sayd she was betrayde. 
 
 76 
 
 Earl marshall had my maidenhead, 
 
 
 
 Beneath this cloth of golde. 
 
 40 
 
 The king lookt over his left shoulder, 
 And a grimme look looked hee. 
 
 
 That's a vile sinne, then sayd the king; 
 
 
 Earl marshall, he sayd, but for my oathe 
 
 
 May God forgive it thee ! 
 
 
 Or hanged thou shouldst bee. 
 
 80 
 
 Amen, amen, quoth earl marshall ; 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Ver. 63, 67. She mpans that the eldest of these tw( 
 
 )was 
 
 With a heavye heart spake hee. 
 
 
 by the Earl MarshaU, the youngest by the king. 
 
 
226 
 
 THE BEGGAR'S DAUGHTER OF BEDNALL-GREEN. 
 
 TX. 
 
 %\t StttrJrg i0tL 
 
 This poem, subscribed M. T. [perhaps in- 
 vertedly for T. Marshall*], is preserved in 
 "The Paradise of daintie Devises/' quoted 
 above in page 218. The two first stanzas 
 may be found accompanied 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 j^Etna'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 Togo 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. 
 
 Mr. Weelkes seems to have been of opinion 
 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 strengths 
 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, 5 
 
 The Steele obeyeth 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 deepest brooke, 
 
 Is soon deceived by subtill hooke. 
 
 10 
 
 15 
 
 Yea man himselfe, unto whose will 
 All things are bounden to obey, 
 
 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 : 20 
 Though spiteful death mans body kill, 
 
 Yet hurts he not his vertuous name : 
 By life or death what so betides, 
 The state of vertue never slides. 
 
 -<♦>- 
 
 ^. 
 
 %\t i^gpt's §m^\Ux fit "^thmll-^xm. 
 
 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," 
 
 * Vid. Athen. Ox. p. 152, 316. 
 
 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 
 
THE BEGGAR'S DAUGHTER OF BEDNALL-GREEN. 
 
 227 
 
 his reverend lockes 
 
 In comelye curies 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 amodern 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. 
 
 / Itt was a blind beggar, had long lost his 
 
 / sight. 
 
 He had a faire daughter of bewty 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, 5 
 Yett seeing shee was but a poor beggars 
 
 heyre, 
 Of ancyent housekeepers despised was shee, 
 "Whose sonnes came as suitors to prettye 
 
 Bessee. 
 
 Wherefore in great sorrow faire Bessy did 
 
 say. 
 Good father, and mother, let me goe away, 10 
 To seeke out my fortune, whatever itt bee. 
 This suite then they granted to prettye 
 
 Bessee. 
 
 Then Bessy, that was of bewtye soe bright. 
 All cladd in gray russett, and late in the 
 night, 14 
 
 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. 20 
 
 Shee kept on her journey untill it was day. 
 And went unto Rumford along the hye way ; 
 Where at the Queenes armes entertained was 
 
 shee : 
 Soe faire and wel favoured was pretty Bessee. 
 
 Shee had not been there a month to an end, 25 
 But master and mistres 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 ; 30 
 
 Her beawtye 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 herself curteous, and modestlye 
 
 coye ; ^' 35 
 
 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 favor, but still she sayd noe ; 
 I wold not wish gentles to marry with mee. 
 Yett ever they honored prettye Bessee. 40 
 
 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, 45 
 
 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 hart's so inthralled by thy bewtle, 51 
 That soone I shall dye for prettye Bessee. 
 
228 
 
 THE BEGGAR'S DAUGHTER OF BE DN ALL-GREEN. 
 
 The gentleman sayd, Come, marry with mee, 
 As fine as a ladye my Bessy shal hee : 
 My life is distressed: heare me, quoth 
 hee ; 55 
 
 And grant me thy love, my prettye Bessee. 
 
 Let me bee thy husband, the merchant cold 
 
 say. 
 Thou shalt live in London both gallant and 
 
 gay; 
 My shippes shall bring home rych jev^ells for 
 
 thee, 
 And I will for ever love pretty Bessee. 60 
 
 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 enjoye your prettye Bessee. 
 
 To every one this answer shee made, 65 
 
 Wherefore unto her they joyfiillye sayd, 
 This thing to fulfill wee all doe agree ; 
 But where dwells thy father, my prettye 
 
 <r 
 
 My father, shee said, is soone to be seene : 
 The seely blind beggar of Bednall-greene, 
 That daylye sits begging for charitie, 71 
 
 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 olde man, God knoweth, is hee, 75 
 Yett hee is the father of pretty Bessee. 
 
 Nay then, quoth the merchant, thou art not 
 
 for mee : 
 Nor, quoth the innholder, my wiffe thou shalt 
 
 bee: 
 I lothe, sayd the gentle, a beggars degree. 
 And therefore, adewe, my pretty Bessee ! 80 
 
 Why then, quoth the knight, hap better or 
 
 worse, 
 I wai^he not true love by the waight of the 
 
 pursse. 
 And bewtye is bewtye in every degree ; 
 Then welcome unto me, my pretty Bessee. 
 
 With thee to thy father forthwith I will goe. 
 
 Nay soft, quoth his kinsmen, it must not be 
 
 soe : 86 
 
 A poor beggars daughter noe ladye shall bee, 
 Then take thy adew of pretty Bessee. 
 
 But soone after this, by breake of the day 
 The knight had from Rumford stole Bessy 
 
 away. 90 
 
 The younge men 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- 
 
 But rescew 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, 101 
 
 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. 104 
 
 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. 110 ^ 
 
 With that they replyed. Contented bee wee. ^^^ 
 Then here's, quoth the beggar, for pretty 
 
 Bessee. 
 
 With that an angell he cast on the ground. 
 And dropped in angells full three thousand* 
 
 pound ; 114 
 
 And oftentimes itt was proved most plaine, _^ 
 For the gentlemens one the beggar droppt 
 
 twayne : 
 
 * In the Editor's folio MS. it is 500Z. 
 
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, 125 
 
 Admired the beggar of Bednall-greene : 
 And all those, that were her suitors before, 
 / 7 l^heir fleshe for very anger they tore. 
 
 Thus was fair Besse matched to the knight. 
 And then made a ladye in others despite: 
 A fairer ladye there never was seene, 131 
 Than the blind beggars daughter of Bednall- 
 greene. 
 
 But of their sumptuous marriage and feast. 
 What brave lords and knights thither were 
 prest, 134 
 
 The second fitt* shall set forth to your sight 
 With marvellous 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, 5 
 
 Adorned with all the cost they cold have. 
 This wedding was kept most sumptuouslie. 
 And all for the creditt of pretty Bessee. 
 
 All kind of dainties, and delicates sweete 
 
 Were bought for the banquet, as it was most 
 
 meete ; 10 
 
 (^ /^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 nobles 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 troopes of ladyes, the like nere was 
 
 seene 
 As went with sweete Bessy of Bednall-greene. 
 
 This marryage being solempnized then, 21 
 With musicke performed by the skilfullest 
 
 men, 
 The nobles and gentles sate downe at that 
 
 tyde. 
 Each one admiring the beautiful! bryde. 
 
 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 mar veil have 
 
 wee, 
 This jolly blind beggar wee cannot here see." 
 My lords, quoth the bride, my father's so 
 
 base, 31 
 
 He is loth with his presence these states to 
 
 disgrace. 
 
 "The prayse of a woman in questyon to 
 
 bringe 
 Before her own face, were a flattering thinge; 
 But wee thinke thy father's baseness, quoth 
 
 they, 35 
 
 Might by thy bewtye be cleane put awaye." 
 
 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 dainty e lute under his arme, 41 
 He touched the strings, which made such a 
 charme, 
 
230 
 
 THE BEGGAR'S DAUGHTER OF BEDNALL-GREEN. 
 
 Sales, Please you to heare any musicke of 
 
 mee, 
 lie sing you a song of pretty Bessee. 44 
 
 With that his lute he twanged straigtway, 
 And thereon begann most sweetlye to play ; 
 And after that lessons were playd two or 
 
 three, 
 He straynM out this song most delicatelie. 
 
 " 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 marriage he gave thousands 
 three,* 55 
 
 And still he hath somewhat for pretty Bessee. 
 
 " And if any one here her birth doe disdaine. 
 Her father is ready, with might and with 
 
 maine, 
 To proove shee is come of noble degree : 
 Therfore never flout att prettye Bessee." 60 
 
 With that the lords and the company e round 
 With harty 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, 
 pardon my father, grave nobles, quoth 
 
 shee. 
 That throughe blind affection thus doteth on 
 
 If this be thy father, the nobles did say. 
 Well may he be proud of this happy day ; 70 
 Yett by his countenance well may wee see. 
 His birth and his fortune did never agree ; 
 
 And therefore, blind man, we pray thee be- 
 wray, 
 
 (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 
 
 * 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 winn good report, 79 
 Then doe not give me 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 enemy es flee. 
 
 " At length in the battle on Eveshame plai-ne 
 The barons were routed, and Montfort was 
 slaine ; 90 
 
 Moste fatall that battel did prove unto thee, 
 Thoughe thou wast not borne then, my pret- 
 tye 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 seerette she nurst him, and swaged his--( 
 paine, 105 
 
 While he throughe the realme was beleevd 
 to be slaine : 
 
 At length his faire bride she consented to bee, 
 
 And made him glad father of prettye Bessee. 
 
 " And no we lest oure foes our lives sholde 
 
 betraye. 
 We clothed ourselves in beggars arraye ; 110 
 
THE BEGGAR'S DAUGHTER OF BEDNALL-GREEN. 
 
 231 
 
 Her jewelles shee solde, and hither came wee: 
 All our comfort and care was our prettye 
 Bessee.] 
 
 "And here have wee lived in fortunes despite, 
 Thoughe poore, yet contented with humble 
 
 delighte : 
 Full forty 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 
 
 belong : 
 And thus have you learned a secrette from 
 
 mee, 
 That ne'er had beene knovme, but for prettye 
 
 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 pretty 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 
 younge knighte, 130 
 
 In joy and felicitie long lived hee, 
 
 All with his faire ladye, the pretty Bessee. 
 
 fit The word Jit 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 cu- 
 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 taverne 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 shal 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 scejie 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 plenty^, 
 And lords and ladyes still wil bee. 
 
 And sitt and solace lythe ;t 
 Then itt is time for mee to speake 
 Of keene knightes, and kemp^s great. 
 Such carping for to kythe." 
 
 * He was one of Queen Elizabetli's gent, pensioners, at a 
 time when the whole band consisted of men of distinguished 
 birth and fortune. Yid. Ath. Ox. 
 
 t Perhaps " blythe." 
 
232 
 
 THE BEGGAK'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 harp- 
 ers were even then, when their art was on 
 the decline, upon a far more reputable foot- 
 ing than the ballad-singers of our time. The 
 reciting of one such ballad as this of the 
 Beggar of Bednall-green, in two parts, was 
 rewarded with half a crown of our money. 
 And that they made a very respectable ap- 
 pearance, we may learn from the dress of the 
 old beggar, in the preceding ballad, p. 229, 
 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 re- 
 ward, ver. 80, are peculiarly characteristic 
 of that profession. — Most of the old ballads 
 begin in a pompous manner, in order to cap- 
 tivate the attention of the audience, and in- 
 duce them to purchase a recital of the song : 
 and they seldom conclude the first part with- 
 out large promises of still greater entertain- 
 ment in the second. This was a necessary 
 piece of art to incline the hearers to be at the 
 expense 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 pause, or 
 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 inter- 
 mission. (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 
 of Sir Thopas (writ in ridicule of the old 
 ballad romances) : 
 
 " Lo ! lordis 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, Daj-e pipbom tha thaj* 
 piece apun^en hsejrbe p. 65, i.e. "When 
 wisdom had sung these [fitts] verses." And 
 in the Proem to the same book Fon on jr 1 1 1 e , 
 " Put into [fitt] verse." So in Cedmon, p. 
 45, Feonb on jricce, seems to mean 
 " composed a song," or " poem." The reader 
 will trace this old Saxon phrase, in the appli- 
 cation 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. RaleigJi.'] 
 
 Provoked me to play some pleasant fit. m 
 
 And when he heard the music which I 
 
 made 
 He found himselfe full greatlye 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 divi- 
 sion 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, " Thejirst ijii of Anselme with Kynge 
 
 Wyllyam Rufas." fol. 50, " An other fytt 
 
 of Anselme with Kynge Wyllyam Evfas.'' 
 
FANCY AND DESIRE. 
 
 233 
 
 XI. 
 
 iMt% u)i ^tnxt 
 
 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 re- 
 putation that few of his compositions are pre- 
 served for the inspection of impartial pos- 
 terity. To gratify curiosity, we have inserted 
 a sonnet of his, which is quoted with great 
 encomiums for its "excellencie and wit,'' in 
 Puttenham's "Arte of Eng. Poesie ;"* and 
 found entire in the " Garland of Good-will." 
 A few more of his sonnets (distinguished by 
 the initial letters E. 0.) may be seen in the 
 "Paradise of Daintie Devises." One of these 
 is entitled, " The Complaint of a Lover, wear- 
 ing blacke and tawnie." The only lines in it 
 worth notice are these, 
 
 A crowne of baies 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 Arragon died, Jan. 8, 
 1536, *' Queen Anne [Bullen] ware yellowe 
 for the mourning." And when this unfortu- 
 nate 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 honours in 1562, and 
 died an aged man in 1604. See Mr. Wal- 
 pole'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." 
 
 * LoTid. 1589. 
 
 When wert thou borne, Desire? 5 
 
 "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." 10 
 
 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 ? 15 
 
 " In hope devoyde of feares." 
 
 What lulld thee then asleepe? 
 
 " Sweete speech, which likes me best." 
 Tell me, where is thy dwelling place ? 
 
 " In gentle hartes I rest." 20 
 
 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? 25 
 
 "Yes, surelye, many one." 
 Where doth Desire delighte to live ? 
 
 " He loves to live alone." 
 
 Doth either tyme or age 
 
 Bringe him unto decaye? 30 
 
 " No, no. Desire both lives and dyes 
 
 Ten thousand times a daye." 
 
 Then, fond Desire, farewelle. 
 
 Thou art no mate for mee ; 
 I sholde be lothe, methinkes, to dwelle 35 
 
 With such a one as thee. 
 
234 
 
 SIR ANDREW BARTON. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Sir Jitite^to 
 
 Mm. 
 
 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 ele- 
 gant 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 let- 
 ters of marque for his two sons to make re- 
 prisals upon the subjects of Portugal. It is 
 extremely probable, that the court of Scot- 
 land granted these letters with no very ho- 
 nest 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 of&cers of his time. By 
 his depredations, he had amassed great wealth, 
 and his ships were very richly laden. Henry, 
 notwithstanding his situation, could not re- 
 fuse 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 Thomasf and Sir Ed- 
 
 * Thomas Howard, afterwards created Duke of Nor- 
 folk. 
 
 t 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. 
 
 ward 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 ob- 
 stinate 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 founda- 
 tion of Sir Edward's fortune ; for, on the 7th 
 of April, 1512, the king constituted him (ac- 
 cording 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 dis- 
 missed 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 mea- 
 sure the cause of the battle of Flodden, in 
 which James IV. lost his life. 
 
 In the following ballad will be found per- 
 haps 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 pro- 
 perly 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. 
 
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 re- 
 spects 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 gaye. 
 
 And Neptune with his daintye showers 
 Came to present the monthe of Maye ;"* 
 
 King Henrye rode to take the ayre, 5 
 
 ' Over the river of Thames past hee ; 
 
 When eighty merchants of London came, 
 And downe they knelt upon their knee. 
 
 " yee are welcome, rich merchants ; 
 
 Good saylors, welcome unto mee." 10 
 
 They swore by the rood, they were saylors 
 good, 
 
 But rich merchants 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, 15 
 
 Who robbs us of our merchant ware." 
 
 King Henrye frovmd, 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." 20 
 
 The merchants sighed, and said, alas ! 
 
 And thus they did their answer frame, 
 He is a proud Scott, that robbs on the seas, 
 
 And Sir Andrewe Barton is his name. 
 
 r* 
 
 The king lookt over his left shoulder, 25 
 
 And an angrye look then looked hee : 
 " Have I never a lorde in my realme. 
 
 Will feitch yond traytor unto mee V 
 Yea, that dare I ; Lord Howard sayes ; 
 
 Yea, that dare I with heart and hand ; 30 
 If it please your grace to give me leave, 
 
 Myselfe wil be the only man. 
 
 V. 15, 83, robber, MS. V. 29, Lord Charles Howard, MS. 
 * From the pr. copy. 
 
 Thou art but yong ; the kyng replyed : 
 
 Yond Scott hath numbred manye a yeare. 
 " Trust me, my liege, He make him quail, 35 
 
 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. 40 
 
 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, sais hee, I must to the sea, 45 
 
 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, 50 
 Then hang me up on your maine-mast tree. 
 
 If I misse my marke one shilling bread.* 
 My lord then chose a boweman rare, 
 
 " Whose active hands had gained fame.^f 
 In Yorkshire was this gentleman borne, 55 
 
 And William Horseley was his name.J 
 
 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. 60 
 If you, quoth hee, have chosen mee . 
 
 Of a hundred bowemen to be the head ; 
 On your main-m^st He hanged bee, 
 
 If I miss twelvescore one penny bread. 
 
 With pikes and gunnes, and bowemen bold, 
 
 This noble Howard is gone to the sea ; 66 
 With a valyant heart and a pleasant cheare, 
 
 Out at Thames mouth sayled he. 
 And days he scant had sayled three. 
 
 Upon the * voyage,^ he tooke in hand, 70 
 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 : 75 
 And whither bound, and whence thou came. 
 
 Ver. 70, Journey, MS. 
 
 * An old English word for breadth. f Pr. copy. 
 
 X Mr. Lambe, 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. 6. 
 
236 
 
 SIR ANDREW BARTON. 
 
 Mj name is Henry Hunt, quoth hee, 
 
 With a heavye heart, and a careful! mind ; 
 
 I and my shipp doe both belong 79 
 
 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 ! 85 
 
 With a grieved mind, and well away ! 
 But over-well I knowe that wight, 
 
 I was his prisoner yesterday. 
 
 As I was sayling uppon the sea, 
 
 A Burdeaux voyage for to fare ; 90 
 
 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, 95 
 
 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 bo doubled shillings three. 100 
 Nowe Gode forefend, the merchant said, 
 
 That you shold seek soe far amisse ! 
 God keepe you out of that traitors hands ! 
 
 Full litle ye wott what a man hee is. 
 
 ^Hee is brasse within, and Steele without, 105 
 / With beames on his topcastle 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 ; 110 
 His pinnace beareth ninescore men, 
 And fifteen canons on each side. 
 
 Were ye twentye shippes, and he but one ; 
 
 I sweare by kirke, and bower, and hall ; 
 He wold overcome them everye one, 115 
 
 If once his beames they doe downe fall.* 
 
 Y. 91, The MS. has here Arch-borde, but in Part II. t. 
 5, Hachebord. 
 
 * It should seem from hence, that before our marine 
 artillery -was brought to its present perfection, some naval 
 commanders had recour.se 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 welloome a stranger thus to the sea: 
 
 Yet He bring him and his shipp to shore, 
 Or to Scottiand hee shall carrye mee. 120 
 
 Then a noble gunner you must have, 
 
 And he must aim well with his ee. 
 And sinke his pinnace into the sea, 
 
 Or else hee never orecome will bee : 
 And if you chance his shipp to borde, 125 
 
 This counsel I must give withall. 
 Let no man to his topcastle goe 
 
 To strive to let his beams downe fall. 
 
 And seven pieces of ordinance, 
 
 I pray your honour lend to mee, 130 
 
 On each side of my shipp along. 
 
 And I will lead you on the sea. 
 A glasse He sett, that may be scene, 
 
 Whether you sayle by day or night; 
 And to-morrowe, I sweare, by nine of the 
 clocke, 135 
 
 You shall meet with Sir Andrews Barton 
 knight. 
 
 THE SECOND PART. 
 
 The merchant sett my lorde a glasse 
 
 Soe well apparent in his sight, 
 And on the morrowe, by nine of the clocke, 
 
 He shewed him Sir Andrewe Barton 
 knight. 
 His hachebord it was 'gilt' with gold, 5 
 
 Soe deerlye dight it dazzled the ee: 
 Nowe by my faith, Lord Howarde sais, 
 
 This is a gallant sight to see. 
 
 Take in your ancyents, standards eke, 
 
 So close that no man may them see ; 10 
 And put me 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 soe litle curtesye ? 16 
 
 Ver. 5, < bached with gold,' MS. 
 
 holes through the bottoms of their undecked Triremes, or 
 otherwise damaging them. These are mentioned by Thu- 
 cydides, lib. 7, p. 256, Ed. 1564, folio, and are more fully 
 explained in Scheffer de Militia Navali, lib. 2, cap. 5, p. 136, 
 Ed. 1653, 4to. 
 
 N. B. It everywhere in the MS. seems to be written 
 Beanes. 
 
 * i. e. did not salute. 
 
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 leave can passe this way. 20 
 Then called he forth his stout pinnace ; 
 
 " Fetch backe yond pedlars nowe to mee : 
 I sweare by the masse, yon English churles 
 
 Shall all hang att my maine-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 true, thou said ; 30 
 For at my maine-mast thou shall hf.ng. 
 
 If thou misse thy marke one shilling bread. 
 
 Simon was old, but his heart itt was bold, 
 His ordinance he laid right lowe ; 
 
 He put in chaine full nine yardes long, 35 
 With other great shott lesse, and moe ; 
 
 And he lette goe his great gunnes shott: 
 Soe well he settled itt with his ee, 
 
 The first sight that Sir Andrew sawe, 
 ,^''He see his pinnace sunke in the sea. 40 
 
 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 ancyents, strike up 
 drummes, 
 
 Sound all your trumpetts out amaine.'' 
 
 Fight on, my men, Sir Andrewe sais, 
 
 Weale howsoever 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 scare ; 
 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, 
 Soone 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 chaia shot. 
 
 Come hither to me, thou Gordon good, 65 
 
 That aye wast readye 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 at the maine-mast hang. 
 
 If thou misse twelvescore one penny bread.'' 
 
 Then Gordon swarved the maine-mast tree. 
 
 He swarved it with might and maine ; 
 But Horseley with a bearing arrowe, 75 
 
 Stroke the Gordon through the braine ; 
 And he fell unto the haches again, 
 
 And sore his deadlye wounde did bleede : 
 Then word went through Sir Andrews men. 
 
 How that the Gordon hee was dead. 80 
 
 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. 
 
 He swarved it with nimble art ; 86 
 
 But Horseley with a broad arrowe 
 
 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 begone 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 ! 
 
 Against the Portingalls hee it ware ; 100 
 And when he had on this armour of proofe. 
 
 He 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 shaft that itt goe right. 
 Shoot a good shoote in time of need, 
 
 And for it thou shalt be made a knight. 
 He shoot my best, quoth Horseley then, 
 
 Your honour shall see, with might and 
 maine ; 110 
 
 But if I were hanged at your maine-mast, 
 
 I have now left but arrowes twaine. 
 
 Ver. 67, 84, pounds, MS. V. 75, bearings, sc. that carries 
 well, &c. But see Gloss. 
 
238 
 
 SIR ANDREW BARTON. 
 
 Sir Andrew he did swarve the tree, 
 
 With right good will he swarved then : 
 Upon his breast did Horsley hitt, 115 
 
 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 arms 
 
 He smote Sir Andrew to the heart. 120 
 
 " Fight on, my men. Sir Andrew sayes, 
 
 A little Ime hurt, but yett not slaine ; 
 He but lye downe and bleede a while, 
 
 And then lie rise and fight againe. 
 Fight on, my men, Sir Andrew sayes, 125 
 
 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. Aboard, my lord, 131 
 
 For well I wott Sir Andrew's dead. 
 They boarded then his noble shipp. 
 
 They boarded it with might and maine ; 
 Eighteen score Scots alive they found, 135 
 
 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." 140 
 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, 146 
 With mickle joy and triumphing 
 
 Into Thames mouth he came againe. 
 Lord Howard then a letter wrote. 
 
 And sealed it with seale and ring ; 150 
 " 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 : 154 
 
 Nowe hath your grace two shipps'^of warr, 
 Before in England was but one." 
 
 King Henryes grace with royall cheere 
 Welcomed the noble Howard home, ' 
 
 And where, said he, is this rover stout, 
 That I myselfe may give the doome ? 160 
 
 "The rover, he is safe, my leige, / 
 
 Full many a fadom 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 165 
 
 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 thee tane, 170 
 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 Erie Surrye hight, 175 
 
 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. 180 
 Then in came the queene with ladyes fair 
 
 To see Sir Andrewe Barton knight ; 
 They weend that hee were brought on shore. 
 
 And thought to have seen a gallant sight. 
 
 But when they see his deadlye face, 185 
 
 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 manfuU part hee playd. 
 Which fought soe well with heart and 
 hand, 190 
 
 His men shall have twelvepence a day, 
 Till they come to my brother kings high 
 land. *«* 
 
 Ver. 175, 6 . . . Erie of Nottingham, And soe was never 
 &c., MS. 
 
XIII. 
 
 f aij ^mt IfltpII's $mml 
 
 A SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 The subject of this pathetic ballad the 
 Editor once thought might possibly 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 ground- 
 less ; indeed Earl Bothwell's age, who was 
 upwards of sixty at the time of that mar- 
 riage, 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 Bos- 
 well, 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 Mis- 
 cellany. 
 
 /- Balow, my babe, lye still and sleipe ! 
 i It grieves me sair to see thee weipe : 
 If thoust be silent, Ise be glad. 
 Thy maining maks my heart ful sad. 
 Balow, my boy, thy mothers joy, 5 
 
 Thy father breides me great annoy. 
 Balow, my babe, ly stil and sleipe. 
 It grieves me sair to see thee weepe. 
 
 ,r^han he began to court my luve, 
 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. 
 
 10 
 
 15 
 
 * 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 cozen maids : nay God forbid ! 
 Bot yett I feire, thou wilt gae neire 
 Thy fatheris hart, and face to beire. 
 Balow, &c. 
 
 I cannae chuse, but ever will 
 Be luving to thy father still : 
 Whair-eir he gae, whair-eir he ryde, 
 My luve with him doth still abyde : 
 In weil or wae, whair-eir he gae. 
 Mine hart can neire depart him frae. 
 Balow, &c. 
 
 20 
 
 25 
 
 30 
 
 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. 35 
 Balow, &c. 
 
 Bairne, sin thy cruel father is gane. 
 Thy winsome smiles maun else my paine ; 
 My babe and I'll together live, 
 He'll comfort me when cares doe grieve : 
 My babe and I right saft will ly, 41 
 
 And quite forgeit man's cruelty. 
 
 Balow, &c. 
 
 Farewell, farewell, thou falsest youth, 
 That evir kist a womans mouth ! 45 
 
 I wish all maides be warnd by mee 
 Nevir to trust mans curtesy ; 
 For if we doe bot chance to bow, 
 They'le use us then they care not how. 
 Balow, my babe, ly stil, and sleipe, 50 
 It grives me sair to see thee weipe. 
 
 31 
 
240 
 
 THE MURDER OF THE KING OF SCOTS,, 
 
 XIV. 
 
 ^t 3mht 0f % png 0f S0ti 
 
 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 natu- 
 rally 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 dis- 
 solute morals. But the beauty of his person, 
 and the inexperience of his youth, would dis- 
 pose mankind to treat him with an indul- 
 gence, 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 vir- 
 tues he ought to have possessed. This will 
 account for the extravagant eulogium be- 
 stowed 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 Riccio, but in order to pave 
 the way for his own marriage with the queen. 
 
 This ballad (printed, with a few correc- 
 tions, from the Editor's folio MS.) seems to 
 have been vrritten 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 Scotl^nde ! 
 
 For thou hast ever wrought by sleight ; 
 The worthy est prince that ever was borne, 
 
 You hanged under a cloud by night. 
 
 The Queene of France a letter wrote, 5 
 
 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 : 10 
 
 But you have heard, and soe have I too, 
 
 A man may well buy gold too deare..^- 
 
 There was an Italyan inJ^hat place, 
 Was as well beloved as ever was hee, 
 
 Lord David was his name, 15 
 
 Chamberlaine to the queene was hee. 
 
 If the king had risen forth of his place, 
 He wold have sate him downe in the cheare, 
 
 And tho itt beseemed him not so well, 
 Altho the kinge had beene present there. 
 
 Some lords in Scotlande waxed wrothe, 21 
 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, 25 
 
 For him her faire cheeks shee did weete, 
 And made a vowe for a yeare and a day 
 The king and shee wold not come in one^ 
 sheete. 
 
 Then some of the lords they waxed wrothe, 
 And made their vow all vehementlye ; 30 
 
 For the death of the queenes chamberlaine, 
 The king himselfe, how he shall dye. 
 
 With gun-powder they strewed his roome, 
 And layd greene rushes in his way : 
 
 For the traitors thought that very night 35 
 This worthye king for to betray. 
 
 To bedd tho 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 biasing fire. 40 
 
 Up he lope, and the window brake, 
 And hee had thirtye foote to fall ; 
 
 Lord Bodwell kept a privy watch, 
 Underneath his castle wall. 
 
 Ver.l5,sic. MS. 
 
A SONNET BY QUEEN ELIZABETH. 
 
 241 
 
 Who have wee here ? Lord Bodwell sayd : 
 Now answer me, that I may know. 46 
 
 " King Henrj 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. 50 
 
 '* Ah, Lord Bodwell, I know thee well ; 
 Some pitty on me I pray thee take." 
 
 He pitty thee as much he sayd. 
 
 And as much favor show to thee, 54 
 
 As thou didst to the queenes ehamberlaine, 
 
 That day thou deemedst 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 peare-tree hanged him hye. 60 
 
 When the governor of Scotland heard m, 
 How that the worthye king was slaine ; 
 
 He persued the queen so bitterlye, 
 
 That in Scotland shee dare not remaine. 
 
 But shee is fledd into merry England, 65 
 And here her residence hath taine ; 
 
 And through the Queene of Englands grace, 
 In England now shee doth remaine. 
 
 XV. 
 
 |i ^mmt bg (^mm M}M\. 
 
 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 Gorgeous, 
 Lat. Expolitio] as that dittie of her majesties 
 owne making, passing sweete and harmoni- 
 eall ; which figure beyng as his very origi- 
 nall name purporteth the most bewtifull and 
 gorgious of all others, it asketh 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 skarce meete for so great 
 and dangerous a prysoner) bred secret fac- 
 tions among her people, and made many of 
 
 * Pronounced after the northern manner 
 t She was at this time near three-score. 
 
 the nobilitie incline 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 sove- 
 raigne ladie, to declare that she was nothing 
 ignorant of those secret practizes, though she 
 had long with great wisdome and pacience 
 dissembled it, writeth this dittie most sweete 
 and sententious, not hiding from all such 
 aspiring minds the danger of their ambition 
 and disloyaltie : which afterwards fell out 
 most truly by th' exemplary chastisement of 
 sundry persons, who in favour of the said 
 Scot. Qu. declining from her majestic, sought 
 to interrupt the quiet of the realme by many 
 evill and undutifuU 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 edition is improved by some 
 readings adopted from a copy printed in a 
 collection from the papers of Sir John Har- 
 rington, intituled, " Niigse Antiquae," 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 
 
242 
 
 KING OF SCOTS AND ANDREW BROWNE. 
 
 inditing My Lady Willoughby did co- 
 vertly get it on her Majesties tablet, and had 
 much hazzard in so doing ; for the Queen 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 foes 
 
 Exiles my present joy ; 
 And wit me warnes to shun such snares, 
 
 As threaten mine annoy. 
 
 For falshood now doth flow, 5 
 
 And subjects faith doth ebbe : 
 
 Which would not be, if reason ruPd, 
 Or wisdome wove the webbe. 
 
 But clowdes of joyes untried 
 
 Do cloake aspiring mindes ; 10 
 
 Which turn to raine of late repent, 
 
 By course of changed windes. 
 
 The toppe of hope supposed 
 
 The roote of ruthe will be ; 
 And frutelesse all their graffed guiles, 15 
 
 As shortly all shall see. 
 
 Then dazeld eyes with pride, 
 Which great ambition blindes, 
 
 Shal be unseeld by worthy wights, 
 
 Whose foresight falshood finds. 20 
 
 The daughter of debate,* ' 
 
 That discord ay doth sowe, 
 Shal reape no gaine where former rule 
 
 Hath taught stil peace to growe. 
 
 No forreine bannisht wight 25 
 
 Shall ancre in this port ; 
 Our realme it brookes no strangers force, 
 
 Let them elsewhere resort. 
 
 Our rusty sworde with rest 
 
 Shall first his edge employ, 30 
 
 To poll the toppes, that seeke such change, 
 
 Or gape for such like joy. 
 
 tit I cannot help subjoining to the above 
 sonnet another distich of Elizabeth's pre- 
 served by Puttenham (p. 197), " which (says 
 he) our soveraigne lady wrote in defiance of 
 fortune.^' 
 
 Never thinke you, Fortune can beare the 
 
 sway, 
 Where Vertue's force can cause her to obay. 
 
 The slightest effusion of such a mind de- 
 serves attention. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 f ing 0f %m\% i"^ Jlnte^to Sr0tont 
 
 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 
 
 Ver. 1, dread, al. ed. V. 9, toyes, al. ed. 
 
 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 
 
 * She eyidently means here the Queen of Scots. 
 
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 sheriflF's court of London, and 
 afterwards (if we may believe Oldys) a come- 
 dian, was a facetious fuddling companion, 
 whose tippling 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. 
 
 Hie situs est sitiens, atque ebrius Eldertonus, 
 Quid dico hie situs est ? hie 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 Lend. [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 griefe 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 5 
 
 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, 10 
 
 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. 15 
 
 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 ; 20 
 
 Now help, or els the king shall die ! 
 Alas for woe, &c. 
 
 One Browne, that was an English man, 
 And hard the ladies piteous crye, 
 
 Out with his sword, and bestir'd him than, 
 Out of the doores in haste to file ; 26 
 
 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, 30 
 
 Having the posset in his hande : 
 The sight of Browne made him aghast. 
 
 Who bad him stoutly stale and stand. 
 With him were two that ranne awa, 
 For feare that Browne would make a fray. 
 Alas, for woe, &c. 36 
 
 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, 40 
 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 dec know, 45 
 
 Thou art a young 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 traitour for all Christiantie : 50 
 
 Happe well or woe, it shall be so, 
 Drink now with a sorrowfuU, &c. 
 
 The bishop dranke, and by and by /"' 
 His belly burst and he fell downe : 
 
 A just rewarde for his traitery. 55 
 
 This was a posset indeed, quoth Brown ! 
 
 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, 60 
 He humbly, fell uppon 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 : 65 
 
 Alas for woe, &c. 
 
 Alas, he said, unhappie realme. 
 My father, and grandfather slaine : 
 
 Yer. 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. 6, 1571. 
 
244 
 
 THE BONNY EARL OF MURRAY. 
 
 My mother banished, extreame ! 
 
 Unhappy fate, and bitter bayne ! 70 
 
 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 yeere ; 75 
 And trustie Browne too in like case, 
 
 He knighted him with gallant geere : 
 And gave him ' lands and livings great, 
 For dooing such a manly feat, 
 
 As he did showe, to the bishop's woe. 
 Which made, &c. 81 
 
 When all this treason done and past, 
 
 Tooke not effect of traytery ; 
 Another treason at the last, 
 
 They sought against his majestic : 85 
 
 How they might make their kinge away. 
 By a privie banket on a daye. 
 Alas for woe, &c. 
 
 * Another time^ to sell the king 
 Beyonde the seas they had decreede : 90 
 
 Three noble Earles heard of this thin^, 
 
 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, 95 
 
 Would make a sorrowful heigh hoe. 
 
 The Earle Mourton told the Douglas then. 
 Take heede you do not offend the king ; 
 But shew yourselves like honest men 
 
 Obediently in every thing ; 100 
 
 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 ail subjects may be true, 105 
 
 In England, Scotland, everywhere: 
 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, 110 
 
 In wealth or woe, God graunt it be so 
 To avoide the sorrowful heigh ho. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 %\!t §0iing fyxl 0f llttrrEg, 
 
 A SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 In December 1591, Francis Stewart, Earl 
 of Bothwell, had made an attempt to seize on 
 the person of his sovereign James YI., but 
 being disappointed, had retired towards the 
 north. The king unadvisedly gave a commi- 
 sion to George Gordon, Earl of Huntley, to 
 pursue Bothwell and his followers with fire 
 and sword. Huntley, under cover of execut- 
 ing that commission, took occasion to revenge 
 a private quarrel he had against James 
 Stewart, Earl of Murray, a relation of Both- 
 welFs. 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 His- 
 tory. 
 
 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 re- 
 venge his death. If this picture did not flat- 
 ter, 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 spilt a better face than your 
 awin." Upon this, Bucky, pointing his dag- 
 ger 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. 
 
YOUNG WATERS. 
 
 245 
 
 the murderers, is said by some to have pri- 
 vately countenanced and abetted them, being 
 stimulated by jealousy for some indiscreet 
 praises which his queen had too lavishly be- 
 stowed 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 hae ye been ? 
 They hae slain e the Earl of Murray, 
 
 And hae laid him on the green. 
 
 Now wae be to thee, Huntley ! 5 
 
 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 ; 10 
 
 And the bonny Earl of Murray, 
 
 Oh ! he might hae been a king. 
 
 He was a braw gallant, 
 
 And he played at the ba' ; 
 And the bonny Earl of Murray 15 
 
 Was the flower among them a'.- V 
 
 He was a braw gallant, 
 
 And he playd at the gluve ; 
 And the bonny Earl of Murray, 
 
 Oh ! he was the Queenes luve. 20 
 
 Oh ! lang will his lady 
 
 Luke owre the castle downe,* 
 
 Ere she see the Earl of Murray 
 Cum soundino; throw the towne. 
 
 xvni. 
 
 |0ting Watns, 
 
 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 f and which is supposed to have in- 
 fluenced 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 per- 
 son of credit, Sir James Balfour, knight, 
 Lyon King of Arms, whose MS. of the An- 
 nals of Scotland is in the Advocate's Library 
 at Edinburgh. 
 
 "The seventh of Febry, this zeire, 1592, 
 the Earle of Murray was cruelly murthered 
 by the Earle of Huntley at his house in Duni- 
 brissel in 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 Mur- 
 ray, quhum the Queene, more rashly than 
 wisely, some few days before had commendit 
 in the king's hearing, with too many epithets 
 
 of a proper and gallant man. The reasons 
 of these surmises proceedit from a proclama- 
 tione of the Kings, the 13 of Marche follow- 
 ing : inhibiteine the zoung Earle of Murray 
 to persue the Earle of Huntley, for his father's 
 slaughter, in respect he being wardeit [im- 
 prisoned] in the castell of Blacknesse for the 
 same murther, was willing to abide a tryall, 
 averring that he had done nothing but by 
 the King's majesties commissione ; and was 
 neither airt nor part in the murther."f 
 
 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. 
 
 About 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 Mttrray. 
 t This extract is copied from the Critical Review. 
 
246 
 
 MARY AMBREE. 
 
 The queen luikt owre the castle wa, 5 
 
 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, 10 
 
 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 15 
 
 Was fleeter than the wind. 
 
 But than spake a wylie lord, 
 
 Unto the queene said he, 
 tell me qhua^s the fairest face 
 
 Rides in the company. 20 
 
 IVe sene lord, and IVe sene laird. 
 
 And knights of high degree ; 
 Bot a fairer face than zoung Waters 
 
 Mine eyne did never see. 
 
 Out then spack the jealous king, 25 
 
 (And an angry man was he) 
 0, if he had been twice as fair, 
 
 Zou micht have excepted me. 
 
 Zou're neither laird nor lord, she says, 
 Bot the king that wears the crown ; 30 
 
 Ther is not a knight in fair Scotland 
 Bot to thee maun bow down. 
 
 For a' that she could do or say, 
 
 Appeasd he wad nae bee ; 
 Bot for the words which she had said 35 
 
 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. 40 
 
 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 
 
 Aft have I ridden thro' Stirling town 45 
 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, 50 
 
 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 55 
 
 Zoung Waters he did dee. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 M% ^m&ru. 
 
 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- 
 
 caene, 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, 
 
 Mart Ambree, 
 
 (Who marched so free 
 To the siege of Gaunt, 
 And death could not daunt, 
 As the ballad doth vaunt) 
 Were a braver wight, &c. 
 
 She is also mentioned in Fletcher's Scornful 
 Lady, Act 5, subjinem. 
 
 * Heiding hill ; i. e. heading [beheading hill.] The place 
 of execution was anciently an artificial hillock. 
 
MARY AMBREE. 
 
 247 
 
 « — "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 per- 
 formed 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 couragious, 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, 5 
 
 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 ; 10 
 
 A faire shirt of malef then slipped on shee ; 
 
 Was not this a brave bonny lass, Mary Am- 
 bree? 
 
 A helmett of proofe shee strait did provide, 
 
 A stronge arminge sword shee girt by her 
 side. 
 
 On her hand a goodly faire gauntlett put 
 shee ; 15 
 
 Was not this a brave bonny lass, Mary Am- 
 bree? 
 
 * So MS. Serjeant Major, in P, C. 
 
 t A peculiar kind of armour, composed of small rings of 
 iron, and worn under the clothes. It is mentioned by- 
 Spencer, -who speaks of the Irish Gallowglass or Foot- 
 soldier as " armed in a long Shirt of Mayl." (View of the 
 State of Ireland.) 
 32 
 
 Then tooke shee her sworde and her targett 
 in hand ; 
 
 Bidding all such, as wold, bee of her band ; 
 
 To wayte on her person came thousand and 
 three : 
 
 Was not this a brave bonny lass, Mary Am- 
 bree? 20 
 
 My soldiers, she saith, soe valliant and bold, 
 Nowe followe your captaine, whom you doe 
 
 beholde ; 
 Still formost in battell myselfe will I bee : 
 Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Am- 
 bree? 
 
 Then cryed out her souldiers and loude they 
 did say, 25 
 
 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 fife, 31 
 
 With brave clanging trumpetts, that sounded 
 so free ; 
 
 Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Am- 
 bree ? 
 
 Before 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 Am- 
 bree? 36 
 
 Shee ledd upp her souldiers in battaile array, 
 Gainst three times theyr number by breake 
 
 of the daye ; 
 Seven howers in skirmish continued shee : 
 Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Am- 
 bree? 40 
 
 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 Am- 
 bree ? 
 
 And when her false gunner, to spoyle her in- 
 tent, 45 
 Away all her pellets and powder had sent, 
 
248 
 
 MARY AMBREE. 
 
 Straight with her keen weapon shee slasht 
 
 hira in three : 
 "Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Am- 
 
 bree? 
 
 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 : 51 
 
 Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Am- 
 
 bree? 
 
 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. 
 
 Then tooke shee her sword and her targett in 
 hand, 57 
 
 And mounting the walls all undaunted did 
 stand. 
 
 There daring their captaines to match any 
 three : 
 
 what a brave captaine was Mary Ambree ! 
 
 Now saye, English captaine, what woldest 
 thou give 61 
 
 To ransome thy selfe, which else must not 
 live? 
 
 Come yield thy selfe quicklye, 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? 66 
 
 A knight, sir, of England, and captaine soe 
 
 free, 
 Who shortleye with us a prisoner must bee. 
 
 No, captaine of England; behold in your 
 
 sight 
 Two brests in my bosome, and therfore no 
 
 knight : 70 
 
 Noe knight, sirs, of England, nor captaine 
 
 you see. 
 But a poor simple lass called Mary Ambree. 
 
 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, 75 
 
 Full well may they conquer, faire Mary Am- 
 bree. 
 
 The prince of Great Parma heard of her re- 
 
 nowne 
 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. 80 
 
 But this virtuous mayden despised them alM 
 He nere sell my honour for purple nor pall : ^ 
 A mayden of England, sir, never will bee 
 The whore of a monarcke, quoth Mary Am- 
 bree. 
 
 Then to her owne country shee backe did re- 
 turne, 85 
 
 Still holding the foes of faire England in 
 scorne ; 
 
 Therfore English captain.es of every degree 
 
 Sing forth the brave valours of Mary Am- 
 bree. 
 
BRAVE LORD WILLOUGHBEY. 
 
 249 
 
 XX. 
 
 Irate f 0tlj Siill0tig|te2. 
 
 Peregrine 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 oppor- 
 tunity of signalizing his courage and military 
 skill in several actions against the Spaniards. 
 One of these, greatly exaggerated by popular 
 report, is probably the subject of this old bal- 
 lad, which, on account of its flattering en- 
 comiums on English valour, hath always been 
 a favourite with the people. 
 '^ " My Lord Willoughbie (says a contempo- 
 rary 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 plentifull portion of her grace; 
 and it was his saying, and it did him no good, 
 that he was none of the Reptilia ; intimating, 
 that he could not creepe on the ground, and 
 that the court was not his element ; for, in- 
 deed, 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 print- 
 ed from an old black-letter copy, with some 
 conjectural emendations) may possibly re- 
 ceive 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 : 
 
 10 
 
 The most couragious officers 
 Were English captains three ; 
 
 But the bravest man in battel 
 Was brave Lord Willoughb^y. 
 
 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. 16 
 
 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 caliver men, 
 
 Do you prove true to me, 
 rie be the formost man in fight, 
 
 Says brave Lord Willoughb^y. 
 
 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 Willoughbfey. 
 
 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 tow'rds the Spaniard;^ 
 
 A thousand more they slew. 
 
 20 
 
 25 
 
 30 
 
 35 
 
 40 
 
 45 
 
250 
 
 VICTOKIOUS MEN OF EARTH. 
 
 ^he 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 Willoughb^y. 
 
 50 
 
 55 
 
 / 
 
 jThen 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 Willoughb^y 
 
 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 couragiously. 
 
 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. 
 
 60 
 
 65 
 
 70 
 
 This news was brought to England 
 
 With all the speed might be. 
 And soon our gracious queen was told 75 
 
 Of this same victory. 
 this is brave Lord Willoughbey, 
 
 My love that ever won, 
 Of all the lords of honour 
 
 ^Tis he great deeds hath done. 80 
 
 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 Willoughbey. 
 
 Then courage, noble Englishmen, 
 
 And never be dismaid ; 
 If that we be but one to ten, i 
 
 We will not be afraid 
 To fight with foraign enemies. 
 
 And set our nation free. 
 And thus I end the bloody bout 
 
 Of brave Lord Willoughbey. 
 
 85 
 
 90 
 
 95 
 
 XXI. 
 
 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 binde in every shore. 
 And your triumphs reach as far 
 
 As night or day ; 5 
 
 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, 
 
 10 
 
 15 
 
 Shall have the cunning skill to break a heart. 
 
THE WINNING OF CALES. 
 
 251 
 
 XXII. 
 
 %\t Winmitg 0f &M. 
 
 The subject of this ballad is the taking of 
 the city of Cadiz, (called by our sailors cor- 
 ruptly Cales) on June 21, 1596, in a descent 
 made on the coast of Spain, under the com- 
 mand of the Lord Hovrard admiral, and the 
 Earl of Essex general. 
 
 The valour of Essex was not more distin- 
 guished 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 huma- 
 nity, 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 ad- 
 miral 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 
 ducats. See Hume's History. 
 
 The Earl of Essex knighted on this occa- 
 sion 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 sup- 
 ported by history. 
 
 Long the proud Spaniards had vaunted to 
 conquer us, 
 Threatning our country with fyer and 
 sword ; 
 Often preparing their navy most sumptuous 
 With as great plenty as Spain could afford. 
 Dub a dub, dub a dub, thus strike their 
 drums : 5 
 
 Tantara, tantara, the Englishman comes. 
 
 To the seas presentlye went our lord admiral, 
 With knights courageous and captains full 
 good; 
 The brave Earl of Essex, a prosperous gene- 
 ral, 
 With him prepared to pass the salt flood. 
 Dub a dub, &c. 11 
 
 At Plymouth speedilye, took they ship va- 
 liantlye. 
 Braver ships never were seen under sayle, 
 With their fair colours spread, and streamers 
 ore their head, 
 Now bragging Spaniards, take heed of 
 your tayle. 15 
 
 Dub a dub, &c. 
 
 Unto Cales cunninglye, came we most speedi- 
 lye, 
 Where the kinges navy securelye 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 running and ryd- 
 
 ing, 
 
 Which at that season was made in that 
 place ; 
 The beacons were fyred, as need then re- 
 quired ; 
 
 To hyde their great treasure they had little 
 space. 25 
 
 Dub a dub, &c. 
 
 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. 30 
 
 Dub a dub, &c.' 
 
252 
 
 THE SPANISH LADFS LOVE. 
 
 The great St. Phillip, the pryde of the Spa- 
 niards, 
 Was burnt to the bottom, and sunk in the 
 sea; 
 But the St. Andrew, and eke the St. Matthew, 
 We took in fight manfuUye and brought 
 away. 35 
 
 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. 40 
 
 Dub a dub, &c. 
 
 Now, quoth the noble Earl, courage my sol- 
 diers 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. 45 
 
 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 re- 
 nowne. 50 
 
 Dub a dub, &c. 
 
 Entering the houses then, of the most richest 
 men. 
 For gold and treasure we searched eche 
 day; 
 In s6me places w^ did find, pyes baking left 
 behind, 
 Meate at fire resting, and folkes run away. 
 Dub a dub, &c. 56 
 
 Full of rich merchandize, every shop catched 
 our eyes, 
 Damasks and sattens and velvets full fayre ; 
 Which soldiers m^asur'd out by the length 
 of their swords ; 
 Of all commodities eche had a share. 60 
 Dub a dub, &c. 
 
 Thus Gales was taken, and our brave general 
 Marched to the market-place, where he did 
 stand : 
 There many prisoners fell to our several 
 shares, 
 Many crav'd mercy e, and mercye they 
 fannd. 65 
 
 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 
 bedsteds, 69 
 
 Their joint-stools and tables a fire we made ; 
 And when the town burned all in flame, 
 With tara, tantara, away wee all came. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 %\t SpMfe faig's I^te. 
 
 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 teadition 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 Ri- 
 chard Levison, of Trentham, in Stafibrdshire, 
 as the subject of this ballad ; who married 
 Margaret, daughter of Charles Earl of Not- 
 tingham ; and was eminently distinguished 
 as a naval officer and commander in all the 
 
THE SPANISH LADY'S LOVE. 
 
 253 
 
 expeditions against the Spaniards in the lat- 
 ter end of Queen Elizabeth's reign, particu- 
 larly in that to Cadiz in 1596, when he was 
 aged 27. He died in 1605, and has a monu- 
 ment, with his effigy in brass, in Wolverhamp- 
 ton 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 shee wooed an English man ? 
 
 Garments gay as rich as may be 
 Decked with jewels she had on. 4 
 
 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 bands did tye them faster 
 
 By the liking of an eye. 10 
 
 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 j ewels still adorned, 15 
 
 None to do them injury. 
 Then said this lady mild, Full woe is me ; 
 let me still sustain this kind captivity ! 
 
 Gallant captain, shew some pity 
 
 To a ladye in distresse ; 20 
 
 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, 25 
 
 Whom thou knowst thy country's foe ? 
 Thy fair wordes make me suspect thee : 
 
 Serpents lie where flowers grow." 
 All the harm I wishe to thee, most courteous 
 
 knight, 
 God grant the same upon my head may fully 
 light. 30 
 
 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 : 
 
 With our city, you have won our hearts eche 
 one, 35 
 
 Then to your country bear away, that is your 
 owne. 
 
 " Best you still, most gallant lady ; 
 
 Best you still, and weep no more ; 
 Of fair lovers there is plenty, 
 
 Spain doth yield a wonderous store." 40 
 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, 45 
 
 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 ; 50 
 
 English soldiers never carry 
 
 Any such without ofience." 
 I'll quickly change myself, if it be so, 
 And like a page He follow thee, where'er 
 thou go. 
 
 " I have neither gold nor silver 55 
 
 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. ' 60 
 
 " 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, 65 
 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 : 70 
 
 I will not falsify my vow for gold nor gain, 
 
 Nor yet for all the fairest dames that live in 
 Spain." 
 
 Ter. 65, Well ^ -worth, MS. 
 * So the MS.— 10,000?., P. 0. 
 
254 
 
 ARGENTILE AND CURAN. 
 
 how happy is that woman 
 
 That enjoys so true a friend! 
 Many happy days God send her ; 75 
 
 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 ; 80 
 
 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 
 
 I will spend my days in prayer, 85 
 
 Love and all her laws defye ; 
 In a nunnery will I shroud mee 
 
 Far from any companye : 
 But ere my prayers have an end, be sure of 
 
 this, 
 To pray for thee and for thy love I will not 
 miss. 90 
 
 Thus farewell most gallant captain ! 
 
 Farewell to my heart's content ! 
 Count not Spanish ladies wanton, 
 
 Though to thee my love was bent : 94 
 
 Joy and true prosperity goe still with thee ! 
 " The like fall ever to thy share, most fair 
 ladie.'' 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 ^xputih n)s &MU 
 
 — 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- 
 gentile 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 Magdalene-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 
 
 * Athea Oxon. 
 
 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, vnthout 
 any former complaynt or sicknesse, on thurs- 
 day night beeinge the 9th daye of March ; 
 was buried the satturday following, and lyeth 
 in the church at the corner under the stone 
 of Walter Ffader." Signed Tho. Hassall Vi- 
 carius. 
 
 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 Elizabeth, full of lively digres- 
 sions 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 : 
 
 Ver. 86, So the folio MS. Other editions read his laws. 
 * Athen. Oxon 
 
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 re- 
 vised and newly enlarged by the same au- 
 thor/' 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 
 poem. — 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, War- 
 ner's metre is the old-fashioned alexandrine 
 of fourteen syllables. The reader therefore 
 must not expect to find the close of the- stan- 
 izas consulted in the pauses. 
 
 The Bruton's * being' departed hence 
 Seaven kingdoms here begonne, 
 
 Where diversly in divers broyles 
 The Saxons lost and wonne. 
 
 King Edel and King Adelbright 5 
 
 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 ; 
 
 10 
 
 By our by-parted crowne, of which 
 
 The moyetie is mine ; 
 By God, to whom my soule must passe, 15 
 
 And so in time may thine ; 
 33 
 
 I pray thee, nay I cdnjure thee, 
 
 To nourish, as thine owne. 
 Thy niece, my daughter Argentile, 
 
 Till she to age be growne ; 20 
 
 And then, as thou receivest it, 
 
 Resigne to her my throne. 
 
 A promise had for his bequest. 
 
 The testator he dies ; 
 But all that Edel undertooke, 25 
 
 He afterwards denies. 
 
 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 chance 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 arms 
 
 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 tells his birth : her answer was, 
 
 She husbandles would stay. 60 
 
256 AKGENTILE AND CURAN. 
 
 Meane while the king did beate his braines, 
 
 So wasting, love, by worke, and want. 
 
 His booty to atchieve, 
 
 Grew almost to the waine : 
 
 Nor caring what became of her, 
 
 But then began a second love, 105 
 
 So he by her might thrive ; 
 
 The worser of the twaine. 
 
 At last his resolution was 65 
 
 
 Some pessant should her wive. 
 
 A country wench, a neatherds maid, 
 
 
 Where Curan kept his sheepe. 
 
 And (which was working to his wish) 
 
 Did feed her drove : and now on her 
 
 He did observe with joy e 
 
 Was all the shepherds keepe. 110 
 
 How Curan, whom he thought a drudge, 
 Scapt many an amorous toye.* 70 
 
 He borrowed on the working dales 
 His holy russets oft. 
 
 The king, perceiving such his vein, 
 
 And of the bacon's fat, to make 
 
 Promotes his vassal still, 
 
 His startops blacke and soft. 
 
 Lest that the basenesse of the man 
 
 And least his tarbox should offend, 115 
 
 Should lett, perhaps, his will. 
 
 He left it at the folde : 
 
 Assured therefore of his love, 75 
 
 Sweete growte, or wig, his bottle had. 
 As much as it might holde. 
 
 But not suspecting who 
 
 The lover was, the king himselfe 
 
 A sheeve of bread as browne as nut 
 
 In his behalf did woe. 
 
 And cheese as white as snow, 120 
 
 
 And wildings, or the seasons fruit 
 
 The lady resolute from love. 
 
 He did in scrip bestow. 
 
 Unkindly takes that he 80 
 
 
 Should barre the noble, and unto 
 
 And whilst his py-bald curre did sleepe 
 
 So base a match agree : 
 
 And sheep-hooke lay him by. 
 
 
 On hollow quilles of oten straw 125 
 
 And therefore shifting out of doores. 
 
 He piped melody. 
 
 Departed thence by stealth ; 
 
 
 Preferring povertie before 85 
 
 But when he spyed her his saint. 
 
 A dangerous life in wealth. 
 
 He wip'd his greasie shooes, 
 
 
 And clear'd the drivell from his beard. 
 
 When Curan heard of her escape. 
 
 And thus the shepheard wooes. 130 
 
 The anguish in his hart 
 
 
 Was more than much, and after her 
 
 " I have, sweet wench, a peece of cheese, 
 
 From court he did depart ; 90 
 
 As good as tooth may chawe. 
 
 
 And bread and wildings souling well, 
 
 Forgetfull of himselfe, his birth, 
 
 And therewithall did drawe. 
 
 His country, friends, and all. 
 
 
 J J ' ' 
 And only minding (whom he mist) 
 
 His lardrie) and in 'yeaning' see 135 
 
 The foundresse of his thrall. 
 
 " Yon crumpling ewe, quoth he. 
 
 
 Did twinne this fall, and twin shouldst thou, 
 
 Nor meanes he after to frequent 95 
 
 If I might tup with thee. 
 
 Or court, or stately townes. 
 But solitarily to live 
 
 " Thou art too elvish, faith thou art, 
 
 Amongst the country grownes. 
 
 Too elvish and too coy: 140 
 Am I, I pray thee, beggarly. 
 
 A brace of years he lived thus, 
 
 That such a flocke enjoy ? 
 
 Well pleased so to live, 100 
 
 
 And shepherd-like to feed a flocke 
 
 " I wis I am not : yet that thou 
 
 Himselfe did wholly give. 
 
 Doest hold me in disdaine 
 
 J C5 
 
 Is brimme abroad, and made a gybe 145 
 To all that keepe this plaine. 
 
 * The construction is, "How that many an amorous toy, 
 
 or foolery of love, 'scaped Curan;" i. e. escaped from him, 
 
 
 being off his guard. 
 
 Ver. 112, i. e. holy-day Russets. V. 135, Eating, P. CC. 
 
AKGENTILE AND CURAN. 
 
 257 
 
 " There be as quaint (at least that thinke 
 Themselves as quaint) that crave 
 
 The match, that thou, I V70t not v^hy, 
 Maist, but mislik'st to have. 150 
 
 " How vrouldst 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 churle will prove : 
 The craftsman hath more worke in hand 
 
 Then fitteth unto love : 
 
 " The merchant, traffiquing abroad, 
 
 Suspects his wife at home : 160 
 
 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, 
 And all the day on hill or plaine 165 
 
 He merrie chat can hold ; 
 
 " And with the sun doth folde againe ; 
 
 Then jogging home betime, 
 He turnes a crab, or turnes a round, 
 
 Or sings some merry ryme. 170 
 
 " Nor lacks he gleeful! tales, whilst round 
 The nut-brown bowl doth trot ; 
 
 And sitteth singing care away, 
 Till he to bed be got : 
 
 " Theare sleepes he soundly all the night, 
 Forgetting morrow-cares : 176 
 
 Nor feares he blasting of his come. 
 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 dales 
 The shepheard sleeps and wakes, than he 
 AVhose cattel he doth graize. 186 
 
 Ver. 153, Her know I not her that, 1602. V. 169, i. e. 
 roasts 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 far from hence, 
 Who left a daughter, save thyselfe, 
 
 For fair a matchless wench.^' 
 
 Here did he pause, as if his tongue 195 
 
 Had done his heart offence. 
 
 The neatresse, 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 beautie is ; 
 Or did I not, at seeing thee, 
 
 I senceles were to mis. 
 
 * * 4f -Sfr * 
 
 " 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 hairci 
 A forehead smooth, and hie, 210 
 
 An even nose ; on either side 
 Did shine a grayish eie : 
 
 " Two rosie cheeks, 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 whereas 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 lillie fists. 
 
258 ARGENTILE AND CURAN. 
 
 " A legge in print, a pretie foot ; 
 
 " Her loved I (wretch that I am 
 
 Conjecture of the rest : 230 
 
 A recreant to be) 
 
 Eor amorous eies, observing forme, 
 
 I loved her, that hated love, 
 
 Think parts obscured best. 
 
 But now I die for thee. 
 
 " With these, raretie ! with these 
 
 " At Kirkland is my fathers court, 275 
 
 Her tong of speech was spare ; 
 
 And Curan is my name, 
 
 But speaking, Venus seemM to speake, 
 
 In Edels court sometimes in pompe, 
 
 The balle from Ide to bear. 236 
 
 Till love countrould the same : 
 
 
 " But now — what now ? — deare heart, how 
 
 " With Phoebe, Juno, and with both 
 
 now? 
 
 Herselfe contends in face ; 
 
 What ailest thou to weepe V 280 
 The damsell wept, and he was woe, 
 
 Wheare equall mixture did not want 
 
 Of milde and stately grace. 240 
 
 And both did silence keepe. 
 
 " Her smiles were sober, and her lookes 
 
 I graunt, quoth she, it was too much, 
 
 Were chearefull unto all : 
 
 That you did love so much : 
 
 Even such as neither wanton seeme 
 
 But whom your former could not move. 
 
 Nor waiward ; mell, nor gall. 
 
 Your second love doth touch. 286 
 
 " A quiet minde, a patient moode, 245 
 
 And not disdaining any ; 
 Not gybing, gadding, gawdy : and 
 
 Sweete faculties had many. 
 
 Thy twice-beloved Argentile 
 
 Submitteth her to thee. 
 And for thy double love presents 
 
 Herself a single fee, 290 
 
 In passion not in person changed, 
 
 "A nimph, no tong, no heart, no eie, 249 
 
 And I, my lord, am she. 
 
 Might praise, might wish, might see ; 
 
 They sweetly surfeiting in joy, i 
 
 For life, for love, for forme ; more good, 
 
 And silent for a space. 
 
 More worth, more faire than shee. 
 
 When as the extasie had end, 295 
 
 
 Did tenderly imbrace ; 
 
 " Yea such an one, as such was none, 
 
 And for their wedding, and their wish 
 
 Save only she was such : 
 
 Got fitting time and place. 
 
 Of Argentile to say the most, 255 
 
 
 Were to be silent much.'^ 
 
 Not England (for of Hengist then 
 
 
 Was named so this land) 300 
 
 I knew the lady very well. 
 
 Then Curan had an hardier knight ; 
 
 But worthies of such praise. 
 
 His force could none withstand : 
 
 The neatresse said : and muse I do, 
 
 Whose sheep-hooke laid apart, he then 
 
 A shepheard thus should blaze 260 
 
 Had higher things in hand. 
 
 The * coate' of beautie.* Credit me, 
 
 First, making knowne his lawfuU claime 
 In Argentile her right, 306 
 
 Thy latter speech bewraies. 
 
 
 He warr'd in Diria,* and he wonne. 
 
 Thy clownish shape a coined shew 
 
 Bernicia* too in fight : 
 
 But wherefore dost thou weepe ? 
 
 o 
 
 The shepheard wept, and she was woe, 
 
 And so from trecherous Edel tooke 
 
 And both doe silence keepe. 266 
 
 At once his life and crowne, 310 
 
 
 And of Northumberland was king. 
 
 " In troth, quoth he, I am not such, 
 As seeming I professe : 
 
 Long raigning in renowne. 
 
 
 But then for her, and now for thee. 
 
 * During the Saxon heptarchy, the kingdom of North- 
 umberland (consisting of six northern counties, besides 
 
 I from myselfe digresse. 270 
 
 part of Scotland) was for a long time divided into two lesser 
 sovereignties, viz., Deira (called here Diria) which contained 
 
 
 * i. e. emblazon beauty's coat. Ed. 1597, 1602, 1612, read 
 
 the southern parts, and Bernicia, comprehend those which 
 
 Coote. 
 
 lay north. 
 
JANE SHORE. 
 
 259 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Qxxn*$ iutt 
 
 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 ; 5 
 Forests tangled are with brakes : 
 
 Meadowes subject are to floodes ; 
 Moores are full of miry lakes. 
 
 Yet to shun all plaine, and hill. 
 Forest, moore, and meadow-ground, 
 
 10 
 
 Hunger will as surely kill : 
 
 How may then reliefe be found ? 
 
 Such is hapless Corins fate : 
 
 Since my waywarde love begunne, 
 
 Equall doubts begett debate 
 
 What to seeke, and what to shunne. 
 
 vSpare to speke, and spare to speed ; 
 
 Yet to speke will move disdaine: 
 If I see her not I bleed, 
 
 Yet her sight augments my paine. 
 
 What may then poor Corin doe? 
 
 Tell me, shepherdes, quicklye tell ; 
 For to linger thus in woe 
 
 Is the lover's sharpest hell. 
 
 15 
 
 20 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 ane Sfe0rK 
 
 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 HI. written in 1513, about thirty 
 years after the death of Edward IV. 
 
 " Now then by and by, as it wer for anger, 
 not for covetise, the protector sent into the 
 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 
 these 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, clone and fautless 
 of himself, sent out of heaven into this vicious 
 world for the amendment of mens manners), 
 he caused the bishop of London to put her to 
 open pennance, going before the crosse in pro- 
 cession upon a sonday 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- 
 
260 
 
 JANE SHOKE. 
 
 dering of the people caste 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 therin, when 
 thei considred that the protector procured it 
 more of a corrupt intent, than any virtuous 
 affeccion. 
 
 " This woman was born in London, wor- 
 shipfuUy frended, honestly brought up, and 
 very wel maryed, saving somewhat to soone : 
 her husbande an honest citizen, yonge, and 
 goodly, and of good substance. But foras- 
 muche as they were coupled ere she wer wel 
 ripe, she not very fervently loved, for whom 
 she never longed. 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 royaltie, 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 
 honest 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 dales, albeit he 
 was sore enamoured upon her, yet he forbare 
 her, either for reverence, or for a certain 
 frendly faithfulness. 
 
 " Proper she was, and faire : nothing in 
 her body that you wold have changed, but if 
 you would have wished her somewhat higher. 
 Thus say thei that knew her in her youthe. 
 Albeit some that ' now see her (for yet she 
 liveth)' deme her never to have bene wel 
 visaged. Whose jugement seemeth me some- 
 what like, as though men should gesse the 
 
 * After the death of Hastings, she was kept by the Mar. 
 quis of Dorset, son to Edward IV.'s queen. In Rymer's 
 Foedera is a proclamation of Richard's, dated at Leicester, 
 October 23, 1483, wherein a reward of 1000 marks in money, 
 or 100 a year in land is offered for taking " Thomas late 
 Marquis of Dorse-," who " not having the fear of God, nor 
 the salvation of his own soul, before his eyes, has damnably 
 debauched and defiled many maids, widows, and wives, and 
 ' lived in actual adultery with the wife of Shore.' " Buck- 
 ingham 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- 
 aries to get him apprehended. Vide Rym. Feed. torn. xij. 
 page 201. 
 
 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 ryvllde skin, and hard bone. 
 And yet being even such, whoso wel advise 
 herr visage, might gesse and devise which 
 partes how filled, wold make it a fair face. 
 
 " Yet delited not men so much in her 
 bewty, as in her pleasant 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 thrrde 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.,v The other 
 two wer somwhat greater personages, a,nd 
 natheles of their humilite content to be 
 nameles, and to forbore the praise of those 
 properties ; 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 dis- 
 pleasure, 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 par- 
 don : of great forfeitures she gate men remis- 
 sion : and finally in many weighty sutes 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 con- 
 tent 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 thing 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 con- 
 dicion, unfrended and worne out of acquaint- 
 ance, after good substance, after as grete 
 
JANE SHORE. 
 
 261 
 
 favour with the prince, after as grete sute and 
 seeking 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 lesse, albeit thei be 
 muche lesse remembred because thei were 
 not so evil, f 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 daye 
 living, that at this day had begged, if shee 
 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 
 cheerfuU 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 lie. 
 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 behaviour, abandoned her bed after the 
 king had made her his concubine. Richard 
 III., causing her to do open penance in Paul's 
 church-yard, 'commanded that no man should 
 relieve her,' which the tyraivt did, not so 
 much for his hatred to sinne, but that by 
 making his brother's life odious, 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 HI., 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 virtues 
 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 
 passage. 
 
 reduced to modern orthography, &c. It is 
 said to have been addressed 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 great marvel, to 
 effect the same. WE, for many causes, would 
 be sorry that he should be so disposed ; pray 
 you therefore 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 her 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. 
 
 " RIG. Rex." 
 
 It appears from two articles in the same 
 MS. that King Richard had granted to {he 
 said Thomas Linom the office of King's So- 
 licitor (Article 134), and also the Manor of 
 Colmeworth, com Bedf., to him, his heirs 
 male (Article 596). 
 
 An original picture of Jane Shore almost 
 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 
 EdM^ard 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 gold- 
 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 : 
 
262 
 
 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 5 
 
 "Was loved dear of lord and knight ; 
 But yet the love that they required, 
 It was not as my friends desirM. 
 
 My parents they, for thirst of gaine, 
 
 A husband for me did obtaine ; 10 
 
 And I, their pleasure to fulfille, 
 
 Was forc'd to wedd against my wille. 
 
 To Matthew Shore I was a wife. 
 
 Till lust brought mine to my life ; 
 
 And then my life I lewdlye spent, 15 
 
 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. 20 
 
 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 last my name in court did ring 25 
 
 Into the eares 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, 30 
 
 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, 35 
 
 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. 40 
 
 From city then to court I went, 
 To reaps the pleasures of content ; 
 There had the joyes that love could bring, 
 And knew the secrets of a king. 
 
 When I was thus advanc'd on highe 45 
 
 Commanding Edward with mine eye. 
 For Mrs. Blague I in short space 
 Obtainde a livinge from his grace. 
 
 No friende I had but in short time 
 
 I made unto a promotion climbe ; 50 
 
 But yet for all this costlye pride, 
 
 My husbande could not mee abide. 
 
 His bed, though wronged by a king, 
 His heart with deadlye griefe did sting ; 
 From England then he goes away 55 
 
 To end his life beyond the sea. 
 
 He could not live to see his name 
 Impaired by my wanton shame ; 
 Although a prince of peerlesse might 
 Did reape the pleasure of his right. 60 
 
 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 gentle minde I bore 65 
 
 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 tears, 
 
 I succour'd babes of tender yeares ; 70 
 
 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 ; 74 
 When crook-back Richard got the crowne. 
 King Edwards friends were soon put downe. 
 
 I then was punisht for my sin. 
 
 That I so long had lived in ; 
 
 Yea, every one that was his friend. 
 
 This tyrant brought to shamefuU end. 80 
 
 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. 
 
JANE SHORE. 
 
 263 
 
 .Where many thousands did me viewe, 85 
 Who late in court my credit knewe ; 
 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, 90 
 
 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, 95 
 
 When riches fail'd, and love grew scant : 
 
 But she denyed to me the same 
 
 When in my need for them I came;' 
 
 T(? recompence my former love, 
 
 Out of her doores shee did me shove. 100 
 
 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, condemned 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. 
 
 105 
 
 110 
 
 Then those to whom I had done good 
 Durst not afford mee any food ; 
 Whereby I begged all the day, 115 
 
 And still in streets by night I lay. 
 
 My gowns beset with pearl and gold, 
 Were turn'd to simple garments old ; 
 
 My chains and gems and golden rings, 
 
 To filthy rags and loathsome things. 120 
 
 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, 125 
 
 Whereby my hunger might be fed : 
 Nor drink, but such as channels yield, 
 Or stinking ditches in the field. 
 
 Thus, weary of my life, at lengthe 
 I yielded up my vital strength, 130 
 
 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 saye ;* , 
 Which is a witness of my sinne, 135 
 
 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 unpunished in this land. 140 
 
 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, 145 
 
 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 (vtdgarly Shore) or drain. See 
 Stow, 
 
 34 
 
264 CORYDON'S DOLEFUL KNELL. 
 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 
 C0rgkn's §Mul flKriL 
 
 
 This little simple elegy is given, with some 
 
 Her herse it shall be carried 
 
 
 corrections, from two copies, one of which is 
 
 By youths that do excell ; 
 
 
 in "The Golden Garland of Princely De- 
 
 And when that she is buried, 
 
 
 lights/' 
 
 I thus will ring her knell, 
 Ding, &c. 
 
 20 
 
 The burthen of the song, "Ding Dong, 
 
 
 
 &c.," is at present appropriated to burlesque 
 
 A garland shall be framed 
 
 
 subjects, and, therefore, may excite only lu- 
 
 By art and natures skill, 
 
 
 dicrous ideas in a modern reader ; but, in the 
 
 Of suudry-colouydiiowei'S, 
 
 
 time of our poet, it usually accompanied the 
 
 In token of good-will.* 
 
 
 most solemn and mournful strains. Of this 
 
 Ding, &c. 
 
 
 kind is that fine aerial dirge in Shakspeare's 
 Tempest: 
 
 And sundry-colour'd ribbands 
 
 25 
 
 On it I will bestow ! 
 
 
 " Full fadom five thy father lies, 
 Of his bones are corrall made ; 
 
 But chiefly black and yellowe rf 
 
 
 With her to grave shall go. 
 Ding, &c. 
 
 
 Those are pearles that were his eyes ; 
 
 
 Nothing of him that doth fade, 
 
 I'll decke her tombe with flowers, 
 
 
 But doth sufi'er a sea-change 
 
 The rarest ever seen. 
 
 30 
 
 Into something rich and strange : 
 
 And with my tears, as showers. 
 
 
 Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell, 
 
 I'll keepe them fresh and green. 
 
 
 Harke now I heare them, Ding dong bell. 
 
 Ding, &c. 
 
 
 *' Burthen, Ding dong.'' 
 
 Instead of fairest colours. 
 
 
 I make no doubt but the poet intended to 
 
 Set forth with curious art, J 
 
 
 conclude the above air in a manner the most 
 
 Her image shall be painted 
 
 35 
 
 solemn and expressive of melancholy. 
 
 On my distressed heart. 
 Ding, &c. 
 
 
 My Phillida, adieu love ! 
 
 O' 
 
 
 For evermore farewell ! 
 
 And thereon shall be graven 
 
 
 Ay me ! I've lost my true love, 
 
 Her epitaph so faire. 
 
 
 And thus I ring her knell, 
 
 " Here lies the loveliest maiden, 
 
 
 Ding dong, ding dong, ding dong, 5 
 
 That e'er gave shepheard care." 
 
 40 
 
 My Phillida is dead ! 
 
 Ding, &c. 
 
 
 I'll stick a branch of willow 
 
 
 
 At my fair Phillis' head. 
 
 In sable will I mourne ; 
 
 
 Blacke shall be all my weede 
 
 
 For my fair Phillida, 
 
 Our bridal bed was made : 10 
 
 Ay me ! I am forlorne. 
 
 
 Now Phillida is dead ! 
 
 
 But 'stead of silkes so gay, 
 She in her shroud is laid. 
 
 Ding dong, ding dong, ding dong, 
 
 45 
 
 My Phillida is dead ! 
 
 
 Ding, &c. 
 
 I'll stick a branch of willow 
 
 
 At my fair Phillis' head. 
 
 
 Her corpse shall be attended, 
 
 * It is a custom in many parts of England, to carry a 
 
 By maides in fair array, 
 
 flowery garland before tlie corpse of a woman wlio dies 
 
 Till the obsequies are ended, 15 
 
 unmarried. 
 
 
 And she is wrapt in clay. 
 
 t See aboTe, preface to No. XI. Book II. 
 
 t This alludes to the painted effigies of Alabaster, 
 
 Ding, &c. 
 
 anciently erected upon tombs and monuments. 
 
 
 THE END OF TH 
 
 E SECOND BOOK. 
 
 
THE COMPLAINT OF CONSCIENCE. 
 
 265 
 
 SERIES THE SECOND. 
 BOOK III. 
 
 I. 
 
 %\t €mn^lmi at &muimtt 
 
 I SHALL begin this Third Book with an old 
 allegoric satire : a manner of moralizing, 
 which, if it was not first introduced by the 
 author of " Pierce Plowman'sYisions/^ 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 wri- 
 ter, 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 mea- 
 sures : he mentions 136 different kinds, with- 
 out including rhyme, or a correspondence of 
 final syllables : yet this was occasionally used, 
 as appears from the Ode of Egil, which Wor- 
 mius 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 syl- 
 lables, like that of the ancient Greeks or Ro- 
 mans ; 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 Rtinica. Hafniae 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 Prsefat. in Grammat. Anglo-Saxon & Moeso-Goth- 
 4to, 1689. 
 
 line. This will be the best understood by 
 the following examples.* 
 
 *' Jlfeire og Jlfinne " (?ab (rinunga 
 Mogn heimdaller.'^ Enn (rras huerge." 
 
 There were many other little niceties ob- 
 served by the Islandic poets, who, as they 
 retained their original language and pecu- 
 liarities 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, oc- 
 casionally 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 charac- 
 ters :t 
 
 " SJceoj) tha and SkyredQ "iZam and iZeahsetl 
 yS/typpend ure. " jBeofena rikes." 
 
 I know not, however, that there is anywhere 
 extant an entire Saxon poem all in this mea- 
 sure. 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 there- 
 fore 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'J was the 
 
 /S'unne, 
 I SJio-pe me into >S'/iroubs, | as I a SJie^pQ 
 
 were ; 
 In jBabite as an ^armet, [ un-Hbly of werkes. 
 Went Wjde in thys world | l^onders to 
 
 heare," &c. 
 
 * Vid. Hickes Antiq. Literatur. Septentrional. Tom. I. p. 
 217. 
 
 t Ibid. 
 
 $ So I would read with Mr. Warton, rather than either 
 " soft," as in MS., or " set," as in P. CO. 
 
266 
 
 ON ALLITERATIVE METRE. 
 
 So that the author of this poem will not he 
 found to have invented any new mode of ver- 
 sification, as some have supposed, but only 
 to have retained that of the old Saxon and 
 Gothic 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 regu- 
 lar series of poems entirely written in it. 
 
 There are some readers, Avhom it may gra- 
 tify to mention, that these " Visions of Pierce 
 [i. e. Peter] the Plowman," are attributed to 
 Robert Langland, a secular priest, born at 
 Mortimer's Cleobury in Shropshire, and fel- 
 low of Oriel college 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 pre- 
 tends happened to him on Malvern hills in 
 Worcestershire. The author excels in strong, 
 allegoric painting, and has with great hu- 
 mour, 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 absurdi- 
 ties of superstition. Of this work, I have 
 now before me four different editions in 
 black-letter quarto. Three of them are printed 
 in 1550 hy Robert Crowley, dwelling in Elye 
 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.f 
 The other is said to be newly e imprynied 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 spe- 
 cies of versification. To Rogers's edition of 
 the Visions is subjoined a poem, which was 
 probably writ in imitation of them, entitled, 
 " Pierce the Ploughman's Crede." It begins 
 thus: 
 
 * The poem properly contains xxi parts ; the word ^assws, 
 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 pawse. 
 
 t That which seems the first of the two, is thus distin- 
 guished in the title-page, nowe the seconde tyme imprinted 
 hy Rdb&rte Crowlye ; the other thus, nowe the seconde time 
 imprinted by Robert Crowley. In the former the folios are 
 thus erroneously numbered, 39, 39, 41, 63, 43, 42, 45, &c. 
 The booksellers of those days did not ostentatiously affect 
 to multiply editions. 
 
 " Cros, and Curteis Christ, this beginning 
 
 spede 
 For the i^aders i^rendshipe, that i^ourmed 
 
 heaven. 
 And through the /Special ^Spirit, that ^rong 
 
 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. Domi- 
 nic, the Carmelites or white friars, and the 
 Augustines. This affords him occasion to 
 describe in very lively colours, the sloth, ig- 
 norance, and immorality of those reverend 
 drones. - At length he meets with Pierce, a 
 poor ploughman, who resolves his doubts, 
 and instructs him in the principles of true 
 religion. The author was evidently a follower 
 of Wiccliff, whom he mentions (with honour) 
 as no longer living.* Now that reformer 
 died in 1384. How long after his death this 
 poem was written, does not appear. 
 
 In the Cotton library is a volume of an- 
 cient English poems,! two of which are writ- 
 ten 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 enti- 
 tled, " The sege of I erlam,'^ [i. e. Jerusalem] 
 being an old fabulous legend, composed by 
 some monk, and stuffed with marvellous fig- 
 ments concerning the destruction of the holy 
 city and temple. It begins thus : 
 
 " In 5^yberius Tjme . the ^Trewe emperour 
 Sjr Sesar hymself . be/Sted in Rome 
 AVhyll Pylat was Provoste . under that Prynce 
 
 ryche 
 And /ewes Justice also . of Judeas londe 
 ITerode under empere . as jETerytage wolde 
 Kjng," &c. 
 
 The other is entitled, " Chevalere Assigne'^ 
 [or De eigne], that is, " The Knight of the 
 Swan,'^ being an ancient Romance, begin- 
 ning thus : 
 
 '• All-TFeldynge God . TFhene it is his Tfylle 
 Wele he TFereth his TFerke . With his owene 
 honde 
 
 * Signature : STtt. 
 
 t Caligula A. ij. fol. 109, 123. 
 
ON ALLITERATIVE METRE. 
 
 267 
 
 For ofte JSirmes -were Hente . that ^elpe we 
 
 ne myzte 
 Nere the Ejznes of 5ym . that lengeth in 
 
 ^evene 
 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 puyssant 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, Stafforde, and Northampton, 
 desyrynge cotydyally to encrease and aug- 
 ment the name and fame of such as were re- 
 lucent in vertuous feates and triumphaunt 
 actes of chyvalry, and to encourage and styre 
 every lusty and gentell herte by the exemply- 
 ficacyon 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 of beyonde the 
 sea, havynge to his wife 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 which 
 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 sayde lorde/ Thewhicho 
 ententifly to have the sayde hystory more 
 amply and unyversally knowen in thys hys 
 natif countrie, as it is in other, hath of hys 
 hie bountie by some of his faithful and trusti 
 servauntes cohorted mi mayster Wynkin de 
 Wordef 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 reduce and 
 translate it into our maternal and vulgare 
 english tonge after the capacity 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 
 
 * K. vol. X. 
 
 t W. de Worde's edit, is in 1512, See Ames, p. 92. Mr. 
 G.'s copy is " ^ Imprinted at London by me William Copland." 
 
 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), which, 
 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, 
 
 " C%rist Christen king 
 
 that on the Crosse tholed ; 
 Hadd Paines and Passyons 
 
 to defend our soules ; 
 Give us GVace on the Ground 
 
 the (rreatlye to serve. 
 For that i?oyal Bed blood 
 
 that Pann 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 several attri- 
 butes and concomitants are personified in a 
 fine vein of allegoric painting. Part of the 
 description of Dame Life is, 
 
 " Shee was brighter of her .Slee, 
 
 then was the bright sonn : 
 Her Pudd Pedder then the Pose, 
 
 that on the Pise hangeth : 
 ifeekely smiling with her ilfouth, , 
 
 And iferry in her lookes ; 
 Ever Paughing for Pove, " 
 
 as shee Pike would. 
 And as shee came by the Pankes, 
 
 the Poughes eche one 
 Uhey Powted to that Padye, 
 
 And Payd forth their branches ; 
 Plossomes and Purgens 
 
 Preathed full sweete ; 
 Plowers Plourished in the Prith, 
 
 where shee Perth stepped ; 
 
 X He is said in the story book to be the grandfather of 
 Godfrey of Boulogne, through whom I suppose the duke 
 made out his relation to him. This duke was beheaded 
 May 17, 1521, 13 Henry VIH. 
 
268 
 
 ON ALLITERATIVE METRE. 
 
 And the (rrasse, that was Gr2.j, 
 (rreened 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 6rracious God, 
 (rrant 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 I^ents, 
 that Told were a thousand." 
 
 In the conclusion of the poem he gives this 
 account of himself: 
 
 " He was a G^entleman by /esu, 
 
 that this (rest* made : 
 Which /S'ay but as he /Sfaydf 
 
 for >S^ooth and noe other. 
 At 5agily that jBearne 
 his hiding place had ; 
 And his ancestors of old time 
 have yeardedj theire longe, 
 Before William Conquerour 
 this Cuntry did inhabitt. 
 Jesus J5ring * them'^ to ^lisse, 
 
 that jBrought us forth of bale, 
 That hath jHearkned me Seare 
 Or iZeard 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. 
 
 t Probably corrupted for — " Says but as he Saw." 
 
 X Yearded^i. e. buried, earthed, earded. It is comraon 
 to pronounce " Earth," in some parts of England " Yearth," 
 particularly in the North.— Pitscottie, speaking of James 
 III., slain at Bannockbourn, says, " Nae man wot whar 
 they yearded him." 
 
 g"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 Cheshiremeu, 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 
 Nobody" 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 Anapestic verse,t 
 
 * And in that of Robert of Gloucester. See the next 
 note. 
 
 f Consisting of four Anapests { o o -) 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 measiire (See examples, 
 pp. 151, 152, &c.) was early applied by Robert of 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. 
 
ON ALLITERATIVE METRE. 
 
 269 
 
 now never used but in ballads and pieces of 
 light humour, as in the following song of 
 " Conscience," and in that well-known dog- 
 grel, 
 
 *' 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 allitera- 
 tion, 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 uncon- 
 fined 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 
 
 " The Saxons tho in their power, tho thii were so rive, 
 Seve kingdoms made in Engelonde, and sutlie but vive : 
 The king of Northomberlond, and of Eastangle also, 
 Of Kent, and of Westsex, and of the March, therto." 
 Robert of Gloucester wrote in the western dialect, and his 
 language differs exceedingly from that of other contempo- 
 rary writers, who resided in the metropolis, or in the mid- 
 land counties. Had the heptarchy continued, our English 
 language would probably have been as much distinguished 
 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 retained 
 this old Gothic metre for their serious poems ; while the 
 English, Spaniards, &c., have adopted the Italic verse of ten 
 syllables, althougli 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 Poesy, 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 ^neid, 1557, 4to. 
 
 t Thus our poets use this verse indifferently with twelve, 
 eleven, and even ten syllables. For though regularly it 
 consists of four anapests ( o 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 song of Conscience : 
 Who has eer been at Paris must needs know the Greve, 
 The fatal retreat of th' unfortunate brave. 
 HS stept to him straight, and did him require. 
 
 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 Caesura or Pause as full and 
 distinct as possible, and by other severe re- 
 strictions, have given it all the solemnity of 
 which it was capable. The harmony of both, 
 however, depends so much on the same flow 
 of cadence and disposal of the pause, that 
 they appear plainly to be of the same original ; 
 and every French heroic verse evidently con- 
 sists of the ancient Distich of their Francic 
 ancestors: which, by the way, will account 
 to us why this verse of the French so natu- 
 rally resolves itself into two complete hemi- 
 stichs. And indeed by making the caesura 
 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 there- 
 fore 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 pro,duced, which 
 cannot be exactly matched in the alliterative 
 metre. I shall give by way of example a 
 few lines from the modern French poets ac- 
 commodated with parallels from the ancient 
 poem of " Life and Death ;" in these I shall 
 denote the Caesura or Pause by a perpendicu- 
 lar line, and the cadence by the marks of the 
 Latin quantity. 
 
 Le, succes fut tovjours \ tin enfant deVauddce; 
 
 All shall drye with the dints | that I deal with my hands. 
 
 Lliomme prudent voit trop \ Villusion le sTdt, 
 
 Yonder damsel is death | that dresseth her to smite. 
 
 L'lntrepide voit mieux \ et le fdntome fiiit.f 
 
 When she dolefully saw | how she dang downe hir folke. 
 
 Meme aux yeux de Vinjuste | un injuste est h6rrible.% 
 
 Then she cast up a crye | to the high king of heaven. 
 
 * See instances in L'Hist. de la Poesie Frangoise par 
 Massieu, &c. In the same book are also specimens of alli- 
 terative French verses. 
 
 t Catalina, A. 3. % Boileau Sat. 
 
270 
 
 ON ALLITERATIVE METRE. 
 
 Du mensonge toujours \ U vrdi demeure mditre, 
 Thou Shalt bitterlye bye | 6r else the booke faileth. 
 Pour pdroitre honnete homme \ en un mot, il fdut Vetre* 
 Thus I fared throughe a frythh i where the flowers were 
 I manye. 
 
 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, proceed- 
 ing 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 Poetry," Vol. I., p. 309, being the 
 fragment of a MS. poem on the subject of 
 "Alexander the Great," in the Bodleian Li- 
 brary, which he supposes to be the same with 
 Number 44, in the Ashmol. MSS., containing 
 twenty-seven pasus, and beginning thus : 
 
 Whener folk fastid [feasted, qu.] and fed, 
 fayne wolde thei her [i. e. hear] 
 Some farand thing, &c. 
 
 It is well observed by Mr, Tyrwhitt, on 
 Chaucer's sneer at this old alliterative metre 
 (Vol. iii. p. 305), viz.: 
 
 1 am a Sotherne [i. e. Southern] man, 
 
 I cannot geste, rom, ram, raf, by my letter. 
 
 That the fondness for this species of versifi- 
 nation, &c., was retained longest in the north- 
 ern 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.,t which begins thus : 
 
 * Boil. Sat. 11. 
 
 f In a small 4to. MS. containing 
 liands. 
 
 leaves, in private 
 
 Crist Crowned ^yng, that on Cros didest,* 
 And art Comfort of all Care, thow,t kind go 
 
 out of Cours 
 With thi ^alwes in HeYen J3eried mote thu 
 
 be. 
 And thy Tforshipful TFerkes Worshiped evre, 
 That suche >S'ondry >S'ignes ^hewest unto 
 
 man. 
 In Dremyng, in Drecchyng,J and in Derke 
 
 swevenes. 
 
 The author from this proemium takes occa- 
 sion to give an account of a dream that hap- 
 pened to himself ; which he introduces with 
 the following circumstances : 
 
 Ones y me Ordayned, as y have Cfte doon. 
 With i^rendes, and i^elawes, i^rendemen, and 
 
 other ; 
 And Caught me in a Company on Corpus 
 
 Christi even, 
 Six, other^ >S'even myle, out of ^S'outhampton, 
 To take ilfelodye, and iWirthes, lamong my 
 
 With i?edyng of Bomaunces, and J?evelyng 
 
 among, 
 The Dym of the i)erknesse Drewe me into 
 
 the west ; 
 And be Con for to spryng in the Crey day. 
 Than iift up my iyddes, and ioked in the 
 
 sky, 
 And jfnewe by the jE'ende Cours, hit clered 
 
 in the est: 
 -Blyve y busked me down, and to 5ed went, 
 For to Comforte my ^ynde, and Cacche a 
 
 slepe. 
 
 He then describes his dream : 
 
 Methought that y ^oved on Ifigh on an H\\\, 
 And loked Doun on a i)ale Depest of othre ; 
 Ther y Sbmq in my ^Sighte a /S'elcouthe peple ; 
 The ilfultitude was so jlfoche, it ifighte not 
 
 be nombred. 
 Methoughte y herd a Crowned J^yng, of his 
 
 Comunes axe 
 A ^oleynell >S^ubsidie, to /S'usteyne his wei:res. 
 % * * * * 
 
 With that a Clerk ^neled adowne and Carped 
 
 these wordes, 
 iiege iord; yif it you iike to iisten a 
 
 while, 
 Soto. >^awes of /S'alomon y shall you shewe 
 
 sone. 
 
 * Didst dye. f though. 
 § i. e. either, or. 
 11 Solemn. 
 
 % being overpowered. 
 
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 Mait- 
 land's Collection of ancient Scottish Poems, 
 MS. in the Pepysian library, is a very long 
 poem in this species of versification, thus in- 
 scribed : 
 
 Heir begins the Tretis of the Twa Marriit 
 Wemen, and the Wedo, compylit be Maister 
 William Dunbar.* 
 
 " Upon the ilfidsummer evven ilfirriest of 
 
 nichtis 
 I iLTuvit furth alane quhen as ilfidnight was 
 
 Besyd ane 6^udlie Gvene Gsirth,f full of G^ay 
 
 flouris 
 jffegeit J of ane ^uge S'icht with Sawthorne 
 
 treeis 
 Quairon ane Bird on ane ^ransehe so B'lrst 
 
 out hir notis 
 That nevir ane Blythfuller J5ird was on the 
 
 Benched hard, &g." 
 
 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. col- 
 lections of Sir R. Maitland, of Lethington, knight of London, 
 1786," 2 Tols. 12mo. The two first lines are here corrected 
 by that edition. 
 
 t Garden. % Hedged. B Bough. 
 
 35 
 
 are still printed for the use of the lower peo- 
 ple in Scotland, under the names of "Thomas 
 the Rymer," "Marvellous Merling,'' &c. 
 This collecti-on 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 
 
 jRight, 
 Although his ^S'ayings be uncouth, they ^hall 
 
 be true found. 
 In the seventh chapter, read TFhoso Will, 
 One thousand and more after Christ's birth, 
 
 &c." 
 
 And the " Prophesie of Beid :" 
 
 " Betwixt the chief of Summer and the /S'ad 
 
 winter ; 
 Before the ^eat of summer JTappen shall a 
 
 war 
 That -E/urop's lands Earnestly shall be 
 
 wrought 
 And -EJarnest J?nvy shall last but a while, &c." 
 
 So again the " Prophesie of Berlington :" 
 
 "When the i?uby is i?aised, i?est is there 
 
 none, 
 But much i?ancour shall ^ise in i?iver and 
 
 plain. 
 Much /Sbrrow is ^een through a >S^uth-hound 
 That beares iZbrnes in his Head like a wyld 
 
 J3"art, &c." 
 
 In like metre is the " Prophesie of Waldhave:" 
 
 " Upon iowdon iaw alone as I iay, 
 iooking to the Lennox, as me iief thought, 
 The first ilforning of il/ay, ilfedicine to seek 
 For Jfalice and Jfelod}'- that ilfoved me sore, 
 &c." ^ 
 
 And lastly, that entitled " The Prophesie of 
 Gildas:" 
 
 " When holy kirk is Tfracked and JFill 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." 
 
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 Waldhave are more ancient 
 than the others : indeed the first and fifth ap- 
 pear evidently to have laeen 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 suddenlye spyed 
 A silly poore creature ragged and rent. 
 With bloody teares his face was besprent, 5 
 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, 12 
 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 ; 16 
 
 Ten 1, one, MS. V. 15, him, BIS. 
 
 My name is called "Conscience:" — whereatt 
 
 he did frowne. 
 He pined to repeat it, and grinded his teethe, 
 
 * Though now, silly wretche, I'm denyed all 
 
 releef,' 
 ' Yet' while I was young, and tender of 
 
 yeeres, 20 
 
 I was entertained 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 : 25 
 
 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 ; 30 
 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 betweene foe and 
 
 friend, 
 But Conscience was called to bee at * the' 
 
 end. 35 
 
 Noe bargaines, nor merchandize merchants 
 
 wold make 
 But I was called a wittenesse therto : 
 No use for noe money, nor forfett wold take. 
 But I wold controule them, if that they did 
 
 soe : 39 
 
 * And' that makes me live now in great woe. 
 
 For then came in Pride, Sathan's disciple,--^ 
 That is now entertained with all kind of 
 people. 
 
 He brought with him three, whose names 
 
 * thus they call' 
 That is Covetousnes, Lecherye, Usury, be^ 
 
 side: 
 
 Ver. 19, not in MS. V. 23, he sate, MS. V. 35, an end, 
 MS. V. 43, they be these, MS. 
 
THE COMPLAINT OF CONSCIENCE. 
 
 273 
 
 They never prevaiPd, till they had wrought 
 
 my downe-fall ; 45 
 
 Soe 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 : 51 
 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, 55 
 
 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 undoe us to bye and to sell ! 59 
 
 They bade me goe packe me, and hye me for 
 shame: 
 
 They lought at my raggs, and there had 
 good game ; 
 
 . /^^his is old threed-bare Conscience, that 
 dwelt with saint Peter ; 
 But they wold not admitt me to be a chim- 
 ney-sweeper. 
 
 Not one wold receive me, the Lord * he' doth 
 
 know ; 64 
 
 I having but one poor pennye in my purse, 
 On an awle and some patches I did it bestow; 
 'For' I thought better cobble shooes than 
 
 doe worse. 
 Straight then all the coblers began for to 
 
 curse. 
 And by statute wold prove me a rogue, and 
 
 forlorn e. 
 And whipp me out of towne to ' seeke' 
 
 where I was borne. 70 
 
 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 derided, MS. 
 wonne, MS. V. 70, see. 
 
 V. 53, packe me, MS. V. 57, 
 
 But there of my purpose I fayled a whit, 75 
 For ' thoughe' the judge us'd my name in 
 
 everye ' com.raissioi!,' 
 The lawyers with their quillets wold get 
 
 'my' dismission. 
 
 Then Westminster-hall was noe place for me; 
 
 Good lord ! how the lawyers began to assemble, 
 
 And fearfull they were, lest there I shold bee; 
 
 The silly poore clarkes began for to tremble ; 
 
 I showed them my cause, and did not dis- 
 semble ; 
 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, 85 
 
 Dost thou remember how wee thee fond ? 
 We banisht thee the country beyond the salt 
 
 sea, 
 And sett thee on shore in the New-found land ; 
 And there thou and wee most friendly shook 
 
 hand, 
 And we were right glad when thou didst 
 
 refuse us ; 90 
 
 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 greefi*es, and there I made 
 
 moane, 
 ' Telling' how their forefathers held me in 
 
 fame : 95 
 
 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 goe 
 
 To husbandmens houses, who grooved right 
 
 sore, 100 
 
 And sware 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 thi s wood I doe me repayre, 
 Where hepps and hawes, that is my best 
 
 fare. 105 
 
 V. 76, condicion, MS. V. 77, get J^ MS. V, 95, And how, 
 
 MS. V. 101, so sore, MS. 
 
274 
 
 PLAIN TRUTH AND BLIND IGNORANCE. 
 
 Yet within this same desert some comfort I 
 have 
 
 Of Mercy, of Pittye, and of Almes-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 pro- 
 ceeds '/ 110 
 Our banishment is its utter decay, 
 The which the riche glutton will a:nswer 
 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 ; 115 
 Of Mercye, and Pittie, and Almes-' deeds', they 
 
 teach. 
 
 0, said he, noe matter of a pin what they 
 
 preach. 
 For their wives and their children soe 
 
 hange them upon. 
 That whosoever gives almes they will* 
 
 give none. 
 
 Then laid he him down, and turned him 
 away, 120 
 
 And prayd me to goe, and leave 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 Eng- 
 land were blest ; 
 For then those wold love us, that now sell 
 their land, 125 
 
 And then good 'house-keeping wold revive' 
 out of hand. 
 
 II. 
 
 ftain %mi\ u)i §Iin5r 'i^mtmtt 
 
 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. 
 
 God 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 5 
 
 On this decayed place. 
 The which, for superstition, 
 
 Good princes down did raze ? 
 
 IGNORANCE. 
 
 Chill tell thee, by my vazen,* 
 That zometimes che have knowne 10 
 
 A vair and goodly abbey 
 
 Stand here of bricke and stone ; 
 
 Ver. 109, Ul, MS. V..110, not in MS. 
 
 * i. e. faithen : as in the Midland counties they say 
 honsen, closen, for houses, closes. A. 
 
 And many a holy vrier, 
 
 As ich may say to thee. 
 Within these goodly cloysters 15 
 
 Che did full often zee. 
 
 Then I must tell thee, father, 
 
 In truthe and veritife, 
 A sorte of greater hypocrites^) 
 
 Thou couldst not likely see; 20 
 
 Deceiving of the simple 
 
 With false and feigned lies : 
 But such an order truly 
 
 Christ never did devise. ■ ; 
 
 IGNORANCE. 
 
 Ah ! ah ! che zmell thee now, man ; 25 
 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 ; 30 
 
 Yer. 119, almes-deeds. V. 126, houses every where wold 
 he kept, MS. 
 
 * We ought in justice and truth to read " can." 
 
PLAIN TRUTH AND BLIND IGNORANCE. 
 
 275 
 
 And every thing was plenty 
 
 IGNORANCE. 
 
 
 Among all zorts of men. 
 
 Cham zure they were not voolishe 
 
 
 TRUTH. 
 
 That made the masse, che trowe 
 
 
 
 Why, man, ^tis all in Latine, 
 
 75 
 
 Thou givest me an answer, 
 
 And vools no Latine knowe. 
 
 
 As did the Jewes sometimes 
 
 Were not our fathers wise men. 
 
 
 Unto the prophet Jeremye, 35 
 
 When he accus'd their crimes : 
 'Twas merry, sayd the people, 
 
 And they did like it well ; 
 Who very much rejoyced 
 To heare the zacring bell ? 
 
 80 
 
 And joy full in our rea'me, 
 
 o 
 
 
 When we did offer spice-cakes 
 
 
 
 Unto the queen of heav'n. 40 
 
 TRUTH. 
 
 But many kinges and prophets. 
 
 
 IGNORANCE. 
 
 As I may say to thee. 
 
 
 Chill tell thee what, good vellowe, 
 
 Have wisht the light that you have 
 
 
 Before the vriers went hence, 
 
 And could it never see : 
 
 
 A bushell of the best wheate 
 
 For what art thou the better 
 
 85 
 
 Was zold vor vourteen pence ; 
 
 A Latin song to heare, 
 
 
 And vorty egges a penny, 45 
 
 And understandest nothing. 
 
 
 That were both good and newe ; 
 
 That they sing in the quifere ? 
 
 
 And this che zay my zelf have zeene, 
 
 
 
 And yet ich am no Jewe. 
 
 IGNORANCE. 
 
 
 TRUTH. 
 
 hold thy peace, che pray thee, 
 
 
 Within the sacred bible 
 
 The noise was passing trim 
 
 90 
 
 We find it written plain, 50 
 
 To heare the vriers zinging. 
 
 
 The latter days should troublesome 
 
 As we did enter in : 
 
 
 And dangerous be, certaine ; 
 
 And then to zee the rood-loft 
 
 
 That we should be self-lovers, 
 
 Zo bravely zet with zaints ; — 
 
 
 And charity wax colde ; 
 
 But now to zee them wandring 
 
 95 
 
 Then ^tis not true religion 55 
 
 My heart with zorrow vaints. 
 
 
 That makes thee grief to holde. 
 
 TRUTH. 
 
 
 IGNORANCE. 
 
 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 ; 
 
 
 Chill tell thee my opinion plaine, 
 
 And choul'd that well ye knewe, 
 Ich care not for the bible booke ; 
 
 100 
 
 Tis too big to be true. 60 
 
 
 Our blessed ladyes psalter 
 Zhall for my money goe ; 
 
 Zuch pretty prayers, as there bee,* 
 The bible cannot zhowe. 
 
 
 And Baal's priests and temple 
 Were brought to utter foile. 
 
 
 TRUTH. 
 
 IGNORANCE. 
 
 
 Nowe hast thou spoken trulye, 65 
 
 But our lady of Walsinghame 
 
 105 
 
 For in that book indeede 
 
 Was a pure and holy zaint, 
 
 
 No mention of our lady, 
 
 And many men in pilgrimage 
 
 
 Or Romish saint we read : 
 
 Did shew to her complaint. 
 
 
 For by the blessed Spirit 
 
 Yea with zweet Thomas Becket, 
 
 
 That book indited was, 70 
 
 And many other moe : 
 
 110 
 
 And not by simple persons, 
 
 The holy maid of Kent* likewise 
 
 
 As was the foolish masse. 
 
 Did many wonders zhowe. 
 
 
 * Probably alluding to the illuminated psalters, missals, 
 
 * By name Eliz. Barton, executed April 21, 1534. 
 p. 570. 
 
 stow, 
 
276 
 
 THE WANDERING JEW. 
 
 Such saints are well agreeing 
 
 To your profession sure ; 
 And to the men that made them 115 
 
 So precious and so pure ; 
 The one for being a traytoure, 
 
 Met an untimely death ; 
 The other eke for treason 
 
 Did end her hateful 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 stille ! 
 We had our holy water, 125 
 
 And holy bread likewise, 
 And many holy reliques 
 
 We zaw before our eyes. 
 
 TRUTH. 
 
 And all this while they fed you 
 
 With vaine and empty showe, 130 
 Which never Christ commanded, 
 
 As learned doctors knowe : 
 Search then the holy scriptures, 
 
 And thou shalt plainly see 
 That headlong to damnation 135 
 
 They alway trained thee. 
 
 IGNORANCE. 
 
 If it be true, good vellowe, 
 
 As thou dost zay to mee. 
 Unto my heavenly fader 
 
 Alone then will I flee : 140 
 
 Believing in the Gospel, 
 
 And passion of his Zon, 
 And with the zubtil papistes 
 
 Ich have for ever done. 
 
 III. 
 
 W^t MmxWm^ |A» 
 
 The story of the Wandering Jew is of con- 
 siderable 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 Pi- 
 late's porter, by nameCartaphilus ; 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 remem- 
 bers 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 
 
THE WANDERING JEW. 
 
 277 
 
 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 Hamburgh 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 fa ire 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 5 
 
 Did dailye 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, 10 
 
 In scornfuU 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, 15 
 
 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 : 20 
 
 His owne deare crosse he bore himselfe, 
 
 A burthen far too great. 
 Which made him in the streete to fainte, 
 
 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. 
 
 25 
 
 30 
 
 And thereupon he thrust him thence ; 
 
 At which our Saviour sayd, 
 I sure will rest, but thou shalt walke, 35 
 
 And have no journey stayed. 
 With that this cursed shoemaker, 
 
 For offering Christ this wrong. 
 Left wife and children, house and all, 
 
 And went from thence along. 40 
 
 Where after he had scene the bloude 
 
 Of Jesus Christ thus shed, 
 And to the crosse his bodye nail'd, 
 
 Awaye with speed he fled. 
 Without returning backe againe 45 
 
 Unto his dwelling place. 
 And wandred up and downe the worlde, 
 
 A runnagate most base. 
 
 No resting could he finde at all, 
 
 No ease, nor hearts content ; ' 50 
 
 No house, nor home, nor biding place : 
 
 But wandring forth he went 
 From towne to towne in foreigne landes, 
 
 With grieved conscience still, 
 Repenting for the heinous guilt 55 
 
 Of his fore-passed ill. 
 
 Thus after some fewe ages past 
 
 In wandring up and downe ; 
 He much again desired to see 
 
 Jerusalems renowne, 60 
 
 But finding it all quite destroyd, 
 
 He wandred thence with woe, 
 Our Saviours wordes, which he had spoke, 
 
 To verifie and showe. 
 
 " I'll rest, sayd hee, but thou shalt walke," 
 
 So doth this wandring Jew 66 
 
 From place to place, but cannot rest 
 
 For seeing countries newe ; 
 Declaring still the power of him, 
 
 Whereas he comes or goes, 70 
 
 And of all things done in the east, 
 
 Since Christ his death, he showes. 
 
 The world he hath still compast round 
 
 And scene those nations strange, 
 That hearing of the name of Christ, -75 
 
 Their idol 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 : 80 
 
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, 85 
 
 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, 90 
 
 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, 95 
 
 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 : 100 
 
 Where learned men with him conferre 
 
 Of those his lingering dayes. 
 And wonder much to heare him tell 
 
 His journey es, and his wayes. 
 
 If people give this Jew an almes, 105 
 
 The most that he will take 
 Is not above a groat a time : 
 
 Which he, for Jesus' sake. 
 Will kindlye give unto the poore. 
 
 And thereof make no spare, 110 
 
 Affirming still that Jesus Christ 
 
 Of him hath daily e care. ' 
 
 He ne'er was scene to laugh nor smile, 
 
 But weepe and make great moane ; 
 Lamenting still his miseries, 115 
 
 And dayes forepast and gone : 
 If he heare any one blaspheme, 
 
 Or take God's name in vaine. 
 He telles them that they crucifie 
 
 Their Saviour Christe againe. 120 
 
 If you had scene his death, saith he, 
 
 As these mine eyes have done. 
 Ten thousand thousand times would yee 
 
 His torments think upon : 
 And suffer for his sake all paine 125 
 
 Of torments, and all woes. 
 These are his wordes and eke his life 
 
 Whereas he comes or goes. 
 
 IV. 
 
 m^ 3p. 
 
 BY SIR WALTER RALEIGH, 
 
 — Is found in a very scarce miscellany enti- 
 tled " Davidson's Poems, or a poeticall 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 poem is 
 reported 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 David- 
 son's poems before that time, one in 1608,* 
 the other in lOll.f 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. 
 t 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, 5 
 
 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 : ' IC 
 If church and court reply, 
 Then give them both the lye. 
 
VERSES BY KING JAMES I. 
 
 279 
 
 Tell potentates they live 
 
 Acting by others actions ; 
 Not lov'd unlesse they give, 15 
 
 Not strong but by their factions ; 
 If potentates reply, 
 Give potentates the lye. 
 
 Tell men of high condition, 
 
 That rule affairs of state, ■ 20 
 
 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, 25 
 
 They beg for more by spending, 
 Who in their greatest cost 
 
 Seek nothing but commending ; 
 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, 35 
 
 For thou must give the lye. 
 
 Tell age, it daily v^asteth ; 
 
 Tell honour, how it alters ; 
 Tell beauty, how she blasteth ; 
 Tell favour, how she falters ; 40 
 
 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 entangles 45 
 
 Herselfe in over-wisenesse ; 
 And if they do reply, 
 Straight give them both the lye. 
 
 Tell physicke of her boldnesse ; 
 
 Tell skill, it is pretension ; 50 
 
 Tell charity of coldness ; 
 Tell law, it is contention ; 
 And as they yield reply, 
 So give them still the lye. 
 
 Tell fortune of her blindnesse ; 55 
 
 Tell nature of decay ; 
 Tell friendship of unkindnesse ; 
 Tell justice of delay : 
 And if they dare reply, 
 Then give them all the lye. 60 
 
 Tell arts, they have no soundnesse, 
 
 But vary by esteeming ; 
 Tell schooles, they want profoundnesse, 
 And stand too much on seeming : 
 
 If arts and schooles reply, 65 
 
 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. 
 
 70 
 
 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. 
 
 ^txm bg f tag |aiTO |. 
 
 In the first edition of this book were in- 
 serted, by way of specimen of his Majesty's 
 poetic talents, some punning verses made on 
 the disputations at Sterling; 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 mul- 
 titude of his poems, we have here selected 
 
 * See a folio, intituled, "The Muses welcome to King 
 James." 
 
280 
 
 KING JOHN 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 swey : 
 And as their subjects ought them to obey, 
 
 So kings should feare and serve their God 
 againe. 
 
 If then ye would enjoy a happie r eigne, 5 
 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 mightieKing 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 I 
 What loathsome love breeds such a baleful 
 
 band 
 Betwixt the cankred King of Greta land,* 
 
 That melancholy old and angry sire, 
 
 And him, who wont to quench debate and 
 
 ire 5 
 
 Among the Romans, when his ports were 
 
 clos'd?t 
 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 sheet of snow, 
 
 Refuses food to fowl, to bird, and beast : 10 
 
 The chilling cold lets every thing to grow, 
 
 And surfeits cattle with a starving feast. 
 
 Curst be that love and moughtj continue 
 
 short. 
 Which kills all creatures, and doth spoil 
 our sport. 
 
 VI. 
 
 ^ingi |0feit ani \\t %\M 0f dantEburg* 
 
 The common popular ballad of " King 
 John and the Abbot" seems to have been 
 abridged and modernized about the time of 
 Jfimes 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. f Jatras. % i. e. may it. 
 
 § See the collection of Historical Ballads, 3 toIs. 1727. 
 Mr. Wise supposes Olfrey to be a corruption of Alfred, in 
 his pamphlet concerning the White Horse in Berkshire, 
 6,15. 
 
KING JOHN AND THE ABBOT OF CANTERBURY. 
 
 281 
 
 a very doleful ditty, to a solemn tune, con- 
 cerning " 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 He 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 He tell you a story, a story so merry e, 5 
 Concerning the Abbot of Canterbiirye ; 
 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 ; 10 
 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 farrc better house than mee, 
 And for thy house-keeping and high re- 
 nowne, 15 
 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 ; 22 
 
 For except thou canst answer me questions 
 
 three, 
 Thy head shall be smitten from thy bodie. 
 
 And first, quo' the king, when I'm in this 
 stead, 25 
 
 "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, 29 
 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. 
 
 0, 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. 
 
 35 
 
 He do my endeavour to answer your grace. 
 
 Now three weeks space to thee will I give, 
 And that is the longest time thou hast to live ; 
 For if thou dost not answer my questions 
 three, 39 
 
 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. 44 
 
 Then home rode the abbot of comfort so cold. 
 And he mett his shepheard 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 : 50 
 For if I do not answer him questions three, 
 My head will be smitten from my bodie. 
 
 The first is to tell him there in that stead, 53 
 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." 
 
282 
 
 KING JOHN AND THE ABBOT OF CANTERBURY. 
 
 Now cheare up, sire abbot, did you never 
 hear yet, 61 
 
 That a fool he may learne a wise man witt ? 
 
 Lend me horse, and serving men, and your 
 apparel, 
 
 And He ride to London to answer your quar- 
 rel. 64 
 
 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 ; 70 
 
 With crozier, and miter, 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, 75 
 
 Thy life and thy living both saved shall bee. 
 
 And first, when thou seest me here in this 
 
 stead. 
 With my crowne of golde so fair on my head, 
 Among all my liege-men so noble of birthe. 
 Tell me to one penny what I am worth. 80 
 
 " 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." 84 
 
 The king he laughed, 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 againe ; 90 
 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. 96 
 
 "Yea, that shall I do, and make your grace 
 
 merry : 
 You thinke I'm the abbot of Canterbiiry ; 
 But I'm his poor shepheard, as plain you may 
 
 see, 
 That am come to beg pardon for him and for 
 
 mee." 100 
 
 The king he laughed, and swore by the masse. 
 He 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 ; 106 
 
 And tell the old abbot when thou comest 
 
 home. 
 Thou has brought him a pardon from good 
 
 King John. *^* 
 
 Meaning probably St. Botolph. 
 
THE OLD AND YOUNG COURTIER. 
 
 283 
 
 VII. 
 
 |0tt ll^HM ^mtut 
 
 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 EeliquicB 
 Wbttoniance, 1651, with some corrections 
 from an old MS. copy. 
 
 You meaner beauties of the night, 
 
 That poorly satisfie our eies 
 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 appeare. 
 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 shal be scene 
 In sweetnesse of her looks and minde ; 
 
 By virtue first, then choyce a queen ; 
 Tell me, if she was not designed 
 Th' eclypse and glory of her kind ? 20 
 
 YIII. 
 
 %\t ®Ilr M)i |0ung €mxthx. 
 
 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 refine- 
 ments afiected 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 miscellaneous " 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 
 greate 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 
 
 They every quarter paid their old servants 
 
 their wages, 
 And never knew what belong'd to coachmen, 
 
 footmen, nor pages. 
 But kept twenty old fellows with blue coats 
 
 and badges ; 
 
 Like an old courtier, &c. 
 
1 
 
 284 THE OLD AND YOUNG COURTIER. 
 
 ^•With an old study filFd full of learned old 
 
 Like a flourishing young gallant, newly come 
 
 ( books, 
 
 to his land, 
 
 With an old reverend chaplain, you might 
 
 Who keeps a brace of painted madams at his , 
 
 know him "by his looks, 
 
 command, f 
 
 With an old buttery hatch worn quite off the 
 
 And takes up a thousand pound upon his 
 
 hooks, 
 
 father's land, 
 
 And an old kitchen, that maintained half a 
 
 And gets drunk in a tavern, till he can nei- 
 
 dozen old cooks. 
 
 ther go nor stand ; 
 
 Like an old courtier, &c. 
 
 Like a young courtier, &c. 
 
 With an old hall, hung about with pikes. 
 
 With a new-fangled lady, that is dainty, nice, 
 
 guns, and bows. 
 
 and spare, 
 
 With old swords, and bucklers, that had borne 
 
 Who never knew what belonged to good house- 
 
 many shrewde blows. 
 
 keeping, or care. 
 
 And an old frize coat, to cover his worship's 
 
 Who buyes gaudy-colored fans to play with 
 
 trunk hose, 
 
 wanton air. 
 
 And a cup of old sherry, to comfort his cop- 
 
 And seven or eight different dressings of other 
 
 per nose ; 
 
 women's hair ; 
 
 Like an old courtier, &c. 
 
 Like a young courtier, &c. 
 
 With a good old fashion, when Christmasse 
 
 With a new-fashion'd hall, built where the 
 
 was come. 
 
 old one stood, 
 
 To call in all his old neighbours with bagpipe 
 
 Hung round with new pictures, that do the 
 
 and drum. 
 
 poor no good. 
 
 With good chear enough to furnish every old 
 
 With a fine marble chimney, wherein burns 
 
 room. 
 
 neither coal nor wood. 
 
 And old liquor able to make a cat speak, and 
 
 And a new smooth shovelboard, whereon no 
 
 man dumb. 
 
 victuals ne'er stood ; 
 
 Like an old courtier, &c. 
 
 Like a young courtier, &c. 
 
 With an old falconer, huntsman, and a kennel 
 
 With a new study, stuft full of pamphlets, 
 
 of hounds, 
 
 and plays. 
 
 That never hawked, nor hunted, but in his 
 
 And a new chaplain, that swears faster than 
 
 own grounds, 
 
 he prays. 
 
 Who, like a wise man, kept himself within 
 
 With a new buttery hatch, that opens once in 
 
 his own bounds. 
 
 four or five days. 
 
 And when he dyed gave every child a thou- 
 
 And a new French cook, to devise fine kick- 
 
 sand good pounds ; 
 
 shaws, and toys ; 
 
 Like an old courtier, &c. 
 
 Like a young courtier, &c. 
 
 But to his eldest son his house and land he 
 
 With a new fashion, when Christmas is draw- 
 
 assign'd. 
 
 ing on. 
 
 Charging him in his will to keep the old 
 
 On a new journey to London straight we all 
 
 bountifuU mind. 
 
 must begone. 
 
 To be good to his old tenants, and to his 
 
 And leave none to keep house, but our new 
 
 neighbours be kind : 
 
 porter John, 
 
 But in the ensuing ditty you shall hear how 
 
 Who relieves the poor with a thump on the 
 
 he was inclin'd ; 
 
 back with a stone ; 
 
 Like a young courtier of the king's, 
 
 Like a young courtier, &c. 
 
 And the king's young courtier. 
 
 
SIR JOHN SUCKLING'S CAMPAIGNE. 
 
 285 
 
 "With a new gentleman-usher, whose carriage With new titles of honour bought with his 
 
 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. 
 
 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 |0^n SutMiiq's eEampipt 
 
 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- 
 tred, that it cost him 12,000^. 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 cloaths." [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 splen- 
 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 deliciae : 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 
 Athen83, 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 Bar wick 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'ld have sworn 
 on a book, 
 
 Hee'ld have conquer'd a whole armada. 
 
 The ladies ran all to the windows to see 
 So gallant and warlike a sight-a, 10 
 
 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 ? 16 
 
 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 
 
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, 26 
 
 He ran to his tent, they ask'd what he meant, 
 He swore he must needs goe sh*te-a. 
 
 The colonell sent for him back agen, 
 
 To quarter him in the van-a, 30 
 
 But Sir John did swear, he would not come 
 there, 
 To be kiird 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. 36 
 
 X. 
 
 ®0 ^l\\m torn |ris0it. 
 
 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 Athense, 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 ac- 
 complishme'ut, t>e pattern of his own sex, 
 and the darling of the ladies, died in the low- 
 est wretchedness, obscurity, and want, in 
 1658. 
 
 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 ; 5 
 
 And fetter'd with her eye, 
 
 Ver. 22, John de Wert was a German general of great 
 reputation, and the terror of the French in the reign of 
 Louis XIII. Hence his name became proverbial in France, 
 where he was called De Vert. See Bayle's Dictionary. 
 
 The birds that wanton in the aire, 
 Know no such libertye. 
 
 When flowing cups run swiftly round 
 
 With no allaying Thames, 10 
 
 Our carelesse heads with roses crown'd, 
 
 Our hearts with loyal flames ; 
 When thirsty griefe in wine we steepe, 
 
 When healths and draughts goe free, 
 Fishes, that tipple in the deepe, 15 
 
 Know no such libertie. 
 
 When, linnet-like, confined I 
 
 With shriller note shall sing 
 The mercye, sweetness, majestye, 
 
 And glories of my king ; 20 
 
 When I shall voyce aloud how good 
 
 He is, how great should be, 
 Th' enlarged windes, that curie the flood, 
 
 Know no such libertie. 
 
 Stone walls doe not a prison make, 25 
 
 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, 30 
 
 Angels alone, that scare above, 
 
 Enjoy such liber tie. ' ^ 
 
 Ver. 10, with woe-allaying themes, MS. Thames is used 
 for water in general. 
 
THE DOWNFALL OF CHARING-CROSS. 
 
 287 
 
 XI. 
 
 %\t g0tonMl 0f tf^mng-foss* 
 
 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 wherever the hearse of 
 his beloved 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 pre- 
 serve it from the merciless zeal of the times : 
 For, in 1647, it was demolished by order of 
 the House of Commons, as popish and super- 
 stitious. 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, 6 
 
 And chaffing say, that's not the way. 
 
 They must go by Charing-cross. 
 
 The parliament to vote it down 
 
 Conceived 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. 
 
 10 
 
 15 
 
 Men talk of plots, this might have been worse 
 
 For anything I know. 
 Than that Tomkins, and Chaloner 
 
 Were hang'd for long agoe. 20 
 
 Our parliament did that prevent, 
 
 And wisely them defended, 
 37 
 
 For plots they will discover still 
 Before they were intended. 
 
 But neither man, woman, nor child, 25 
 
 Will say, I'm confident. 
 They ever heard it speak one word 
 
 Against the parliament. 
 An informer swore, it letters bore, 
 
 Or else it had been freed ; 30 
 
 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, 35 
 
 For to church it never went. 
 What with excise, and such device, 
 
 The kingdom doth begin 
 To think you'll leave them ne'er a cross, 
 
 Without doors nor within. 40 
 
 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, 45 
 
 Faith, if I were as you, 
 For feare the king should rule again, 
 
 I'd pull down Tyburn too. 
 
 V Whitelocke 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 Observa- 
 tions on the Life, Sec, 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- 
 ed, 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. 
 
288 
 
 LOYALTY CONFINED. 
 
 XII. 
 
 f0pUg €auim)i. 
 
 This excellent old song is preserved in Da- 
 vid Lloyd's " Memoires of those that suffered 
 in the cause of Charles I." London, 1668, 
 fol. p. 96. He speaks of it as the composi- 
 tion of a worthy personage, who suffered 
 deeply in those times, and was still living 
 with no other reward tl\^n the conscience of 
 having suffered. The author's name he has 
 not mentioned, but, if tradition may be cre- 
 dited, 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 ; 5 
 
 Then strike, Affliction, for thy wounds are 
 balm. 
 
 /■' 
 
 That which the world miscaiis a jail, 
 
 A private closet is to me : 
 Whilst a good conscience is my bail. 
 And innocence my liberty : 10 
 
 Locks, bars, and solitude, together met. 
 Make me no prisoner, but an anchoret. 
 
 I, whilst I wisht to be retir'd. 
 
 Into this private room was turn'd ; 
 As if their wisdoms had conspir'd 15 
 
 The salamander should be burn'd : 
 Or like those sophists, that would drown a 
 
 fish, 
 I am constrained to suffer what I wish. 
 
 The cynick loves his poverty ; 
 
 The pelican her wilderness ; 20 
 
 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 25 
 
 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, 31 
 
 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, 35 
 
 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 : 40 
 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 knife 45 
 
 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 ; 50 
 
 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 55 
 
 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 ! 60 
 
 N 
 
 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 ! 64 
 
 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, e. 28. Cic. de Offic. Lib. L c 30; see also Val. Max. 
 1,8. 
 
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 : 
 And though immur'd, yet can I chirp, 
 
 sing 
 Disgrace to rebels, glory to my king. 
 
 70 
 and 
 
 My soul is free, as ambient air, 
 
 Although my baser part's immew'd, 
 Whilst loyal thoughts do still repair 
 T' accompany my solitude : 
 Although rebellion do my body binde. 
 My king alone can captivate my minde. 
 
 75 
 
 XIII. 
 
 mxm IJH f mg €\uxlt$ g 
 
 " This prince, like his father, did not con- 
 fine 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 Ha- 
 milton," 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. 437, 442, 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 root of righteous royaltie) 
 AVith this dim diadem invested me : 
 
 With it, the sacred scepter, purple robe. 
 The holy unction, and the royal globe: 
 Yet am I levell'd with the life of Job. 
 
 10 
 
 The fiercest furies, that do daily tread 
 Upon my grief, my grey discrowned head, 
 Are those that owe my bounty for their bread. 
 
 They raise a war, and christen it tJie 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 God and reason), 
 They dare impeach and punish for high trea- 
 
 son. 
 
 25 
 
 Next at the clergy do their furies frovni; 
 
 Pious episcopacy must go down. 
 
 They will destroy the crosier and the crown. 
 
 Churchmen are chained, 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 
 
 bleed 
 Herod and Pontius Pilate are agreed. 36 
 
290 
 
 THE SALE OF EEBELLIOUS 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 fruitful w^omb 
 So many princes legally have come, 41 
 
 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. 45 
 
 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, 50 
 
 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 for refusal they devour my thrones, 55 
 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. 60 
 
 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 65 
 
 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, nuUifie my hate, 70 
 Preserve my issue, and inspire my mate ; 
 Yet, though we perish, hless this church and 
 state. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 %\t Mt n\ %MX\m% ^mu\A)iSM. 
 
 This sarcastic exultation of triumphant 
 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? 5 
 
 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? 
 
 10 
 
 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, 16 
 
 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 ; 20 
 
 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 25 
 
 Than ever they could before. 
 Says old Simon, &c. 
 
THE SALE OF REBELLIOUS HOUSEHOLD-STUFF. 
 
 291 
 
 Here's a couple of stools for sale, 
 
 One's square, and t'other is round ; 
 Betwixt them both the tail 30 
 
 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. 35 
 
 Says old Simon, &c. 
 
 Here's the beesom of Reformation, 
 
 Which should have made clean the floor, 
 But it swept the wealth out of the nation, 
 
 And left us dirt good store. 40 
 
 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. 45 
 
 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 Pilgrim's-Salve, 50 
 
 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, 55 
 
 If any good fellow will take it ; 
 No Virginia had e'er such a smack-o. 
 
 And I'll tell you how they did make it : 
 'Tis th' Engagement, and Covenant cookt 
 
 Up with the Abjuration oath ; 60 
 
 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'er 't has an itch to swerve 
 To Rebellion by innovation. 
 
 A Lanthorn here is to be bought. 
 The like was scarce ever gotten. 
 
 65 
 
 * Alluding probably to Major-General Harrison, a 
 butcher'G son, -who assisted Cromwell in turning out the 
 Long Parliament, April 20, 1653. 
 
 For many plots it has found out 
 Before they ever were thought on. 
 Says old Simon, &c. 
 
 70 
 
 Will you buy the Rump's great saddle, 
 
 With which it jocky'd the nation? 
 And here is the bitt, and the bridle, 75 
 
 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, 80 
 
 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. 85 
 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. 90 
 
 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 Protectorship, 95 
 
 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, 100 
 
 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 ? 105 
 
 I'll sell them all for an old song, 
 
 And so I do end my story. 
 Says old Simon, &c. 
 
 Ver. 86, This was a cant name giTen to Cromwell's wife 
 by the Royalists, though her name was Elizabeth. She 
 was taxed with exchanging the kitchen-stuff for the candles 
 used in the Protector's household, &c. See Gent. Mag. for 
 March, 1788, p. 242. 
 
 Ver. 94, See Grey's Hudibras, Pt. I. Cant. 2, ver. 570, &c. 
 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. 
 
292 THE BAFFLED KNIGHT, OR LADY'S POLICY. 
 
 XV. 
 
 
 GiTEN (with some corrections) from a MS. 
 
 She slipped herself within the gate. 
 
 35 
 
 copy, and collated with two printed ones in 
 
 And lockt the knight without-a. 
 
 
 Roman character in the Pepy collection. 
 
 Here is a silver penny to spend. 
 
 
 / There was a knight was drunk with wine, 
 
 And take it for your pain, sir ; 
 
 
 A riding along the way, sir ; 
 
 And two of my father's men I'll send 
 
 
 And there he met with a lady fine, 
 
 To wait on you back again, sir. 
 
 40 
 
 Among the cocks of hay, sir. 
 
 He from his scabbard drew his brand, 
 
 
 Shall you and I, lady faire, 5 
 
 And wiped it upon his sleeve-a ! 
 
 
 Among the grass lye down-a : 
 
 And cursed, he said, be every man. 
 
 
 And I will have a special care 
 
 That will a maid believe-a ! 
 
 
 Of rumpling of your gowne-a. 
 
 
 
 
 She drew a bodkin from her haire, 
 
 45 
 
 Upon the grass there is a dewe, 
 
 And whip'd it upon her gown-a ; 
 
 
 Will spoil my damask gowne, sir : 10 
 
 And cursed be every maiden faire. 
 
 
 My gowne and kirtle they are newe. 
 
 That will with men lye down-a ! 
 
 
 And cost me many a crowne, sir. 
 
 A herb there is, that lowly grows. 
 
 
 I have a cloak of scarlet red, 
 
 And some do call it rue, sir : 
 
 50 
 
 Upon the ground I'll throwe it ; 
 
 The smallest dunghill cock that crows, 
 
 
 Then, lady faire, come lay thy head ; 15 
 
 Would make a capon of you, sir. 
 
 
 We'll play, and none shall knowe it. 
 
 A flower there is, that shineth bright. 
 
 
 yonder stands my steed so free 
 
 > Some call it mary-gold-a : 
 
 
 Among the cocks of hay, sir ; 
 
 He that wold not when he might. 
 
 55 
 
 And if the pinner should chance to see. 
 
 He shall not when he wold-a. 
 
 
 He'll take my steed away, sir. 20 
 
 The knight was riding another day. 
 
 
 Upon my finger I have a ring 
 
 With cloak and hat and feather : 
 
 
 Its made of finest gold-a, 
 
 He met again with that lady gay. 
 
 
 And, lady, it thy steed shall bring 
 
 Who was angling in the river. 
 
 60 
 
 Out of the pinner's fold-a. 
 
 Now, lady faire, I've met with you. 
 
 
 go with me to my father's hall ; 25 
 
 Fair chambers there are three, sir ; 
 And you shall have the best of all, 
 
 You shall no more escape me ; 
 Remember, how not long agoe 
 You falsely did intrap me. 
 
 
 And I'll your chamberlaine bee, sir. 
 
 The lady blushed scarlet red, 
 And trembled at the stranger : 
 
 65 
 
 He mounted himself on his steed so tall. 
 
 How shall I guard my maidenhead 
 
 
 And her on her dapple gray, sir : 30 
 
 From this approaching danger ? 
 
 
 And there they rode to her father's hall. 
 
 
 
 Fast pricking along the way, sir. 
 
 He from his saddle down did light, 
 
 
 
 In all his riche attyer ; 
 
 70 
 
 To her father's hall they arrived strait ; 
 
 And cryed, As I am a noble knight. 
 
 
 'Twas moated round about-a ; 
 
 I do thy charms admyer. 
 
 
THE BAFFLED KNIGHT, OR LADY'S POLICY. 
 
 293 
 
 He took the lady by the hand, 
 
 Who seemingly consented ; 
 And would no more disputing stand : 75 
 
 She had a plot invented. 
 
 Looke 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, 85 
 
 The bottom faire he sounded ; 
 Then rising up, he cried amain, 
 
 Help, helpe, or else I'm drownded ! 
 
 Now, fare-you-well, sir knight, adieu ! 
 
 You see what comes of fooling : 90 
 
 That is the fittest place for you ; 
 
 Your courage wanted cooling. 
 
 Ere many days, in her fathers park, 
 
 Just at the close of eve-a. 
 Again she met with her angry sparke ; 95 
 
 Which made this lady grieve-a. 
 
 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 vow and swear I thought no harm, 
 
 ^Twas a gentle jest I playd-a. 
 
 A gentle jest, in soothe he cry'd, 105 
 
 To tumble me in and leave 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; 110 
 
 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, 115 
 
 Or else you cannot stir, sir. 
 
 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 your betters : 
 You shall not make of me your prey; 
 
 Sit there like a knave in fetters. 
 
 The knight, when she had served him see. 
 He fretted, fum'd, and grumbled : 126 
 
 For he could neither stand nor goe, 
 But like a cripple tumbled. 
 
 Farewell, sir knight, the clock strikes ten, 
 Yet do not move nor stir, sir : 130 
 
 I'll send you my father's serving men, 
 To pull off your boots and spurs, sir. 
 
 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, 145 
 
 I'll challenge all her kindred ; 
 Each dastard soul shall stand affeard ; 
 
 My wrath shall no more be hindred. 
 
 He rode unto her father's house. 
 
 Which every side was moated : 150 
 
 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, 155 
 
 Or else it shall burn for ever. 
 
 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 
 
294 
 
 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've laid a plank 
 Full seventeen feet in measure ; 
 
 Then step a-cross to the other bank, 
 And there we'll take our pleasure. 
 
 175 
 
 These words she had no sooner spoke, 
 But strait he came tripping over: 
 
 The plank was saw'd, it snapping broke ; 
 And sous'd the unhappy lover. 180 
 
 XVI. 
 
 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? 
 
 Prethee, why so pale ? 
 Will, when looking well can't move her, 
 
 Looking ill prevail ? 
 
 Prethee why so pale ? 5 
 
 Why so dull and mute, young sinner ? 
 
 Prethee, why so mute ? 
 Will, when speaking well can't win her, 
 
 Saying nothing doe't ? 
 
 Prethee 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. 
 
 MAD SONG THE FIRST. 
 
 It is worth attention, that the English have 
 more songs and ballads on the subject of 
 madness, 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. He 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 
 
OLD TOM OF BEDLAM. 
 
 295 
 
 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 abysse of hell, 
 Mad Tom is come into the world againe 
 To see if he can cure his distempered braine. 
 
 Feares and cares oppresse my soule ; 5 
 Harke, howe the angrye Fureys 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, 10 
 
 In an angry moode I mett old Time, 
 With his pentarchye of tenses : 
 
 When me be spyed, 
 
 Away he hyed. 
 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 ! 
 Harke ! I heare Apollo's teame, 
 The carman 'gins to whistle ; 
 
 15 
 
 20 
 
 Chast Diana bends her bowe. 
 The boare begins to bristle. 
 
 Come, Vulcan, with tools and with tackles, 
 To knocke off my troublesome shackles ; 26 
 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 god of war: 
 
 30 
 
 Mars with his weapon laid about, 
 But Vulcan's temples had the gout, 34 
 
 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. 
 
 40 
 
 To mee he dranke, 
 
 I did him thanke. 
 But I could get no cyder ; 
 
 He dranke whole butts 
 
 Till he burst his gutts. 
 But mine were ne'er the wyder. 
 
 Poore naked Tom is very drye : 
 A little drinke for charitye ! 
 Harke, I hear Acteon's home ! 
 
 The huntsmen whoop and hallowe : 
 Pvingwood, 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. 
 
 45 
 
 50 
 
 55 
 
 38 
 
296 
 
 THE DISTRACTED PURITAN. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 MAD SONG THE SECOND, 
 
 — Was written about the beginning of the 
 seventeenth century by the witty bishop Cor- 
 bet, 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, 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 sur- 
 plice, 
 Mitres, copes, and rochets ; 
 Come hear me pray nine times a day, 
 And fill your heads with crochets. 
 
 In the house of pure Emanuel* 10 
 
 I had my education 
 
 Where my friends surmise 
 
 I dazePd my eyes 
 With the sight of revelation. 
 Boldly I preach, &c. 
 
 They bound me like a bedlam, 15 
 
 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 20 
 
 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 !) 25 
 I have knock'd off three already ; 
 
 If they let me alone 
 
 I'll leave him none i 
 But they say I am too heady. 
 Boldly I preach, &c. 
 
 * Emanuel College, Cambridge, was origioally a seminary 
 of Puritans. 
 
 When I sack'd the seven-hill'd city, 30 
 
 I met the great red dragon ; 
 
 I kept him aloof 
 
 With the armour of proof. 
 Though here I ha,ve 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 pride 
 
 My zeal deride. 
 And all my deeds misconster. 
 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.f 
 Boldly I preach, &c. 
 
 I observ'd in Perkin's J 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 he seen in Wood's Athen. toI. II., p. 501. He was 
 author of a hook, intituled, " The Fiery Flying Roll :" and 
 afrerwards published a Recantation, part of whose title is, 
 " The Fiery Flying Roll's Wings dipt," Ac. 
 
 t See Greenham's Works, fol. 1605, particularly the tract 
 intituled " A sweet Comfort for an Afflicted Conscience." 
 
 X 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 damna- 
 tion," &c., the pedigree of damnation being distinguished 
 by a broad black zig-zag line. 
 
THE LUNATIC LOVER. 
 
 297 
 
 In the holy tongue of Canaan 55 
 
 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 appeared before the archbishop,* 60 
 
 And all the high commission ; 
 
 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, 65 
 Mitres, copes, and rochets : 
 Come hear me pray nine times a day. 
 And fill your heads with crotchets. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 %\t pKdit l0lj^r, 
 
 MAD SONG THE THIRD, 
 
 —Is given from an old printed copy in the 
 British Museum, compared with another in 
 the Pepys collection ; both in black-letter. 
 
 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, 6 
 
 And hug me close in your arms ; 
 
 To you my respects I'll pay. 
 
 I'll court you, and think you fair, 
 
 Since love does distract my brain : 10 
 
 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, 15 
 
 And down to the shades below. 
 
 A lunacy sad I endure, 
 
 Since reason departs away ; 
 I call to those hags for a cure, 
 
 As knowing not what I say. 20 
 
 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 ! 
 
 I ramble, and range about 25 
 
 To find out my charming saint; 
 
 While she at my grief does flout, 
 And smiles at my loud complaint. 
 
 * Abp. Laud. 
 
 Distraction I see is my doom, 
 
 Of this I am now too sure ; 30 
 
 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, 35 
 
 Expecting to find her there. 
 Methinks in a spangled cloud 
 
 I see her enthroned on high ; 
 Then to her I crie 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, 45 
 
 In sorrow I sigh and weep ; 
 The clouds are my canopy 
 
 To cover me while I sleep. 
 
 I dream that my charming fair 
 
 Is then in my rival's bed, 50 
 
 Whose tresses of golden hair 
 
 Are on the fair pillow bespread. 
 Then this doth my passion inflame, 
 
 I start, and no longer can lie : 
 Ah ! Sylvia, art thou not to blame 55 
 
 To ruin a lover ? I cry. 
 
 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 hoverino; in the air. 
 
298 
 
 THE DISTRACTED LOVER. 
 
 XX. 
 
 %\t fabg gistrarto Mi\ f 0te, 
 
 MAD SONG THE FOURTH, 
 
 — Was originally sung in one of Tom D'Ur- 
 fey's comedies of Don Quixote, acted in 1694, 
 and 1696 ; and probably composed by him- 
 self. In the several stanzas, the author re- 
 presents his pretty Mad-woman as, 1. sul- 
 lenly mad ; 2. mirthfully mad : 3. melan- 
 choly mad : 4. fantastically mad : and, 5. 
 stark mad. Both this and Num. XXII. are 
 printed from D'Urfey's " Pills to purge Me- 
 lanchol " 1719, vol. 1. 
 
 From rosie 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 darling 
 
 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 face. 
 
 And a shape, and a grace, 15 
 
 ni 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. 
 
 Or say, ye powers, my peace to crown, 
 Shall I thaw myself, and drown 
 
 Among the foaming billows ? 
 Increasing all with tears I shed. 
 
 On beds of ooze, and crystal pillows. 
 Lay down, lay down my lovesick head ? 
 
 25 
 
 30 
 
 No, no, I'll strait run mad, mad, mad ; 
 
 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. 
 
 %\t listrariA f 0ter, 
 
 MAD SONG THE FIFTH, 
 
 — Was written by Henry Carey, a cele- 
 brated composer of music in the beginning 
 of the eighteenth century, and author of 
 several little theatrical entertainments, which 
 the reader may find enumerated in the "Com- 
 panion to the Play-house," &c. The spright- 
 liness of this songster's fancy could not pre- 
 
 serve him from a very melancholy catastro- 
 phe, 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. 
 
— — — — - — — — — — — 
 
 THE FRANTIC LADY. 299 
 
 I GO to the Elysian shade, 
 
 Pity my pains, 21 
 
 Where sorrow ne'er shall wound me ; 
 
 Ye gentle swains ! 
 
 "Where nothing shall my rest invade, 
 
 Cover me with ice and snow, 
 
 But joy shall still surround me. 
 
 I scorch, I burn, I flame, I glow ! 
 
 I fly from Celia's cold disdain, 5 
 
 
 From her disdain I fly ; 
 
 Furies, tear me, 25 
 
 She is the cause of all my pain. 
 
 Quickly bear me 
 
 For her alone I die. 
 
 To the dismal shades below ! 
 
 
 Where yelling, and howling, 
 
 Her eyes are brighter than the mid-day sun, 
 
 And grumbling, and growling. 
 
 When he but half his radiant course has run, 
 
 Strike the ear with horrid woe. 30 
 
 When his meridian glories gaily shine, 11 
 
 
 And gild all nature with a warmth divine. 
 
 
 
 Hissing snakes, 
 
 See yonder river's flowing tide, 
 
 Fiery lakes 
 Would be a pleasure, and a cure : 
 
 Which now so full appears ; 
 Those streams, that do so swiftly glide, 15 
 
 Not all the hells, 
 
 Where Pluto dwells, 35 
 
 Are nothing but my tears. 
 
 Can give such pain as I endure. 
 
 There I have wept till I could weep no more. 
 
 
 And curst mine eyes, when they have wept 
 
 To some peaceful plain convey me, 
 
 their store : 
 
 On a mossey carpet lay me. 
 
 Then, like the clouds, that rob the azure 
 
 Fan me with ambrosial breeze, 
 
 main. 
 
 Let me die and so have ease ! 40 
 
 I've drain'd the flood to weep it back again. 
 
 
 XX 
 
 :ii. 
 
 . ®|[« Iran 
 
 tit faiyj. 
 
 MAD SONG ' 
 
 rHE SIXTH. 
 
 This, like Number XX., was originally 
 
 Pour them all on my soul, 
 
 sung in one of D'Urfey's Comedies of Don 
 
 It will hiss like a coal. 
 
 Quixote (first acted about the year 1694), and 
 
 But be never the cooler. 10 
 
 was probably composed by that popular song- 
 
 
 ster, who died Feb. 26, 1723. 
 
 'Twas pride hot as hell. 
 
 This is printed in the " Hive, a Collection 
 
 That first made me rebell. 
 
 of Songs," 4 vols., 1721, 12mo., where may 
 
 From love's awful throne a curst angel I fell ; 
 
 be found two or three other mad songs not 
 
 And mourn now my fate, 
 
 admitted into these volumes. 
 
 Which myself did create : 15 
 
 
 Fool, fool, that consider'd not when I was well I 
 
 I BURN, my brain consumes to ashes ! 
 
 Adieu ! ye vain transporting joys ! . 
 
 Each eye-ball too like lightning flashes ! 
 
 Off ye vain fantastic toys ! 
 
 Within my breast there glows a solid fire. 
 
 That dress this face — this body — to 
 
 Which in a thousand ages can't expire ! 
 
 allure ! 
 
 
 Bring me daggers, poison, fire ! 20 
 
 Blow, blow, the winds' great ruler ! 5 
 
 Since scorn is turn'd into desire. 
 
 Bring the Po, and the Ganges hither, 
 
 All hell feels not the rage, which I, poor I, 
 
 'Tis sultry weather ; 
 
 endure. 
 
300 
 
 LILLI BURLERO. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Silli §tirln0. 
 
 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, w^hich 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 
 effecf — Burn et. 
 
 It was written, or at least republished, on 
 the Earl of Tyrconnel's going 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 furious 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 subsequent 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. 
 
 Lillihurlero 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 ! broder 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, 5 
 
 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 troate. 
 
 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, 15 
 
 Lilli, &e. 
 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. 25 
 
 Lilli, &c. 
 
 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 gillore. 
 
 Lilli, &c. 
 
 And he dat will not go to de mass, 35 
 
 Lilli, &c. 
 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, aJ. ed. 
 
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'^* 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 Qaeen Elizabeth's birthday, &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 LilUhurlero Song ; with which, if you 
 will believe himself, he sung a deluded prince 
 out of three kingdoms." 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 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 well 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 leive, 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 well 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 nae mair weil be 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, Yarrow, Yarrow, 
 reid ? 25 
 
 Why on thy braes heard the voice of sor- 
 row? 
 And why yon melancholious weids 
 Hung on the bonny birks of Yarrow ? 
 
 What's yonder floats on the rueful rueful 
 flude? 29 
 
 What's yonder floats ? dule and sorrow ! 
 'tis he the comely swain I slew 
 
 Upon the duleful Braes of Yarrow. 
 
 Wash, wash his wounds, his wounds in 
 tears, 
 
 His wounds in tears with dule and sorrow; 
 And wrap his limbs in mourning weids, 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 waeful wise 
 
 His hapless fate on the Braes of Yarrow. 
 
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 luve ? 45 
 And warn from fight ? but to my sorrow 
 
 Too rashly bauld 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, 50 
 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, 55 
 
 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. 60 
 
 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- 
 
 C. How can I busk a bonny bonny bride ? 
 
 How can I busk a winsome marrow ? 66 
 How luve him upon the banks of Tweed, 
 
 That slew my luve on the Braes of Yar- 
 row? 
 
 Yarrow fields, may never never ram 
 Nor dew thy tender blossoms cover, 70 
 
 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 awn sewing : 
 
 Ah ! wretched me ! I little, little kenn'd 75 
 He was in these to meet his ruin. 
 
 The boy took out his milk-white, milk-white 
 steed, 
 
 Unheedful of my dule and sorrow : 
 But ere the toofall of the night 
 
 He lay a corps on the Braes of Yarrow. 80 
 
 Much I rejoyc'd that waeful waeful day ; 
 
 I sang, my voice the woods returning : 
 But lang e'er night the spear was flown. 
 
 That slew my luve, and left me mourning. 
 
 What can my barbarous barbarous father 
 do, 85 
 
 But with his cruel rage pursue me ? 
 My luver's blood is on thy spear, 
 
 How canst thou, barbarous man, then wooe 
 me? 
 
 My happy sisters may be, may be proud 
 With cruel and ungentle scof&n', 90 
 
 May bid me seek on Yarrow's Braes 
 My luver nailed in his cofi&n. 
 
 My brother Douglas may upbraid, upbraid. 
 And strive with threatning words to muve 
 me: 
 
 My luver's blood is on thy spear, 95 
 
 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. 100 
 
 But who the expected husband husband is ? 
 
 His hands, methinks, 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, 
 lay his cold head on my pillow ; 106 
 
 Take aff, take afi" these bridal weids. 
 And crown my careful head with willow. 
 
 Pale tho' thou art, yet best, yet best beluv'd, 
 could my warmth to life restore thee ! 
 
 Yet lye all night between my breists, ,. Ill 
 No youth lay ever there before thee. 
 
 Pale, pale indeed, luvely luvely youth ! 
 
 Forgive, forgive so foul a slaughter : 
 And lye all night between my briests ; 115 
 
 No youth shall ever lye there after. 
 
 A. Return, return, mournful mournful 
 bride. 
 
 Return, and dry thy useless sorrow : 
 Thy luver heeds none of thy sighs, 119 
 
 He lyes a corps in the Braes of Yarrow. 
 
ADMIRAL HOSIER'S GHOST. 
 
 303 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Jtimiol Jjmf$ (B\a$t, 
 
 — Was a party song written by the inge- 
 nious author of " Leonidas,''* on the taking 
 of Porto Bello from the Spaniards by Admi- 
 ral Vernon, Nov. 22, 1739.— The case of Ho- 
 sier, which is here so pathetically represented, 
 was briefly 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, or should they 
 presume to come out, to seize and carry them 
 into England : he accordingly arrived at the 
 Bastimentos near Porto Bello, but being em- 
 ployed rather to overawe than to attack the 
 Spaniards, with whom it was probably not 
 our interest to go to war, he continued long 
 inactive on that station, to his own great re- 
 gret. He afterwards removed to Carthagena, 
 and remained cruising in these seas, till far 
 the greater part of his men perished deplora- 
 bly by the diseases of that unhealthy climate. 
 This brave man, seeing his best officers and 
 men thus daily swept away, his ships exposed 
 to inevitable destruction, and himself made 
 the sport of the enemy, is said to have died 
 of a broken heart. Such is the account of 
 Smollett, compared with that of other less 
 partial writers. 
 
 The following song is commonly accompa- 
 nied with a Second Part, or Answer, which 
 being of inferior merit, and apparently written 
 by another hand, hath been rejected. 
 
 As near Porto-Bello lying 
 
 On the gently swelling flood, 
 At midnight with streamers flying 
 
 Our triumphant navy rode ; 
 There while Vernon sate all-glorious 5 
 
 From the Spaniards' late defeat : 
 And his crews, with shouts victorious, 
 
 Drank success to England's fleet : 
 
 On a sudden shrilly sounding, 
 
 Hideous yells and shrieks were heard ; 10 
 Then each heart with fear confounding, 
 
 A sad troop of ghosts appear'd, 
 
 * An ingenious correspondent informs the Editor, that 
 this Ballad hath been also attributed to the late Lord Bath. 
 
 39 
 
 All in dreary hammocks shrouded. 
 Which for winding-sheets they wore, 
 
 And with looks by sorrow clouded 15 
 
 Frowning on that hostile shore. 
 
 On them gleam'd the moon's wan lustre, 
 
 When the shade of Hosier brave 
 His pale bands was seen to muster 
 
 Rising from their watery grave. 20 
 
 O'er the glimmering wave he hy'd him, 
 
 Where the Burford* rear'd her sail, 
 With three thousand ghosts beside him. 
 
 And in groans did Vernon hail. 
 
 Heed, oh heed our fatal story, 25 
 
 I am Hosier's injur'd ghost, 
 You who now have purchas'd glory 
 
 At this place where I was lost ! 
 Tho' in Porto-Bello's ruin 
 
 You now triumph free from fears, 30 
 
 When you think on our undoing, 
 
 You will mix your joy with tears. 
 
 See these mournful spectres sweeping 
 
 Ghastly o'er this hated wave, 
 Whose wan cheeks are stain'd with weeping ; 
 
 These were English captains brave. 36 
 Mark those numbers pale and horrid. 
 
 Those were once my sailors bold ; 
 Lo, each hangs his drooping forehead. 
 
 While his dismal tale is told. 40 
 
 I, by twenty sail attended, 
 
 Did the Spanish town affright: 
 Nothing then its wealth defended, 
 
 But my orders not to fight. 
 Oh ! that in this rolling ocean 
 
 I had cast them with disdain. 
 And obey'd my heart's warm motion 
 
 To have quell'd the pride of Spain! 
 
 45 
 
 For resistance I could fear none. 
 
 But with twenty ships had done, 
 What thou, brave and happy Vernon, 
 
 Hast achiev'd with six alone. 
 Then the bastimentos never 
 
 Had our foul dishonour seen, 
 Nor the sea the sad receiver 
 
 Of this gallant train had been. 
 
 * Admiral Vernou's ship. 
 
 50 
 
 55 
 
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, 60 
 
 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, 65 
 
 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, 70 
 
 Wasted with disease and anguish. 
 
 Not in glorious battle slain. 
 
 Hence witli all my train attending 
 
 From their oozy tombs below. 
 Thro' the hoary foam ascending, 75 
 
 Here I fe^d my constant woe : 
 Here the bastimentos viewing, 
 
 We recal our shameful doom. 
 And our plaintive cries renewing, 
 
 Wander thro' the midnight gloom. 80 
 
 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, 85 
 
 AVhen your patriot friends you see, 
 Think on vengeance for my ruin. 
 
 And for England sham'd in me. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 Initmg giitoS0n. 
 
 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, 174G. 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., 
 Boon 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, 5 
 
 Do thou a pensive ear incline ; 
 For thou canst weep at every woe, 
 
 And pity every plaint, but mine. 
 
 Y'oung Dawson was a gallant youth, 
 
 A brighter never trod the plain ; 10 
 
 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, 15 
 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; 
 had he never seen that day ! 
 
 20 
 
 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 25 
 When Jemmy's sentence reach'd her car! 
 
 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, 30 
 
 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, 
 
 George, without a prayer for thee 35 
 
 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. 40 
 
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. 
 
 then her mourning-coach was call'd, 45 
 The sledge mov'd slowly on before ; 
 
 Tho' borne in a triumphal car, 
 
 She had not lov'd her favourite more. 
 
 She followed him, prepared to view 
 
 The terrible behests of law ; 50 
 
 And the last scene of Jemmy's woes 
 With calm and stedfast eye she saw. 
 
 Distorted was that blooming face, 
 Which she had fondly lov'd so long: 
 
 And stifled was that tuneful breath, 55 
 
 Which in her praise had sweetly sung: 
 
 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 : CO 
 
 And ravish 'd was that constant heart, 
 
 She did to every heart prefer ; 
 For though it could his king ft)rget, 
 
 'Twas true and loyal still to her. 
 
 Amid those unrelenting flames 65 
 
 She bore this constant heart to see ; 
 
 But Avhen 'twas moulder'd into dust. 
 Now, now, she cried, I'll follow thee. 
 
 My death, my death alone can show 
 
 The pure and lasting love I bore: 70 
 
 Accept, heaven, of woes like ours, 
 And let us, let us weep no more. 
 
 The dismal scene was o'er and past, 
 The lover's mournful hearse retir'd ; 
 
 The maid drew back her languid head, 75 
 And sighing forth his name expir'd. 
 
 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 EOOK. 
 
 SERIES THE THIRD. 
 BOOK I. 
 
 An ordinary song or ballad, that is the delight of tho 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. 
 
 |0cms 0n Jiiug Jirtljur, fee. 
 
 The third series being chiefly devoted to 
 romantic subjects, may not be improperly in- 
 troduced 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 Iiave 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. 
 
306 
 
 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 pre- 
 vailed among our Saxon ancestors, before 
 they quitted their German forests.f The 
 ancient Britons had their bards, and the 
 Gothic nations their scalds or popular poets, J 
 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 sup- 
 posed 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 his- 
 tory.§ 
 
 After letters began to prevail, and history 
 assumed a more stable form, by being com- 
 mitted 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 oif their recitals with such marvellous 
 fictions as were calculated to captivate gross 
 
 * Yid. Lasiteau Moeurs des Sauvages, t. ii. Dr. Browne's 
 Hist, of the Rise and Progress of Poetry. 
 
 t Germani celebrant carminibus antiquis (quod unum 
 apud illos memorije et annalium genus est) Tuistonera, 
 &c. Tacit. Germ. c. 2. 
 
 X Barth. Antiq. Dan. lib. i. cap. 10. — Wormii Literatura 
 Runica, ad finem. 
 
 g See " Northern Antiquities, or a Description of the 
 Manners, Customs, &e., of the ancient Danes and other 
 northern Nations, translated from the French of M. Mallet," 
 1770, 2 vol. 8vo. (vol. i. p. 49, &c.) 
 
 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 con- 
 temporaries on the Continent, till the satire 
 of Cervantes, or rather the increase of know- 
 ledge and classical literature, drove them ofi" 
 the stage, to make room for a more refined 
 species of fiction, under the name of French 
 romances, copied from the Greek. f 
 
 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 be- 
 came 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 feu- 
 dal 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 re- 
 spectful complaisance shown to the fair sex 
 (so difi'erent 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 pecu- 
 liar manner under that constitution, and at 
 length arrived to their full maturity in the 
 times of the Crusades, so replete with roman- 
 tic adventures.^ 
 
 * Vid. infra, pp. 4, 5, &c. 
 
 f Viz. Astraea, Cassandra. Clelia, &c. 
 
 f Mallet, vid. Northern Antiquities, vol. i. p. 318, Ac, vol. 
 ii. p. 234, &c. 
 
 § Letters concerning Chivalry, 8vo. 1763. 
 
 II Mallet. 
 
 If The seeds of chivalry sprung up so naturally out of the 
 original manners and opinions of the northern nations, I 
 
ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES. 
 
 307 
 
 Even the common arbitrary fictions of ro- 
 mance 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 ;t they were strongly 
 possessed with the belief of spells and en- 
 chantment ;t 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 Ara- 
 bians OK Moors after their invasion of Spain, 
 and from the Spaniards transmitted to the 
 bards of Armorica,]] and thus difi'used through 
 
 that it is not credible they arose so late as after the esta- 
 blishment 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 ver.=e, whether in Italian, 
 French, English, &c., are chiefly on the subjects of Charle- 
 magne, and the Paladins; or of our British Arthur, and 
 his knights of tbe Round Table, &c., being evidently bor- 
 rowed from the fabulous Chronicles of the supposed Arch- 
 bishop Turpin, and of JefFery of Monmouth. Not but 
 some of the oldest and most popular French romances are 
 also on Norman subjects, as Richard Sans-peur, Robert Le 
 Dlahle, &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 from what school 
 this species of fabling was learnt and transmitted to the 
 southern nations of Europe. 
 
 * Mallet, North. Antiquities, vol. i. p. 36 ; vol. ii. passim 
 
 t Olaus Verel. ad ITervarer Saga, pp. 44, 45. Ilickes's 
 The.saur. vol. ii. p. 311. Northern Antiquities, vol. ii. 
 passim. 
 
 X Ibid. vol. i. pp. 69, 374, &c., vol. ii. p. 216, &c. 
 
 § Rollof 's Saga, cap. 35, &c. 
 
 il It is peculiarly 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 i>land, as must have 
 been their traditions, songs, and fables; being doubtless 
 all of Celtic original. See p. 3. of the " Dissertation on the 
 Origin of Romantic Fiction in Europe," prefixed to Mr. 
 Thos. Warton's History of English Poetry, vol. i. 1774, 4to. 
 If any pen could have supported this darling hypothesis 
 of Dr. Warburton. that of this ingenious critic would have 
 effected it. But under the general term Oriental he seems 
 to consider tbe 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 ! 
 
 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 an- 
 other, 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 natu- 
 ralized 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 
 
 everything must be derived from them to the northern 
 Asiatics in the remotest ages, &c. With as much reason 
 under the word Occidental, we might represent the early 
 traditions and fables of the north and south of Europe to 
 have been the same ; and that the Gothic mythology of 
 Scandinavia or the Druidic or Celtic of Gaul and Britain, 
 differed not from the classic of Greece and Rome. 
 
 There is not room here for a full examination of the 
 minuter arguments, or rather slight coincidences, by which 
 our agreeable dissertator endeavours to maintain and defend 
 this favourite opinion of Dr. W., who has been himself so 
 completely confuted by Mr. Tyrwhitt. (See his notes on 
 "Love's Labour Lost," &c.) But some of his positions it 
 will be sufficient to mention : such as the referring the Gog 
 and ]Magog, which our old Christian bards might have had 
 from Scripture, to the Jaguiouge and Nagiouge of the 
 Arabians and Persians. &c.. (p. 1 3.) — That " we may venture 
 to aflRrm, that this [Geoffrey of Monmouth's] Chronicle, 
 supposed to contain the ideas of the Welsh 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 been 
 related concerning the conquests of Charlemagne and his 
 twelve peers. Its subject is the expulsion of the Saracens 
 from Spain; and it is filled with fictions evidently con. 
 genial to those which characterize Geoffrey's History." (p. 
 17.) — That is, as he afterwards expresses it, "lavishly deco- 
 rated by the Arabian fablers." (p. 58.) — We should hardly 
 have expected that the Arabian fablers would have been 
 lavish in decorating a history of their enemy; but what is 
 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 beg leave to offer, as affording decisive 
 evidence that they coiild not possibly be derived from a 
 Mahometan source. Sc. "The Christians under Charle- 
 magne are said to have found in Spain, a golden idol, or 
 image of Mahomet, as high as a bird 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 diabolical spirits. It held in its hand a prodigious club ; 
 and the Saracens had a prophetic tradition, that this club 
 should fiill 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 
 
308 
 
 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 ro- 
 mances : for as to dragons, serpents, necro- 
 mancies, &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 Scandinavians, from so dis- 
 tant a country, at so late a period. If they 
 may not be allowed to have brought these 
 opinions with them in their original migra- 
 tions 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 then 
 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 infa- 
 mous for their magic arts ; and as Odin and 
 his followers are said to have come precisely 
 from those parts of Asia, we can readily ac- 
 count for the prevalence of fictions of this 
 sort among the Gothic nations of the north, 
 without fetching 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 Chris- 
 
 ■which they will peculiarly romances (see Series I. Book iii. 
 No. 16, &c.), have nothing in common with their proper 
 romances (or histories) of chivalry; which they call Histo- 
 rias de Cavalkrias : these are evidently imitations of the 
 French, and show a great ignorance of Moorish manners : 
 and with regard to the Morisco, or song-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. 
 
 tians, whom they chiefly pent up in the moun- 
 tains, as gave them no chance of learning 
 their music, poetry, or stories ; and this, to- 
 gether 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 fiibling, 
 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. J 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 proclama- 
 tion, through all the neighbouring countries, 
 that whoever 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 deli- 
 vered the fiiir 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: where- 
 fore the Scalds, to give the more poetical turn 
 to the adventure, represent the lady as de- 
 tained 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 
 
 * See Northern Antiquities, passim, 
 t Ibid. 
 
 t Saxon Gram. p. 152, 153.— Mallet, North. Antiq. vol. i. 
 p. 321. 
 
ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES. 
 
 309 
 
 a celebrated poet, and which records all the 
 valiant achievements of his life.* 
 
 With marvellous embellishments of this 
 kind, the scalds early began to decorate their 
 narratives: and they vi-ere the more lavish 
 of these in proportion as they departed from 
 their original institution ; but it Avas 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 .f 
 
 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 ;J 
 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 
 Runif Poetry," printed for Dodsley. 1764, 8vo. 
 
 t Vid. Blallet, Northern Antiquities, passim. 
 
 I The Editor'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. 
 
 g 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 Normansf 
 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- 
 scent 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 successors. These, 
 adopting the religion, opinions, and language 
 of the new country, substituted the heroes 
 of Christendom 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 embel- 
 lished with the scaldic 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 ;t 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 the 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. 314. 
 
 f i. e. Northern Men; being chiefly emigrants from 
 Norway, Denmark^ &c. 
 
 J See the account of Taillefer in Essay and Note. 
 
 g Ipsa carmina memorias mandabant, et praelia inituri 
 decantabant : qua memoria tam fortium gestorum a majori- 
 bus patratorum ad imitationem animus adderetur. Jor- 
 navde.s de GotJiis. 
 
 II Eginhartus de Carolo magno. " Item barbara, et anti- 
 quissima carmina, quibus veterum regum actus et bella 
 canebantur. scrip?it," c. 29. 
 
 Asserias de iElfredo magno. "Rex inter bella, &c. . . . 
 
310 
 
 ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES. 
 
 poetry, being thus the transmitter of facts, 
 would as easily learn to blend them -with fic- 
 tions 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 Francef 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 oc- 
 casions: 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 ficti- 
 tious subjects, had evidently obtained from 
 the earliest times. But the professed roman- 
 ces of chivalry seem to have been first com- 
 posed in France, where also they had their 
 name. 
 
 The Latin tongue, as is observed by an in- 
 genious writer,:]; ceased to be spoken in 
 France about the ninth century, and was suc- 
 ceeded by what was called the romance 
 tongue, a mixture of the language of tlie 
 Franks and bad Latin. As the songs of chi- 
 valry 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 eai'ly as the eleventh century. | I 
 know not if the Boman 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 
 
 Saxonicos litres recitnre, et maxime c;irmina Faxonioa 
 memoriter discere, aliis imperare, et solus assidue pi'O 
 viribus, studiosissime non desinebat." Ed. 1722, 8vo. p. 43. 
 
 * See above, pp. 307-9, &c. 
 
 j- The romances on the subject of Perceval, San Graal, 
 Lancelot du Lac, Tristan, &c., were among the first that 
 appeared in the French language in prose, yet these were 
 originally composed in metre : The Editor has in his pos- 
 session a very old French MS. in verse, containing Vandtn 
 Roman de Perceval; and metrical copies of the others may 
 be found in the libraries of the curious. See a note of 
 Wanley's in Ilarl. Catalog. No. 2252, p. 49, &c. Nicolson's 
 Eng. Hist. Library, 3d Ed. p. 91, &c.— See also a curious 
 collection of old French romances, with Mr. Wanley's 
 account cf this sort of pieces, in Harl. MSS. Catal. 978, 106. 
 
 % The Author of the Essay on the Genius of Pope, p. 282. 
 
 g Ibid. p. 283. Hist. Lit. torn. vi. vii. 
 
 11 Voi Preface aux "Fabliaux et Contes des Poetes Fran- 
 cois des xii., xiii., xiv., et xv. siecles, &c. Paris, 1756, 3 
 torn. 12mo.," (a very curious work). 
 
 already seen, that, in the preceding century, 
 Avhen the Normans marched down to the bat- 
 tle of Hastings, they animated themselves, 
 by singing (in some popular romance or bal- 
 lad) the exploits of Roland and the other he- 
 roes of chivalry.* 
 
 So early as this I cannot trace the songs 
 of chivalry in English. The most ancient I 
 have seen is that of Hornechild, 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 na- 
 tions ;% and though, after the Norman con- 
 quest, this country abounded with French ro- 
 mances, or with translations from the French, 
 there is good reason to believe that the Eng- 
 lish 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 Arraoricans probably had them from Bri- 
 tain. | The stories of Guy and Bevis, with 
 some others, were probably the invention of 
 English minstrels.il On the other hand, 
 
 * See the account of Taillefer in P-ssay, and Note. And 
 see Kapin, 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 
 Poland, comme c'etoit I'usage dans les marches. II y along 
 temps, dit il [John K. of France, wlio died in 1634], qu'on 
 ne voit plus de Polands parmi les Francois. On y verroit 
 encore des Rolands, lui repondit un vieux Capitaine, s'ils 
 avoient un Charlemagne h, leur tcte." Vid. tom. iii. p. 202, 
 des Essaies Hist, sur Paris de M. de Saintefoix. who gives, 
 as his authority, Boetlnvs in Hist. Scotorum. This author, 
 however, speaks of the complaint and repartee as made in 
 an assembly of the states (rocatn senatu), and not upon 
 any march, &c. Yid. Boeth. lib. xv., fol. 327. Ed. Paris, 
 1574. 
 
 t See, on this subject. Notes ou the Essay on the Ancient 
 Minstrels (s. 2), and (G G). 
 
 X 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 fabulous heroes 
 of tlieir own country, but abo on those of France and 
 Britain, as Tristram, Arthur, Gawain, and the Knights 
 von der Tafdrovde. Vid. Goldasti Not. in Eginhart. Vid. 
 Car. Mag. 4to., 1711, p. 207. 
 
 ^ The Welsh have still some very old romances about 
 King Arthur: but as these are in prose, they are not pro- 
 bably their first pieces that vere composed on that subject. 
 
 II It is most credible that these stories were originally of 
 Englif^h 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 amplifica- 
 tions, or enlargements of the old English story. That the 
 
ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES. 
 
 311 
 
 the English procured translations of such ro- 
 mances 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. Whereas 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.f 
 
 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 Ipotis 
 
 Of Bevis, and Sire Guy 
 Of Sire Libeux, and Pleindamour, 
 But Sire Thopas, he bereth the flour 
 
 Of real chevalrie.J 
 
 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 fiiUen 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- 
 
 French romancers borrowed some things from the English, 
 appears from the word Termagant, which they tooli np 
 from our minstrels, and corrupted into Tervagaunte. See 
 p. 19, and Gloss. "Termagaunt." 
 
 * Recuyel of the Hystoryes of Troy, 1471. Godfrye of 
 Bolnyne, 1481. Le Morte de Arthur, 1485. The Life of 
 Charlemagne, 148.5, &c. As the old minstrelsy wore out. 
 prose books of chivalry became more admired, especially 
 after the Spanish romances begao to be translated into 
 English, towards the end of Queen Elizabeth's reign: then 
 the most popular metrical romances began to be reduced 
 into prose, as Sir Guy Bevis, &c. 
 
 •j See extract from a letter, written by the Editor of these 
 volumes, in Mr. Warton's Ob<('ryations, vol. ii. p. 139. 
 
 I Canterbury Tales (Tyrwhitt's Edit.) vol. ii. p. 238. 
 
 Tn all the former ediiions, which I have seen, the 
 
 name at the end of the 4th line is Bkmdamoure. 
 
 40 
 
 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 G )Aver, 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 rhy- 
 mist, whose merit it was to deform morality or 
 obscure true history. Should thepublic encou- 
 rage the revival of some of those ancient epic 
 songsof 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- 
 spcare, liy Avay of specimen of their use. 
 
 In his play of King John our great drama- 
 tic poet alludes to ;in exploit of Richard I., 
 which the reader will in vain look for in any 
 true history. Faulcunbridgo says to his mo- 
 ther, act i. sc. 1: 
 
312 
 
 ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES. 
 
 "Needs must you lay your heart at his dis- 
 pose ... 
 Against ^A^hose fiirie 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 
 Coeur 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 childlishly 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 
 tlirown 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- 
 chers ;" and here the description of the com- 
 bat begins: 
 
 The kever-chefesf 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 
 Pi-omances throw light on our first writers in prose: many 
 of our ancient historians have recorded the fictions of 
 romance. 
 
 t 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 fyers and wode, 
 
 AVith that came the jaylere, 
 
 And other men that wyth him were, 
 
 And the lyon them amonge ; 
 
 His paws were stifife 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 yanedf 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,J 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, 
 
 IMice and rats and such small deere 
 
 Have been Tom's food for seven long yeare, 
 
 has excited the attention 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. 
 
 f i. e. yawned. 
 
 X i. e. hurt. 
 
 2 Dr. Warburton.— Dr. Grey. 
 
ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROxMANCES. 
 
 313 
 
 Sir Bevis, which Shakspeare had doubtless 
 often 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 ^York, 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 Avill 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 intel- 
 ligible than the others he has quoted. 
 
 If an epic poem maybe 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 exe- 
 cutes a great design, in spite of all the obsta- 
 cles that oppose him :" I know not why we 
 should withhold the name of epic poem from 
 the piece which I am about to analyze. 
 
 My copy is divided into nine parts or can- 
 tos, 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 SirGawain a celebrated knight of King 
 Arthur's court, who being broiight 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 him- 
 self in his enemy's armour, he goes to King 
 Arthur's court, to request the order of knight- 
 
 * So it is intituled in the Editor's MS. But the true title 
 is Ze baux discnnus, or the Fair Unknown. See a note on 
 the Canterbury Tales, vol. iv. p. 333. 
 
 t Vid. " Discours sur la Poesie Epique," prefixed to 
 Telemaque. 
 
 hood. His request granted, he obtains a 
 promise of having the first adventure as- 
 signed 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 mis- 
 tress, 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 acqui- 
 esce. And here the first boftk 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 Perill, which none can pass without en- 
 countering 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 con- 
 queror. 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 even- 
 ing he is awakened by the dwarf, who has 
 discovered a fire in the wood. 
 
 PART III. 
 
 Sir Lybius arms himself, and leaps on 
 horseback: he finds two Giants roasting a 
 wild boar, who have a fair lady their captive. 
 Sir Lybius, by favour of the night, runs one 
 of 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) tells 
 him her story ; and leads him to her father's 
 castle; who entertains him with a great 
 feast ; and presents him at parting with a 
 suit of armour and a steed. He sends the 
 giant's head to King Arthur. 
 
314 
 
 ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES. 
 
 Sir Lybius. 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 Gefi'eron, 
 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 Lybius spends the night in the adjoining 
 town: in the morning goes to challenge the 
 faulcon. The ktoights 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 Lybius sends the faulcon to King 
 Arthur ; and receives back a large present in 
 florins. He stays forty days to be cured of 
 his wounds, which he spends in feasting with 
 the neighbouring lords. 
 
 Sir Lybius 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. 
 
 Sir Lybius 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 Maugys, 
 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 
 
 Sinadone, and stays with this bewitching 
 lady a twelvemonth. This fair sorceress, 
 like another Alcina, intoxicates him with all 
 kinds of sensual pleasure ; ?end detains him 
 from the pursuit of honour. 
 
 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 
 just : 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 duchy to them, and yield to 
 such base conditions as they would impose." 
 
 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 ears. 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. 
 
 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- 
 
ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES. 
 
 315 
 
 done, 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 
 and her dominions may be his reward. The 
 knight {whose descent is by this means dis- 
 covered) 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, particu- 
 larly 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 men- 
 tioned by Chaucer. 
 
 1. The romance of " Home Childe" is pre- 
 served in the British Museum, where it is 
 entitled ]>e ^este of King Home. See Cata- 
 log. 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 heo ben blyfe 
 
 )?at to my son^ ylype : 
 
 A son 5 ychulla ou sinj 
 
 Of AUof fe jode kyuje,* &c. 
 
 Another copy of this poem, but greatly 
 altered, and someAvhat modernized, is pre- 
 served in the Advocates' Library at Edin- 
 burgh, in a MS. quarto volume of old Eng- 
 lish poetry [W. 4, 1], No. xxxiv., in seven 
 leaves or folios,! entitled Horndiild and 
 Maiden Einivel, and beginning thus : 
 
 Mi leve frende dere, 
 Herkeu and ye may here. 
 
 2. The Poem of Ipofis (or Ypotis) is pre- 
 served in the Cotton Library, Calig. A. 2, fo. 
 
 * i. e. May all they be blitho, that to my song listen : A 
 song I shall you sing, of Allof the good king, &c. 
 
 t In each full page of this vol. are forty-four lines, ■when 
 the poem is in long metre: and eighty-eight when the 
 metre is short, and the page in two columns. 
 
 77, but is rather a religious legend, than a 
 romance. Its beginning is, 
 
 He ]?at wyll of wysdome here 
 
 Herkeneth now ze may here 
 
 Of a tale of holy wryte 
 
 Seynt Jon the Evangelyste wytnesseth hyt. 
 
 3. 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. 
 
 4. Guy and Colhronde, an old romance in 
 three parts, is preserved in the Editor's folio 
 MS. (p. 349). 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 plentye. 
 
 In the Edinburgh MS. (mentioned above) 
 are two ancient poems on the subject of Guy 
 of Warwick: viz. No. xviii. containing twen- 
 ty-six leaves, and xx. fifty-nine leaves. Both 
 these have unfortunately the beginnings 
 wanting, otherwise they would perhaps be 
 found to be different copies of one or both the 
 preceding articles. 
 
 5. From the same MS. I can add another 
 article to this list, viz. The Romance of Rem- 
 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, of 
 Rembrun follows that of Guy as a necessary 
 part of it. This Edinburgh Romance of 
 Rembrun begins thus : 
 
 Jesu that erst of mighte most 
 Fader and Sone and Holy Ghost. 
 
 * Sign. K. 2, b. 
 
 t 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. 394; in Appendix 
 to Bishop Moore's MSS. No. 690, 33, since given to the 
 University of Cambridge. 
 
olG 
 
 ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES. 
 
 Before I quit the subject of Sir Gujj, 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, *' w^iose 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 cloaths of silk 
 and gold given to his servants. 
 
 G. The Romance of Si/r Bevis is described 
 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. (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 difierent from 
 both, viz. 
 
 Lysten, Lordinges, and hold you styl. 
 
 7. Liheaux {Libeav.f, or Lyhius) Disconins 
 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, 
 
 Ilelpe them at their neede, 
 That will listen to my talo, 
 Of a Knight I will you tell, 
 
 A doughty man of deede. 
 
 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 Avill account for the 
 title of Le Beaux Disconus, or The Fair Un- 
 known, the first line is, 
 
 Jesu Christ our Savyour. 
 
 As for Pleindamovr, or Blandamoure, no 
 romance w^ith this title has been discovered ; 
 but as the word Blaundemere occurs in the 
 romance of Lihius Disconins, 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 Pleindamovr, 
 the name restored by Mr. Tyrrwhitt, is more 
 remote. 
 
 8. Le Morte Artliure is among the Harl. 
 MSS. 2252, § 49. This is judged to be a 
 translation from the French ; Mr. Wanloy 
 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. cccLi. is a MS. entitled, in the 
 catalogue. Acta Arihuris Metrico Anglicano, 
 but I know not its contents. 
 
 9. In the Editor's fi)lio 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 Turlic 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 mako 
 distinct articles of them. See also Series I. 
 Book I. No. 1, 2, 4, 5. 
 
 An older copy is preserved in the Cotton * Tn the former oJitions ; .aftei thn n bore, followed men. 
 
 lion of n fi a^ment in the pame MS. intituled. Sir Lirmel, in 
 
 distiths (p. 32); but this being only a >h rt ball.od, r.nd 
 
 No. COa, sec. 31. Yid. Catalog. MSS. p. 391. not relatin;; to King Arthur, is here omitted. 
 
ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES. 
 
 317 
 
 In the same MS. (p. 203) is the Greene 
 Kaiglii, in two parts, rehiting a curious ad- 
 venture of Sir Gawain, in stanzas of six lines, 
 beginning thus : 
 
 List : when Arthur he was k : 
 
 10. The Carle of Carlisle is another roman- 
 tic tale about Sir Gawain, in the same MS. 
 p. 448, in distichs : 
 
 Listen : to 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 distinct- 
 ly marked among our ancestors, as Homer's 
 heroes were among the Greeks ; for, as Uli/s- 
 ses is always represented crafty, Achilles 
 irascible, and Ajax rough ; so Sir Gawain is 
 over courteous and gentle, Sir Kay rugged 
 and disobliging, &c. " Sir Gawain with his 
 olde curtesie," is mentioned by Chaucer as 
 noted to a proverb, in his Squire's Tales. 
 Canterb. Tales, vol. ii. p. 104. 
 
 11. 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 Artours dawes. 
 
 The above was afterwards altered by some 
 minstrel into the romance of Sir Latnhewell, 
 in three parts, under which title it was more 
 generally known. f This is in the Editor's 
 folio MS. p. 60, beginning thus : 
 
 Doughty in King Arthures dayes. 
 
 12. Eger 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 
 
 * Tlie Freneh original is preserved among the Ilarl. MSS. 
 r;n.97S, pec. 112. Lavval. 
 
 t See Laneliani's Letter conr^rning Queon Elizabeth's 
 liutortainmoat at Killiagworth, 1275, 12mo. p. Gi 
 
 omitted in the former editions of this list, is 
 in distichs, and begins thus: 
 
 It fell sometimes in the land of Beame. 
 
 13. The Romance of Merline, in nine parts, 
 (preserved in the same folio MS. p. 145) 
 gives a curious account of the birth, parent- 
 age, 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 
 " oiire 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 Eng- 
 lish poems : I know not whether it has any- 
 thing in common with this last mentioned. 
 It is in the volume numbered xxiii., and ex- 
 tends through fifty-five leaves. The two first 
 lines are, 
 
 Jesu Crist, heven king, 
 Al ous graunt gode ending. 
 
 14. Sir Isenhras (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 difi'erent from the printed 
 copy, E. g. 
 
 God fat made both erfe and hevcne. 
 
 15. Emara, a very curious and ancient ro- 
 mance, is preserved in the same volume of 
 the Cotton Library, f. G9. It is in stanzas of 
 six lines, and begins thus: 
 
 Jesu }>at ys kyng in trone. 
 
 IG. Chevelere assigne, or, The Knight of 
 the Swan, preserved in the Cotton Library, 
 has been already described in the Essay on 
 P. Plowman's Metre, &g. Series II, Book iii. 
 No. 1, as hath also 
 
 17. The Sage of JSrlam (or Jerusalem), 
 
318 
 
 ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES. 
 
 which seems to have been written after the 
 other, and may not improperly be classed 
 among the romances; as may also the fol- 
 loAving, which is preserved in the same vol- 
 ume ; viz. 
 
 18. Owaine Myles, (fol. 90), giving an ac- 
 count of the wonders of St. Patrick's Purga- 
 tory. 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 ]?at 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. Uustache, f. 136. 
 
 19. Octaman imperator, an ancient romance 
 of chivalry, is in the same volume of the Cot- 
 ton 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 )?at was with spere ystonge. 
 
 In the public Library at Cambridge,* is a 
 poem with the same title, that begins very 
 differently 
 
 Lyttyll and mykyll, olde and yonge. 
 
 20. Eglamour of Arias (or Artoys) is pre- 
 served in the same volume with the foregoing, 
 both in the Cotton Library, and public Li- 
 brary at Cambridge. It is also in the Edit- 
 or'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 heven kyng. 
 
 21. Syr Triamore (in stanzas of six lines) 
 is preserved in MS. in the Editor's volume 
 (p. 210), and in the public Library at Cam- 
 
 * No. 690 (30). Vid. Oxon. Catalog. MSS. p. 394. 
 
 bridge, (690, ^29. Vid. Cat. MSS. p. 394).— 
 Two printed copies a,re 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. 
 
 22. Sir Degree {Degare, or Begore, which 
 last seems the true title), in five parts, in dis- 
 tichs, 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, 
 Lystenyth, lordyngis, gente and fre. 
 
 23. 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, want- 
 ing the whole first sheet A. 
 
 24. The Squyr of Loioe 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 kings daughter of Hungre. 
 
 25. History e of K. Richard Cure [Ccewr] 
 de Lyon (Impr. W. de Worde, 1528, 4to.) is 
 preserved in the Bodleian Library, C. 39, Art. 
 Selden. A fragment of it is also remaining 
 in the Edinburgh MS. of old English poems, 
 
 * This is alluded to by Shakspeare in his Henry V. (Act 
 5), where Fluellyn tells Pistol, he will make him a squire 
 of low degree, when he means to knock him down 
 
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 V7as the peculiar 
 patron of chivalry, and favourite of the old 
 minstrels and Troubadours. See Warton's 
 Observ. vol. i. p. 29, vol. ii. p. 40. 
 
 26. Of the following I have only seen No. 
 xxvii., but I believe they may all be referred 
 to the class of romances. 
 
 The K7iiglit of Courtesy and the Lady of 
 Faguel (Bodl. Lib. C. 39. Art. Sheld. a 
 printed copy.) This Mr. Warton thinks is 
 the story of Coucy's Heart, related in Fauchet, 
 and in Howel's Letters (v. i. s. 6, 1. 20, See 
 Wart. Obs. v. ii. p. 40.) The Editor has seen 
 a very beautiful old ballad on this subject in 
 French. 
 
 27. 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 Erie of Tholouse, (No. 
 xxvii.,) of which the Editor hath also a copy 
 from "Cod. MSS. Mus. Ashmol. Oxon.'^ The 
 first line of both is, 
 
 Jesu Chryste in Trynyte. 
 
 28. Roberd Kijnge of Cysyll (or Sicily,) 
 showing the fall of pride. Of this there is 
 also a copy among the Ilarl. MSS. 1703 (3.) 
 The Cambridge MS. begins, 
 
 Princis that be prowde in prese. 
 
 29. Le hone Florence of Rome, beginning 
 thus : 
 
 As ferre as men ride or gone. 
 
 30. Dioclesian the Emperour, beginning, 
 Sum tyme ther was a noble man. 
 
 31. 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, men- 
 tioned in the same article. See the Catalog, 
 vol. ii. 
 
 41 
 
 32. In the Edinburgh MS. so often refer- 
 red 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 contiins 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 ex- 
 amining the MS. myself, I shall be content 
 to mention only the articles that follow ;* viz. 
 
 An old romance about Rouland (not I be- 
 lieve the famous Paladine, but a champion 
 named Roidand Louth; query) being in the 
 volume. No. xxvii., in five leaves, and wants 
 the beginning. 
 
 33. Another romance, that seems to be a 
 kind of continuation of this last, entitled, 
 Otuel a Knight (No. xxviii., in eleven leaves 
 and a half.) The two first lines are, 
 
 Herkneth both zinge and old, 
 That willen heren of battailes bold. 
 
 34. 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: 
 
 Herkneth to me both eld and zing. 
 For Maries love that swete thing. 
 
 35. 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 Baronnis that were of mikle pris. befor 
 
 him they weren y-cald. 
 
 36. Another mutilated tale or romance (No. 
 iii. four leaves). The first lines at present 
 are, 
 
 To 
 
 and tellen him 
 
 Mr. Steward will y gon. 
 the sothe of the 
 Reseyved bestow sone anon, gif zou will 
 serve and with hir be. 
 
 * Some of these I give, though mutilated and diyested 
 of their titles, because they may enable a curious inquirer 
 to complete or improve other copies. 
 
320 
 
 THE BOY AND THE MANTLE. 
 
 37. 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 Baronns bold. 
 
 I cannot conclude my account of this curi- 
 ous 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 met- 
 rical romances in the Scottish dialect may 
 now be added, which are published in Pin- 
 kerton's "Scottish poems, reprinted from 
 scarce editions.'' Lond. 1792, in 3 vols. 8vo. 
 viz. 
 
 38. Gawan and Gologras, a metrical ro- 
 mance, 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. 
 
 39. Sir Gawan and Sir Galaron of Gallo- 
 way, a metrical romance, in the same stanzas 
 as No. xxxviii., from an ancient MS. begin- 
 ning thus : 
 
 In the tyme of Arthur an aunter* betydde 
 By the Turnwathelan, as the boke tells ; 
 Whan he to Carlele was comen, and conqueror 
 kyd, &c. 
 
 THE END OP THE ESSAY. 
 
 Both these (which exhibit the union of the 
 old alliterative metre, with rhyme, &c., and 
 in the termination of each stanza the short 
 triplets 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 Turnewatlielan is evidently 
 Tearne-Wadling, celebrated in the old ballad 
 of the Marriage 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 fore- 
 going 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. 
 
 Wilt iffg m)s i\i itutttk, 
 
 — Is printed verbatim from the old MS. 
 described in the Preface. The Editor believes 
 it more ancient than it will appear to be at 
 first sight ; the transcriber of that manuscript 
 having reduced the orthography and style in 
 many instances to the standard of his own 
 times. 
 
 * L e. Adventure. 
 
 The incidents of the "Mantle" and the 
 " Knife" have not, that I can recollect, been 
 borrowed from any other writer. The form- 
 er 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; 
 
THE BOY AND THE MANTLE. 
 
 321 
 
 But whosoever contrarie doth prove, 
 Might not the same about her middle 
 
 weare, 
 But it would loose or else asunder teare. 
 
 So it happened to the false Florimel, st. 16, 
 when 
 
 Being brought, about her middle small 
 
 They thought to gird, as best it her became, 
 But by no means they could it thereto 
 
 frame, 
 For ever as they fastned it, it loos'd 
 And fell away, as feeling secret blame, &c. 
 That all men wondred at the uncouth sight 
 And each one thought as to their fancies 
 
 came. 
 But she herself did think it done for spight, 
 And touched was with secret wrath and 
 
 shame 
 Therewith, as thing deviz'd her to defame: 
 Then many other ladies likewise tride 
 About their tender loynes to knit the same, 
 But it would not on none of them abide, 
 But when they thought it fast, eftsoones it 
 
 was untide. 
 Thereat all knights gan laugh and ladies 
 
 lowre. 
 Till that at last the gentle Amoret 
 Likewise assayed to prove that girdle's 
 
 powre. 
 And having it about her middle set 
 Did find it fit withouten breach or let, 
 Whereat the rest gan greatly to envie. 
 But Florimel exceedingly did fret, 
 And snatching from her hand, &c. 
 
 As for the trial of the Home, it is not pe- 
 culiar to our Poet : It occurs in the old Ro- 
 mance, 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 Enc"hanted Cup, C. 
 42, &c. See Mr. Warton's Observations on 
 the Faerie Queen, &c. 
 
 The story of the Horn in Morte Arthur 
 varies a good deal from this of our Poet, as 
 the reader will judge from the following ex- 
 tract. " By the way they met with a 
 
 knight that was sent from Morgan la Faye 
 to King Arthur, and this knight had a fair 
 home all garnished with gold, and the home 
 bad such a virtue, that there might no ladye 
 
 or gentlewoman drinke of that home, but if 
 she were true to her husband : and if shee 
 were false she should spill all the drinke, and- 
 if shee were true unto her lorde, shee might 
 drink peaceably : and because of Queene 
 Guenever and in despite of Sir Launcelot du 
 Lake, this horne was sent unto King Arthur." 
 
 This horn is intercepted and brought 
 
 unto another king named Marke, who is not 
 a whit more fortunate than the British hero, 
 for he makes " his queene drinke thereof and 
 an hundred ladies more, and there were but 
 foure ladies of all those that dranke cleane," 
 of which number the said queen proves not 
 to be one [Book II., chap. 22, Ed. 1632.] 
 
 In other respects the two stories are so dif- 
 ferent, that we have just reason to suppose 
 this Ballad was written before that romance 
 was translated into English. 
 
 As for Queen Guenever, she is here repre- 
 sented no otherwise than in the old Histories 
 and Romances. Holinsh6d observes, that 
 " she was evil reported of, as noted of incon- 
 tinence and breach of faith to hir husband." 
 Vol. L, 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 5 
 
 This child had uppon, 
 With ' brouches' and ringes 
 Full richelye bedone. 
 
 He had a sute of silke 
 
 About his middle drawne ; 10 
 
 Without he cold of curtesye 
 
 He thought itt much shame. 
 
 God speed thee. King Arthur, 
 Sitting at thy raeate : 
 And the goodly Queene Guenever, 15 
 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. 20 
 
 Ver. 7, branches, MS. Y. 18, heate, MS. 
 
322 
 
 THE BOY AND THE MANTLE. 
 
 He plucked out of his ' porterner/ 
 And longer wold not dwell, 
 He pulled forth a pretty mantle, 
 Betweene two nut-shells. 
 
 Have thou here, King Arthur : 25 
 
 Have thou heere of mee : 
 Give itt to thy comely queene 
 Shapen as itt is alreadye 
 
 Itt shall never become that wiffe. 
 That hath once done amisse, 30 
 
 Then every knight in the kings court, 
 Began to care for ' his.' 
 
 Forth came dame Gu6never ; 
 To the mantle shoe her ' hied ;' 
 The ladye shee was newfangle, 
 But yett shee was affrayd. 
 
 35 
 
 "When shee had taken the mantle ; 
 She stoode as shee had beene madd : 
 It was from the top to the toe 
 As sheeres had itt shread. 40 
 
 One while was it ' gule :' 
 Another while was itt greene ; 
 Another while was it wadded : 
 111 itt did her beseeme. 
 
 Another while was it blacke 45 
 
 And bore the worst hue : 
 By my troth, quoth King Arthur, 
 I thinke thou be not trile. 
 
 Shee threw down the mantle, 
 
 That bright was of blee ; 50 
 
 Fast with a rudd redd, 
 
 To her chamber can shee flee. 
 
 She curst the weaver and the walker 
 That clothe that had wrought ; 
 And bade a vengeance on his crowne, 
 That hither hath itt brought. 56 
 
 I had rather be in a wood. 
 
 Under a greene tree ; ' 
 
 Then in King Arthurs court 
 
 Shamed for to bee. 60 
 
 Kay called forth his ladye, 
 And bade her come neere ; 
 Sales, Madam, and thou be guiltye, 
 I pray thee hold thee there. 
 
 Ver. 21, poterver, MS. 
 MS. V. 41, gaule, MS. 
 
 v. 32, his wiffe, MS. V. 34, bided, 
 
 Forth came his ladye 65 
 
 Shortlye and anon ; 
 Boldlye to the mantle 
 Then is shee gone. 
 
 "When she had tane the mantle, 
 
 And cast it her about ; 70 
 
 Then was she bare 
 
 * Before all the rout.' 
 
 Then ever knight. 
 
 That was in the kings court. 
 
 Talked, laughed, and showted 75 
 
 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 flee. 80 
 
 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, 
 Willingly e to ffeede ; 86 
 
 For why this mantle might 
 Doe his wiffe some need. 
 
 When she had tane the mantle. 
 
 Of cloth that was made, 90 
 
 She had no more left on her, 
 
 But a tassell and a threed : 
 
 Then every knight in the kings court 
 
 Bade evill might shee speed. 
 
 Shee threw downe the mantle, 95 
 
 That bright was of blee ; 
 And fast, with a redd rudd, 
 To her chamber can shee flee. 
 
 Craddocke called forth his ladye, 100 
 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 105 
 
 Since thou wast mine. 
 
 Ver. 75, lauged. 
 
THE BOY AND THE MANTLE. 
 
 323 
 
 Forth came Craddockes ladye 
 
 The litle boy stoode 
 
 
 Shortlye and anon ; 
 
 Looking out a dore ; 
 
 
 But boldlye to the mantle 
 
 * And there as he was lookinge 
 
 
 Then is shee gone. 110 
 
 He was ware of a wyld bore.' 
 
 
 When she had tane the mantle, 
 
 He was ware of a wyld bore. 
 
 155 
 
 And cast it her about, 
 
 Wold have werryed a man : 
 
 
 Upp at her great toe 
 
 He pulld forth a wood kniffe 
 
 
 It began to crinkle and crowt : 
 
 Fast thither that he ran : 
 
 
 Shee said, bowe downe, mantle, 115 
 
 He brought in the bores head, 
 
 
 And shame me not for nought. 
 
 And quitted him like a man. 
 
 160 
 
 ' Once I did amisse, 
 
 He brought in the bores head, 
 
 
 I tell you certainlye. 
 
 And was wonderous bold : 
 
 
 "When I kist Craddockes mouth 
 
 He said there was never a cuckolds kniffe | 
 
 Under a greene tree ; 120 
 
 Carve itt that cold. 
 
 
 When I kist Craddockes mouth 
 
 
 
 Before he marryed mee. 
 
 Some rubbed their knives 
 Uppon a whetstone : 
 
 165 
 
 When shee had her shreeven, 
 
 Some threw them under the table, 
 
 
 And her sines shee had tolde : 
 
 And said they had none. 
 
 
 The mantle stode about her 125 
 
 
 
 Eight as shee wold : 
 
 King Arthur, and the child 
 
 
 
 Stood looking upon them ; 
 
 170 
 
 Seemelye of coulour 
 
 All their knives edges 
 
 
 Glittering like gold : 
 
 Turned backe againe. 
 
 
 Then every knight in Arthurs court 
 
 
 
 Did her behold. 130 
 
 Craddocke had a litle knive 
 Of iron and of Steele ; 
 
 
 Then spake dame Gu^never 
 
 He britled the bores head 
 
 175 
 
 To Arthur our king ; 
 
 Wonderous weele ; 
 
 
 She hath tane yonder mantle 
 
 That every knight in the kings court | 
 
 Not with right, but with wronge. 
 
 Had a morssell. 
 
 
 See you not yonder woman, 135 
 
 The litle boy had a home. 
 
 
 That maketh her self soe ' cleane' ? 
 
 Of red gold that ronge : 
 
 180 
 
 I have seene tane out of her bedd 
 
 He said there was noe cuckolde 
 
 
 Of men fiveteene; 
 
 Shall drinke of my home ; 
 
 
 / 
 
 But he shold it sheede 
 
 
 ' Priests, clarkes, and wedded men 
 
 Either behind or beforne. 
 
 
 From her bedeene : 140 
 
 
 
 Yett shee taketh the mantle. 
 
 Some shedd on their shoulder. 
 
 185 
 
 And maketh her self cleane. 
 
 And some on their knee ; 
 
 He that cold not hitt his mouthe, 
 
 
 Then spake the litle boy. 
 
 Put it in his eye : 
 
 
 That kept the mantle in hold ; 
 
 And he that was a cuckold 
 
 
 Sayes, king, chasten thy wiffe, 145 
 
 Every man might him see. 
 
 190 
 
 Of her words shee is to bold : 
 
 Craddocke wan the home, 
 
 
 Shee is a bitch and a witch. 
 
 And the bores head : 
 
 ^ 
 
 And a whore bold : 
 
 His ladie wan the mantle 
 
 
 King, in thine owne hall 
 
 Unto her meede. 
 
 
 Thou art a cuckold. 150 
 
 Everye such a lovely ladye 
 God send her well to speede 
 
 195 
 
 Ver. 134, wright, Mg. V. 136, cleare, MS. V. 140, by 
 deene, MS. 
 
 Yer. 170, them upon, MS. V. 175, or birtled, MS. 
 
324 
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF SIR GAWAINE. 
 
 II. 
 
 ®l]e llamEg^ 0f Sir iatoEiit^, 
 
 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, 5 
 That bride soe bright in bowre : 
 
 And all his barons about him stoode, 
 That were both stiffe and stowre. 
 
 The king a royale Christmasse kept, 
 
 With mirth and princelye cheare ; 10 
 
 To him repaired many a knighte. 
 That came both farre and neare. 
 
 And when they were to dinner sette 
 
 And cups went freely round : 
 Before them came a faire damsfelle, 15 
 
 And knelt upon the ground. 
 
 A boone, a boone, Kinge Arthiire 
 
 I beg a boone of thee ; 
 Avenge me of a carlish knighte. 
 
 Who hath shent my love and mee. 20 
 
 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 Carlisle. 
 There is a tradition, that an old castle once stood near the 
 lake, the remains of which Avere not long since visible. 
 Team, 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 knighte, nor ladye gay, 25 
 
 May pass that castle-walle : 
 But from that foule discurteous knighte, 
 
 Mishappe will them befalle. 
 
 Hee's twyce the size of common men, 
 Wi' thewes, and sinewes stronge, 30 
 
 And on his backe he bears a clubbe, 
 That is both thicke and longe. 
 
 This grimme barone 'twas our harde happe. 
 
 But yester morne to see ; 
 When to his bowre he bare my love, 35 
 
 And sore misused mee. 
 
 And when I told him. King Arthi^re 
 As lyttle shold him spare ; 
 
 Goe tell, sayd hee, that cuckold kinge. 
 To meete mee if he dare. 
 
 40 
 
 45 
 
 Upp then sterted King Arthiire, 
 And sware by hille and dale. 
 
 He ne'er wolde quitt that grimme bar6ne 
 Till he had made him quail. 
 
 Goe fetch my sword Excalibar : 
 
 Goe saddle mee my steede ; 
 Nowe, by my faye, that grimme barone 
 
 Shall rue this ruthfuUe deede. 
 
 And when he came to Tearne Wadlinge 
 Benethe the castle walle : 50 
 
 " Come forth ; come forth ; thou proud barone, 
 Or yielde thyself my thralle.'' 
 
 On magicke grounde that castle stoode, 
 And fenc'd with many a spelle : 
 
 Noe valiant knighte could tread thereon. 
 But straite his courage felle. 
 
 55 
 
 Forth then rush'd that carlish knight, 
 
 King Arthur felte the charme : 
 His sturdy sinewes lost their strengthe, 
 
 Downe sunke his feeble arme. 60 
 
THE MARRIAGE OF SIR GAWAINE. 
 
 325 
 
 Nowe yield thee, yield thee, King Arthiire, 
 
 Now yield thee, unto mee : 
 Or fighte with mee, or lose thy lande, 
 
 Noe better termes maye bee, 
 
 Unlesse thou sweare upon the rood, 65 
 
 And promise on thy faye, 
 Here to return e to Tearne-Wadling, 
 
 Upon the new-yeare's daye : 
 
 And bringe me worde what thing it is 
 
 All women moste desja-e : 70 
 
 This is thy ransome, Arthur, he sayes, 
 He have noe other hyre. 
 
 King Arthur then helde up his hande, 
 
 And sware upon his faye, 
 Then tooke his leave of the grimme barone, 
 
 And faste hee rode awaye. 76 
 
 And he rode east, and he rode west, 
 
 And did of all inquyre, 
 What thing it is all women crave, 
 
 And what they most desyre. 
 
 80 
 
 85 
 
 Some told him riches, pompe, or state ; 
 
 Some rayment fine and brighte ; 
 Some told him mirthe ; some flatterye, 
 
 And some a jollye knighte. 
 
 In letters all King Arthur wrote. 
 And seal'd them with his ringe : 
 
 But still his minde Avas helde in doubte, 
 Each tolde a different thinge. 
 
 As ruthfulle he rode over a more, 
 
 He sawe a ladye sette 90 
 
 Betweene an oke, and a greene holleye, 
 
 All clad in red* scarlette. 
 
 Her nose was crookt and turnd outw^rde. 
 
 Her chin stoode all awrye ; 
 And where as sholde have been her mouthe, 
 
 Lo ! there was set her eye : 96 
 
 Her haires, like serpents, clung aboute 
 
 Her cheekes of deadlye hewe: 
 A worse-form'd ladye than she was. 
 
 No man mote ever viewe. 100 
 
 * This was a common phrase in our old writers; so 
 Chaucer in his Trologue to the Cant. Tales, says of the wife 
 of Bath: 
 
 Rer hosen were of fyne, scarUt red. 
 
 To hail the king in seemelye sorte 
 
 This ladye was fulle faine : 
 But King Arthilre all sore amaz'd, 
 
 No aunswere made againe. 
 
 What wight art thou, the ladye sayd, 105 
 
 That wilt not speake to mee ; 
 Sir, I may chance to ease thy paine. 
 
 Though I bee foule to see. 
 
 If thou wilt ease my paine, he sayd, 
 
 And helpe me in my neede ; 110 
 
 Ask what thou wilt, thou grimme ladyfe, 
 And it shall bee thy meede. 
 
 sweare mee this upon the roode. 
 
 And promise on thy faye ; 
 And here the secrette I will telle, 115 
 
 That shall thy ransome paye. 
 
 King Arthur promis'd on his faye, 
 
 And sware upon the roode ; 
 The secrette than the ladye told, 
 
 As lightlye well shee cou'de. 120 
 
 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 Arthiire 125 
 
 Ore hille, and dale, and downe: 
 
 And soone he founde the barone's bowre ; 
 And soone the grimme baroiine. 
 
 He bare his clubbe upon his backe, 
 
 Hee stoode bothe stiffe and stronge ; 130 
 
 And, when he had the letters reade, 
 Awaye the lettres fiunge. 
 
 Nowe yielde thee, Arthur, and thy lands. 
 
 All forfeit unto mee ; 
 For this is not thy paye, sir king, 135 
 
 Nor may thy ransome bee. 
 
 Yet hold thy hand, thou proude barSne, 
 
 I praye thee hold thy hand ; 
 And give mee leave to speake once more 
 
 In reskewe of my land. 140 
 
 This morne, as I came over a more, 
 
 I sawe a ladye sette 
 Betwene an oke, and a greene holleye, 
 
 All clad in red scarlette. 
 
326 THE MARRIAGE OF SIR GAWAINE. 
 
 Shee sayes, all women will have their wille, 
 
 What though her chin stand all awrye, 
 
 
 This is their chief desyre ; 146 
 
 And shee be foule to see : 
 
 
 Now yield, as thou art a barone true, 
 
 I'll marry her, unkle, for thy sake, 
 
 35 
 
 That I have payd mine hyre. 
 
 And ril thy ransome bee. 
 
 
 An earlye vengeaunce light on her ! 
 
 Nowe thankes, nowe thankes, good Sir 
 
 Ga- 
 
 The earlish baron swore : 150 
 
 wkine : 
 
 
 Shee was my sister tolde thee this. 
 
 And a blessing thee betyde ! 
 
 
 And shee's a mishapen whore. 
 
 To-morrow wee'll have knights and squires. 
 
 
 And wee'll goe fetch thy bride. 
 
 40 
 
 But here I will make mine avowe, 
 
 
 
 To do her as ill a turne : 
 
 And wee'll have hawkes and wee'll 
 
 have 
 
 For an ever I may that foule theefe gette, 
 
 houndes. 
 
 
 In a fyre I will her burne. 156 
 
 To cover our intent ; 
 And wee'll away to the greene forest, 
 
 
 PART THE SECONDE. 
 
 As wee a hunting went. 
 
 
 HoMEWARDE prickod King Arth\ire, 
 
 Sir Lancelot, Sir Stephen bolde, 
 
 45 
 
 And a wearye man was hee ; 
 
 They rode with them that daye ; 
 
 
 And soone he mette Queene Guenever, 
 
 And foremoste of the companye 
 
 
 That bride so bright of blee. 
 
 There rode the stewarde Kaye : 
 
 
 What newes ! what newes ! thou noble king, 
 
 Soe did Sir Banier and Sir Bore, 
 
 
 Howe, Arthur, hast thou sped ? 6 
 
 And eke Sir Garratte keene ; 
 
 50 
 
 Where hast thou hung the earlish knighte ? 
 
 Sir Tristram too, that gentle knight. 
 
 
 And where bestow'd his head ? 
 
 To the forest freshe and greene. 
 
 
 The earlish knight is safe for mee. 
 
 And when they came to the greene forrfest, 
 
 And free fro mortal harme : 10 
 
 Beneathe a faire holley tree 
 
 
 On magicke grounde his castle stands. 
 
 There sate that ladye in red scarl^tte 
 
 55 
 
 And fenc'd with many a charme. 
 
 That unseemelye was to see. 
 
 
 To bowe to him I was fuUe faine, 
 
 Sir Kay beheld that lady's face. 
 
 
 And yielde mee to his hand : 
 
 And looked upon her sweere ; 
 
 
 And but for a lothly ladye, there 15 
 
 Whoever kisses that ladye, he sayes. 
 
 
 I sholde have lost my land. 
 
 Of his kisse he stands in feare. 
 
 60 
 
 And nowe this fills my hearte with woe, 
 
 Sir Kay beheld that ladye againe. 
 
 
 And sorrowe of my life ; 
 
 And looked upon her snout ; , 
 
 
 I swore a yonge and courtlye knight, 
 
 Whoever kisses that ladye, he sayes,' 
 
 
 Sholde marry her to his wife. 20 
 
 Of his kisse he stands in doubt. 
 
 
 Then bespake him Sir GawMne 
 
 Peace, brother Kay, sayde Sir Gaw^ne, 
 
 65 
 
 That was ever a gentle knighte : 
 
 And amend thee of thy life : 
 
 
 That lothly ladye I will wed ; 
 
 For there is a knight amongst us all. 
 
 
 Therefore be merrye and lighte. 
 
 Must marry her to his wife. 
 
 
 Nowe naye, nowe naye, good Sir Gawaine ; 
 
 What marry this foule queane, quoth Kay, 
 
 My sister's sonne yee bee ; 26 
 
 r the devil's name anone ; 
 
 70 
 
 This lothlye ladye's all too grimme. 
 
 Gett mee a wife wherever I maye. 
 
 
 And all too foule for yee. 
 
 In sooth shee shall be none. 
 
 
 Her nose is crookt and turn'd outw^rde : 
 
 Then some tooke up their hawkes in haste, 
 
 Her chin stands all awrye ; 30 
 
 And some took up their houndes ; 
 
 
 A worse form'd ladye than shee is 
 
 And sayd they wolde not marry her, 
 
 75 
 
 Was never seen with eye. 
 
 For cities, nor for townes. 
 
 
THE MARRIAGE OF SIR GAWAINE. 
 
 327 
 
 Then bespake him King Arthi^re, 
 And sware there by this daye ; 
 
 For a little foule sighte and mislikinge, 
 Yee shall not say her naye. 
 
 80 
 
 Peace, lordlings, peace ; Sir Gawaine sayd : 
 
 Nor make debate and strife ; 
 This lothlye ladye I will take, 
 
 And marry her to my wife. 
 
 Now thankes, nowe thankes, good Sir Ga- 
 waine, 85 
 
 And a blessinge be thy meede ! 
 For as I am thine owne ladye, 
 
 Thou never shalt rue this deede. 
 
 Then up they tooke that lothly dame. 
 
 And home anone they bringe : 90 
 
 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, 95 
 
 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 ladye faire. 100 
 
 Sweet blushes stayn'd her rud-red cheeke, 
 
 Her eyen were blacke as sloe ; 
 The ripening cherrye swellde her lippe, 
 
 And all her necke was snowe. 
 
 Sir Gawaine kiss'd that lady faire, 105 
 
 Lying upon the sheete, 
 And swore, as he was a true knighte. 
 
 The spice was never soe sweete. 
 
 Sir Gawaine kiss'd that lady brighte. 
 
 Lying there by his side : 110 
 
 *' 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 115 
 
 Upon the wild more to goe. 
 
 Nowe, gentle Gawaine, chuse, quoth shee. 
 And make thy choice with care ; 
 42 
 
 "Whether by night, or else by daye, 
 
 Shall I be foule or faire ? 120 
 
 " 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 ; 126 
 
 Alas ! then I must hide myself, 
 I must not goe with mine ? 
 
 " My faire ladyfe, Sir Gawaine sayd, 
 
 I yield me to thy skille ; 130 
 
 Because 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 seest mee at this time, 135 
 
 Soe shall I ever bee. 
 
 My father was an aged knighte, 
 
 And yet it chanced soe. 
 He tooke to a wife a false ladyfe, 
 
 Whiche broughte me to this woe. 140 
 
 Shee witch'd mee, being a faire yonge maide, 
 
 In the greene forest to dwelle ; 
 And there to abide in lothlye shape, 
 
 Most like a fiend of helle. 
 
 Midst mores and mosses ; woods, and wilds ; 
 
 To lead a lonesome life ; 146 
 
 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 ; 150 
 
 Until he wolde yielde to be rul'd by mee. 
 And let mee have all my wille. 
 
 She witchd my brother to a carlish boore. 
 And made him stiffe and stronge ; 
 
 And built him a bowre on magicke grounde. 
 To live by rapine and wronge. 156 
 
 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. 160 
 
328 
 
 KING RYENCE'S CHALLENGE. 
 
 IIL 
 
 f ing igma's CI]aIItng^. 
 
 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 be- 
 fore Queen Elizabeth at the grand entertain- 
 ment at Kenelworth castle in 1575, and was 
 probably composed for that occasion. In a 
 letter describing those festivities it is thus 
 mentioned : A " Minstral came forth with a 
 sollem song, warranted for story out of King 
 Arthur's acts, whereof I gat a copy, and is 
 this : 
 
 " So it fell out on a Pentecost, &c." 
 
 After the song the narrative proceeds : "At 
 this the Minstrell made a pause and a curtezy 
 for Primus Passus. More of the song is 
 thear, but I gatt it not." 
 
 The story in Morte Arthur, whence it is 
 taken, runs as follows: "Came a messenger 
 hastely from King Ryence of North Wales, 
 saying, that King Ryence had discomfited 
 and overcomen eleaven kings, and everiche 
 of them did him homage, and that was this : 
 they gave him their beards cleane fiayne ofi", — 
 wherefore the messenger come for King Ar- 
 thur'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 else he would enter into 
 his lands, and brenn and slay, and never 
 leave till he have thy head and thy beard. 
 Well, said King Arthur, thou hast said thy 
 message, which is the most villainous and 
 lewdest message that ever nian heard sent to 
 a king. Also thou mayest see my beard is 
 full young yet for to make a purfell of, but 
 tell thou the king that — or it be long he 
 shall do to me homage on both his knees, or 
 else he shall leese his head.''' [B. I. c. 24. 
 See also 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- 
 01b. 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 Enderbie's Cambria Triumphans, 
 p. 197. The second in the Letter above men- 
 tioned. And the third inserted in MS. in a 
 copy of Morte Arthur, 1G32, in the Bodl. Li- 
 brary. 
 
 Stow tells us, that King Arthur kept his 
 round table at " diverse places, but especially 
 at Carlion, Winchester, and Camalet, in Som- 
 ersetshire.^' 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, Lai^gesse, Chevaliers tres- 
 Jiardie.* 
 
 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 borderedf about, 
 
 And there is room lefte yet in a kantle. 
 For thine to stande, to make the twelfth out : 
 This must be done, be thou never so stout; 
 
 This must be done, I tell thee no fable, 
 
 Maugre the teeth of all thy round table. 
 
 * Largesse, Largesse. The heralcls resounded these words 
 as oft as they received of the bounty of the knights. See 
 " Memoires de la Chevalerie," torn. I. p. 99. The expression 
 is still used in the form of installing knights of the garter. 
 
 t i. e. set round the border, as furs are now round the 
 gowns of Magistrates. 
 
KING ARTHUR'S DEATH. 
 
 329 
 
 When this mortal message from his mouthe 
 past, 
 Great was the noyse bothe in hall and in 
 bower : 
 The king fum'd ; the queene screecht ; ladies 
 were aghast ; 
 Princes puff'd ; barons blustred ; lords be- 
 gan lower ; 
 Knights stormed; squires startled, like 
 steeds in a stower ; 
 Pages and yeomen yell'd out in the hall, 
 Then in came Sir Kay, the ' king's' seneschal. 
 
 Silence, my soveraignes, quoth this courteous 
 knight. 
 And in that stound the stowre began still: 
 * Then' the dwarfe's dinner full deerely was 
 dight ; 
 Of wine and 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 Ryence, thou dwarf, quoth the 
 king, 
 That for his bold message I do him defye ; 
 And shortlye with basins and pans will him 
 ring 
 Out of North-gales ; where he and I 
 With swords, and not razors, quicklye shall 
 trye, 
 Whether he, or King Arthur will prove the 
 
 best barber ; 
 And therewith he shook his good sword Es- 
 calabor. 
 
 *^* Strada, in his Prolusions, has ridi- 
 culed the story of the Giant's Mantle, made 
 of the beards of kings. 
 
 IV. 
 
 fling ^xWixxx's gotfe* 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 The subject of this ballad is evidently ta- 
 ken 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 remain e for a time, and then re- 
 turne againe and reign 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 Bre- 
 tons supposen, that he [King Arthur] shall 
 come yet and conquere all Bretaigne, for 
 certes this is the propbicye of Merlyn ; He 
 sayd, that his deth shall be doubteous ; and 
 sayd soth, for men thereof yet have doubte, 
 and shullen for ever more, — for men wyt not 
 whether that he lyveth or is dede." See more 
 ancient testimonies in Selden's Notes on Po- 
 lyolbion, 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 knighte cry'd, Well-awaye ! 
 Alacke, it was the more pittle. 
 
 Ere the first crowinge of the cocke, 5 
 
 When as the kinge in his bed laye, 
 
 He thoughte Sir Gawaine to him came,* 
 And there to him these wordes did saye. 
 
 Nowe, as you are mine unkle deare. 
 And as you prize your life, this daye 
 
 meet not with your foe in fighte ; 
 Putt off the battayle, if yee maye. 
 
 10 
 
 * Sir Gawaine had 'beeii killed at Arthur's landing on his 
 return from abroad. See the next Ballad, ver. 73. 
 
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, 15 
 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, 21 
 
 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, 25 
 
 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. 
 
 30 
 
 And Mordred on the other parte. 
 
 Twelve of his knights did likewise bringe ; 
 The beste of all his companye, 35 
 
 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. 40 
 
 For he durste not his unkle truste, 
 Nor he his nephewe, sothe to tell ; 
 
 Alacke ! it was a woefulle case, 
 As ere in Chrystentye befelle. 
 
 But when they were together mette, 45 
 
 And both to faire accordance broughte ; 
 
 And a month's league betweene them sette. 
 Before the battayle sholde be foughte ; 
 
 An addere crept forth of a bushe, 
 
 Stunge one o' th' king's knightes on the 
 knee : 50 
 
 Alacke ! it was a woefulle chance, 
 
 As ever was in Christentie. 
 
 Ver. 41, 42, the folio reads father sorme. 
 
 When the knighte found him wounded sore. 
 And sawe the wild-worme hanginge there ; 
 
 His sworde he from his scabberde drewe : 55 
 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. 60 
 
 For all were slaine that durst abide. 
 And but some fewe that fled awaye : 
 
 Ah mee ! it was a bloodye fielde. 
 
 As ere was foughte on summer's daye. 
 
 Upon King Arthur's own partye, 65 
 
 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 ; 70 
 
 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, 75 
 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 freelye could I yield my breathe ! 80 
 
 But see the traitor's yet alive, 
 
 Lo where hee stalkes among the deade ! 
 Nowe bitterlye he shall abye : 
 
 And vengeance fall upon his head. 
 
 And vengeance fall upon 
 
 staye, my liege, then sayd the duke : 
 
 staye for love and charitie ; 
 Remember what the vision spake. 
 
 Nor meete your foe, if it may bee. 
 
 0, staye mee not, thou worthye wight. 
 
 This debt my loyal knights I owe : 
 Betide me life, betide me death, 
 
 1 will avenge them of their foe. 
 
 85 
 
 90 
 
 Then straite he grasp'd his trusty e speare, 
 And on his horse then mounted hee : 
 
 As his butler holpe him to his horse, 95 
 
 His bowels gushed to his knee. 
 
KING ARTHUR'S DEATH. 
 
 331 
 
 ! then sayd the noble king, 
 That I should live this sight to see ! 
 To see this good knight here be slaine, 
 All for his love in helping mee ! 100 
 
 He put his speare into his reste, 
 And to Sir Mordred loud gan crye ; 
 
 Nowe sette thyself upon thy guarde, 
 For, traitor, nowe thy death is nye. 
 
 Sir Mordred lifted up his svs^orde, 105 
 
 And fierce to meet the king ran hee : 
 
 The king his speare he through him thrust ; 
 And fathom thorow his bodie. 
 
 When Mordered felt the stroke of death, 
 And found that he was wounded soe ; 
 
 He thruste himselfe upon the speare, 
 And strucke the king a deadlye blowe. 
 
 110 
 
 Then grimmlye dyed Sir Mordered, 
 
 Presentlye upon that tree : 
 And bloody streames ranne from the kinge 
 
 Ere to the duke returned hee. 116 
 
 Sir Lukyn then he thus bespake, 
 
 Sir knyghte, thou hast beene faithfulle 
 tryde, 
 Nowe take my sword Excalibar,* 
 
 That hangs so freelye by my syde : 120 
 
 take my sword Excalibar, 
 
 And there into the river throwe : 
 
 For here, henceforth, benethe this tree, 
 All use of weapons I foregoe. 
 
 And fare thee well, thou trustye sword, 125 
 A better neer had valiant knighte. 
 
 With thee full ofte, and manye a daye, 
 Have I withstood my foe in fighte. 
 
 With this good fauchion in my hande, 
 
 Oft have I reapd the bloody feelde : 130 
 
 But now the fatalle houre is come, 
 That never more I may thee weelde. 
 
 The duke to the river side he went, 
 
 And there his owne sword in threwe he ; 
 
 But he kept back Excalibar, 135 
 
 He kept it back in privitie. 
 
 * More commonly called Calihum. 
 Escodherd. 
 
 In the folio MS.. 
 
 For all of coleyne was the blade ; 
 
 And all the hilte of precious stone : 
 And ever alacke ! then sayd the knighte. 
 
 Must such a sword awaye be throwne ? 
 
 Then backe he came unto the kinge, 141 
 Who sayd, Sir Lukyn, what did yee see? 
 
 Nothing, my liege, save that the winde 
 Blewe oer the waters faire and free. 
 
 goe againe, then sayd the kinge, 145 
 
 good Sir Lukyn, goe againe : 
 Into the rivere throwe my sword. 
 
 Nor keepe me lingering here in paine. 
 
 The duke then to the river went. 
 
 And the kings scabbard in threwe hee ; 
 
 But hee kept backe Excalibar, 151 
 
 And hid it undernethe a tree. 
 
 Then backe he came to tell the kinge, 
 Who sayde, Sir Lukyn, sawe ye oughte ? 
 
 Nothinge, my liege, save that the winde 155 
 Nowe with the angrye waters fought. 
 
 Lukyn, Lukyn, said the kinge. 
 Twice haste thou dealt deceytfullye : 
 
 Alacke, whom may wee ever truste, 159 
 
 When suche a knighte soe false can bee ? 
 
 Saye, wouldst thou have thy master dead ; 
 
 All for a sword, that wins thine eye : 
 Nowe goe againe, and throwe it in, 
 
 Or here the one of us shall dye. 
 
 The duke, all shent with this rebuke, 165 
 No aunswere made unto the kinge : 
 
 But to the rivere tooke the sworde, 
 And threwe it far as he coulde flinge. 
 
 A hande and arme did meete the sworde, 
 And flourishd three times in the air ; 170 
 
 Then sunke benethe the renninge streme. 
 And of the duke was seen noe mair. 
 
 All sore astonied stood the duke ; 
 
 He stood as still, as still mote bee : 
 Then hastend backe to tell the kinge ; 175 
 
 But he was gone from under the tree. 
 
332 
 
 THE LEGEND OF KING ARTHUR. 
 
 But to what place he 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 whether the kinge were there, or not, 
 Hee never knewe, nor ever colde : 
 
 For from that sad and direfulle daye, 
 Hee never more was scene on molde. 
 
 V. 
 
 %\t "gqm^i af f ing ^xl\ux. 
 
 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 romance 
 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 
 tlie 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 beleeve ; 5 
 
 I am a Christyan bore ; 
 The Father, Sone, and Holy Gost 
 
 One God, I doe adore. 
 
 In the four hundred ninetieth yeere, 
 Over Brittaine I did rayne, 10 
 
 After my savior Christ his byrth : 
 What time I did maintaine. 
 
 Ver. 178, see MS. V. 1, Bruite, MS. V. 9, He began his 
 reign, A. D. 515, according to the Chronicles. 
 
 * Not unlike that passage in Virgil: 
 
 Summoque ulularunt vertice nympTice. 
 
 Ladies was the word our old English writers used for 
 Nymphs : As in the following lines of an old song in the 
 Editor's folio MS. 
 
 " When scorching Phoehus he did mount, 
 Then Lady Venus went to hunt: 
 
 To whom Diana did resort. 
 With all the Ladyes of hills, and Talleys, 
 Of springs, and fioodes, &c." 
 
 The fellowshipp of the table round, 
 
 Soe famous in those dayes ; 
 Whereatt a hundred noble knights, 15 
 
 And thirty sat alwayes : 
 
 Who for their deeds and martiall feates, 
 
 As bookes done yett record, 
 Amongst all other nations 
 
 Wer feared throwgh the world. 20 
 
 And in the castle off Tyntagill 
 
 King Uther mee begate 
 Of Agyana a bewtyous ladye, 
 
 And come of ' hie' estate. 
 
 And when I was fifteen yeere old, 25 
 
 Then was I crowned kinge : 
 All Brittaine that was att an uprore 
 
 I did to quiett bringe. 
 
 And drove the Saxons from the realme 
 Who had opprest this land ; SO 
 
 All Scotland then throughe manly feats 
 I conquered with my hand. 
 
 Ireland, Denmarke, Norway, 
 These countryes wan I all ; 
 
 Iseland, Gotheland, 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 vewe, 
 That in Saint Barnards mount did lye,' 
 
 By force of armes I slew : 
 
 35 
 
 40 
 
 Ver. 23, She is named Igema in the old Chronicles. V. 
 24, his, MS. V. 39, Froland field, MS. Froll, according to 
 the Chronicles, was a Roman knight, governor of Gaxil. V. 
 41, Danihus, MS. 
 
A DYTTIE 
 
 TO HEY DOWNE. 
 
 333 
 
 And Lucy us the emperour of Rome 
 
 45 
 
 For there my nephew Sir Gawaine dyed, 
 
 I brought to deadlye wracke ; 
 
 
 Being wounded in that sore, 
 
 
 And a thousand more of noble knightes 
 
 
 The whiche Sir Lancelot in fight 
 
 75 
 
 For feare did turne their backe : 
 
 
 Had given him before. 
 
 
 Five kinges of " paynims" I did kill 
 
 
 Thence chased I Mordered away. 
 
 
 Amidst that bloody strife ; 
 
 50 
 
 Who fledd to London right, 
 
 
 Besides the Grecian emperour 
 
 
 From London to Winchester, and 
 
 
 Who alsoe lost his liffe. 
 
 
 To Cornewalle tooke his flyght. 
 
 80 
 
 Whose carcasse I did send to Rome 
 
 
 And still I him pursued with speed 
 
 
 Cladd poorlye on a beere ; 
 
 
 Till at the last wee mett: 
 
 
 And afterward I past Mount-Joye 
 
 55 
 
 Wherby an appointed day of fight 
 
 
 The next approaching yeere. 
 
 
 Was there agreed and sett. 
 
 
 Then I came to Rome, where I was mett 
 
 Where we did fight, of mortal life 
 
 85 
 
 Right as a conquerour, 
 
 
 Echo other to deprive. 
 
 
 And by all the cardinalls solempnelye 
 
 
 Till of a hundred thousand men 
 
 
 I was crowned an emperour. 
 
 60 
 
 Scarce one was left alive. 
 
 
 One winter there I made abode : 
 
 
 There all the noble chivalrye 
 
 
 Then word to mee was brought 
 
 
 Of Brittaine tooke their end. 
 
 90 
 
 Howe Mordred had oppressd the crowne : 
 
 see how fickle is their state 
 
 
 What treason he had wrought 
 
 
 That doe on feates depend ! 
 
 
 Att horns' in Brittaine with my queene 
 
 65 
 
 There all the traitorous men were slaine. 
 
 Therfore I came with speede 
 
 
 Not one escapte away ; 
 
 
 To Brittaine backe, with all my power, 
 
 
 And there dyed all my vallyant knightes | 
 
 To quitt that traitorous deede : 
 
 
 Alas ! that woefull day ! 
 
 96 
 
 And soone at Sandwiche I arrivde, 
 
 
 Two and twenty yeere I ware the crowne 
 
 Where Mordred me withstoode: 
 
 70 
 
 In honor and great fame ; 
 
 
 But yett at last I landed there, 
 
 
 And thus by death was suddenlye 
 
 
 With effusion of much blood. 
 
 
 Deprived of the same. 
 
 100 
 
 $ iita 
 
 V 
 
 ^t0 
 
 L 
 
 
 Copied from an old MS. in the Cotton Li- 
 
 Who strives to breake the sturdye Steele 
 
 > 
 
 brary, [Vesp. A. 25,] entitled, " Divers things 
 
 Or goeth about to staye the sunne ; 
 
 
 of Hen. viij's time." 
 
 
 Who thinks to causse an oke to reele. 
 
 
 
 
 Which never can by force be done : 
 
 10 
 
 Who sekes to tame the blustering winde, 
 Or causse the floods bend to his wyll. 
 
 
 That man likewise bestoweth paine, 
 Thoughe that his laboure be in vaine. 
 
 
 Or els against dame nature's kinde 
 
 
 Who thinks to stryve against the streame, | 
 
 To 'change^ things frame by cunning 
 
 And for to sayle without a maste ; 
 
 
 skyll: 
 
 
 Unlesse he thinks perhapps to faine. 
 
 15 
 
 That man I thinke bestoweth paine, 
 
 5 
 
 His travell ys forelorne and waste ; 
 
 
 Thoughe that his laboure be in vaine. 
 
 
 And so in cure of all his paine. 
 His travell ys his cheffest gaine. 
 
 
 
 
 Ver. 49, of Pavye, MS. V. 4, causse, Ma 
 
 Ver. 92, perhaps fates. 
 
334 
 
 GLASGERION. 
 
 So he lykewise, that goes about 
 To please eche eye and every care, 
 
 Had nede to have withouten doubt 
 A golden gyft w^ith hym to beare : 
 
 For evyll report shall be his game, 
 
 Though he bestovre both toyle and paine. 
 
 20 
 
 God grant eche man one to amend ; 25 
 
 God send us all a happy place ; 
 And let us pray unto the end. 
 
 That we may have our princes grace : 
 Amen, amen ! so shall -we gaine 
 A dewe rev^ard for all our paine. 30 
 
 VII. 
 
 §U^txxau 
 
 An ingenious 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 tlie name of Glaskyrion) in the Essay 
 prefixed to Series the First, Note H. 
 
 Glasgerion was a kings owne sonne, 
 
 And a harper he was goode : 
 He harped in the kinges chambere, 
 
 Where cuppe and caudle stoode. 
 
 And soe did hee in the queens chamber, 5 
 
 Till ladies waxed ' glad.' 
 And then bespake the kinges daughter ; 
 
 And these wordes thus shee sayd. 
 
 Strike on, strike on, Glasgerion, 
 
 Of thy striking doe not blinne : 10 
 
 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, ladye, seven longe yeere 15 
 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 promise, 
 
 Thou shalt bee a welcome guest. 20 
 
 Home then came Glasgerion, 
 
 A glad man, lord ! was hee. 
 And, come thou hither, Jacke my boy ; 
 
 Come hither unto mee. 
 
 Ver. 6, wood, MS. Yer. 16, harte, 
 
 For the kinges daughter of Normandye 25 
 
 Hath granted mee my boone : 
 And att her chambere must I bee 
 
 Beffore the cocke have crowen. 
 
 master, master, then quoth hee, 
 
 Lay your head downe on this stone : 30 
 
 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 35 
 
 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. 40 
 
 He did not take the lady gaye 
 
 To boulster nor to bed : 
 * Nor thoughe hee had his wicked wille, 
 
 A single word he sed.' 
 
 He did not kisse that ladyes mouthe, 45 
 
 Nor when he came, nor youd : 
 And sore mistrusted that ladye gay, 
 
 He was of some churls bloud. 
 
 But home then came that lither ladd, 
 
 And did off his hose and shoone ; 50 
 
 And cast the coller from off his necke : 
 He was but a churl^s sonne. 
 
 * This is elsewhere expressed ' twirled the pin' or ' tirled 
 at tfie pin' [See B. II. S. VI. v. 3], and seems to refer to the 
 turning round the button on the outside of a door, by 
 which the latch rises, still used in cottages. 
 
OLD KOBIN OF PORTINGALE. 
 
 335 
 
 Awake, awake, my deere master, 
 The cock hath well-nigh crowen. 
 
 Awake, awake, my master deere, 
 I hold it time to be gone. 
 
 55 
 
 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. 60 
 
 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 : 66 
 
 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 ? 70 
 
 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, 75 
 
 Sith the time that I was borne. 
 
 then it was your lither foot-page, 
 
 He hath beguiled mee. 
 Then shee pulled forth a little pen-kniffe, 
 
 That hanged by her knee : 
 
 80 
 
 there shall never noe churl^s blood' 
 Within my bodye spring : 
 No churles blood shall ever defile 
 The daughter of a kinge. 
 
 Home then went Glasgerion, 85 
 
 And woe, good lord, was hee. 
 Sayes, come thou hither, Jacke my boy, 
 
 Come hither unto mee. 
 
 If I had killed a man to night. 
 
 Jack, I would tell it to thee : 90 
 
 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 sleeve, 
 And he smote ofi" that lither ladds head, 95 
 
 Who did his ladye grieve. 
 
 He sett the swords poynt till his brest, 
 
 The pummil untill a stone : 
 Throw the falsenesse of that lither ladd, 
 
 These three lives werne all gone. 100 
 
 vm. 
 
 ®Kr i^Mn at |0riinplt 
 
 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 ail the dayes of his life 
 
 For the mayors daughter of Lin, god wott, 5 
 
 He chose her to his wife. 
 And thought with her to have lived in love, 
 
 But they fell to hate and strife. 
 
 43 
 
 Ver. 76, litle, MS. 
 
 They scarce were in their wed-bed laid, 
 And scarce was hee asleepe, 10 
 
 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, 15 
 
 Arise and let me inn. 
 
 0, 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. 20 
 
 Ver. 19, unbethought [properly onbethought], this word 
 is still used in the Midland counties in the same sense as 
 bethought. 
 
33G 
 
 OLD ROBIN OF PORTINGALE. 
 
 Twenty-four good knights, shee sayes, 
 
 That dwell about this towne, 
 Even twenty-four of my next cozens 
 
 Will helpe to diuge him downe. 
 
 All that beheard his litle footepage, 25 
 
 As he watered his masters steed ; 
 
 And for his masters sad perille 
 His yerry heart did bleed. 
 
 He mourned still, and wept full sore 
 
 I sweare by the holy roode SO 
 
 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, 35 
 
 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 manye a teare ? 40 
 
 Or, if it be my head bookes-man, 
 
 Aggrieved he shal bee : 
 For no man here 7dthin my howse, 
 
 Shall doe wrong unto thee. 
 
 0, it is not your head bookes-man, 45 
 
 Nor none of his degree : 
 But, on to-morrow ere it be noone 
 
 All deemed to die are yee. 
 
 And of that bethank your head steward, 
 And thank your gay ladie. 50 
 
 If this be true, my litle foot-page, 
 The heyre of my land thoust bee. 
 
 If it be not true, my dear master, 
 
 No good death let me die. 
 If it be not true, thou litle foot-page, 55 
 
 A dead corse shalt thou lie. 
 
 call now downe my faire ladye, 
 
 call her downe to mee : 
 And tell my ladye gay how sicke, 
 
 And like to die I bee. 60 
 
 Ver. 32, blend, MS. V. 47, or to-morrow, MS. V. 56, 
 bee, MS. 
 
 DoAvne then came his ladye faire, 
 All clad in purple and pall : 
 
 The rings that were on her fingers. 
 Cast light thorrow the hall. 
 
 What is your will, my owne wed-lord 
 What is your will with mee ? 
 
 see, my ladye deere, how sicke, 
 And like to die I bee. 
 
 And thou be sicke, my own wed-lord, 
 
 Soe sore it grieveth me : 
 But my five may dens and my self e 
 
 Will ' watch thy' bedde for thee. 
 
 65 
 
 70 
 
 And at the waking of your first sleepe, 
 
 We will a hott drinke make : 
 And at the waking of your 'next' sleepe, 75 
 
 Your sorrowes we will slake. 
 
 He put a silk cote on his backe. 
 
 And mail of manye a fold : 
 And hee putt a Steele cap on his head. 
 
 Was gilt with good red gold. 80 
 
 He layd a bright brown e sword by his side. 
 
 And another alt his feete : 
 "And twentye good knights he placed at hand, 
 
 To watch him in his sleepe." 
 
 And about the middle time of the night, 85 
 Came twentye-four traitours inn : 
 
 Sir Giles he was the foremost man, 
 The leader of that ginn. 
 
 Old Robin with his bright browne sword, 
 Sir Gyles head soon did winn : 90 
 
 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, 95 
 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. 100 
 
 Ver. 72, make the, MS. V. 75, first, MS. 
 
CHILD WATERS. 
 
 337 
 
 The first thino;e 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 : 
 
 Saycs, Ever, alacke, and woe is me ! 
 Ileere lyes my true love deade. 
 
 Hee cutt the pappes beside her brest, 
 
 And did her body spille ; 
 He cutt the eares beside her heade, 
 
 And bade her love her fiUe. 
 
 105 
 
 110 
 
 He called then up his litle foot-page, 
 And made him there his heyre ; 
 
 And sayd, henceforth my worldlye goodes 
 And countrye I forsweare. 116 
 
 He shope the crosse on his right shoulder, 
 Of the white ' clothe' and the redde,* 
 
 And went into the holy land, 
 
 Whereas Christe was quicke and dead. 120 
 
 *%ij* 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. 
 
 Cpli miim. 
 
 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 " Shakspeare'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 
 Iiifans, Varlets, Damoysels, BacJieliers. The 
 most noble of the youth were particularly 
 called Infans." [Vid. Warb. Shakesp.J A 
 late commentator on Spenser observes, that 
 the Saxon word cnihz knight, signifies also a 
 *' Child." [See Upton's Gloss, to the F. Q.] 
 
 The Editor's folio MS., whence the follow- 
 ing piece is taken (with some corrections), 
 afibrds 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 afiixed to him, but 
 sometimes to denote Man in general. 
 
 Childe Waters in his stable stoode' 
 And stroakt his milke white steede: 
 
 To him a fayre yonge ladye came 
 As ever ware womans weede. 
 
 Sayes, Christ you save, good Childe Waters ; 
 
 Sayes, Christ you save, and see: 6 
 
 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 green e it is too straighte ; 
 
 Before, it was too wide. 
 
 10 
 
 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. 16 
 
 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. 20 
 
 Ver. 118, fleshe, MS. V. 13, be inne, MS. 
 
 * Every person, who went on a Croisade to the Holy 
 Land, usually wore a cross on his upper garment, on the 
 right shoulder, as a badge of his profession. Different 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, Glo«.s.] 
 
338 
 
 CHILD WATERS. 
 
 Shee sales, 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, 25 
 
 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 ; 30 
 
 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, 35 
 
 Your foot-page let me bee. 
 
 If you will my foot-page be, EU^n, 
 
 As you doe tell to mee ; 
 Then you must cut your gowne of greene, 
 
 An inch above your knee : 40 
 
 Soe must you doe your yellowe 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, 45 
 
 Ran barefoote 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 barefoote thorow the broome ; 50 
 
 Yett hee wa* never so curteous a knighte, 
 To say, put on your shoone. 
 
 Ride softlye, shee sayd, Childe Waters, 
 
 Why doe you ryde soe fast ? 
 The childe, which is no mans but thine, 55 
 
 My bodye itt will brast. 
 
 Hee sayth, seest thou yonder water, Ellen, 
 That flows from banke to brimme. — 
 
 I trust to God, Child Waters, 
 You never will see* mee swimme. 60 
 
 * 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. 65 
 
 The salt waters bare up her clothes ; 
 
 Our Ladye bare upp her chinne ; 
 Childe Waters was a woe man, good Lord, 
 
 To see faire Ellen swimme. 
 
 And when shee over the water was, 
 
 Shee then came to his knee : 70 
 
 He said, Come hither, thou faire Ellfen, 
 Loe yonder what I see. 
 
 Seest thou not yonder hall, Ellfen ? 
 
 Of redd gold shines the yate : 
 Of twenty foure faire ladyes there, 75 
 
 The fairest is my mate. 
 
 Seest thou not yonder hall, Ellfen? 
 
 Of redd gold shines the towre : 
 There are twenty four faire ladyes there, 
 
 The fairest is my paramoure. 80 
 
 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, 85 
 
 Of redd golde shines the towre : 
 
 Grod give you good now of yourselfe, 
 And of your paramoure. 
 
 There twenty four fayre ladyes were 
 
 A playing att the ball : 90 
 
 And Ellen the fairest ladye there. 
 Must bring his steed to the stall. 
 
 There twenty four fayre ladyes were 
 
 A playinge at the chesse ; 
 And Ellen the fayrest ladye there, 95 
 
 Must bring his horse to gresse. 
 
 And then bespake Childe Waters sister, 
 These were the wordes said shee ; 
 
 You have the pretty est foot-page, brother, 
 That ever I saw with mine ee. 100 
 
 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, woldlye, MS. 
 
CHILD WATERS. 339 
 
 It is not fit for a little foot-page, 105 
 
 And soe doe thou the good black oats, 
 
 That has run throughe mosse and myre, 
 
 To carry mee better awaye. 140 
 
 To go into the chamber with any ladye, 
 
 
 That weares soe riche attyre. 
 
 Up then rose the faire Ell^n, 
 
 
 And gave his steede corne and hay ; 
 
 It is more meete for a little foot-page, 
 
 And soe shee did the good blacke oates, 
 
 That has run throughe mosse and myre, 
 
 To carry him the better away. 
 
 To take his supper upon his knee, 111 
 
 
 And sitt downe by the kitchen fyer. 
 
 Shee leaned her backe to the manger side, 
 
 
 And grievouslye did groane : 146 
 
 But when they had supped every one, 
 
 She leaned her back to the manger side, 
 
 To bedd they tooke theyr waye : 
 
 And there shee made her moane. 
 
 He sayd, come hither, my little foot-page. 
 
 
 And hearken what I saye. 116 
 
 And that beheard his mother deere, 
 
 
 Shee heard her there monand,* 150 
 
 Goe thee downe into yonder towne, 
 
 Shee sayd, Rise up, thou Childe Waters, 
 
 And low into the street ; 
 
 I think thee a cursed man. 
 
 The fayrest ladye that thou can finde, 
 
 
 Hyer her in mine armes to sleepe, 120 
 
 For in thy stable is a ghost. 
 
 And take her up in thine armes twaine 
 
 That grievouslye doth grone : 
 
 For filinge* of her feete. 
 
 Or else some woman labours of childe, 155 
 
 
 Shee is soe woe-begone. 
 
 Ellen is gone into the towne, 
 
 
 And low into the streete : 
 
 Up then rose Childe Waters soon, 
 
 The fairest ladye that shee cold find, 125 
 
 And did on his shirte of silke ; 
 
 Shee hyred in his armes to sleepe : 
 
 And then he put on his other clothes. 
 
 And tooke her up in her armes twayne, 
 
 On his body as white as milke. 160 
 
 For filing of her feete. 
 
 
 
 And when he came to the stable dore, 
 
 I pray you nowe, good Childe Waters, 
 
 Full still there he did stand, 
 
 Let me lye at your bedds feete : 
 
 That hee mighte heare his fayre Ell^n, 
 
 For there is noe place about this house, 130 
 
 Howe shee made her mon^nd. 
 
 Where I may ^sayef a sleepe. 
 
 
 
 She sayd, Lullabye, mine owne deere child. 
 
 * He gave her leave, and faire Ell^n 
 
 LuUabye, dere child, dere ; 166 
 
 ' Down at his beds feet lay :' 
 
 I wold thy father were a king, 
 
 This done the nighte drove on apace, 135 
 
 Thy mother layd on a biere. 
 
 And when it was neare the daye. 
 
 
 
 Peace now, hee said, good faire Ell^n, 
 
 Hee sayd. Rise up, my litle foot-page, 
 
 Be of good cheere, I praye ; 170 
 
 Give my steede corne and haye ; 
 
 And the bridal and the churching both 
 
 
 Shall bee upon one day. 
 
 * i. e. defiling. See Warton's Observ. vol. II. p. 158. 
 
 
 t i. e, essay, attempt. 
 
 * Sic in MS. 1. e. moaning, bemoaning, Ac. 
 
340 
 
 PHILLIDA AND CORYDON. 
 
 X. 
 
 I^illita m)i ^fix^M. 
 
 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 Muses Library, p. 295, from an ancient 
 miscellany, entitled England's Helicon, 1600, 
 4to. The author was Nicholas Breton, a 
 writer of some fame in the reign of Eliza- 
 beth ; who also published an interlude, enti- 
 tled "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 Os- 
 borne's Harl. Catalog., &c. — He is mentioned 
 with great respect by Meres, in his second 
 part of "Wit's Commonwealth," 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, 5 
 
 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. 10 
 
 She sayde, never man was trewe ; 
 
 He sayes, none was false to you. 
 
 Pie sayde, hee had lovde her longe : 
 She sayes, love should have no wronge. 
 Corydon wold kisse her then : 15 
 
 She sayes, maydes must kisse no men, 
 
 Tyll they doe for good and all. 
 When she made the shepperde call 
 All the heavens to wytnes truthe, 
 Never loved a truer youthe. 20 
 
 Then with manie a prettie othe, 
 Yea and nay, and faith and trothe ; 
 
 Ver. 4, the wode, MS. 
 
 Sucbe as seelie shepperdes use 
 When they will not love abuse ; 
 
 Love, that had bene long deluded, 25 
 Was with kisses sweete concluded ; 
 And Phillida with garlands gaye 
 Was made the lady of the Maye. 
 
 fit The foregoing little pastoral of " Phil- 
 lida and Corydon" is one of the songs in 
 " The Honourable Entertainment gieven to 
 the Queenes Majestic in Progresse at Elve- 
 tham in Hampshire, by the R. H. the Earle 
 of Hertford, 1591," 4to. [Printed by Wolfe. 
 No name of author.] See in that pamphlet, 
 
 " The thirde dales entertainment. 
 
 " On Wednesday morning about 9 o'clock, 
 as her Majestic opened a casement of her 
 gallerie window, ther were 3 excellent musi- 
 tians, 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 dittie, as the aptnesse of the 
 note thereto applied, it pleased her Highoesse 
 after it had been once sung to command it 
 againe, and highly to grace it with her cheere- 
 fuU acceptance and commendation. 
 
 " The Plowman's Song. 
 "In the merrie month of May, c&c." 
 
 The splendour and magnificence of Eliza- 
 beth'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 republi- 
 cation of a select number of such details as 
 this of the entertainment at Elvetham, that 
 at Killingworth, &c., &c., which so strongly 
 mark the spirit of the times, and present us 
 with scenes so very remote from modern 
 manners. 
 
 *^* Since the above was written, the Pub- 
 lic 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. 
 
LITTLE MUSGRAYE AND LADY BARNARD. 
 
 341 
 
 XI. 
 
 Sittle ftwsgrate atti faig ^mmt 
 
 This ballad is ancient, and has been popu- 
 lar ; we find it quoted in many old plays. 
 See Beaum. and Fletcher's Knight of the 
 Burning Pestle, 4to., 1613, Act 5. The Ya- 
 rietie, a comedy, 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 Mus- 
 grave, 
 And for Chevy-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 
 Collection of Miscellaneous Poems. 
 
 As it fell out on a highe holye daye, 
 
 As many bee in the yeare, 
 When yong men and maides together do goe, 
 
 Their masses and mattins to heare, 
 
 Little Musgr^ve came to the church door, 5 
 
 The priest was at the mass ; 
 But he had more mind of the fine wom^n, 
 
 Then he had of our Ladyes grace. 
 
 And some of them Avere clad in greene, 
 And others were clad in pall ; 10 
 
 And then came in my Lord Barnardes wife, 
 The fairest amono- them all. 
 
 Shee cast an eye on little Musgr^ve 
 As bright as the summer sunne : 
 
 then bethought him little Musgr^ve, 
 This ladyes heart I have wonne. 
 
 15 
 
 Quoth she, I have loved thee, little Musgrave, 
 
 Fulle long and manye a daye. 
 So have I loved you, ladye faire, 
 
 Yet word I never durst save. 20 
 
 I have a bower at Bucklesford-bury,* 
 
 Full daintilye bedight. 
 If thoult wend thither, my little Musgrave, 
 
 Thoust lig in mine amies all night. 
 
 Quoth hee, I thanke yee, ladye faire, 25 
 
 This kindness yee shew to mee ; 
 
 And whether it be to my weale or woe, 
 This night will I lig with thee. 
 
 All this beheard a litle foot-page, 
 
 By his ladyes coach as he ranne : 30 
 
 Quoth he, thoughe I am my ladyes page, 
 
 Yet Ime my Lord Barnardes manne. 
 
 My Lord Barnard shall knows of this, 
 
 Although I lose a limbe. 
 And ever whereas the bridges were broke, 
 
 He layd him downe to swimme. 36 
 
 Asleep or awake, thou Lord Barnard, 
 
 As thou art a man of life, 
 Lo ! this same night at Bucklesford-Bury 
 
 Litle Musgrave's in bed with thy wife. 40 
 
 If it be trew, thou litle foote-page. 
 
 This tale thou hast told to mee. 
 Then all my lands in Bucklesford-Bury 
 
 I freelye will give to thee. 
 
 But and it be a lye, thou litle foot-page. 
 
 This tale thou hast told to mee. 
 On the highest tree in Bucklesford-Bury 
 
 45 
 
 All hanged shalt thou bee. 
 
 Rise up, rise up, my merry men all, 
 
 And saddle me my good steede ; 50 
 
 This night must I to Bucklesford-Bury ; 
 God wott, I had never more neede. 
 
 Then some they whistled, and some they 
 sang, 
 
 And some did loudlye saye. 
 Whenever Lord Barnardes home it blewe, 
 
 Awaye, Musgrave, away. 56 
 
 * Bucldejkld-berry, fol. MS. 
 
342 
 
 LITTLE MUSGRAYE AND LADY BARNARD. 
 
 Methinkes I heare the throstle cocke, 
 
 Methinkes I heare the jay, 
 Methinkes I heare Lord Barnards home ; 
 
 I would I were awaye. 60 
 
 Lye still, lye still, thou little Musgr^ve, 
 
 And 'juggle me from the cold ; 
 For it is but some shephardes boye 
 
 A whistling his sheepe to the fold. 
 
 Is not thy hawke upon the pearche, 65 
 
 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 : 70 
 
 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 Musgr5,ve, 75 
 
 Dost find my gaye ladye sweete ? 
 
 I find her sweete, quoth little Musgrgive, 
 The more is my griefe and paine ; 
 
 Ide gladlye give three hundred poundes 
 That I were on yonder plaine. 80 
 
 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 scabbkrde, 85 
 
 Full deare they cost my purse ; 
 And thou shalt have the best of them, 
 
 And I will have the worse. 
 
 Ver. 64, Is whistling sheepe ore the mold, fol. MS. 
 
 The first stroke that little Musgrave strucke, 
 He hurt Lord Barnard sore ; 90 
 
 The next stroke that Lord Barnard strucke, 
 Little Musgrave never strucke more. 
 
 With that bespake the ladye faire, 
 
 In bed whereas she laye, 
 Althoughe thou art dead, my little Musgrave, 
 
 Yet for the I will praye : 96 
 
 And wishe well to thy soule will I, 
 
 So long as I have life ; 
 So will I not do for thee, Barnkrd, 
 
 Thoughe I am thy wedded wife. 100 
 
 He cut her pappes from ofi" her brest ; 
 
 Great pitye it was to see , 
 
 The drops of this fair ladyes bloode ^ 
 
 Run trickling downe her knee. 
 
 Wo worth, wo worth ye, my raerrye men all, 
 You never were borne for my goode : 106 
 
 Why did you not ofiPer to stay my hande. 
 When you sawe me wax so woode ? 
 
 For I have slaine the fairest sir knighte, 
 That ever rode on a steede ; 110 
 
 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, 115 
 
 For shee comes o' the better kin. 
 
 fit 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 Mischief by Lust was wrought ; 
 
 Then let us call for Grace 
 That we may shun the wicked vice, 
 
 And fly from Sin a-pace." 
 
THE KNIGHT, AND SHEPHERD'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 343 
 
 XII. 
 
 
 %\t dto-iug^te, llran* 
 
 
 A SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 
 This sonnet appears to be ancient: that 
 
 Ive nine milk-ews, my Marion, 
 
 
 and its simplicity of sentiment have recom- 
 
 A cow and a brawney quay ; 
 
 
 mended it to a place here. 
 
 Ise gie tham au to my Marion, 
 
 
 Will ze gae to the ew-bughts, Marion, 
 
 Just on her bridal day. 
 And zees get a grein sey apron, 
 
 20 
 
 And wear in the sheip wi' mee? 
 
 And waistcote o' London broun ; 
 
 
 The sun shines sweit, my Marion, 
 
 And wow bot ze will be vaporing 
 
 
 y But nae half sae sweit as thee. 
 Marion's a bonnie lass ; 5 
 
 Quhaneir zo gang to the toun. 
 
 
 And the blyth blinks in her ee : 
 
 
 
 And fain wad I marrie Marion, 
 Gin Marion wad marrie mee. 
 
 Ime yong and stout, my Marion, 
 None dance lik mee on the greine ; 
 
 25 
 
 Theire's gowd in zour garters, Marion ; 
 
 And gin ze forsak me, Marion, 
 
 
 And siller on zour white hauss-bane:* 
 
 Ise een gae draw up wi' Jeane. 
 
 
 Fou faine wad I kisse my Marion 11 
 
 Sae put on zour pearlins, Marion, 
 
 
 At eene quhan I cum hame. 
 
 And kirtle oth' cramasie, 
 
 30 
 
 Theire's braw lads in Earnslaw, Marion, 
 
 And sune as my chin has nae haire on 
 
 
 Quha gape and glowr wi' their ee 
 
 I sail cum west, and see zee. 
 
 
 At kirk, quhan they see my Marion ; 15 
 
 
 
 Bot nane of them lues like mee. 
 
 
 
 XI 
 
 II. 
 
 
 f |e f nig|t, M)i S 
 
 )\lt^\txV$ |att#en 
 
 
 This ballad (given from an old black letter 
 
 Good morrowe to you, beauteous maide, 5 
 
 Copy, with some corrections) was popular in 
 
 These words pronounced hee: 
 
 
 the time of Queen Elizabeth, being usually 
 
 I shall dye this daye, he sayd, 
 
 
 printed with her picture before it, as Hearne 
 
 If Ive not my wille of thee. 
 
 
 informs us in his preface to " Gul. Neubrig, 
 
 
 
 Hist. Oxon, 1719, 8vo., vol. I., p. Ixx." It is 
 
 The Lord forbid, the maide replyd, 
 
 
 quoted in Fletcher's comedy of the Pilgrim, 
 
 That you shold waxe so wode ! 
 
 10 
 
 Act 4, sc. 1. 
 
 ' But for all that shee could do or saye 
 He wold not be withstood.^ 
 
 > 
 
 There was a shepherds daughter 
 
 Came tripping on the waye ; 
 And there by chance a knighte shee mett, 
 
 Which caused her to staye. 
 
 Sith you have had your wille 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. 
 
 15 
 
 *Hauss-iane, 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 sair hause," properly halse. 
 
 And some do call mee Jille ; 
 But when I come to the kings faire courte 
 
 44 
 
 They call me Wilfulle Wille. 
 
 20 
 
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 wat^r, 25 
 She sett her brest and swam me ; 
 
 And when she \^as got out againe, 
 She tooke to her heels and ranne. 
 
 He never was the courteous knighte, 
 To saye, faire maide, will ye ride ? 
 
 And she was ever too loving a maide 
 To saye, sir knighte abide. 
 
 30 
 
 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 linger small ? 
 
 He hath not robbed mee, my leige, 45 
 
 Of purple nor of pall : 
 v But he hath gotten my maiden head, 
 Which grieves mee worst of all. 
 
 Now if he be a batchelor. 
 
 His bodye He 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 fortye pounde, 
 
 Tyed up withinne a glove : 
 Faire maide, He give the same to thee ; 
 
 Go, seeke thee another love. 60 
 
 Ver. 50, His bodye lie 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." 
 
 He have none of your gold, she sayde, 
 Nor He have none of your fee ; 
 
 But your faire bodye I must have, 
 The king hath granted mee. 
 
 Sir William ranne and fetchd 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 dranke 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 me 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, 
 
 He 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 commande. 
 
 < 
 
LORD THOMAS AND FAIR ELINOR. 
 
 345 
 
 XIV. 
 
 ®^e Sfe^e|i^ryi5 gitotss t0 lis llns^ 
 
 This Poem, originally printed from the 
 small MS. volume mentioned 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 w^earie eyes is not to kepo 
 Thy wary company. 
 
 Sweete Love, begon a while, 5 
 
 Thou seest my heavines : 
 Beautie is borne but to beguyle 
 
 My harte of happines. 
 
 See howe my little flocke, 
 
 That lovde to feede on highe, 10 
 
 Doe headlonge tumble downe the rocke, 
 
 And in the valley dye. 
 
 The bushes and the trees, 
 
 That were so fresh e and greene, 
 Doe all their deintie colors leese, 
 
 And not a leafe is scene. 
 
 The blacke birde and the thrushe, 
 That made the woodes to ringe, 
 
 15 
 
 With all the rest, are now at hushe, 
 And not a note they singe. 20 
 
 Swete Philomele, the birde 
 That hath the heavenly throte, 
 
 Doth nowe, alas ! not once afforde 
 Recordinge of a note. 
 
 The flowers have had a frost, 25 
 
 The herbs have loste their savoure ; 
 
 And Phillida the faire hath lost 
 * For me her wonted' favour. 
 
 Thus all these careful sights 
 
 So kill me in conceit : 
 That now to hope upon delights, 
 
 It is but meere deceite. 
 
 30 
 
 And therefore, my sweete muse, 
 That knowest what helpe is best, 
 
 Doe nowe thy heavenlie conninge use 
 To sett my harte at rest : . 35 
 
 And in a dreame bewraie 
 
 What fate shal be my frende ; 
 
 Whether my life shall still decaye, 
 Or when my sorrowes ende. 40 
 
 ■^9^ 
 
 XV. 
 
 S^rir %\mm anlr |air (^limx, 
 
 — Is given (with corrections) from an ancient 
 copy in black-letter, in the Pepys collection, 
 entitled "A tragical ballad on the unfortu- 
 nate 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 forrestfer, 
 And a chaser of the kings deere; 
 
 Faire Ellinor was a fine wom^n, 
 
 And Lord Thomas he loved his deare. 
 
 Come riddle my riddle, dear mother, he sayd, 
 And riddle us both as one ; 6 
 
 Whether I shall marrye with faire Ellinor, 
 And let the browne girl alone ? 
 
 The browne girl she has got houses and lands, 
 Fair Ellinor she has got none, 10 
 
 And therefore I charge thee on my blessing, 
 To bring me the browne girl home. 
 
 And as it befelle on a high holidaye. 
 
 As many there are beside. 
 Lord Thomas he went to faire Ellinor, 15 
 
 That should have been her bride. 
 
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 wedding, 
 
 And that is bad news for thee. 
 
 God forbid. Lord Thomas, she sayd, 25 
 . That such a thing should be done ; 
 
 1 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 ; 30 
 
 Whether I shall goe to Lord Thomas his 
 wedding. 
 Or whether shall tarry at home ? 
 
 There are manye that are your friendes, 
 daughter. 
 
 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 friendes, mo- 
 ther; 
 
 But were every one my foe. 
 Betide me life, betide me death, 
 
 To Lord Thomas his wedding I'ld goe. 40 
 
 She cloathed herself in gallant attire, 
 And her merrye 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 knocked there at the ring ; 46 
 
 Ver. 29, It should probably be Reade me, read, &c., i. e. 
 Advise me, advise. 
 
 And who was so readye as Lord Thomas, 
 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 wom^n, 
 
 As ever trode on the grounde. 
 
 Despise her not, fair Ellin, he sayd, 
 
 Despise her not unto mee ; 
 For better I love thy little finger, 55 
 
 Than all her whole bodfee. 
 
 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 
 
 Christ thee save, Lord Thomas hee sayd, 
 Methinkst thou lookst wondrous wan ; 
 
 Thou usedst to look with as fresh a coldur, 
 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- 
 ders. 
 
 And threwe 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." 
 
THE LADY TURNED SERVING-MAN. 347 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Cttpiiij an& Cumpsp. 
 
 This elegant little sonnet is found in the 
 
 Loses them too ; then down he throws 
 
 third act of an old play, entitled "Alexander 
 
 The coral of his lippe, the rose 
 
 and Campaspe," written by John Lilye, a 
 
 Growing on's cheek (but none knows how), 
 
 celebrated writer in the time of Queen Eliza- 
 
 With these, the crystal of his browe, 
 
 beth. That play was first printed in 1591 : 
 
 And then the dimple of his chinne ; 
 
 but this copy is given from a later edition. 
 
 All these did my Campaspe winne. 
 
 
 At last he set her both his eyes. 
 
 Cupid and my Campaspe playd 
 
 She won, and Cupid blind did rise. 
 
 At cardes for kisses ; Cupid payd : 
 
 Love ! has she done this to thee ? 
 
 He stakes his quiver, bow and arrows, 
 
 What shall, alas ! become of mee ? 
 
 His mothers doves, and teame of sparrows ; 
 
 
 XVII. 
 
 % faig kmli Snhm-Wnn. 
 
 — Is given from a written copy, containing 
 
 And trembling hid in mans array, 
 
 some improvements (perhaps modern ones). 
 
 I scant with life escaped away. 20 
 
 upon the popular ballad, entitled, " The fa- 
 
 
 mous flower of Serving-men ; or the Lady 
 
 In the midst of this extremitie, 
 
 turned Serving-man.'^ 
 
 My servants all did from me flee : 
 
 
 Thus was I left myself alone, 
 
 You beauteous ladyes, great and small,' 
 
 With heart more cold than any stone. 
 
 I write unto you one and all. 
 
 
 Whereby that you may understand 
 
 Yet though my heart was full of care, 25 
 Heaven would not suffer me to dispaire, 
 
 What I have suffered in the land. 
 
 
 Wherefore in haste I chang'd my name 
 
 I was by birth a lady faire, 5 
 
 From fair Elise, to sweet Williame : 
 
 An ancient barons only heire, 
 
 
 And when my good old father died, 
 Then I became a young knightes bride. 
 
 And therewithal! I cut my haire, 
 
 Resolv'd my man's attire to weare ; 30 
 
 And there my love built me a bower, 
 Bedeck'd with many a fragrant flower ; 10 
 
 And in my beaver, hose and band, 
 I traveird far through many a land. 
 
 A braver bower you ne'er did see 
 
 
 Than my true love did build for mee. 
 
 At length all wearied with my toil, 
 
 
 I sate me down to rest awhile ; 
 
 And there I livde a ladye gay. 
 
 My heart it was so fill'd with woe, 35 
 
 Till fortune wrought our loves decay; 
 
 That downe my cheeke the teares did flow. 
 
 For there came foes so fierce a band, 15 
 
 
 That soon they over-run the land. 
 
 It chanc'd the king of that same place 
 
 
 With all his lords a hunting was. 
 
 They came upon us in the night, 
 
 And seeing me weepe. upan the same 
 
 And brent my bower, and slew my knight ; 
 
 Askt who I was, and whence I came. 40 
 
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, 45 
 For thee a service I'll provyde ; 
 But tell me first what thou canst do ; 
 Thou sbalt be fitted thereunto. 
 
 Wilt thou be usher of my hall, 
 
 To wait upon my nobles all ? 50 
 
 Or wilt be taster of my wine, 
 
 To Hend 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, 55 
 
 Aud 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. 60 
 
 The king then smiling gave consent, 
 And straitwaye to his court I went ; 
 Where I behavde so faithfullie, 
 That hee great favour showd to mee. 
 
 Now marke what fortune did provide ; 65 
 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 : 70 
 
 I wept to see my mans array ; 
 
 No longer now a ladye gay. 
 
 And meeting with a ladyes vest, 
 
 Within the same myself I drest ; 
 
 With silken robes and jewels rare, 75 
 
 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. 80 
 
 (" " 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 myself a ladye gay 85 
 
 Bedeckt with gorgeous rich array; 
 The happiest lady in the land 
 Had not more pleasure at command. 
 
 " I had my musicke every day 
 Harmonious lessons for to play ; 90 
 
 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, 95 
 
 And I am now a serving-man.'' 
 
 And fetching many a tender sigh, 
 
 As thinking no one then was nigh, 
 
 In pensive mood I laid me lowe, 
 
 My heart was full, the tears did flowe. 100 
 
 The king, who had a huntinge gone, 
 Grewe weary of his sport anone, 
 And leaving all his gallant traine, 
 Turn'd on the sudden home againe : 
 
 And when he reach'd his statelye tower, 105 
 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, 110 
 
 And found to his amazement there, 
 Sweete 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, 115 
 
 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. 120 
 
 But to be briefe, his royall grace 
 Grewe so enamour'd of my face, 
 The richest gifts he proffered mee, 
 His mistress if that I would bee. 
 
 Ah ! no, my liege, I firmlye sayd, 125 
 
 I'll rather in my grave be layd. 
 And though your grace hath won my heart, 
 I ne'er will act soe base a ^zx\,^^ y^ 
 
GIL MORRICE. 
 
 349 
 
 Faire ladye, pardon me, sayd hee, 
 Thy virtue shall rewarded bee, 
 And since it is soe fairly tryde. 
 Thou shalt become my royal bride. 
 
 130 
 
 Then strait to end his amorous strife, 
 He tooke sweet AVilliam to his wife. 
 The like before was never seene, y 
 A serving-man became a queene.t^ 
 
 135 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 iil Itjcrrrith 
 
 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 12-4 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 strokes are thrown in, that it is evi- 
 dent the whole has undergone a revisal. 
 
 N. B. The Editor's MS., instead of " Lord 
 Barnard," has "John Stewart;" and instead 
 of " Gil Morrice," " Child Maurice," wliich 
 last is probably the original title. See above, 
 p. 337. 
 
 Gil Morrice was an erl^s son, 
 
 His name it waxed wide ; 
 It was nae for his great rich&s, 
 
 Nor zet his mickle pride ; 
 
 Bot it was for a lady gay, 5 
 
 That livd on Carron side. 
 
 Quhair sail I get a bonny boy. 
 
 That will win hose and shoen ; 
 That will gae to Lord Barnards ha', 
 
 And bid his lady cum ? 10 
 
 And ze maun rin my errand, Willie ; 
 
 And ze may rin wi' pride ; 
 Quhen other boys gae on their foot, 
 
 On horse-back ze sail ride. 
 
 no ! oh no ! my master dear ! 15 
 
 I dare nae for my life ; 
 I'll no gae to the bauld barons, 
 
 For to triest furth his wife. 
 My bird Willie, my boy Willie ; 
 
 My dear Willie, he sayd : 20 
 
 How can ze strive against the stream ? 
 
 For I sail be obeyd. 
 
 Bot, my master dear ! he cryd, 
 
 In grene wod ze're zour lain ; 
 Gi owre sic thochts, I walde ze rede, 25 
 
 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, 
 
 111 gar zour body bleid. 30 
 
 Gae bid hir take this gay mantM, 
 
 'Tis a' gowd bot the hem ; 
 Bid hir cum to the gude grene wode, 
 
 And bring nane bot hir lain : 
 And there it is, a silken sarke, 35 
 
 Hir ain hand sewd the sleive ; 
 And bid hir cum to Gill Morice, 
 
 Speir nae bauld barons leave. 
 
 Ver. 11, something seems wanting here, 
 perhaps, 'bout the hem. 
 
 V. 32, and 
 
350 GIL MORRICE 
 
 Yes, I will gae zour black errand, 
 
 Ze leid, ze leid, ze filthy nurse, 
 
 Though it be to zour cost ; 40 
 
 Sae loud I heird ze lee ; 
 
 Sea ze by me will nae be warn'd, 
 
 I brocht it to Lord Barnards lady ; 
 
 In it ze sail find frost. 
 
 I trow ze be nae shee. 90 
 
 The baron he is a man of might, 
 
 Then up and spack the bauld baron. 
 
 He neir could bide to taunt, 
 
 An angry man was hee ; 
 
 As ze will see before its nicht, 45 
 
 He's tain the table wi' his foot. 
 
 How sma' ze hae to vaunt. 
 
 Sae has he wi' his knee ; 
 
 
 Till siller cup and 'mazer'* dish 95 
 
 And sen I maun zour errand rin 
 
 In flinders he gard flee. 
 
 Sae sair against my will ; 
 
 
 I'se mak a vow and keip it trow. 
 It sail be done for ill. 50 
 
 
 Gae bring a robe of zour eliding. 
 
 And quhen he came to broken brigue. 
 He bent his bow and swam ; 
 
 That hings upon the pin ; 
 
 And I'll gae to the gude grene wode. 
 
 
 And speik wi' zour lemm^n. 100 
 bide at hame, -now Lord Barn&,rd, 
 
 And quhen he came to grass growing, 
 Set down his feet and ran. 
 
 
 I warde ze bide at hame ; 
 
 And quhen he came to Barnards ha', 55 
 
 Neir wyte a man for violence. 
 
 Would neither chap nor ca' : 
 
 That neir wate ze wi' nane. 
 
 Bot set his bent bow to his breist. 
 
 
 And lichtly lap the wa'. 
 
 Gil Morice state in gude grene wode, 105 
 
 He wauld nae tell the man his errand, 
 
 He whistled and he sang : 
 
 Though he stude at the gait ; 60 
 
 what mean a' the folk coming, 
 
 Bot straiht into the ha' he cam, 
 
 My mother tarries lang. 
 
 Quhair they were set at meit. 
 
 His hair was like the threeds of gold,; 
 
 
 Drawne frae Minerva's loome : ^110 
 
 Hail ! hail ! my gentle sire and dame ! 
 
 Hia lipps like roses drapping dew, 
 
 My message winna waite ; 
 
 His breath was a' perfume. 
 
 Dame, ze maun to the gude grene wod 65 
 
 
 Before that it be late. 
 
 
 Ze're bidden tak this gay mantM, 
 
 His brow was like the mountain snae 
 
 Tis a' gowd bot the hem : 
 
 Gilt by the morning beam : 
 
 Zou maun gae to the gude grene wode. 
 
 His cheeks like living roses glow : 115 
 
 Ev'n by your sel alane. 70 
 
 His een like azure stream. 
 
 
 The boy was clad in robes of grene. 
 
 And there it is, a silken sarke, 
 
 Sweete as the infant spring : 
 
 Your ain hand sewd the sleive ; 
 
 And like the mavis on the bush, 
 
 Ze maun gae speik to Gill Morice: 
 
 He gart the vallies ring. 120 
 
 Speir nae bauld barons leave. 
 
 
 The lady stamped wi' hir foot, 75 
 
 The baron came to the grene wode, 
 
 And winked wi' hir ee ; 
 
 Wi' mickle dule and care. 
 
 Bot a' that she coud say or do. 
 
 And there he first spied Gill Morice 
 
 Forbidden he wad nae bee. 
 
 Kameing his zellow hair : 
 
 
 That sweetly wavd around his face, 125 
 
 Its surely to my bow'r-womkn ; 
 
 That face beyond compare: 
 
 It neir could be to me. 80 
 
 He sang sae sweet it might dispel 
 
 I brocht it to Lord Barnards lady ; 
 
 A' rage but fell despair. 
 
 I trow that ze be she. 
 Then up and spack the wylie nurse, 
 
 
 
 (The bairn upon hir knee) 
 
 V. 88 Perhaps, loud say I heire. 
 Ver. 128. So Milton, 
 
 If it be cum frae Gil Morice, 85 
 
 
 It's deir welcum to mee. 
 
 Vernal delight and joy: ahle to drive 
 
 
 All Badness hut despair. B. iv. v. 155. 
 * i. e. a drinking cup of maple : other edit, read ezwr. 
 
 Ver. 58, Could this be the wall of the castle ? 
 
 i 
 
GIL MORRICE. 
 
 351 
 
 Nae wonder, nae wonder, Gill Morice, 
 
 
 Obraid me not, my Lord Barnard ! 
 
 
 My lady loed thee weel. 
 
 130 
 
 Obraid me not for shame ! 
 
 
 The fairest part of my bodie 
 
 
 Wi' that saim speir pierce my heart 
 
 ! 
 
 Is blacker than thy heel. 
 
 
 And put me out o' pain. 
 
 180 
 
 Zet neir the less now, Gill Morice, 
 
 
 Since nothing bot Gill Morice head 
 
 
 For a' thy great beautife, 
 
 
 Thy jelous rage could quell, 
 
 
 Ze's rew the day ze eir was born ; 
 
 135 
 
 Let that saim hand now tak hir life. 
 
 
 That head sail gae wi' me. 
 
 
 That neir to thee did ill. 
 
 
 Now he has drawn his trusty brand, 
 
 
 To me nae after days nor nichts 
 
 185 
 
 And slaited on the strae ; 
 
 
 Will eir be saft or kind ; 
 
 
 And thro' Gill Morice' fair body 
 
 
 I'll fill the air with heavy sighs. 
 
 
 He's gar cauld iron gae. 
 
 140 
 
 And greet till I am blind. 
 
 
 And he has tain Gill Morice' head 
 
 
 Enouch of blood by me's bin spilt, 
 
 
 And set it on a speir ; 
 
 
 Seek not zour death frae mee ; 
 
 190 
 
 The meanest man in a' his train 
 
 
 I rather lourd it had been my sel 
 
 
 Has gotten that head to bear. 
 
 
 Than eather him or thee. 
 
 
 And he has tain Gill Morice up, 
 
 145 
 
 With waefo wae I hear zour plaint ; 
 
 
 Laid him across his steid. 
 
 
 Sair, sair I rew the deid. 
 
 
 And brocht him to his painted bowr, 
 
 
 That eir this cursed hand of mine 
 
 195 
 
 And laid him on a bed. 
 
 
 Had gard his body bleid. 
 
 
 The lady sat on castil wa', 
 
 
 Dry up zour tears, my winsome dame, 
 
 
 Beheld baith dale and doun ; 
 
 150 
 
 Ze neir can heal the wound ; 
 
 
 And there she saw Gill Morice' head 
 
 
 Ze see his head upon the speir. 
 
 • 
 
 Cum trailing to the toun. 
 
 
 His heart's blude on the ground. 
 
 200 
 
 Far better I loe that bluidy head, 
 
 
 I curse the hand that did the deid. 
 
 
 Both and that zellow hair, 
 
 
 The heart that thocht the ill ; 
 
 
 Than lord Barnard, and a' his lands, 
 
 155 
 
 The feet that bore me wi' silk speid, 
 
 
 As they lig here and thair. 
 
 
 The comely zouth to kill. 
 
 
 And she has tain her Gill Morice, 
 
 
 I'll ay lament for Gill Morice, 
 
 205 
 
 And kissd baith mouth and chin : 
 
 
 As gin he were mine ain ; 
 
 
 I was once as fow of Gill Morice, 
 
 
 I'll neir forget the dreiry day 
 
 
 As the hip is o' the stean. 
 
 160 
 
 On which the zouth was slain. 
 
 
 I got ze in my father's house, 
 
 
 *^* This little pathetic tale suggested 
 
 the 
 
 "Wi' mickle sin and shame ; 
 
 
 plot of the tragedy of " Douglas." 
 
 
 I brocht thee up in gude grene wode, 
 
 
 Since it was first printed, the Editor has | 
 
 Under the heavy rain. 
 
 
 been assured that the foregoing ballad is 
 
 still 
 
 Oft have I by thy cradle sitten, 
 
 165 
 
 current in many parts of Scotland, where the 
 
 And fondly seen thee sleip ; 
 
 
 hero is universally known by the name of 
 
 But now I gae about thy grave, 
 
 
 "Child Maurice," pronounced by the common 
 
 The saut tears for to weip. 
 
 
 people Cheild or Cheeld; which occasioned 
 
 ^ 
 
 
 the mistake. 
 
 
 ^^ And syne she kissd his bluidy cheik, 
 / And syne his bluidy chin : 
 
 
 It may be proper to mention, that other | 
 
 170 
 
 copies read ver. 110 thus : 
 
 
 'i^ better I loe my Gill Morice 
 
 
 
 
 That a' my kith and kin ! 
 
 
 " Shot frae the golden sun." 
 
 
 Away, away, ze ill womkn, 
 
 
 
 
 And an il deith mait ze dee : 
 
 
 And ver. 116 as follows : 
 
 
 Gin I had kend he'd bin zour son, 
 
 175 
 
 
 
 He'd neir bin slain for mee. 
 45 
 
 THE END 
 
 
 " His een like azure sheene." 
 
 
 OF THE FIRST BOOK. 
 
 
352 
 
 THE LEGEND OF SIR GUY. 
 
 SERIES THE THIRD. 
 BOOK II. 
 
 I. 
 
 %\t 3m^ ^f -^i^ *^s 
 
 — Contains a short summary of the ex- 
 ploits of this famous champion, as recorded 
 in the old story books ; and is commonly en- 
 titled "A pleasant 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 War- 
 wick." 
 
 The history of Sir Guy, though now very 
 properly resigned to children, was once ad- 
 mired by all readers of wit and taste: for 
 taste and wit had once their childhood. Al- 
 though 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 bianco, 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 speken of romances of price. 
 Of Home childe and Ippotis, 
 Of Bevis, and Sir Guy, &c.^' (R. of Thop.) 
 
 and was usually sung to the harp at Christ- 
 mas 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, " Im- 
 
 prynted at London r;;;for W^Jiani Copland)" 
 
 in 34 sheets 4to. without date, is still pre- 
 served 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 follow- 
 ing 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 every chone : 
 
 For there dare no man route. 
 
 By twenty myle rounde aboute, 
 
 For doubt of a fowle dragon. 
 
 That sleath men and beastes downe. 
 
 He is blacke as any cole 
 
 Rugged as a rough fole ; 
 
 His bodye from the navill upwarde 
 
 No man may it pierce it is so harde ; 
 
 His neck is great as any summere ; 
 
 He renneth as swifte as any distrere ; 
 
 Pawes he hath as a lyon : 
 
 All that he toucheth he sleath dead downe. 
 
 Great winges he hath to flight, 
 
 That is no man that bare him might. 
 
 There may no man fight him agayne, 
 
 But that he sleath him certayne : 
 
 For a fowler beast then is he, 
 
 Ywis of none never heard ye." 
 
 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 par- 
 ticular, he gives the duel fought with the 
 Danish champion as a real historical truth, 
 and fixes the date of it in the year 926, aetat. 
 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 de- 
 cided. This song is ancient, as may be in- 
 ferred from the idiom preserved in the mar- 
 gin, ver. 94, 102 : and was once popular, as 
 appears from Fletcher's Knight of the Burn- 
 ing 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. 
 
THE LEGEND OF SIR GUY. 
 
 353 
 
 Was ever knigh^ for ladyes sake 
 
 Soe tost in love, as I Sir Guy 
 For Plielis fayre, that lady bright 
 
 As ever man beheld with eye ? 
 
 She gave me leave myself to try, 5 
 
 The valiant knight vrith sheeld and speare, 
 
 Ere that her love she wold grant me ; 
 AVhich 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, 11 
 
 With sworde and speare in fieild to fight. 
 
 An English man I was by birthe : 
 In faith of Christ a christyan true : 
 
 The wicked laws of infidells 
 I sought by prowesse to subdue. 
 
 15 
 
 ' Nine' hundred twenty yeere and odde 
 After our Saviour Christ his birth, 
 
 When King Athfelstone wore the crowne, 
 I lived heere upon the earth. 20 
 
 Sometime I was of Warwicke erle, 
 
 And, as I sayd, of very truth 
 A ladyes love did me constraine 
 
 To seeke strange ventures in my youth. 
 
 To win me fame by feates of armes 25 
 
 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 30 
 
 The emperours daughter of Almaine, 
 
 From manye a vallyant worthye knight. 
 
 Then passed I the seas to Greece 
 To helpe the emperour in his right ; 
 
 Against the mightye souldans hoaste 35 
 
 Of puissant Persians for to fight. 
 
 Where I did slay of Sarazens, 
 
 And heathen pagans, manye a man ; 
 
 And slew the souldans cozen deere. 
 
 Who had to name doughtye Coldr^n. 40 
 
 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, PC. 
 MS. and P. 
 
 V. 17, Two hundred, 
 
 I went into the souldans hoast, 45 
 
 Being thither on embassage sent, 
 
 And brought his head awaye with mee ; 
 I having slaine him in his tent. 
 
 There was a dragon in that land 
 
 Most fiercely mett me by the ways 50 
 
 As hee a lyon did pursue, 
 
 Which I myself did alsoe slay. 
 
 Then soon I past the seas from Greece, 
 And came to Pavye land aright : 
 
 Where I the duke of Pavye killed, 55 
 
 His hainous treason to requite. 
 
 To England then I came with speede, 
 To wedd faire Phelis lady bright : 
 
 For love of whome I travelled farr 
 
 To try my manhood and my might. 60 
 
 But when I had espoused her, 
 I stayd with her but fortye dayes, 
 
 Ere that I left this ladye faire. 
 
 And went from her beyond the seas. 
 
 All cladd in gray, in pilgrim sort, 65 
 
 My voyage from her I did take 
 Unto the blessed Holy-land, 
 
 For Jesus Christ my Saviours sake. 
 
 Where I Erie Jonas did redeeme. 
 
 And all his sonnes, which were fifteene, 70 
 Who with the cruell Sarazens 
 
 In prison for long time had beene. 
 
 I slew the gyant Amarant 
 
 In battel fiercely e hand to hand : 
 
 And doughty Barknard killed I, 75 
 
 A treacherous knight of Pavye land. 
 
 Then I to England came againe. 
 
 And here with Colbronde fell I fought: 
 
 An ugly gyant, which the Danes 
 
 Had for their champion hither brought. 80 
 
 I overcame him in the feild, 
 
 And slew him soone right valiantlye; 
 Wherebye this land I did redeeme 
 
 From Danish tribute utterlye. 
 
 And afterwards I ofi*ered upp 85 
 
 The use of weapons solemnlye 
 At Winchester, whereas I fought. 
 
 In sight of manye farr and nye. 
 
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 citye of Coventrye. 
 
 95 
 
 On Dunsmore heath I alsoe slewe 
 A monstrous wyld and cruell beast, 
 
 Calld the Dun-cow of Dunsmore heath ; 
 Which manye people had opprest. 100 
 
 Some of her bones in Warwicke yett 
 
 Still for a monument doe lye, 
 And there exposed to lookers viewe 
 
 As wondrous strange, they may espye. 
 
 A dragon in Northumberland 105 
 
 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 lived a hermitts life 111 
 
 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 115 
 
 Within that cave myself alone : 
 
 And daylye came to begg my bread, 
 
 Of Phelis att my castle gate ; 
 Not knowne unto my loved wifPe, 
 
 Who dailye mourned for her mate. 120 
 
 Till att the last I fell sore sicke, 
 Yea sicke soe sore that I must dye ; 
 
 I sent to her a ring of golde. 
 By which she knew me presentlye. 
 
 Then shee repairing to the cave 125 
 
 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 corpes unto the grave ; 130 
 
 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, 135 
 
 In Warwicke still you may behold. 
 
 II. 
 
 iiig M)i ^rauxmxt. 
 
 The Editor found this Poem in his ancient 
 folio manuscript among the old ballads ; he 
 was desirous, therefore, that it should still 
 accompany them ; and as it is not altogether 
 devoid of merit, its insertion here will be 
 pardoned. 
 
 Although this piece seems not imperfect, 
 there is reason to believe that it is only a part 
 of a much larger poem, which contained the 
 whole history of Sir Guy : for, upon 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 
 
 Ver. 94, 102, doth lye, MS. 
 
 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. 
 
GUY AND AMARANT. 
 
 355 
 
 With tedious miles he tyred his wearye feet, 
 And passed desart places full of danger, 
 
 At last with a most woefuU wight* did meet, 
 A man that unto sorrow was noe stranger: 
 
 For he had fifteen sonnes, made captives all 
 
 To slavish bondage, in extremest thrall. 12 
 
 A gyant called Amarant detaind them, 
 Whom noe man durst encounter for his 
 
 strength : 
 Who in a castle, which he held, had chaind 
 
 them : 15 
 
 Guy questions, 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: 20 
 
 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 ? 25 
 
 Art come to feast the crowes about my 
 walls ? 
 Didst never heare, noe ransome can him 
 cleere, 
 That in the compasse of my furye falls : 
 For making me to take a porters paines, 
 With this same clubb I will dash out thy 
 braines. 30 
 
 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 ; 34 
 
 But shew thy utmost hate, enlarge thy spight, 
 
 Keene 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 proclaime, 
 
 Standinge with huge Colossus' spacious 
 
 stride, 40 
 
 * Erie Jonas, mentioned in the foregoing ballad. 
 
 Putting such vigour to his knotty beame, 
 That like a furnace he did smoke extreame. 
 
 But on the ground he spent his strokes in 
 vaine. 
 
 For Guy was nimble to avoyde them still, 
 And ever ere he heav'd his clubb againe, 45 
 
 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, 50 
 
 Shew itt in this, give natures wants their 
 
 dewe, 
 
 Let me but goe, and drinke in yonder place: 
 
 Thou canst not yeeld to ' me' a smaller thing. 
 
 Than to graunt life, thats given by the spring. 
 
 I graunt thee leave, quoth Guye, goe drink 
 thy last, 55 
 
 Goe pledge the dragon, and the salvage 
 bore :* 
 Succeed 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. 60 
 
 Soe to the spring he goes, and slakes his 
 thirst ; 
 Takeing the water in extremely like 
 Some wracked shipp that on a rocke is burst, 
 Whose forced hulke against the stone does 
 stryke ; 
 Scooping it in soe fast with both his hands. 
 That Guy admiring to behold it stands. 66 
 
 Come on, quoth Guy, let us to worke againe, 
 
 Thou stayest about thy liquor overlong ; 
 The fish, which in the river doe remaine. 
 Will want thereby; thy drinking doth them 
 wrong : 70 
 
 But I will see their satisfaction made. 
 With gyants blood they must, and shall be 
 payd. 
 
 Villaine, quoth Amarant, He crush thee 
 streight ; 
 Thy life shall pay thy daring toungs offence : 
 
 Ter. 64, bulke, MS. and PCC. 
 * Which Guy bad slain befora 
 
356 
 
 GUY AND AMARANT. 
 
 This clubb, which is about some hundred 
 weight, 75 
 
 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, 80 
 
 He hewes upon those bigg supporting postes. 
 
 Which like two pillars did his body beare: 
 
 Amarant for those wounds in choller growes 
 
 And desperatelye att Guy his clubb he 
 
 throwes : 
 
 Which did directly on his body light, 85 
 Soe violent, and weighty there-withall. 
 
 That downe to ground on sudden came the 
 knight ; 
 And, ere he cold recover from the fall, 
 
 The gyant gott his clubb againe in fist, 89 
 
 And aimd a stroke that wonderfullye mist. 
 
 Traytor, quoth Guy, thy falshood He repay, 
 This coward act to intercept my bloode. 
 
 Sayes Amarant, He murther any way, 
 With enemyes all vantages are good : 
 
 could I poyson in thy nostrills blowe, 95 
 
 Besure of it I wold dispatch thee soe. 
 
 Its well, said Guy, thy honest thoughts ap- 
 peare. 
 Within that beastlye bulke where devills 
 dwell ; 
 Which are thy tenants while thou livest 
 heare, 
 But will be landlords when thou comest in 
 hell: 100 
 
 Vile miscreant, prepare thee for their den, 
 Inhumane monster, hatefull unto men. 
 
 But breathe thy selfe a time, while I goe 
 drinke, 
 For flameing Phoebus with his fyerye eye 
 Torments me soe with burning heat, I thinke 
 My thirst wold serve to drinke an ocean 
 drye : 106 
 
 Forbear a litle, as I delt with thee. 
 Quoth Amarant. 'Thou hast noe foole of mee. 
 
 Noe, silly e wretch, my father taught 
 witt. 
 How I shold use such 
 
 more 
 enemyes as thou ; 
 
 By all my gods I doe rejoice at itt. 111 
 
 To understand that thirst constraines thee 
 
 now; 
 
 For all the treasure, that the world containes. 
 
 One drop of water shall not coole thy vaines. 
 
 Releeve my foe ! why, 'twere a madmans 
 part : 115 
 
 Refresh an adversarye to my wrong ! 
 If thou imagine this, a child thou art : 
 
 jSToe, fellow, I have known the world too 
 long ^ y 
 
 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 121 
 
 Into the ayre, he swings the same about : 
 Then shakes his lockes, and doth his temples 
 rubb, 
 And, like the Cyclops, in his pride doth 
 strout : 
 Sirra, sayes hee, I have you at a lift, 125 
 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, 131 
 
 To please my furye with thine overthrow. 
 
 Infernall, false, obdurate feend, said Guy, 
 That seemst a lump of crueltye from hell ; 
 
 Ungratefull monster, since thou dost deny 
 The thing to mee wherin I used thee well': 
 
 With more revenge, than ere my sword did 
 make, 139 
 
 On thy accursed head revenge He take. 
 
 Thy gyants longitude shall shorter shrinke. 
 Except thy sun-scorcht skin be weapon 
 proof: 140 
 
 Farewell my thirst ; I doe disdaine to drinke ; 
 Streames keepe your waters to your owne 
 behoof; 
 Or let wild beasts be welcome thereunto ; 
 With those pearle drops I will not have to do. 
 
 Here, tyrant, take a taste of my good-will, 
 For thus I doe begin my bloodye bout : 146 
 
GUY AND AMARANT. 
 
 357 
 
 You cannot chuse but like the greeting ill ; 
 It is not that same clubb will beare you 
 
 out; 
 And take this payment on thy shaggye 
 
 crowne — 
 A blowe that brought him with a vengeance 
 
 downe. 150 
 
 Then Guy sett foot upon the monsters brest, 
 
 And from his shoulders did his head divide; 
 
 "Which with a yawninge mouth did gape, un- 
 
 blest ; 
 
 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 beene tyred with extremityes ; 
 
 Whom he in freindly manner did unbipd, 
 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 every e 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 unlockes, and 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 ; 
 
 Divers 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 sliold be fat. 
 
 The castle I doe give thee, heere's the keyes, 
 Where tyranye for manyyeeres did dwell: 
 
 Procure the gentle tender ladyes ease, 189 
 For pittyes 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 Ama- 
 rant" has been discovered to be a fragment of 
 *' The famous historic of Guy earle of War- 
 wicke, by Samuel Rowlands, London, printed 
 by J. Bell, 1649," 4to., in xii. cantos, begin- 
 ning 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. ITis other poems are chiefly 
 of the religious kind, which makes it proba- 
 ble 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." [Ames Typ. p. 428.]— (2.) A 
 Theatre of delightful Recreation. Lond. 
 printed for A. Johnson, 1605,'' 4to. (Penes 
 editor.) This is a book of poems on subjects 
 chiefly taken from the Old Testament. (3.) 
 " Memory of Christ's Miracles, in verse, 
 Lond. 1618, 4to." (4.) "Heaven's glory, 
 earth's vanity, and hell's horror." Lond. 
 1638, 8vo. [These two in Bod. Cat.] 
 
 In the present edition the foregoing poem 
 has been much improved from the printed 
 copy. 
 
358 
 
 FAIR MARGARET AND SWEET WILLIAM. 
 
 III. 
 
 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 corrup- 
 tions. 
 
 Late in an evening forth I went 
 
 A little before the sun ^ade down, 
 And there I chanc't, by accident, 
 
 To light on a battle new begun : 
 A man and his wife wer fawn in a strife, 5 
 
 I canna weel tell ye how it began; 
 But aye she wail'd her wretched life, 
 
 Cryeng, Evir alake, mine auld goodman ! 
 
 HE. 
 
 Thy auld goodman, that thou tells of. 
 
 The country kens where he was born, 10 
 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 : 15 
 
 Sae tell nae mair of thy auld goodman. 
 
 SHE. 
 
 My heart, alake ! is liken to break, 
 Whan I think on my winsome John, 
 
 Ilis blinkan ee, and gait sae free, 
 
 Was naithing like thee, thou dosend drone ; 
 
 Wi' his rosie face, and flaxen hair, 21 
 
 And skin as white as ony swan. 
 
 He was large and tall, and comely withall ; 
 Thou'lt nevir be like mine auld goodman. 
 
 Why dost thou plein ? I thee maintein ; 25 
 
 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 neither pot nor pan ; 30 
 Of sicklike ware he left thee bare ; 
 
 Sae tell nae mair of thy auld goodman. 
 
 SHE. 
 
 Yes I may tell, and fret my sell, 
 
 To think on those blyth days I had, 
 Whan I and he together ley 35 
 
 In armes into a well-made bed : 
 But now I sigh and may be sad, 
 
 Thy courage is cauld, thy colour wan, 
 Thou falds thy feet, and fa's asleep ; 
 
 Thou'lt nevir be like mine auld goodman. 
 
 Then coming was the night sae dark. 
 
 And gane was a' the light of day : 
 The carle was fear'd to miss his mark, 
 
 And therefore wad nae longer stay : 
 Then up he gat, and ran his way, 
 
 I trowe, the wife the day she wan ; 
 And aye the owreword of the fray 
 
 Was, Evir alake ! mine auld goodman. 
 
 41 
 
 45 
 
 IV. 
 
 |air Uarprri anJr Sterf Willim. 
 
 This seems to be the old song quoted in 
 Fletcher's " 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 given from a mo- 
 
 dern printed copy picked up on a stall. Its 
 full title is, " Fair Margaret's Misfortunes ; 
 or Sweet William's frightful dreams on his 
 wedding night, with the sudden death and 
 burial of those noble lovers." — 
 
 The lines preserved in the play are this 
 distich, 
 
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 Margarets grimly ghost, 
 And stood at Williams feet. 
 
 These 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 communi- 
 cated by a lady of the first distinction, as 
 she had heard this song repeated in her in- 
 fancy. 
 
 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, 6 
 
 And you see none by mee ; 
 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 ; 10 
 
 There she spyed sweet William and his bride. 
 As they were a riding near. 
 
 Then down she layd her ivory combe, 
 And braided her hair in twain : 
 
 She went alive out of her bower, 
 But ne'er came alive in't ao;ain. 
 
 15 
 
 When day was gone, and night was come, 
 
 And all men fast asleep, 
 Then came the spirit of fair Marg'ret, 
 
 And stood at Williams feet. 20 
 
 Are you awake, sweet William ? shee 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, 25 
 
 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 dreames are never good : 30 
 
 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. 36 
 
 He called up his merry men all. 
 
 By one, by two, and by three ; 
 Saying, I'll away to ftiir Marg'ret's bower, 
 
 By the leave of my ladle. 40 
 
 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, 45 
 
 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 ; 50 
 
 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, 55 
 
 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. 60 
 
 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, 65 
 
 Sweet William dyed the morrow : 
 
 Fair Margaret dyed for pure true love, 
 Sweet AVilliam dyed for sorrow. 
 
 Margaret was buryed in the lower chancel. 
 And William in the higher: 70 
 
 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. 
 
3G0 BARBARA ALLEN'S CRUELTY. 
 
 They grew till they grew unto the church i 
 
 iop, 
 
 Then came the clerk of the parish, 
 
 And then they could grow no higher ; 
 
 
 As you the truth shall hear. 
 
 And there they tyed in a true lovers knot 
 
 , 
 
 And by misfortune cut them down, 
 
 Which made all the people admire. 
 
 76 
 
 Or they had now been there. 
 
 V. 
 
 §arkrE ^M'^ Cnultg. 
 
 Given, with some corrections, from an 
 
 old 
 
 I cannot keep you from your death ; 
 
 black-letter copy, entitled, " Barbary Allen's 
 
 Farewell, sayd Barbara Allen. 
 
 cruelty, or the Young Man's Tragedy." 
 
 
 He turnd his face unto the wall, 
 
 In Scarlet towne, where I was borne, 
 
 
 As deadlye pangs he fell in : 
 
 There was a faire maid dwellin. 
 
 
 Adieu ! adieu ! adieu to you all, 35 
 
 Made every youth crye, AVel-awaye ! 
 
 
 Adieu to Barbara Allen. 
 
 Her name was Barbara Allen. 
 
 
 As she was walking ore the fields. 
 
 All in the merrye month of May, 
 
 5 
 
 She heard the bell a knellin ; 
 
 When greene buds they were swellin, 
 Yong Jemmye Grove on his death-bed la 
 
 
 And every stroke did seem to saye. 
 
 y» 
 
 Unworthy Barbara Allen. ~'-'' V- 40 
 
 For love of Barbara Allen. 
 
 
 She turnd her bodye round about, 
 
 He sent his man unto her then, 
 
 To the towne where shee was dwellin; 
 You must come to my master deare. 
 
 10 
 
 And spied the corps a coming : 
 Laye down, laye down the corps, she sayd, 
 That I may look upon him. 
 
 Giff your name be Barbara Allen. 
 
 
 With scornful eye she looked downe, 45 
 Her cheeke with laughter swellin : 
 
 For death is printed on his face, 
 
 
 Whilst all her friends cryd out amaine ; 
 Unworthye Barbara Allen. 
 
 And ore his hart is stealin : 
 Then haste away to comfort him. 
 
 15 
 
 lovelye Barbara Allen. 
 
 
 When he was dead, and laid in grave. 
 
 Her harte was struck with sorrowe, 50 
 
 Though death be printed on his face, 
 
 And ore his harte is stealin, 
 Yet little better shall he bee 
 
 
 
 
 mother, mother, make my bed. 
 For I shall dye to-morrowe. 
 
 For bonny Barbara Allen. 
 
 20 
 
 Hard-harted creature him to slight, 
 Who loved me so dearly e : 
 
 So slowly, slowly, she came up. 
 
 
 that I had beene more kind to him^ 55 
 
 And slowly she came nye him ; 
 
 
 When he was alive and neare me ! 
 
 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 ; 
 
 He turned his face unto her strait, 
 
 25 
 
 And sore repented of the daye. 
 
 With deadlye sorrow sighing ; 
 
 
 That she did ere denye him. V 60 
 
 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. 
 
 
 Henceforth take warning by the fall 
 
 What needs the tale you are tellin ; 
 
 30 
 
 Of cruel Barbara Allen. V 
 
SWEET WILLIAM'S GHOST. 
 
 361 
 
 VI. 
 
 md wmM^ ii]0st 
 
 A SCOTTISH BALLAD. 
 
 From Allan Ramsay's Tea-table Miscel- 
 lany. 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 ? 5 
 
 Or is't my brother John ? 
 Or is't my true love Willie 
 
 From Scotland new come home ? 
 
 'Tis not thy father Philip ; 
 
 Nor yet thy brother John : 10 
 
 But 'tis thy true love Willie 
 
 From Scotland new come home. 
 
 sweet Margret ! dear Margret ! 
 
 I pray thee speak to mee : 
 Give me my faith and troth, Margret, 15 
 
 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. 20 
 
 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. 
 
 sweet Margret, dear Margret, 25 
 
 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,' 30 
 
 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. 
 
 35 
 
 She stretched out her lily-white hand, 
 
 As for to do her best : 
 Ilae there your faith and troth, Willie, 
 
 God send your soul good rest. 40 
 
 Now she has kilted her robes of green, 
 ' A piece below her knee : 
 And a' the live-lang winter night 
 The dead corps followed shee. 
 
 Is there any room at your head, Willie, 45 
 
 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, 50 
 
 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, 55 
 
 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. 60 
 
 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. 
 
362 
 
 THE BAILIFF'S DAUGHTER OF ISLINGTON. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Sir |0l]n §xt\mt mla §rtra glten^ 
 
 A SCOTTISH BALLAD. 
 
 Printed, with a few conjectural emenda- 
 tions, from a written copy. 
 
 It was in and about the Martinmas time, 
 When the greene leaves wer a fallan ; 
 
 That Sir John Grehme o' the west countrye, 
 Fell in luve wi' Barbara Allan. 
 
 He sent his man down throw the towne. 5 
 To the plaice where she was dwellan: 
 
 haste and cum to my maister deare, 
 Gin ye bin Barbara Allan. 
 
 hooly, hooly raise she up, 
 
 To the plaice wher he was lyan ; 10 
 
 And whan she drew the curtain by, 
 
 Young man I think ye're dyan.* 
 
 its I'm sick, and very very sick, 
 
 And its a' for Barbara Allen. 
 the better for me ye'se never be, 15 
 
 Though your harts blude wer spillan. 
 
 Remember ye nat in the tavern, sir. 
 
 Whan ye the cups wer fillan : 
 How ye made the healths gae round and 
 round, 20 
 
 And slighted Barbara Allan ? 
 
 He turned 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 raise she up, 25 
 
 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, 
 
 AVhan she heard the deid-bell knellan ; 30 
 And everye jow the deid-bell gied. 
 
 Cried, Wae to Barbara Allan ! 
 
 mither, mither, mak my bed, 
 
 mak it saft and narrow: 
 Since my love died for me to day, 35 
 
 Ise die for him to morrowe. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 ^t SEiliff's ^m^likx jcrf |slmjit0it. 
 
 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 
 think ye're lyand, would he very characteristical. 
 
 There was ayouthe, and a well-beloved youthe, 
 
 And he was a squires son : 
 He loved the bayliffes daughter deare, 
 
 That lived in Islington. 
 
 Yet she was coye, and would not believe 5 
 
 That he did love her soe, 
 Noe nor at any time would she 
 
 Any countenance to him showe. 
 
 But when his friendes did understand 
 His fond and foolish minde. 
 
 They sent him up to faire London 
 An apprentice for to binde. 
 
 10 
 
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, 15 
 
 When she little thought of mee. 
 
 Then all the maids of Islington 
 Went forth to sport and playe, 
 
 All but the bayliffes daughter deare 
 She secretly stole awaye. 
 
 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 
 Will ease me of much paine. 
 
 20 
 
 25 
 
 30 
 
 Before I give you one penny, sweet-heart, 
 Praye tell me where you were borne. 
 
 At Islington, kind sir, sayd shee, 35 
 
 Where I have had many a scorne. 
 
 I prythee, sweet-heart, then tell to mee, 
 
 tell me, whether you knowe 
 The bayliffes daughter of Islington. 
 
 She is dead, sir, long agoe. 40 
 
 If she be dead, then take my horse, 
 
 My saddle and bridle also ; 
 For I will into some farr countrye. 
 
 Where noe man shall me knowe. 
 
 staye, staye, thou goodlye youthe, 45 
 
 She standeth by thy side ; 
 She is here alive, she is not dead, 
 
 And readye to be thy bride. 
 
 farewell griefe, and welcome joye, 
 
 Ten thousand times therefore ; 50 
 
 For nowe I have founde mine owne true love, 
 Whom I thought I should never see more. 
 
 -••#- 
 
 IX. 
 
 A PASTORAL DIALOGUE. 
 
 From the small black-letter collection, en- 
 titled " The Golden Garland of princely De- 
 lights," collated with two other copies, and 
 corrected by conjecture. 
 
 How now, shepherde, what meanes that? 
 Why that willowe in thy hat ? 
 AVhy thy scarffes of red and yellowe 
 Turn'd to branches of greene willowe ? 
 
 CUDDY. 
 
 They are chang'd, and so am I ; i 
 
 Sorrowes live, but pleasures die: 
 Phillis hath forsaken mee, 
 Which makes me weare the willowe-tree. 
 
 Phillis ! shee that lov'd thee long ? 
 
 Is shee the lass hath done thee wrong ? 10 
 
 Shee that lov'd thee long and best, 
 Is her love turned to a jest? 
 
 Shee that long true love profest, 
 
 She hath robb'd my heart of rest : 
 
 For she a new love loves, not mee ; 15 
 
 Which makes me wear the willowe-tree. 
 
 WILLY. 
 
 Come then, shepherde, let us joine, 
 
 Since thy happ is like to mine : 
 
 For the maid I thought most true 
 
 Mee hath also bid adieu. 20 
 
 Thy hard happ doth mine appease, 
 Companye doth sorrowe ease : 
 Yet, Phillis, still I pine for thee. 
 And still must weare the willowe-tree. 
 
364 THE 
 
 LADY'S FALL. 
 
 
 WILLY. 
 
 
 CUDDY. 
 
 
 Shepherde, be advis'd by mee, 
 
 25 
 
 Herdsman, I'll be rul'd by thee, 
 
 
 Cast off grief and willowe-tree : 
 
 
 There lyes grief and willowe-tree : 
 
 30 
 
 For thy grief brings her content, 
 
 
 Henceforth I will do as they, / 
 And love a new love every da.j.'-p *^ 
 
 
 She is pleas'd if thou lament. 
 
 
 * 
 
 ' ■•w 
 
 X. 
 
 ®|« yuiu's lull, 
 
 
 — Is given (with corrections) from 
 
 the 
 
 Shee kept it from her parents sight 
 
 
 editor's ancient folio MS., collated with two 
 
 As close as close might bee. 
 
 
 printed copies in black-letter ; one in 
 
 the 
 
 And soe put on her silken gowne 
 
 
 British Museum, the other in the Pepys 
 
 Col- 
 
 None might her swelling see. 
 
 
 lection. Its old title is, " A lamentable ballad 
 
 
 
 of the Lady's fall." To the tune of 
 
 «'In 
 
 Unto her lover secretly 
 
 25 
 
 Pescod Time, &c." — The ballad here referred 
 
 Her greefe shee did bewray, 
 
 
 to is preserved m the " Muses Library," 
 
 Bvo., 
 
 And, walking with him hand in hand, 
 
 
 p. 281. • It is an allegory or vision, entitled 
 
 These words to him did say ; 
 
 
 " The Shepherd's Slumber," and opens 
 
 with 
 
 Behold, quoth shee, a maids distresse 
 
 
 some pretty rural images, viz.: 
 
 
 By love brought to thy bowe. 
 
 Behold I goe with childe by thee, 
 
 Tho none thereof doth knowe. 
 
 30 
 
 ]' In pescod time when hound to horn 
 
 
 
 Gives eare till buck be kil'd, 
 
 
 
 
 And little lads with pipes of come 
 Sate keeping beasts a-field. 
 
 
 
 
 
 The litle babe springs in my wombe 
 
 
 
 To heare its fathers voyce. 
 
 
 " I went to gather strawberries 
 
 
 Lett it not be a bastard called. 
 
 35 
 
 By woods and groves full fair, &c 
 
 » 
 
 Sith I made thee my choyce : 
 Come, come, my love, perform thy vowe 
 
 
 Makke well my heavy dolefull tale, 
 
 
 And wed me out of hand ; 
 
 
 You loyall lovers all, 
 
 
 leave me not in this extreme 
 
 
 And heedfully beare in your breast 
 
 
 Of griefe, alas ! to stand. 
 
 40 
 
 A gallant ladyes fall. 
 
 
 
 
 Long was she wooed, ere shee was wonne, 5 
 
 Think on thy former promises. 
 
 
 To lead a wedded life, 
 
 
 Thy oathes and vowes eche one ; 
 
 
 But folly wrought her overthrowe 
 
 
 Remember with what bitter teares 
 
 
 Before shee was a wife. 
 
 
 To mee thou madest thy moane. 
 
 
 Too soone, alas ! shee gave consent 
 
 And yeelded to his will, 
 Though he protested to be true, 
 
 And faithfull to her still. 
 
 10 
 
 Convey mee to some secrett place. 
 And marye me with speede ; 
 
 Or with thy rapyer end my life. 
 Ere further shame proceede. 
 
 45 
 
 Shee felt her body altered quite, 
 Her bright hue waxed pale, 
 
 
 Alacke ! my beauteous love, quoth hee, 
 
 50 
 
 Her lovelye cheeks chang'd color white. 
 
 15 
 
 My joye, and only dear ; 
 
 Her strength began to fayle. 
 
 
 Which way can I convey thee hence. 
 
 
 
 
 "When dangers are so near ? 
 
 
 Soe that with many a sorrowful sigh, 
 
 
 Thy friends are all of hye degree, 
 
 
 This beauteous ladye milde. 
 
 
 And I of mean estate ; 
 
 
 With greeved hart, perceived herselfe 
 
 
 Full hard it is to gett thee forthe 
 
 55 
 
 To have conceived with childe. 
 
 20 
 
 Out of thy fathers gate. 
 
 
 i 
 
THE LADY'S FALL. 
 
 365 
 
 Dread not thy life to save my fame, 
 
 
 And thus with many a sorrowful sigh. 
 
 105 
 
 For if thou taken bee, 
 
 
 Homewards shee wen_t againe : 
 
 
 My selfe will step betweene the swords, 
 
 
 Noe rest came to her watery e eyes, 
 
 
 And take the harme on mee: 
 
 60 
 
 She felt such privye paine. 
 
 
 Soe shall I scape dishonour quite ; 
 
 
 In travail strong shee fell that night, 
 
 
 And if I should be slaine, 
 
 
 With many a bitter throwe ; 
 
 110 
 
 What could they say, but that true love 
 
 
 What woefull paines shee then did feel, 
 
 
 Had wrought a ladyes bane. 
 
 
 Doth eche good woman knowe. 
 
 
 But feare not any further harme ; 
 
 65 
 
 Shee called up her waiting mayd. 
 
 
 My selfe will soe devise. 
 
 
 That lay at her bedds feete. 
 
 
 That I will ryde away with thee 
 
 
 Who musing at her mistress woe. 
 
 115 
 
 Unknowen of mortall eyes : 
 
 
 Began full faste to weepe. 
 
 
 Disguised like some pretty page 
 
 
 Weepe not, said shee, but shutt the dores, | 
 
 He meete thee in the darke, 
 
 70 
 
 And windowes round about, 
 
 
 And all alone He come to thee 
 
 
 Let none bewray my wretched state, 
 
 
 Hard by my fathers parke. 
 
 
 But keepe all persons out. 
 
 120 
 
 And there, quoth hee, He meete my deare 
 
 mistress, call your mother deare, 
 
 
 If God so lend me life, 
 
 
 Of women you have neede. 
 
 
 On this day month without all fayle 
 
 75 
 
 And of some skilfull midwifes helpe. 
 
 
 I will make thee my wife. 
 
 
 That better may you speed. 
 
 
 Then with a sweet and loving kisse, 
 
 
 Call not my mother for thy life. 
 
 125 
 
 They parted presentlye, 
 / And att their partinge brinish teares 
 
 
 Nor fetch no woman here ; 
 
 
 
 The midwifes helpe comes all too late, 
 
 
 Stoode in eche others eye. 
 
 80 
 
 My death I doe not feare. 
 
 
 Att length the wished day was come, 
 
 
 With that the babe sprang from her wombe, 
 
 On which this beauteous mayd. 
 
 
 No creature being nye. 
 
 130 
 
 With longing eyes, and strange attire, 
 
 
 And with one sighe, which brake her hart, | 
 
 For her true lover stayd. 
 
 
 This gentle dame did dye. 
 
 
 When any person shee espyed 
 
 85 
 
 The lovely litle infant younge, 
 
 
 Come ryding ore the plaine. 
 
 
 The mother being dead, 
 
 
 She hop'd it was her owne true love : 
 
 
 Resigned its new received breath 
 
 135 
 
 But all her hopes were vaine. 
 
 
 To him that had it made. 
 
 
 Then di',1 shee weepe and sore bewaylo 
 
 
 Next morning came her own true love, 
 
 
 Her most unhappy fate ; 
 
 90 
 
 Affrighted at the newes. 
 
 
 Then did shee speake these woeful! words, 
 
 And he for sorrow slew himselfe, 
 
 
 As succourless she sate ; 
 
 
 Whom eche one did accuse. 
 
 140 
 
 false, forsworne, and faithlesse man. 
 
 
 The mother with her new borne babe, 
 
 
 Disloyall in thy love. 
 
 
 Were laide both in one grave ; 
 
 
 Hast thou forgott thy promise past. 
 
 95 
 
 Their parents overworne with woe, 
 
 
 And wilt thou perjured prove? 
 
 
 No joy thenceforth cold have. 
 
 
 And hast thou now forsaken mee 
 
 
 Take heed, you dayntye damsells all, 
 
 145 
 
 In this my great distresse, 
 
 
 Of flattering words beware. 
 
 
 To end my days in open shame. 
 
 
 And to the honour of your name 
 
 
 Which thou mightst well redresse ? 
 
 100 
 
 Have an especial care. 
 
 
 Woe worth the time I eer believ'd 
 
 
 Too true, alas ! this story is, 
 
 
 That flattering tongue of thine : 
 
 
 As many one can tell : 
 
 150 
 
 Wold God that I had never seene 
 
 
 By others harmes learn to be wise. 
 
 
 The teares of thy false eyne. 
 
 
 And you shall do full well. 
 
 
366 THE BRIDE'S BURIAL. 
 
 XI. 
 
 mult mat S0te to ^mwt 
 
 
 A SCOTTISH SONG. 
 
 
 This is a very aucient song, but we could wherfore shuld I busk ray head? 
 
 
 only give it from a modern copy. Some 
 
 Or wherfore shuld I kame my hair ? 
 
 
 editions instead of tbe four last lines in 
 
 For my true love has me forsook. 
 
 15 
 
 the second stanza have these, which have too 
 
 And says he'll never loe me mair. 
 
 
 much merit to be wholly suppressed : 
 
 Now Arthur-seat sail be my bed. 
 
 The sheets shall neir be fyl'd by me : 
 
 Saint Anton's well sail be my drink, 
 Since my true love has forsaken me. 
 
 
 " Whan cockle shells turn siller bells, 
 
 
 And muscles grow on every tree, 
 
 20^ 
 
 When frost and snaw sail warm us aw', 
 
 Marti'mas wind, when wilt thou blaw. 
 
 
 Than sail my love prove true to me." 
 
 And shake the green leaves aff the tree ? i 
 
 See the Orpheus Caledonius, &c. 
 
 gentle death, whan wilt thou cum ? 
 For of my life I am wearie. 
 
 
 Arthur' s-seat, mentioned in ver. 17, is a 
 
 
 
 hill near Edinburgh ; at the bottom of which 
 
 Tis not the frost, that freezes fell, 
 
 25 
 
 is St. Anthony's well. 
 
 Nor blawing snaws inclemencie ; 
 ^Tis not sic cauld, that makes me cry, 
 
 
 WALY waly up the bank, 
 
 And waly waly down the brae, 
 
 But my loves heart grown cauld to me 
 When we came in by Glasgowe town, 
 
 
 And waly waly yon burn side, 
 
 Where I and my love wer wont to gae. 
 I leant my back unto an aik, 5 
 
 We were a comely sight to see. 
 My love was cled in black velvet, 
 
 30 
 
 And I my sell in cramasie. 
 
 
 I thought it was a trusty tree ! 
 
 But had I wist, before I kisst. 
 
 
 But first it bow'd and sjne it brak, 
 
 That love had been sae ill to win ; 
 
 
 Sae my true love did lichtly me. 
 
 I had lockt my heart in a case of gowd, 
 And pinnd it with a siller pin. 
 
 35 
 
 waly waly, gin love be bonny, 
 
 And, oh ! if my young babe were born, 
 
 
 A little time while it is new ; 10 
 
 And set upon the nurses knee. 
 
 
 But when its auld, it waxeth cauld, 
 
 And I my sell were dead and gane I 
 
 
 And fades awa' like morning dew. 
 
 For a maid again Ise never be. 
 
 40 
 
 XII. 
 
 
 ®|{ ink's giirial 
 
 
 From two ancient copies in black-letter: 
 
 Like to the drooping vine. 
 
 5 
 
 one in the Pepys' Collection; the other in the 
 
 Cut by the gardener's knife. 
 
 
 British Museum. 
 
 Even so my heart, with sorrow slaine, 
 
 
 To the tune of " The Lady's Fall." 
 
 Doth bleed for my sweet wife. 
 
 
 Come mourne, come mourne with mee, 
 
 By death, that grisly e ghost, 
 
 
 You loyall lovers all ; 
 
 My turtle dove is slaine, 
 
 10 
 
 Lament my loss in weeds of woe, 
 
 And I am left, unhappy man. 
 
 
 Whom griping grief doth thrall. 
 
 / 
 
 To spend my dayes in paine. 
 
 
THE BRIDE'S BURIAL. 
 
 367 
 
 Her beauty late so bright, 
 
 Like roses in their prime, 
 Is wasted like the mountain snowe, •► 15 
 
 Before warme Phebus' shine. 
 
 Her faire red coloured cheeks 
 
 Now pale and wan ; her eyes 
 That late did shine like crystal stars, 
 
 Alas, their light it dies : 20 
 
 Her prettye lilly hands, 
 
 With fingers long and small, 
 In colour like the earthly claye, 
 
 Yea, cold and stiff withall. 
 
 When as the morning-star 25 
 
 Her golden gates had spred, 
 And that the glittering sun arose, 
 
 Forth from fair Thetis' bed ; 
 
 Then did my love awake, 
 
 Most like a lilly-flower, 30 
 
 And as the lovely queene of heaven, 
 
 So shone shee in her bower. 
 
 Attired was shee then 
 
 Like Flora in her pride, 
 Like one of bright Diana's nymphs, 35 
 
 So look'd my loving bride. 
 
 And as fair Helens face 
 Did Grecian dames besmirche, 
 
 So did my dear exceed in sight 
 All virgins in the church. 40 
 
 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 45 
 
 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 ; 50 
 
 Like Venus picture lacking like, 
 
 So was my love brought home. 
 
 At length her rosye red. 
 
 Throughout her comely face, 
 As Phoebus beames with watry cloudes 55 
 
 Was cover'd for a space. 
 47 
 
 When with a grievous groane, 
 And voice both hoarse and drye, 
 
 Farewell quoth she, my loving friend. 
 For I this daye must dye ; 60 
 
 The messenger of God 
 
 With golden trumpe I see. 
 With manye other angels more. 
 
 Which sound and call for me. 
 
 Instead of musicke sweet, 65 
 
 Go toll my passing-bell ; 
 And with sweet flowers strow my grave, 
 
 That in my chamber smell. 
 
 Strip off my bride's arraye. 
 
 My cork shoes from my feet ; 70 
 
 And, gentle mother, be not coye 
 
 To bring my winding-sheet. 
 
 My wedding-dinner drest, 
 
 Bestowe upon the poor. 
 And on the hungry, needy, maimde, 75 
 
 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. 80 
 
 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, 85 
 
 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, 90 
 
 Direct your prayers unto God : 
 
 But mourn no more for me. 
 
 In love as we have livde, 
 
 In love let us depart ; 
 And I, in token of my love, 95 
 
 Do kiss thee with my heart. ^ 
 
 staunch those bootless teares. 
 Thy weeping tis in vaine ; 
 
 1 am not lost, for wee in heaven 
 
 Shall one daye meet againe. 100 
 
368 DULCINA. 
 
 With that shee turn'd aside, 
 
 And now this lover lives 
 
 
 As one dispos'd to sleep, 
 
 A discontented life, 
 
 
 And like a lamb departed life : 
 
 Whose bride was brought unto the grave | 
 
 Whose friends did sorely weep. 
 
 A maiden and a wife. 
 
 120 
 
 Her true love seeing this, 105 
 
 A garland fresh and faire 
 
 
 Did fetch a grievous groane. 
 
 Of lillies there was made, 
 
 
 As tho' his heart would burst in twaine, 
 
 In sign of her virginitye, 
 
 
 And thus he made his moane. 
 
 And on her coffin laid. 
 
 
 darke and dismal daye. 
 
 Six maidens all in white. 
 
 125 
 
 A daye of grief and care, 110 
 
 Did beare her to the ground : 
 
 
 That hath bereft the sun so bright, 
 
 The bells did ring in solemn sort, 
 
 
 Whose beams refresht the air. 
 
 And made a doleful! sound. 
 
 
 Now woe unto the world, 
 
 In earth they laid her then. 
 
 
 And .all that therein dwell, 
 
 For hungrye wormes a preye ; 
 
 130 
 
 that I were with thee in heaven, 115 
 
 So shall the fairest face alive 
 
 
 For here I live in hell. 
 
 At length be brought to claye. 
 
 
 XIII. 
 
 
 §nUxnK. 
 
 
 Given from two ancient copies, one in black- 
 
 He demands what time for pleasure 
 
 
 print, in the Pepys Collection, the other in the 
 
 Can there be more fit than now : 
 
 
 Editor's folio MS. Each of these contained 
 
 She sayes, night gives love that leysure, | 
 
 a stanza not found in the other. What seemed 
 
 Which the day can not allow. 
 
 
 the best readings were selected from both. 
 
 He sayes, the sight 
 
 25 
 
 This song is quoted as very popular in 
 
 * Improves delight. 
 
 
 "Walton's Compleat Angler," chap. 2. It 
 
 Which she denies : Nights mirkie noone | 
 
 is more ancient than the ballad of " Robin 
 
 In Venus' playes 
 
 
 Good-Fellow" printed below, which yet is 
 
 Makes bold, shee sayes ; 
 
 
 supposed to have been written by Ben Jonson. 
 
 Forgoe me now, come to mee soone. 
 
 30 
 
 As at noone Dulcina rested 
 
 But what promise or profession 
 
 
 In her sweete and shady bower, 
 
 From his hands could purchase scope ? | 
 
 Came a shepherd, and requested 
 
 Who would sell the sweet possession 
 
 
 In her lapp to sleepe an hour. 
 
 Of suche beautye for a hope ? 
 
 
 But from her looke 5 
 
 Or for the sight 
 
 35 
 
 A wounde he tooke 
 
 Of lingering night 
 
 
 Soe deepe, that for a further boone 
 
 Foregoe the present joyes of noone? 
 
 
 The nymph he prayes. 
 
 Though ne'er soe faire 
 
 
 Wherto shee sayes, 
 
 Her speeches were, 
 
 
 Forgoe me now, come to me soone. 10 
 
 Forgoe me now, come to mee soone. 
 
 40 
 
 But in vayne shee did conjure him 
 
 How, at last, agreed these lovers ? 
 
 
 To depart her presence soe : 
 
 Shee was fayre, and he was young : 
 
 
 Having a thousand tongues to allure him, 
 
 The tongue may tell what th' eye discovers ; | 
 
 And but one to bid him goe : 
 
 Joyes unseene are never sung. 
 
 
 Where lipps invite, 15 
 
 Did shee consent. 
 
 45 
 
 And eyes delight, 
 
 Or he relent ; 
 
 
 And cheekes, as fresh as rose in June, 
 
 Accepts he night, or grants shee noone ; j 
 
 Persuade delay ; 
 
 Left he her a mayd, 
 
 
 What boots, she say. 
 
 Or not ; she sayd 
 
 
 Forgoe me now, come to me soone ? 20 
 
 Forgoe me now, come to me soone. 
 
 50 
 
THE LADY ISABELLA'S TRAGEDY. 
 
 369 
 
 XIV. 
 
 W(it Sal^s Isatolfa's %x^t^. 
 
 This ballad is given from an old black- 
 letter copy in the Pepys Collection, collated 
 with another in the British Museum, H. 263, 
 folio. It is there entitled, " The Lady Isa- 
 bella'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.'^ 
 
 There was 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, 5 
 
 To see both sport and playe ; 
 His ladye went, as she did feigne, 
 
 Unto the church to praye. 
 
 This lord he had a daughter deare, 
 
 Whose beauty shone so bright, 10 
 
 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 ; 15 
 
 As you shall after see. 
 
 Therefore her cruel step-mother 
 
 Did envye her so much, 
 That daye by daye she sought her life, 
 
 Her malice it was such. 20 
 
 She bargained 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, 25 
 
 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, 30 
 
 That in the parke doth shine so bright, 
 There's none so faire to showe. 
 
 This ladye fearing of no harme, 
 Obey'd her mothers will ; 
 
 And presentlye she hasted home, 
 Her pleasure to fulfill. 
 
 35 
 
 She streight into the kitchen went. 
 
 Her message for to tell ; 
 And there she spied the master-cook, 
 
 Who did with malice swell. 40 
 
 Nowe, master-cook, it must be soe, 
 
 Do that which I thee tell : 
 You needes must dresse the milk-white doe, 
 
 Which you do knowe full well. 
 
 Then streight his cruell bloodye hands, 45 
 
 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 ; 50 
 
 For it is pointed presently 
 
 To ridd thee of thy life. 
 
 then, cried out the scullion-boye, 
 As loud as loud might bee ; 
 
 save her life, good master-cook, 55 
 And make your pyes of mee ! 
 
 For pityes sake do not destroye 
 
 My ladye with your knife ; 
 You know shee is her father's joye, 
 
 For Christes sake save her life. 60 
 
 1 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 65 
 
 For to sitt down and eat ; 
 He called for his daughter deare, 
 
 To come and carve his meat. 
 
370 
 
 A HUE AND CRY AFTER CUPID. 
 
 Now sit you downe, his ladye sayd, 
 
 sit you downe to meat ; 70 
 
 Into some nunnery she is gone ; 
 Your daughter deare forget. 
 
 Then solemnlye he made a vowe, 
 
 Before the companie : 
 That he would neither eat nor drinke, 75 
 
 Until he did her see. 
 
 then bespake the scullion-boye, 
 
 With a loud voice so hye ; 
 If now you will your daughter see, 
 
 My lord cut up that pye : 80 
 
 Wherein her fleshe is minced small, 
 And parched with the fire ; 
 
 All caused by her step-mother, 
 Who did her death desire. 
 
 And cursed bee the master-cook, 85 
 
 cursed may he bee ! 
 I proffered him my own heart's blood, 
 
 From death to set her free. 
 
 Then all in blacke this lord did mourne ; 
 
 And for his daughters sake, 90 
 
 He judged her cruell step-mother 
 
 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. 
 
 95 
 
 XV. 
 
 ^ f we Enly €xi ate €^l)i. 
 
 This song is a kind of Translation of a 
 pretty poem of Tasso's, called Amove fuggi- 
 tivo, generally printed with his " Aminta," 
 and originally imitated from the first Idyl- 
 liura of Moschus. 
 
 It is extracted from Ben Jonson's Masque 
 at the marriage of Lord Viscount Hadington, 
 on Shrove-Tuesday, 1608. One stanza, full 
 of dry mythology, is here omitted, as it had 
 been dropped in a copy of this song printed 
 in a small volume called " Le Prince 
 d' Amour. Lond. 1660,'' 8vo. 
 
 Beauties, have yee seen a toy, 
 
 Called Love, a little boy, 
 
 Almost naked, wanton, blinde ; 
 
 Cruel now, and then as kinde ? 
 
 If he be amongst yee, say ; 5 
 
 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 : 10 
 
 But who brings him to his mother 
 
 Shall have that kisse, and another. 
 
 Markes he hath about him plentie ; 
 
 You may know him among twentie : 
 
 All his body is a fire, 15 
 
 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, 20 
 
 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, 25 
 
 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. 30 
 
 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, 35 
 And he hates none like to Reason. 
 
 Trust him not : his words, though sweet, 
 
 Seldome with his heart doe meet : 
 
 All his practice is deceit ; 
 
 Everie gift is but a bait : 40 
 
 Not a kisse but poyson beares ; 
 
 And most treason's in his teares. 
 
THE KING OF FRANCE'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 371 
 
 Idle minutes are his raigne ; 
 
 
 If by these yee please to know him. 
 
 
 Then the straggler makes his game, 
 
 
 Beauties, be not nice, but show him. 
 
 50 
 
 By presenting maides with toyes 
 
 45 
 
 Though yee had a will to hide him, 
 
 
 And would have yee thinke them joy es ; 
 
 
 Now, we hope, yee'l not abide him, 
 
 
 ^Tis the ambition of the elfe 
 
 
 Since yee heare this falser's play. 
 
 
 To have all childish as himselfe. 
 
 
 And that he is Venus' run-away. 
 
 
 
 XVI. 
 
 
 W^t f iitg 
 
 0,f lance's gaitglrto. 
 
 
 The story of this Ballad seems to be taken 
 
 Which when her father proved. 
 
 15 
 
 from an incident in the domestic history of 
 
 Sorely e he was moved. 
 
 
 Charles the Bald, King of France. 
 
 His 
 
 And tormented in his minde. 
 
 
 daughter Judith was betrothed to Ethelwulph 
 
 He sought for to prevent them ; 
 
 
 King of England: but before the marriage 
 
 And, to discontent them, 
 
 
 was consummated, Ethelwulph died, and 
 
 she 
 
 Fortune cross'd these lovers kinde. 
 
 20 
 
 returned to France : whence she was carried 
 
 
 
 off by Baldwyn, Forester of Flanders ; who, 
 
 When these princes twaine 
 
 
 after many crosses and difficulties, at ler 
 
 igth 
 
 Were thus barr'd of pleasure, 
 
 
 obtained the king's consent to their marriage. 
 
 Through the kinges disdaine. 
 
 
 and was made Earl of Flanders. This ] 
 
 lap- 
 
 Which their joyes withstoode: 
 
 
 pened about A. D. 863. — See Rapin, Henault, 
 
 The lady soon prepar'd 
 
 25 
 
 and the French Historians. 
 
 
 Her Jewells and her treasure: 
 
 
 The following copy is given from the Edit- 
 
 Having no regard 
 
 
 or's ancient folio MS. collated with another 
 
 For state and royall bloode ; 
 
 
 in black-letter in the Pepys Collection, 
 
 eu- 
 
 In homelye poore array 
 
 
 titled, " An excellent Ballad of a prince of 
 
 She went from court away. 
 
 30 
 
 England's courtship to the King of France's 
 
 To meet her joye and hearts delight 
 
 } 
 
 daughter, &c. To the tune of Crimson 
 
 AVho in a forrest great 
 
 
 Velvet." 
 
 
 Had taken up his seat. 
 
 
 Many breaches having been made in 
 
 this 
 
 To wayt her coming in the night. 
 
 
 old song by the hand of time, principally (as 
 
 But, lo ! what sudden danger 
 
 35 
 
 might be expected) in the quick returns of 
 
 To this princely stranger 
 
 
 the rhyme ; an attempt is here made to repair 
 
 Chanced, as he sate alone ! 
 
 
 them. 
 
 
 By outlawes he was robbe4, 
 And with ponyards stabbed. 
 Uttering many a dying grone. 
 
 
 In the dayes of old. 
 
 When faire France did flourish, 
 
 
 40 
 
 Storyes plaine have told. 
 
 
 
 
 Lovers felt annoye. 
 
 
 The princess, arm'd by love, 
 
 
 The queene a daughter bare. 
 
 5 
 
 And by chaste desire. 
 
 
 AVhom beautye's queene did nourish 
 
 
 All the night did rove 
 
 
 She was lovelye faire 
 
 
 Without dread at all : 
 
 
 She was her fathers joye. 
 
 
 Still unknowne she past 
 
 45 
 
 A prince of England came. 
 
 
 In her strange attire ; 
 
 
 Whose deeds did merit fame. 
 
 10 
 
 Coming at the last 
 
 
 But he was exil'd, and outcast : 
 
 
 Within echoes call, — 
 
 
 Love his soul did fire, 
 
 
 You faire woods, quoth shee, 
 
 
 Shee granted his desire, 
 
 
 Honoured may you bee. 
 
 50 
 
 Their hearts in one were linked fast 
 
 
 Harbouring my hearts delight ; 
 
 
372 THE KING OF FRANCE'S DAUGHTJER. 
 
 Which encompass here 
 
 And his face did wash 
 
 My joye and only deare, 
 
 With her trickling teares : 
 
 My trustye friend, and comelye knight. 
 
 Every gaping wound 105 
 
 Sweete, I come unto thee, 55 
 
 Tenderlye she pressed, 
 
 Sweete, I come to woo thee ; 
 
 And did wipe it round 
 
 That thou mayst not angry bee 
 
 With her golden haires. 
 
 For my long delaying ; 
 
 Speake, faire love, quoth shee, 
 
 For thy curteous staying 
 
 Speake, faire prince, to mee, 110 
 
 Soone amends He make to thee. 60 
 
 One sweete word of comfort give : 
 
 
 Lift up thy deare eyes. 
 
 Passing thus alone 
 
 Listen to my cryes, 
 
 Through the silent forest, 
 
 Thinke in what sad griefe I live. 
 
 Many a grievous grone 
 
 All in vain she sued, 115 
 
 Sounded in her ears : 
 
 All in vain she wooed. 
 
 She heard one complayne 65 
 
 The prince's life was fled and gone. 
 
 And lament the sorest, 
 
 There stood she still mourning. 
 
 Seeming all in payne, 
 
 Till the suns retourning. 
 
 Shedding deadly teares. 
 
 And bright day was coming on. 120 
 
 Farewell, my deare, quoth hee, 
 
 
 Whom I must never see ; 70 
 
 In this great distresse 
 
 For why my life is att an end, 
 
 Weeping, wayling ever, 
 
 Through villaines crueltye : 
 
 Oft shee cryed, alas ! 
 
 For thy sweet sake I dye, 
 
 What will become of mee? 
 
 To show I am a faithfull friend. 
 
 To my fathers court 125 
 
 Here I lye a bleeding, 75 
 
 I returne will never : 
 
 While my thoughts are feeding 
 
 But in lowlye sort 
 
 On the rarest beautye found. 
 
 I will a servant bee. 
 
 hard happ, that may be ! 
 
 While thus she made her mone, 
 
 Little knowes my ladye 
 
 Weeping all alone 130 
 
 My heartes blood lyes on the ground. 80 
 
 In this deepe and deadlye feare : 
 
 
 A for'ster all in greene, 
 
 With that a grone he sends 
 
 Most comelye to be scene. 
 
 Which did burst in sunder 
 
 Ranging the woods did find her there. 
 
 All the tender bands 
 
 Moved with her sorrowe, 135 
 
 Of his gentle heart. 
 
 Maid, quoth hee, good morrowe. 
 
 She, who knewe his voice, 85 
 
 What hard happ has brought thee here ? 
 
 At his wordes did wonder ; 
 
 Harder happ did never 
 
 All her former joyes 
 
 Two kinde hearts dissever : 
 
 Did to griefe convert. 
 
 Here lyes slaine my brother deare. 140 
 
 Strait she ran to see. 
 
 
 Who this man shold bee, 90 
 
 Where may I remaine, 
 
 That soe like her love did seeme : 
 
 Gentle for'ster, shew me, 
 
 Her lovely lord she found 
 
 'Till I can obtaine 
 
 Lye slaine upon the ground. 
 
 A service in my neede ? 
 
 Smear'd with gore a ghastlye streame. 
 
 Paines I will not spare : 145 
 
 Which his lady spying, 95 
 
 This kinde favour doe me, ' 
 
 Shrieking, fainting, crying. 
 
 It will ease my care ; 
 
 Her sorrows could not uttered bee : 
 
 Heaven shall be thy meede. 
 
 Fate, she cryed, too cruell : 
 
 The for'ster all amazed. 
 
 For thee — my dearest Jewell, 
 
 On her beautye gazed, .150 
 
 Would God! that I had dyed for thee. 100 
 
 Till his heart was set on fire. 
 
 
 If, faire maid, quoth hee, 
 
 /^His pale Hppes, alas ! 
 
 You will goe with mee. 
 
 Twentye times she kissed, 
 
 You shall have your hearts desire. 
 
THE KING OF FRANCE'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 373 
 
 ; 
 
 He brought her to his mother, 155 
 
 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 161 
 
 With a kings faire daughter : 
 Children seven they had, 
 
 Ere she told her birth. 
 Which vphen once he knew, 165 
 
 Humblye he besought her. 
 He to the world might shew 
 
 Her rank and princelye worth. 
 He cloath'd his children then, 
 (Not like other men) 170 
 
 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; 175 
 
 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. 180 
 
 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 frieze, with 
 the folUowing motto : 
 
 "Cloth of Gold, do not despise, 
 Tho' thou art match with Cloth of Frize, 
 Cloth of Frize, he not too bold, 
 Tho' thou art matcht with Cloth of Gold." 
 
 See Sir W. Temple's Misc. vol. III. p. 356. 
 
 Where the royall king 
 
 Must of force come bye : 
 Their mothers riche array, 185 
 
 ■ Was of crimson velvet: 
 Their fathers all of gray, 
 
 Seemelye to the eye. 
 Then this famous king. 
 Noting every thing, 190 
 
 Askt how he durst be so bold 
 To let his wife soe weare, 
 And decke his children there 
 
 In costly robes of pearl and gold. 
 The forrester replying, 195 
 
 And the cause descrying,* 
 
 To the king these words did say, 
 Well may they, by their mother, 
 Weare rich clothes with other, 
 
 Being by birth a princesse gay. 200 
 
 The king aroused thus. 
 
 More heedfullye beheld them, 
 Till a crimson blush 
 
 His remembrance crost. 
 The more I fix my mind 205 
 
 On thy wife and children. 
 The more methinks I find 
 
 The daughter which I lost. 
 Falling on her knee, 
 I am that child, quoth shee ; 210 
 
 Pardon race, my soveraine liege. 
 The king perceiving this. 
 His daughter deare did kiss. 
 
 While joyfull tearesdid stopphis speeche. 
 With his traine he tourned, 215 
 
 And with them sojourned. 
 
 Strait he dubb'd her husband knight ; 
 Then made him Erie of Flanders, 
 And chiefe of his commanders : 219 
 
 Thus were their sorrowes put to flight. 
 
 = 1. e. describing. See Gloss. 
 
374 
 
 THE CHILDREN IN THE ^OOD. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 %\t Stout f^glut. 
 
 This little madrigal (extracted from Ben 
 Jonson's Silent Woman, act 1, sc. 1, first acted 
 in 1609) is in imitation of a Latin poem 
 printed at the end of the variorum Edit, of 
 Petronius, beginning "Semper munditias, 
 semper Basilhsa decoras, &g.'' See Whalley's 
 Ben Jonson, vol. IL, p. 420. 
 
 Still to be neat, sill to be drest, 
 As you were going to a feast : 
 
 Still to be poud'red, still perfum'd : 
 Lady it xS lO be presumed, 
 Though art's hid causes are not found, 5 
 All is not svreet, all is not sound. 
 
 Give me a looke, give me a face, 
 
 That makes simplicitie a grace ; 
 
 Robes loosely flowing, haire as free : 
 
 Such sweet neglect more taketh me, 10 
 
 Than all th' adulteries of art. 
 
 That strike mine eyes, but not my heart. 
 
 XYIII. 
 
 %\t €\iMn m % Mmt 
 
 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 
 Beech, a chandler in Thames-streete, &c. 
 The other of a young child murthered in a 
 wood by two ruffins, with the consent of his 
 unkle. ByRob.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 him,-elf by his less bloody companion ; 
 but ere he dies he gives the othe-^ 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 received into 
 the drama: whereas this -was probably built 
 on some Italian novel. 
 
 Printed from two ancient copies, one of 
 them in black-letter in the Pepys collection. 
 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 5 
 
 In Norfolke dwelt of late. 
 Who did in honour far surmount 
 
 Most men of his estate. 
 
 Sore sicke he was, and like to dye, 
 
 No helpe his life could save ; 
 His wife by him as sicke did lye, 
 
 And both possest one grave. 
 No love between these two was lost, 
 
 Each was to other kinde. 
 In love they liv'd, in love they dyed, 
 
 And left too babes behinde : 
 
 10 
 
 J5 
 
1 
 
 THE CHILDREN IN THE WOOD. 
 
 375 
 
 The one a fine and pretty boy, 
 
 
 The parents being dead and gone, 
 
 65 
 
 Not passing three yeares olde ; 
 
 
 The children home he takes, 
 
 
 The other a girl more young than he, 
 
 
 And bringes them straite unto his house, 
 
 And fram'd in beautyes molde. 
 
 20 
 
 Where much of them he makes. 
 
 
 The father left his little son, 
 
 
 He had not kept these pretty babes 
 
 
 As plainlye doth appeare, 
 
 
 A twelvemonth and a daye. 
 
 70 
 
 When he to perfect age should come. 
 
 
 But, for their wealth, he did devise 
 
 
 Three hundred poundes a yeare. 
 
 
 To make them both awaye. 
 
 
 And to his little daughter Jane 
 
 25 
 
 He bargain'd with two ruffians strong. 
 
 Five hundred poundes in gold, 
 
 
 Which were of furious mood. 
 
 
 To be paid downe on marriage-day. 
 
 
 That they should take these children young, 
 
 Which might not be controU'd: 
 
 
 And slaye them in a wood. 
 
 76 
 
 But if the children chance to dye, 
 
 
 He told his wife an artful tale. 
 
 
 Ere they to age should come, 
 
 30 
 
 He would the children send 
 
 
 Their uncle should possesse their wealth ; 
 
 To be brought up in faire London, 
 
 
 For so the wille did run. 
 
 
 With one that was his friend. 
 
 80 
 
 Now, brother, said the dying man. 
 
 
 Away then went those pretty babes, 
 
 
 Look to my children deare ; 
 
 
 Rejoycing at that tide. 
 
 
 Be good unto my boy and girl. 
 
 35 
 
 Rejoycing with a merry minde. 
 
 
 No friendes else have they here: 
 
 
 They should on cock-horse ride. 
 
 
 To God and you I recommend 
 
 
 They prate and prattle pleasantly. 
 
 85 
 
 My children deare this daye ; 
 
 
 As they rode on the waye. 
 
 
 But little while be sure we have 
 
 
 To those that should their butchers be 
 
 5, 
 
 Within this world to staye. 
 
 40 
 
 And work their lives decaye : 
 
 
 You must be father and mother both, 
 
 
 So that the pretty speeche they had. 
 
 
 And uncle all in one ; 
 
 
 Made Murder's heart relent: 
 
 90 
 
 God knowes what will become of them 
 
 
 And they that undertooke the deed, 
 
 
 When I am dead and gone. 
 
 
 Full sore did now repent. 
 
 
 With that bespake their mother deare, 
 
 45 
 
 Yet one of them more hard of heart. 
 
 
 brother kinde, quoth shee, 
 
 
 Did vowe to do his charge. 
 
 
 You are the man must bring our babes 
 
 
 Because the wretch, that hired him, 
 
 95 
 
 To wealth or miserie : 
 
 
 Had paid him very large. 
 
 
 And if you keep them carefully, 
 
 
 The other won't agree thereto. 
 
 
 Then God will you reward ; 
 
 50 
 
 So here they fall to strife ; 
 
 
 But if you otherwise should deal, 
 
 
 With one another they did fight. 
 
 
 God will your deedes regard. 
 
 
 About the childrens life : 
 
 100 
 
 With lippes as cold as any stone, 
 
 
 And he that was of mildest mood. 
 
 
 They kist their children small : 
 
 
 Did slaye the other there, 
 
 
 God bless you both, my children deare 
 
 
 AVithin an unfrequented wood ; 
 
 
 With that the teares did fall. 
 
 56 
 
 The babes did quake for feare ! 
 
 
 These speeches then their brother spak 
 
 B 
 
 He took the children by the hand. 
 
 105 
 
 To this sicke couple there, 
 
 
 Teares standing in their eye, 
 
 
 The keeping of your little ones 
 
 
 And bad them straitwaye follow him, 
 
 
 Sweet sis.;er, do not feare: 
 
 60 
 
 And look they did not crye : 
 
 
 God never prosper me nor mine, 
 
 
 And two long miles he ledd them on. 
 
 
 Nor aught else that I have. 
 
 
 While they for food complaine : 
 
 110 
 
 If I do wrong your children deare, 
 
 
 Staye here, quoth he, I'll bring you bread, 
 
 When you are layd in grave. 
 48 
 
 
 When I come back againe. 
 
 
876 
 
 A LOVER OF LATE. 
 
 These pretty babes, with hand in hand, 
 
 Went wandering up and downe ; 
 But never more could see the man 115 
 
 Approaching from the towne : 
 Their pretty e lippes with black-berries, 
 
 Were all besmear'd and dyed, 
 And when they sawe the darksome night, 
 
 They sat them downe and cryed. 120 
 
 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' 125 
 
 Of any man receives, 
 Till Robin-red-breast piously 
 
 Did cover them with leaves. 
 
 And now the heavy wrathe of God 
 
 Upon their uncle fell ; 130 
 
 Yea, fearfull fiends did haunt his house, 
 
 His conscience felt an hell ; 
 His barnes were fir'd, his goodes consumed. 
 
 His landes were barren made. 
 His cattle dyed within the field, 135 
 
 And nothing with him stayd. 
 
 And in a voyage to Portugal 
 
 Two of his sonnes did dye ; 
 And to conclude, himselfe was brought 
 
 To want and miserye : 140 
 
 He pawnM and mortgaged all his land 
 
 Ere seven years came about. 
 And now at length this wicked act 
 
 Bid by this meanes come out : 
 
 The fellowe, that did take in hand 
 
 These children for to kill, 
 Was for a robbery j udg'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 executors be made. 
 
 And overseers eke 
 Of children that be fatherless. 
 
 And infants mild and meek ; 
 Take you example by this thing, 
 
 And yield to each his right. 
 Lest God with such like miserye 
 
 Your wicked minds requite. 
 
 145 
 
 150 
 
 155 
 
 
 
 XIX. 
 
 ^ 
 
 I^ 
 
 ber 
 
 0f SEtt 
 
 Printed with a few slight corrections. 
 
 from 
 
 Yet would I her asse freelye bee, 
 
 the Editor's folio MS. 
 
 
 
 Soe shee would helpe, and beare with mee. 
 An' I were as faire as shee. 
 
 A LOVER of late was I, 
 
 
 
 Or shee were as kind as I, 
 
 For Cupid would have it soe, 
 
 
 
 What payre cold have made, as wee, 15 
 
 The boy that hath never an eye, 
 
 
 
 Soe prettye a sympathye : 
 
 As every man doth know : 
 
 
 
 I was as kind as shee was faire, 
 
 I sighed and sobbed, and cryed, alas ! 
 
 
 But for all this wee cold not paire. 
 
 For her that laught, and called me ass. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Paire with her that will for mee, 
 
 
 
 
 With her I will never paire ; 20 
 
 Then knew not I what to doe. 
 
 
 
 That cunningly can be coy, 
 
 When I saw itt was in vaine 
 
 
 
 For being a little faire. 
 
 A lady soe coy to wooe, 
 
 
 
 The asse He leave to her disdaine ; 
 
 Who gave me the asse soe plaine : 
 
 10 
 
 And now I am myselfe againe. 
 
 Ver. 125, these . . . babes, PP. 
 
 Vex. 13, faine, MS. 
 
 i 
 
THE KING AND MILLER OF MANSFIELD. 
 
 377 
 
 XX. 
 
 %\t fmg ani Silte 0f W^uMt 
 
 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 Wil- 
 liam 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 Cobler, &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 pic- 
 ture of rustic manners, is infinitely superior 
 to all that have been since written in imita- 
 tion of it. The Editor has a copy in his an- 
 cient 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 correc- 
 tions 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, 
 
 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 5 
 
 For the game, in the same, with good regard. 
 
 All a long summers day rode the king plea- 
 santlye. 
 With all his princes and nobles eche one ; 
 Chasing the hart and hind, and the buck gal- 
 lantlye. 
 Till the dark evening forc'd all to turn 
 home. 10 
 
 Then at last, riding fast, he had lost quite 
 All his lords in the wood, late in the night. 
 
 Wandering thus wearilye, all alone, up and 
 downe. 
 With a rude miller he mett at the last ; 
 Asking the ready way unto faire Notting- 
 ham ; 15 
 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 mo so briefe? 
 Good faith sayd the miller, I mean not to 
 
 flatter thee, 21 
 
 I guess thee to bee but some gentleman 
 
 thiefe ; 
 Stand thee backe, in the darke; light not 
 
 adowne. 
 Lest that 1 presentlye crack thy knaves 
 
 crowne. 
 
 Thou dost abuse me much, quoth the king, 
 saying thus ; 25 
 
 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 forty pence I will pay all. 30 
 
 If thou beest a true man, then quoth the miller, 
 I sweare by my toll-dish, I'll lodge thee all 
 night. 
 Here's my hand, quoth the king, that was I 
 ever. 
 Nay, soft, quoth the miller, thou may'st be 
 a sprite. 
 
 * The king says this. 
 
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 here what you 
 
 are. 
 Quoth the king, looke your fill, and tioe not 
 
 spare. 
 
 I like well thy countenance, thou hast an ho- 
 nest face : 
 With my son Richard this night thou shalt 
 lye. 
 Quoth his wife, by my troth, it is a handsome 
 youth, 45 
 
 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 cour- 
 tesye, 49 
 
 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 ofi'ered to mee, 
 I will requite you in everye degree. 
 
 Then to the miller his wife whisper'd secret- 
 lye, 55 
 Saying, It seemeth, this youth's of good 
 kin, , 
 
 Both by his apparel, and eke by his man- 
 ners ; 
 To turn him out certainlye, were a great 
 sin. 
 
 Yea, quoth hee, you may see, he hath some 
 grace 
 
 When he doth speake to his betters in place. 
 
 Well, quo' the millers wife, young man, ye're 
 
 welcome here ; 61 
 
 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, 65 
 
 Thou shalt lye with no worse than our own 
 Sonne. 
 
 Nay, first, quoth Richard, good-fellowe, tell 
 me true, 
 Hast thou noe creepers within thy gay 
 hose? 
 Or art thou not troubled with the scabbado ? 
 I pray, quoth the king, what creatures are 
 those ? 70 
 
 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. 
 Till the teares trickled fast downe from his 
 eyes. 74 
 
 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 merrily e trowle. 
 
 Here, quoth the miller, good fellowe, I drinke 
 
 to thee, 
 
 And to all ' cuckholds, wherever they bee.' 
 
 I pledge thee, quoth our king, and thanke 
 
 thee heartilye 81 
 
 For my good welcome in everye degree : 
 
 And here, in like manner, I drinke to thy 
 
 Sonne. 
 Do then, quoth Richard, and quicke let it 
 come. 
 
 Wife, quoth the miller, fetch me forth light- 
 foote, 85 
 
 And of his sweetnesse a little we'll taste. 
 
 A fair ven'son pastye brought she out pre- 
 sentlye, 
 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 ? 
 AVe never pay pennye for itt, by my fay : 
 
 Ver. 80, courtnalls, that courteous be, MS. and P. 
 
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 wherever thou goe; 
 
 We would not, for two pence, the king should 
 it knowe. 
 
 Doubt not, then sayd the king, my promist 
 
 secresye ; 
 The king shall never know more on't for 
 
 mee. 
 A cupp of lambs-wool they dranke unto him 
 
 then, 105 
 
 And to their bedds they past presentlie. 
 The nobles, next morning, went all up and 
 
 down. 
 For to seeke out the king in everye towne. 
 
 At last, at the millers ' cott,^ soone they es- 
 
 py'd 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 courtesye 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 ; 
 Recounting the sports and pastimes they had 
 taken, 
 In this late progress along on the way ; 4 
 
 Of them all, great and small, he did protest. 
 The miller of Mansfield'b sport liked him best. 
 
 And now, my lords, quoth the king, I am 
 determined 
 Against St. Georges next sumptuous feast. 
 That this old miller, our new confirmed knight. 
 With his son Richard, shall here be my 
 guest : 10 
 
 For, in this merryment, ^tis my desire 
 To talke with the jolly knight, and the young 
 squire. 
 
 When as the noble lords saw the kinges 
 
 pleasantness, 
 They were right joyful! and glad in their 
 
 hearts : 
 A pursuivant there was sent straighte on the 
 
 business, 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 mes- 
 senger, 
 And grant your ladye her own hearts de- 
 sire ; 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 odd jest: 
 
 What should we doe there? faith, I am halfe 
 
 afraid. 
 
 I doubt, quoth Richard, to be hang'd at 
 
 the least. 
 
 Nay, quoth the messenger, you doe mistake ; 
 
 Our king he provides a great feast for your 
 
 sake. 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. 34 
 
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 re- 
 ward ; 
 
 And his leave taking with great humilitye 
 To the kings court againe he repaired ; 40 
 
 Shewing unto his grace, merry and free, 
 
 The knightes most liberall gift and bountie. 
 
 When he was gone away, thus gan the miller 
 
 say, 
 
 Here come expences and charges indeed ; 
 
 Now must we needs be brave, tho' we spend 
 
 all we have ; 45 
 
 For of new garments we have great need : 
 
 Of horses and serving-men we must have 
 
 store, 
 With bridles and saddles, and twentye things 
 
 Tushe, Sir John, quoth his wife, why should 
 you frett, or frowne ? 49 
 
 You shall ne'er be att no charges for mee ; 
 For I will turne and trim up my old russet 
 gowne. 
 With everye thing else as fine as may bee; 
 And on our mill-horses swift we will ride. 
 With pillowes and pannells, as we shall pro- 
 vide. 
 
 In this most statelye sort, rode they unto the 
 
 court, 55 
 
 Their jolly sonne Richard rode foremost of 
 
 all; 
 Who set up, for good hap, a cocks feather in 
 
 his cap, 
 ^.And so they jetted downe to the kings hall; 
 The merry old miller with hands on his side ; 
 His wife, like maid Marian, did mince at 
 
 that tide. 60 
 
 The king and his nobles that heard of their 
 coming, 
 Meeting this gallant knight with his brave 
 traine ; 
 
 Ver. 57, for good hap : i. e. for good lack ; they were go- 
 ing on a hazardous expedition. V. 60, Maid Marian in the 
 Morris dance, was represented hy a man in woman's 
 clothes, who was to take short steps in order to sustain 
 the female character. 
 
 Welcome, sir knight, quoth he, with your 
 
 gay lady : 
 Good Sir John Cockle, once welcome 
 
 againe : 
 And so is the squire of courage soe free. 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. 70 
 
 Thou whore-son unhappy knave, then quoth 
 
 the knight, 
 Speake cleanly to our king, or else go sh***. 
 
 The king and his courtiers laugh at this 
 
 heartily, 
 While the king taketh them both by the 
 
 hand ; 
 With the court-dames, and maids, like to the 
 
 queen of spades 75 
 
 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, 81 
 
 And in a bowle of wine dranke to the 
 knight: 
 Here's to you both, in wine, ale and beer ; 
 Thanking you heartilye for my good cheer. 
 
 Quoth Sir John Cockle, I'll pledge you a pot- 
 tle, 85 
 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, 89 
 
 'Tis knavery to eate it, and then to betray it. 
 
 Why art thou angry ? quoth our king mer- 
 rilye ; 
 In faith, I take it now very unkind : 
 
THE SHEPHERD'S RESOLUTION. 
 
 381 
 
 I thought thoa wouldst pledge me in ale and 
 wine heartily. 
 Quoth Dicke, You are like to stay till I 
 have din'd : 94 
 
 } You feed us with twatling dishes soe small ; 
 { Zounds, a blacke-pudding is better than 
 L- 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, 99 
 
 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, inconti- 
 nent 105 
 Unto their places the king did advance. 
 
 Here with the ladyes such sport they did 
 
 make. 
 The nobles with laughing did make their 
 
 sides ake. 
 
 Many thankes for their paines did the king 
 
 give them, 
 Asking young Richard then, if he would 
 
 wed ; 110 
 
 Among these ladyes free, tell me which liketh 
 
 thee? 
 Quoth he Jugg Grumball, Sir, with the 
 
 red head : 
 She's my love, she's my life, her will I wed ; 
 She hath sworn I shall have her maidenhead. 
 
 Then Sir John Cockle the king call'd unto 
 him, 115 
 
 And of merry Sherwood made him o'er 
 seer; 
 And gave him out of hand three hundred 
 pound yearlye : 
 Take heed now you steale no more of my 
 deer: 
 And once a quarter let's here have your view ; 
 And now, Sir John Cockle, I bid you adieu. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 ®fe^ Sfe^Ufeeri'g |[^sifluti0n. 
 
 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 "Bavins 
 and Maevius'^ 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 him- 
 self 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 suf- 
 ferer for the freedom of his pen. In the civil 
 war that ensued, he exerted himself in the 
 service of the Parliament, and became a con- 
 siderable 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 Re- 
 storation, he outlived both his power, and his 
 affluence ; and giving vent to his chagrin in 
 libels on the court, was loQg 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 
 
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 
 Wood's Athenae Oxon. vol. II. His most 
 popular satire is entitled "Abuses whipt and 
 stript/' 1613. His most poetical pieces were 
 eclogues, 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 dispaire, 
 I Dye because a woman's faire? 
 Or make pale my cheeks with care 
 'Cause another's rosie are ? 
 Be shee fairer then the day, 5 
 
 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 ? 
 
 10 
 
 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 move ""^ 
 Me to perish for her love ? 
 Or, her well-deservings knowne, 
 Make me quite forget mine owne ? 
 Be shee with that goodnesse blest, 
 Which may merit name of Best ; 
 If she be not such to me. 
 What care I how good she be ? 
 
 15 
 
 20 
 
 25 
 
 Cause her fortune seems too high 
 Shall I play the foole and dye ? 
 Those that beare a noble mindeX 
 Where they want of riches find, ^ 
 Thinke what with them they would doe, 
 That without them dare to woe ; 30 
 
 And, unlesse that minde I see,^ 
 What care I how great she be?' 
 
 Great or good, or kind or faire, 
 I will ne'er the more dispaire : 
 If she love me, this beleeve ; 
 I will die ere she shall grieve. 
 If she slight me when I wooe, 
 I can scorne and let her goe : 
 If shee be not fit for me, 
 What care I for whom she be ? 
 
 35 
 
 40 
 
 XXII. 
 
 ^tiun |i&0* 
 
 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 yeer( 
 
 Withstood the Greekes in manfull wise. 
 Then did their foes encrease soe fast, 
 That to resist none could suffice : 
 Wast lye those walls, that were soe good, 5 
 And come now growes where Troy towne 
 stoode. 
 
 ^neas, 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, 11 
 Did entertaine that wandering guest. 
 
 Ver. 1, 21, war, MS. and PP. 
 
QUEEN DIDO. 
 
 383 
 
 And, as in hall at meate they sate, 
 The queene, 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 comelye 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 weepe. 
 
 And then a thousand sighes he fet, 25 
 
 And every sigh brought teares amaine ; 
 That where he sate the place was wett. 
 As though he had seene those warrs 
 againe: 
 Soe that the queene, with ruth therfore, 
 Said, Worthy prince, enough, 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 : 
 (A^Where they full sweetly tooke their rest, 35 
 Save only Dido's boyling brest. 
 
 This silly woman never slept, 
 
 But in her chamber, all alone, 
 As one unhappye, alwayes wept, 
 
 And to the walls shee made her mone ; 
 That she shold still desire in vaine 41 
 
 The thing, she never must obtaine. 
 
 And thus in grieffe she spent the night, 
 
 Till twinkling starres the skye were fled. 
 And Phoebus, with his glistening light, 45 
 Through misty cloudes appeared red ; 
 Then tidings came to her anon, 
 That all the Trojan shipps were gone. 
 
 And then the queene with bloody knife 
 
 Did arme her hart as hard as stone, 50 
 Yet, something loth to loose her life, 
 In woefull wise she made her mone ; 
 And, rowling on her carefull bed, 
 With sighes and sobbs, these words she sayd: 
 
 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 ? 
 hart, prepare thyselfe to dye. 60 
 
 49 
 
 Though reason says, thou shouldst forbeare, 
 And stay thy hand from bloudy stroke ; 
 Yet fancy bids thee not to fear. 
 
 Which fetter'd thee in Cupids yoke. 64 
 Come death, quoth shee, resolve my smart! — 
 And with those words shee peerced her hart. 
 
 When death had pierced the tender hart 
 
 Of Dido, Carthaj^nian queene ; 
 Whose bloudy knife did end the smart, 
 Which shee sustain'd in mournfuU teene; 
 -ZEneas being shipt and gone, 71 
 
 Whose flattery caused all her mone ; 
 
 Her funerall most costly made, 
 
 And all things finisht mournfullye ; 
 Her body fine in mold was laid, 75 
 
 Where itt consumed speedilye: 
 Her sisters teares her tombe bestrewde ; 
 Her subjects griefe their kindnesse shewed. 
 
 Then was iEneas in an ile 
 
 In Grecya, 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 betraid 
 Unto thy lure a gentle hart. 
 
 Which unto thee much welcome made; 
 My sister deare, and Carthage' joy, 
 Whose folly 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 appeared in his sight 100 
 Queene Dido's ghost, both grim and pale : 
 Which made this valliant souldier quaile. 
 
 Mncas, quoth this ghastly ghost, 
 
 My whole delight when I did live. 
 Thee of all men I loved most ; 105 
 
 My fancy and my will did give ; 
 For entertainment I thee gave, 
 Unthankefully thou didst me grave. 
 
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 glasvse is run, 
 Thy date is past, thy life is done. 
 
 stay a while, thou lovely sprite, 115 
 
 Be not soe hasty h convay 
 My soule into eternall night, 
 
 Where itt shall ne're behold bright day: 
 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. 
 
 lett me live, and make amends 125 
 
 To some of thy most dearest friends. 
 
 But seeing thou obdurate art, 
 
 And wilt no pictye on me show, 
 Because from thee I did depart, 
 
 And left unpaid 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 woffuU princo did dance ; 135 
 He had no helpe of any friends : 
 Ills body then they tooke avray, 
 And no man knew his dying day. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Sfee ®itcl]cs' gong. 
 
 — From Bon Jonson's Masque of Queens, 
 presented at Whitehall, Feb. 2, 1G09. 
 
 The Editor thought it incumbent on him 
 to insert S(mie old pieces on the popular 
 superstition concerning witches,., hobgoblins, 
 fliiries, 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, filling 
 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 wiseacres 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. 
 
 Ver. 120, MS. Ilath mads my brcalho my lift; fjrsookc. 
 
 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. 
 
 I HAVE been all day looking after 
 
 A raven feeding upon a quarter: 
 
 And, soone as she turn'd her beak to tho 
 
 south, 
 I snatch'd this morsell out of her mouth. 
 
 I have beeno gathering wolves haires, 5 
 
 The madd dogges foames, and adders eares ; 
 The spurging of a deadmans eyes: 
 And all since the evening starre did rise. 
 
 3 wiTcn. 
 
 I last night lay all alone 9 
 
 0* the ground, to heare the mandrake grone ; 
 And pluckt him up, though he grew full low: 
 And, as I had done, the ccckc did crow. 
 
ROBIN GOOD-FELLOW. 
 
 385 
 
 4 wiTcn. 
 
 And I ha' beene chusing out this scull 
 From charnell houses that were full ; 
 From private grots, and publilie pits ; 
 And frighted a sexton out of his wits. 
 
 I have been getting ; and made of his skin 
 A purset, to keepe Sir Cranion in. 
 
 15 
 
 5 WITCH. 
 
 Lender a cradle I did crepe 
 By day ; and, \vhen the childe was a-sleepe 
 At night, I suck'd the breath ; and rose, 19 
 And pluck'd the nodding nurse by the nose. 
 
 6 wiTcn. 
 
 I had a dagger: what did I with that? 
 
 Killed an infant to have his fat. 
 
 A piper it got at a church-ale. 
 
 I bade him again blow wind i' the taile. 
 
 7 WITCH. 
 
 A murderer, yonder, was hung in chaines ; 
 The sunne and the Avind had shrunke his 
 
 veines : 2G 
 
 I bit off a sinew ; I clipp'd his haire ; 
 I brought off his ragges, that danc'd i' the 
 
 ayrc. 
 
 8 WITCH. 
 
 The scrich-owles egges and the feathers 
 
 blacke, 
 The bloud of the froggc, and the bone in his 
 
 backc 30 
 
 9 WITCH. 
 
 And I ha' beene plucking (plants among) 
 Hemlock, henbane, adders-tongue, 
 Night-shade, moone-wort, libbards-bane ; 35 
 And twise by the dogges was like to be tane. 
 
 10 WITCH. 
 
 I from the jawes of a gardiner's bitch 
 
 Did snatch these bones, and then leap'd the 
 
 ditch : 
 Yet went I back to the house againe, 39 
 
 Kill'd the blacke cat, and here is the braine. 
 
 11 WITCH. 
 
 I went to the toad, breedes under the wall, 
 I charmed him out, and he came at my call ; 
 I scratch'd out the eyes of the ovvle before ; 
 I tore the batts wing : what would you have 
 more ? 
 
 DAME. 
 
 Yes : T have brought, to helpe your vows, 45 
 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. 
 
 ■tr- 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 H0bin (S0ijHHl0to, 
 
 — Alias Pucke, alias IIodgoblin, in the 
 creed of ancient superstition, was a kind of 
 merry sprite, whoso character and achieve- 
 ments arc recorded in this baUad, and in those 
 well-known lines of Milton's L' Allegro, which 
 the antiquarian Peck supposes to be owiug to 
 it: 
 
 ^^'^'Tells how the drudging Goblin swet 
 To earn his creamo-bowle duly set: 
 When in one night, ere glimpse of morne. 
 His shadowy flail hath thresh'd the corn 
 That ten day-labourers could not end; 
 Then lies him down the 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- 
 
386 ROBIN GOOD-FELLOW. 
 
 mously agreed concerning these arbitrary 
 
 Sometimes I meete them like a man ; 
 
 notions, if they had not prevailed among 
 
 Sometimes, an ox, sometimes, a hound; 
 
 thera for many ages. Indeed, a learned friend 
 
 And to a horse I turn me can ; 
 
 in Wales assures the Editor, that the exist- 
 
 To trip and trot about them round. 
 
 ence of Fairies and Goblins is alluded to by 
 
 Bat if, to ride, 35 
 
 the most ancient British Bards, who mention 
 
 My backe they stride. 
 
 them under various names, one of the most 
 
 More swift than winde away I go, 
 
 common of which signifies " The spirits of 
 
 Ore hedge and lands. 
 
 the mountains." See also Preface to Song 
 
 Thro' pools and ponds 
 
 XXV. 
 
 I whirry, laughing, ho, ho, ho ! 40 
 
 This song, which Peck attributes to Ben 
 
 
 Jonson (though it is not found among his 
 
 When lads and lasses merry be. 
 
 works) is chiefly printed from an ancient 
 
 With possets and with juncates fine; 
 
 black-letter copy in the British Museum. It 
 
 Unseene of all the company, 
 
 seems to have been originally intended for 
 
 I eat their cakes and sip their wine ; 
 
 some Masque. 
 
 And, to make sport, 45 
 
 This ballad is entitled, in the old black- 
 
 v' ' I fart and snort ; 
 
 letter copies, " The merry Pranks of Robin 
 
 And out the candles I do blow: 
 
 Goodfellow. To the tune of Dulcina," &c. 
 
 The maids I kiss ; 
 
 (See No. XIII. above.) 
 
 They shrieke — Who's this ? 
 
 
 I answer nought, but ho, ho, ho ! 50 
 
 From Oberon, in fairye land, 
 
 
 The king of ghosts and shadowes there, 
 
 Yet now and then, the maids to please, 
 
 Mad Robin I, at his command. 
 
 At midnight I card up their wooll ; 
 
 Am sent to vicAve the night-sports here. 
 
 And while they sleepe, and take their ease, 
 
 What revell rout 5 
 
 With wheel to threads their flax I pull. 
 
 Is kept about, 
 
 I grind at mill 55 
 
 In every corner where I go, 
 
 Their malt up still ; 
 
 I will o'ersee, 
 
 I dress their hemp, I spin their tow. 
 
 And merry bee, 
 
 If any 'wake. 
 
 And make good sport, with ho, ho, ho ! 10 
 
 And would me take. 
 
 
 I wend me, laughing, ho, ho, ho ! 60 
 
 More swift than lightening can I flye 
 
 When house or harth doth sluttish lye/"-\ ./ 
 
 About this aery welkin soone. 
 
 And, in a minutes space, descrye 
 
 I pinch the maidens black and blue ; 
 
 Each thing that's done belowe the moone. 
 
 The bed-clothes from the bedd pull I 
 
 There's not a hag 15 
 
 And lay them naked all to view. 
 
 Or ghost shall wag. 
 
 'Twixt sleepe and wake, 65 
 
 Or cry, ware Goblins ! where I go ; 
 
 I do them take, 
 
 But Robin I 
 
 And on the key-cold floor them throw. 
 
 Their feates will spy, 
 
 If out they cry, 
 
 And send them home, with ho, ho, ho ! 20 
 
 Then forth I fly, 
 
 
 And loudly laugh out, ho, ho, ho ! 70 
 
 Whene'er such wanderers I meete, 
 
 # 
 
 As from their night-sports they trudge 
 
 When any need to borrowe ought, 
 
 home ; 
 
 We lend them what they do require: 
 
 With counterfeiting voice I greete, 
 
 And for the use demand we nought; 
 
 And call them on, with mee to roame 
 
 Our owne is all we do desire. ^^- 
 
 Thro' woods, thro' lakes, 25 
 
 If to repay, 75 
 
 Thro' bogs, thro' brakes ; 
 
 They do delay, 
 
 Or else, unseene, with them I go, 
 
 Abroad amongst them then I go. 
 
 All in the nicke 
 
 And night by night, 
 
 To play some tricke 
 
 I them alight 79 
 
 And frolicke it, with ho, ho, ho I 30 
 
 With pinchings, dreames, and ho, ho, ho I 
 
THE FAIRY QUEEN. 
 
 387 
 
 "When lazie queans have nought to do, 
 
 But study how to cog and lye ; 
 
 To make debate and mischief too, 
 
 ^Twixt one another secretlye : 
 
 I marke their gloze, 
 
 And it disclose, 
 To them whom they have wronged so 
 
 When I have done, 
 
 I get me gone, 
 And leave them scolding, ho, ho, ho ! 
 
 85 
 
 90 
 
 When men do traps and engins set 
 
 In loope holes, where the vermine creepe. 
 
 Who from their foldes and houses, get 
 Their duckes and geese, and lambes and 
 sheepe : 
 
 I spy the gin. 
 
 And enter in, 
 And seeme a vermine taken so ; 
 
 But when they there 
 
 Approach me neare, 
 I leap out laughing, ho, ho, ho ! 
 
 95 
 
 100 
 
 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, 105 
 
 Away we fling ; 
 And babes new borne steal as we go, 
 
 And elfe in bed 
 
 We leave instead, 
 And wend us laughing, ho, ho, ho ! 110 
 
 From hag-bred Merlin's time have I 
 
 Thus nightly revell'd to and fro: 
 
 And for my pranks men call me by 
 
 The name of Robin Good-fellow. 
 
 Fiends, ghosts, and sprites, 115 
 
 Who haunt the nightes, 
 The hags and goblins do me know; 
 
 And beldames old 
 
 My feates have told ; 
 So Vale, Vale : ho, ho, ho ! , 120 
 
 XXV. 
 
 %\t lairg ^xxttu. 
 
 We have here a short display of the popu- 
 lar 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." 
 Lend. 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 unespy'd. 
 Through key-holes we do glide ; 
 Over tables, stools and shelves, 
 We trip it with our fairy elves. 
 
 10 
 
 And, if the house be foul 
 
 With platter, dish, or bowl, 
 
 Up stairs we nimbly creep, 15 
 
 And find the sluts asleep : 
 There we pinch their armes and thighes ; 
 None escapes, nor none espies. 
 
388 
 
 THE FAIRIES FAREWELL. 
 
 ,/^ut if the house be swept, 
 And from uncleanness kept, 20 
 
 We praise the household maid, 
 And duely she is paid : 
 
 For we use before we goe 
 
 To drop a tester in her shoe. 
 
 Upon a mushroomes head 25 
 
 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. 30 
 
 The brains of nightingales, 
 With unctuous fat of snailes, 
 Between two cockles stew'd. 
 Is meat that's easily chew'd ; 
 
 Tailes of wormes, and marroAv of mice 35 
 Do make a dish, that's wonderous nice. 
 
 The grashopper, gnat, and fly. 
 
 Serve for our minstrels! e ; 
 
 Grace said, we dance a while. 
 
 And so the time beguile : 40 
 
 And if the moon doth hide her head. 
 The gloe-worm lights us home to bed. 
 
 On tops of dewie grasse 
 
 So nimbly do we passe. 
 
 The young and tender stalk 45 
 
 Ne'er bends Avhen we do walk: 
 Yet in the morning may be seen 
 Where we the night before have been. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 %\t ifiixm imMl 
 
 This humorous old song fell from the hand 
 of the witty Dr. Corbet (afterwards Bishop 
 of Norwich, &c.), and is printed from his 
 Poetica Stromata, 1648, 12mo, (compared 
 with the third edition of his poems, 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 speken gret honour, 
 All was this lond fulfilled of faerie ; 
 The elf-quene, with hire joly compagnie 
 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 heme, 
 
 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 undermeles and in morweninges. 
 And sayth his Matines and his holy thinges, 
 Ab 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, 
 setat 52. 
 
 Farewell rewards and Fairies ! ^ 
 
 Good housewives now may say ; 
 For now foule sluts in dairies, 
 
 Doe fare as well as they : 
 And though they sweepe their hearths no less 
 
 Than mayds were wont to doe, 6 
 
 Yet who of late for cleaneliness 
 
 Finds sixe-pence in her shoe?T, 
 
THE FAIRIES FAREWELL. 
 
 589 
 
 10 
 
 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, 15 
 
 For love of your demaines. 
 
 At morning and at evening both 
 
 You merry were and glad. 
 So little care of sleepe and sloth, 
 
 These prettie ladies had. 
 When Tom came home from labour, 
 
 Or Ciss to milking rose, 
 Then merrily went tlieir tabour, 
 
 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 sens, 
 Or farther for religion fled, 
 
 Or else they take their ease. 
 
 A tell-tale in their company 
 
 They never could endure ; 
 
 And whoso kept not secretly 
 
 Their mirth, was punish'd sure: 
 It was a just and Christian deed 
 To pinch such blacke and blue: 
 / 0-how the common-welth 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. 
 
 20 
 
 25 
 
 30 
 
 35 
 
 40 
 
 45 
 
 50 
 
 55 
 
 To William Churne of Staffordshire 
 
 Give laud and praises due. 
 Who every meale can mend your cheare 
 
 With tales both old and true: GO 
 
 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 Ash mole's collection 
 of MSS. at Oxford [Num. 8250, 1400, 2,] are 
 the papers of some Alchymist, which contain, 
 a variety of Incantations and Forms of Con- 
 juring 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 "Alchy- 
 mist," 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 
 myself I call Margarett Barrance ; but this 
 Avill 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 henne, three Wednes- 
 dayes, or three Fridayes. Then take it out, 
 and wash it with holy aq. and fumigate it. 
 Then take three hazle sticks, or wands of an 
 yeare groth ; pill them fayre and white ; and 
 make * them' soe longe, as you write the 
 Spiritts name, or Fayries name, which you 
 call, three times on every sticke being made 
 flatt on one side. Then bury them under 
 some hill, whereas you suppose Fayries 
 haunt, the Wednesday before you call her: 
 and the Friday foUowinge 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 
 
390 
 
 THE BIRTH OF ST. GEORGE. 
 
 / 
 
 life, and turne thy face towards the east. 
 And when you have her, bind her to that 
 stone or glasse." 
 
 "An unguent to annoynt under the eyelids, 
 and upon the eyelids eveninge and morn- 
 inge : but especially when you call ; or 
 find your sight not perfect. 
 
 ^^ " R. A pint of sallet-oyle, and put it into 
 a viall glasse : but first wash it with rose- 
 water, and m ary gold-water : the flowers 'to' 
 be gathered towards the east. Wash it till 
 the oyle come white; then put it into the 
 glasse, ut supra: and then put thereto the 
 budds of holyhocke, the flowers of marygold, 
 the flowers or toppes of wild thime, the 
 budds of young hazle : and the thime must 
 be gathered neare the side of a hill where 
 Fayries use to be : and ' take' the grasse of 
 a fayrie throne, there. All these put into 
 the oyle, into the glasse : and set it to dissolve 
 
 three dayes in the siinne, and then keep it 
 for thy use ; ut supra." 
 
 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- 
 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 
 incantations. 
 
 THE END OF BOOK THE SECOND. 
 
 SERIES THE THIRD. 
 BOOK III. 
 
 I. 
 
 W^t §irt| 0f SI i^0rgt 
 
 The incidents in this, and the other ballad 
 of " St. George and the Dragon,'" are chiefly 
 taken from the old story-book of the Seven 
 Champions of Christendome ; which, though 
 now the plaything of children, was once in 
 high repute. Bp. Hall, in his satires, pub- 
 lished in 1597, ranks 
 
 " St. George's sorell, and his cross of blood," 
 
 among the most popular stories of his time ; 
 and an ingenious critic thinks that 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 Tol. 1762, 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. Cecill, E. of Salisbury, 
 1612," 4to.— " The Hist, of Tom of Lincoln," 
 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 
 
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 print- 
 ing, when it ran through several editions, two 
 of which are in black-letter, 4to., " imprinted 
 
 l'3MiV^jyxaiiB-,-5PP^A^I?4'/' "without date ; con- 
 taining 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 fol- 
 lowed him, take a description of the dragon 
 slain by Sir Bevis. 
 
 " Whan the dragon, that foule is, 
 
 Had a syght of Syr Bevis, 
 
 He cast up a loude cry. 
 
 As it had thondred in the sky; 
 
 He turned his bely towarde the son ; 
 
 It was greater than any tonne : 
 
 His scales was bryghter then the glas, 
 
 And harder they were than any bras : 
 
 Betwene his shulder and his tayle, 
 
 Was forty fote withoute f^xyle. 
 
 He waltred out of his denne, 
 
 And Bevis pricked his stede then, 
 
 And to hym a spere he thraste 
 
 That all to shyvers he it braste: 
 
 The dragon then gan Bevis assay le, 
 
 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, ly ver, bone, and blonde ; 
 To the ground fell the dragon, 
 Great joye Syr Bevis begon. 
 Under the scales al on hight: 
 He smote off his head forth right, 
 And put it on a spere : &c." Sign K. iv. 
 50 
 
 Sir Bevis's dragon is evidently the parent 
 of that in the Seven Champions, see Chap. 
 III., viz. — "The dragon no sooner hod 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 wel- 
 tered he from his den, &c. . . . The champion 
 . . . gave the dragon such a thrust with his 
 spear, that it shivered in a thousand pieces: 
 whereat the furious dragon so fiercely smote 
 him with his venomous tail, that down fell 
 man and horse: in which fall two of St. 
 
 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 of 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 Wilt- 
 shire: 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 Exist- 
 ence 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 
 
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 
 thelllstorical 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 5 
 
 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, 10 
 
 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, 15 
 
 In sudden sadness fell : 
 
 For thirty nights no sooner sleep 
 
 Plad clos'd her wakeful eyes, 
 But lo ! a foul and fearful dream 
 
 Her fancy would surprize : 20 
 
 She dreamt a dragon fierce and fell 
 
 Conceiv'd within her Avomb ; 
 Whose mortal fangs her body rent 
 
 Ere he to life could come. 
 
 All woe-begone, and sad was she ; 25 
 
 She nourisht constant woe : 
 Yet strove to hide it from her lord. 
 
 Lest he should sorrow know. 
 
 In vain she stroA^e : her tender lord, 
 
 Who watch'd her slightest look, 30 
 
 Discovered 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 35 
 
 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. 
 
 40 
 
 45 
 
 And for this foul and fearful dream. 
 That causeth all thy woe. 
 
 Trust me I'll travel far away 
 But I'll the meanirg knowe. 
 
 Then giving many a fcmd embrace, 
 And shedding many a teare. 
 
 To the weird lady of the woods, 
 lie purpos'd to repaire. 
 
 To the Ave'ird lady of the woods. 
 
 Full long and many a day, 50 
 
 Thro' lonely shades, and thickets rough 
 He winds his Aveai-y Avay. 
 
 At length he reach'd a dreamy dell 
 
 With dismal ycAvs o'erhung; 
 Where cypress spred its mournful boughs. 
 
 And pois'nous nightshade sprung. 56 
 
 No chearful gleams here pierc'd the gloom, 
 
 He hears no chearful sound ; 
 But shrill night-ravens' yelling scream, 
 
 And serpents hissing round.] GO 
 
 The shriek of fiends ; nd damned ghosts 
 
 Ran howling thro' his ear: 
 A chilling horror fn ze his heart, 
 
 Tho' all unus'd to fear. 
 
 Three times he strives to win his way, 65 
 And pierce those sickly dews : 
 
 Three times to bear his trembling corse 
 His knocking knees refuse. 
 
 At length upon his beating breast 
 
 He signs the hol_) crosse; 70 
 
 And, rouzing up his Avonted might. 
 He treads th' unhallowed mosse. 
 
 Beneath a pendent craggy cliff, 
 
 All vaulted like a grave. 
 And opening in the solid rock, 75 
 
 He found the inchanted cave. 
 
THE BIRTH OF ST. GEORGE. 
 
 393 
 
 80 
 
 85 
 
 An iron gate clos'd up the mouth, 
 
 All hideous and forlorne ; 
 And, fasten'd by a silver chaine, 
 
 Near hang a brazed home. 
 
 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 dreadful to his foes, 
 And terrible in fight. 
 
 " His name advanc'd in future times 
 On banners shall be worn : 90 
 
 But lo ! thy lady's life must passe 
 Before he can be born.'' 
 
 All sore opprest with fear and doubt 
 Long time Lord Albert stood ; 
 
 At length he winds his doubtful way 95 
 Back thro' the dreary wood. 
 
 Eager to clasp his lovely dame 
 
 Then ftist 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 bitterly e lament and weep, 105 
 
 With many a grievous grone : 
 
 Then sore his bleeding heart misgave, 
 His lady's life was gone. 
 
 With faultering step he enters in. 
 
 Yet half affraid to goe ; 110 
 
 With trembling voice asks why they grieve, 
 Yet fears the cause to knowe. 
 
 " Three times the sun hath rose and set •" 
 They said, then stopt to weep : 
 
 Since heaven hath laid thy lady deare 115 
 In death's eternal sleep. 
 
 " For, ah ! in travel sore she fell 
 
 So sore that she must dye ; 
 Unless some shrev;d and cunning leech 
 ' Could ease her presentlye. 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, 125 
 
 My little infant save : 
 And commend me to my lord, 
 
 When I am laid in grave. 
 
 " tell him how that precious babe 
 
 Cost him a tender wife: 130 
 
 And teach my son to lisp her name, 
 Who died to save his life. 
 
 *'Then calling still upon thy name. 
 
 And praying still for thee ; 
 Without repining or complaint, 135 
 
 Her gentle soul did flee." 
 
 What tongue can paint Lord Albret's woe. 
 
 The bitter tears he shed, 
 The bitter pangs that wrung his heart. 
 
 To find his lady dead ? 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 sorrowe seiz'd the damsells all : 145 
 At length they faultering say : 
 
 "Alas! my lord, how shall we tell? 
 Thy son is stoln away. 
 
 { " Fair as the sweetest flower of spring, 
 Such was his infant mien : 150 
 
 And on his little body stampt 
 
 Three wonderous marks M'ere seen : 
 
 *' A blood-red cross was on his arm ; 
 
 A dragon on his breast.: 
 A little garter all of gold 155 
 
 Was round his leg exprest. 
 
 " 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. 
 
394 ST. GEORGE AND THE DRAGON. 
 
 " Dead with affright at first we lay ; 
 
 165 
 
 Whose vigorous arms are tome away 
 
 But rousing up anon, 
 
 
 By some rude thunder-stroke. 
 
 We ran to see our little lord: 
 
 
 
 Our little lord was gone ! 
 
 
 At length his castle irksome grew, 185 
 He loathes his wonted home ; 
 
 " But how or where we could not tell 
 
 
 His native country he forsakes. 
 
 For lying on the ground, 
 
 170 
 
 In foreign lands to roame. 
 
 In deep and magic slumbers laid, 
 
 
 
 The nurses there we found." 
 
 
 There up and downe he wandered far. 
 Clad in a palmer's gown : 190 
 
 grief on grief! Lord Albret said: 
 
 
 Till his brown locks grcAv white as wool, 
 
 No more his tongue could say, 
 
 
 His beard as thistle down. 
 
 When falling in a deadly swoone, 
 
 175 
 
 
 Long time he lifeless lay. 
 
 
 At length, all wearied, down in death 
 He laid his reverend head. 
 
 At length restor'd to life and sense 
 
 
 Meantime amid the lonely wilds 195 
 
 He nourisht endless woe, 
 
 
 His little son was bred. 
 
 No future joy his heart could taste, 
 
 
 
 No future comfort know. 
 
 180 
 
 There the weird lady of the woods 
 Had borne him far away, 
 
 So withers on the mountain top 
 
 
 And train'd him up in feates of armes. 
 
 A fair and stately oake, 
 
 
 And every martial play. 200 
 * 
 
 II. 
 
 The following ballad is given (with some j The grief whereof did grow so great 
 
 corrections) from two ancient black-letter co- 
 
 Throughout the limits of the land, 20 
 
 pies in the Pepys Collection : one of which is 
 
 That they were wise men did intreat 
 
 in 12mo., the other in folio. 
 
 
 To shew their cunning out of hand ; 
 What way they might this fiend destroy, 
 
 Of Hector's deeds did Homer sing ; 
 
 
 That did the country thus annoy. 
 
 And of the sack of stately Troy, 
 
 
 
 What griefs fair Helena did bring, 
 
 
 The wise men all before the king, 25 
 
 Which was Sir Paris' only joy: 
 
 
 This answer fram'd incontinent ; 
 
 And by my pen I will recite 
 
 5 
 
 The dragon none to death might bring 
 
 St. George's deeds, an English knight. 
 
 
 By any means they could invent : 
 His skin more hard than brass was found, 
 
 Against the Sarazens so rude 
 
 
 That sword nor spear could pierce nor wound. 
 
 Fought he full long and many a day ; 
 
 
 
 Where many gyaunts he subdu'd, 
 
 
 When this the people understood, 31 
 
 In honour of the Christian way : 
 
 10 
 
 They cryed out most piteouslye. 
 
 And after many adventures past 
 
 
 The dragon's breath infects their blood, 
 
 To Egypt land he ca.me at last. 
 
 
 That everye day in heaps they dye : 
 Among them such a plague is bred, 35 
 
 Now as the story plain doth tell, 
 
 
 The living scarce could bury the dead. 
 
 Within that country there did rest 
 
 
 
 A dreadful dragon fierce and fell, 
 
 15 
 
 No means there were, as they could hear. 
 
 Whereby they were full sore opprest: 
 
 
 For to appease the dragon's rage, 
 
 Who by his poisonous breath each day 
 
 
 But to present some virgin clear. 
 
 Did many of the city slay. 
 
 
 Whose blood his fury might asswage ; 40 
 
ST. GEORGE AND THE DRAGON. 
 
 395 
 
 Each daye he would a maiden eat, 
 For to allay his hunger great. 
 
 This thing by art the wise-men found, 
 Which truly must observed be ; 
 
 Wherefore throughout the city round 
 A virgin pure of good degree 
 
 Was by the 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. 
 
 45 
 
 60 
 
 55 
 
 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 : 
 let us all be poisoned here, 
 Ere she should die, that is my dear. 60 
 
 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, 
 
 Aud have been made the dragon's prey: 
 
 65 
 
 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 sould die. 70 
 
 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, 
 father, strive not thus for me, 75 
 
 But let me be the dragon's prey ; 
 It may be for my sake alone 
 This plague upon the land was thrown. 
 
 'Tis better I should dye, she said, 
 
 Than all your subjects perish quite ; 80 
 
 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, 85 
 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. 90 
 
 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, 95 
 
 Therefore do what you will with me. 
 
 Nay stay, dear daughter, quoth the queen, 
 And as thou art a virgin bright. 
 
 That hast for vertue famous been. 
 
 So let me cloath thee all in white; 100 
 
 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 ; 105 
 
 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 ; 110 
 
 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 115 
 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. 120 
 
 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, 125 
 What caitif thus abuseth thee ? 
 
 And, lo ! by Christ his cross I vow, 
 Which here is figured on ray breast, 
 
 I will revenge it on his brow, 
 
 And break my lance upon his chest: 130 
 
 And speaking thus whereas he stood, 
 
 The dragon issued from the wood. 
 
390 
 
 ST. GEORGE AND THE DRAGOxV, 
 
 The lady that did first espj 
 
 The dreadful dragon couiing so, 
 
 Unto St. George aloud did cry, 135 
 
 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, 140 
 
 And like a knight of courage stout, 
 Against hini 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, 145 
 
 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. 150 
 
 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, 155 
 
 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 ICl 
 
 Till he most ftilsely was betray'd. 
 
 That lady dearly lov'd the knight, 
 
 He counted her his only joy ; 165 
 
 But when their love was brought to light, 
 It turn'd unto their great annoy: 
 
 Th' Morocco king Avas in the court, 
 
 Who to the orchard did resort, 
 
 Dayly to take the pleasant air, 170 
 
 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 170 
 
 To make the Christian knight away, 
 
 With letters him in curteous wise 
 They straightway sent to Persia: 
 
 I3at wrote to the sophy him to kill, 180 
 
 And treacherously his blood to spill. 
 
 Thus they for good did him reward 
 With evil, and most subtilly 
 
 By such vile meanes they had regard 
 To work his death most cruelly; 
 
 Who, as through Persia land he rode, 
 
 With zeal destroy'd each idol god. 
 
 185 
 
 For Avhich offence he straight was thrown 
 Into a dungeon dark and deep ; 
 
 Where, when he thought his wrongs upon, 
 He bitterly did wail and weep : 191 
 
 Yet like a knight of courage stout. 
 
 At length his way he digged out. 
 
 Three grooms of the King of Persia 
 
 By night this valiant champion slew, 195 
 
 Though he had fasted many a day ; 
 And then away from thence he fl.ew 
 
 On the best steed the sophy had ; 
 
 Which Avhen he knew he was full mad. 
 
 Towards Christendom he made his flight, 200 
 
 But met a gy ant 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. 205 
 
 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. 211 
 
 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 : 215 
 
 Mean while the king, o'ercome in field, 
 
 Unto saint George did quickly yield. 
 
 Then straight Morocco's king he slew, 
 And took fiiir Sabra to his Avife, 
 
 But meant to try if she were true 220 
 
 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, 225 
 
 An eunuch also with them came. 
 Who did upon the lady Avait; 
 
 These Ihree from Egypt Avent alone. 
 
 Now mark St. George's valour sliown. 
 
LOVE WILL FIND OUT THE WAY. 
 
 397 
 
 When as they in a forest Avcre, 
 
 230 
 
 Their rage did him no whit dismay, 
 
 
 The lady did dosire to rest: 
 
 
 Who, like a stout and valiant knight, 
 
 
 Mean while St, Goor<2;e to kill a deer, 
 
 
 Did both the hungry iyons slay 
 
 250 
 
 For their repnst did think it best: 
 
 
 Within the Lady Sibra' sight: 
 
 
 Leaving her with the ounuch there, 
 
 
 Who all this while sad and demure, 
 
 
 Whilst he did go to kill the deer. 
 
 235 
 
 There stood most like a virgin pure. 
 
 
 But lo ! all in his absence came 
 
 
 Now when St. George did surely know 
 
 
 Two hungry lyons fierce and fell, 
 
 
 This lady was a virgin true. 
 
 255 
 
 And tore the eunuch on the same 
 
 
 His heart was glad, that erst AA'as wofe, 
 
 
 In pieces small, the truth to tell; 
 
 
 And all his love did soon renew: 
 
 
 Down by the lady then they laid, 
 
 240 
 
 Ho set her on a palfi-ey steed. 
 
 
 Whereby they shew'd, she was a maid. 
 
 
 And towards England came with speed. 
 
 
 But when he came from hunting back, 
 
 
 Where being in short space arriv'd 
 
 2G0 
 
 And did behold this heavy chance, 
 
 
 Unto his native dwelling place ; 
 
 
 Then for his lovely virgin's sake 
 
 
 Therein with his dear love he liv'd, 
 
 
 His courage strait he did advance. 
 
 245 
 
 And fortune did hir, nuptials grace: 
 
 
 And came into the lions sight, 
 
 
 They many years of joy did see, ' 
 
 
 Who ran at him with all their might. 
 
 
 And led their lives at Coventry. 
 
 265 
 
 
 III. 
 
 
 f fllit toill m t 
 
 jttt t\t mm. 
 
 
 This excellent song is ancient: but 
 
 we 
 
 But if she, whom love doth honour, 
 
 
 could only give it from a modern copy. 
 
 
 Be conceal'd from the day. 
 
 
 ,rOvER the mountains, 
 
 
 Set a thousand guards upon her. 
 Love will find out the way. 
 
 
 And over the waves ; 
 
 
 
 
 Under the fountains, 
 And under the graves; 
 
 
 Some think to lose him, 
 
 25 
 
 Under floods that are deepest, 
 
 5 
 
 By having him confin'd; 
 
 
 Which Neptune obey ; 
 Over rocks that are steepest, 
 
 
 And some do suppose him. 
 Poor thing, to Le blind ; 
 
 
 Love will find out the way. 
 
 
 But if ne'er so close ye wall him. 
 Do the best that you ma}^ 
 
 30 
 
 Where there is no place 
 
 
 Blind love, if so ye call him, 
 
 
 For the glow-worm to lye ; 
 
 10 
 
 Will find out his way. 
 
 
 Where there is no space 
 
 
 
 
 For receipt of a fly ; 
 
 
 
 
 Where the midge dares not venture, 
 
 
 You may train the eagle 
 
 
 Lest herself fast she lay ; 
 
 
 To stoop to your fist; 
 
 35 
 
 If love come he will enter, 
 
 15 
 
 Or you may invcijilc 
 
 And soon find out his way. 
 
 
 The phenix of the cast; 
 The lioness, ye may move her 
 
 
 You may cstoom him 
 
 
 To give o'er her prey : 
 
 
 A child for his might; 
 
 
 But you'll ne'er stop a lover, 
 
 
 Or you may deem him 
 
 
 He will find out his way. 
 
 40 
 
 A coward from his flight: 
 
 20 
 
 % 
 
 ,* 
 
398 LORD THOMAS AND FAIR ANNET. 
 
 IV. 
 
 
 A SCOTTISH BALLAD, 
 
 
 — Seems to be composed (not without im- 
 
 Her oxen may dye i' the house, Billie, 
 
 30 
 
 provements) out of two ancient English ones, 
 
 And her kye into the byre ; 
 
 
 printed in the former part of this volume. 
 
 And I sail hae nothing to my sell, 
 
 
 See book I. ballad XV., and book II. ballad 
 
 Bot a fat fadge by the fyre. 
 
 
 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 
 
 And he has till his sister gane : 
 Now, sister, rede ye mee ; 
 
 sail I marrie the nut-browme bride. 
 And set fair Annet free ? 
 
 35 
 
 from Scotland. 
 
 Ise rede ye tak fair Annet, Thomas, 
 
 
 f Lord Thomas and fair Annet 
 i Sate a' day on a hill ; 
 
 Whan night was cum, and sun was sett, 
 
 And let the brovvne bride alane ; 
 
 Lest ye sould sigh and say, Alace ! 
 
 What is this w^e brought hame? 
 
 40 
 
 They had not talkt their fill. 
 
 No, I will tak my mithers counsel. 
 
 
 Lord Thomas said a word in jest, 5 
 
 And marrie me owt o' hand ; 
 
 
 Fair Annet took it ill: 
 
 And I will tak the nut-browne bride ; 
 
 
 A'! I will nevir wed a wife 
 
 Fair Annet may leive the land. 
 
 
 Against my ain friends will. 
 
 
 
 Gif ye wuU nevir wed a wife, 
 
 A wife wuU neir wed yee. 10 
 Sae he is hame to tell his mither, 
 
 And knelt upon his knee : 
 
 Up then rose fair Annets father 
 Twa hours or it wer day, 
 
 And he is gane into the bower, 
 Wherein fair Annet lay. 
 
 45 
 
 rede, rede, mither, he says, 
 
 A gude rede gie to mee : 
 sail I tak the nut-browne bride, 15 
 
 And let faire Annet bee ? 
 
 Rise up, rise up, fair Annet, he says, 
 Put on your silken sheene ; 
 
 Let us gae to St. Maries kirke, 
 And see that rich weddeen. 
 
 50 
 
 The nut-browne bride haes gowd and gear, 
 
 Fair Annet she has gat nane ; 
 And the little beauty fair Annet has, 
 
 it wull soon be gane ! 20 
 
 My maides, gae to my dressing-roome, 
 
 And dress to me my hair ; 
 Whair-eir yee laid a plait before, 
 
 See yee lay ten times mair. 
 
 55 
 
 And he has till his brother gane : 
 Now, brother, rede ye mee ; 
 
 A' sail I marrie the nut-browne bride, 
 And let fair Annet bee? 
 
 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. 
 
 60 
 
 The nut-browne bride has oxen, brother, 25 
 
 The horse fair Annet rade upon 
 
 
 The nut-browne bride has kye ; 
 
 He amblit like the wind, 
 
 
 I wad hao ye marrie the nut-browne bride, 
 
 Wi' siller he was shod before, 
 
 
 And cast fair Annet bye. 
 
 W burning gowd behind. 
 
 
UNFADING BEAUTY. 399 
 
 Four and twantye siller bells 65 
 
 I did get the rose-water 
 
 Wer a' tyed till his mane, 
 
 Whair ye wull neir get nane,^. 
 
 And yae tift o* the norland wind, 
 
 For I did get that very rose-water 95 
 
 They tinkled ane by ane. 
 
 Into my mithers wame. 
 
 Four and twantye gay gude knichts 
 
 The bride she drew a long bodkin, 
 
 Hade by fair Annets side, 70 
 
 Frae out her gay head-gear, 
 
 And four and twanty fair ladies, 
 
 And strake fair Annet unto the heart, 
 
 As gin she had bin a bride. 
 
 That word she nevir spak mair. 100 
 
 And whan she cam to Maries kirk, 
 
 Lord Thomas he saw fair Annet wex pale, 
 
 She sat on Maries stean : 
 
 And marvelit what mote bee : 
 
 The cleading that fair Annet had on 75 
 
 But whan he saw her dear hearts blude. 
 
 It skinkled in their een. 
 
 A' wood-wroth wexed hee. 
 
 And whan she cam into the kirk, 
 
 He drew his dagger, that was sae sharp, 105 
 
 She shimmer'd like the sun ; 
 
 That was sae sharp and meet, 
 
 The belt that was about her waist, 
 
 And drave into the nut-browne bride. 
 
 Was a' wi' pearles bedone. 80 
 
 That fell deid at his feit. 
 
 She sat her by the nut-browne bride. 
 
 Now stay for me, dear Annet, he sed. 
 
 And her een they wer sae clear. 
 
 Now stay, my dear, he cry'd ; 110 
 
 Lord Thomas he clean forgat the bride. 
 
 Then strake the dagger untill his heart. 
 
 Whan fair Annet she drew near. 
 
 And fell deid by her side. 
 
 He had a rose into his hand, 85 
 
 Lord Thomas was buried without kirk-wa, 
 
 And he gave it kisses three, 
 
 Fair Annet within the quiere ; 
 
 And reaching by the nut-browne bride. 
 
 And o' the tane thair grew a birk, 115 
 
 Laid it on fair Annets knee. 
 
 The other a bonny briere. 
 
 Up than spak the nut-browne bride, 
 
 And ay they grew, and ay they threw. 
 
 She spak wi' meikle spite ; 90 
 
 As they wad faine be neare ; 
 
 And whair gat ye that rose-water. 
 
 And by this ye may ken right well, 
 
 That does mak yee sae white ? 
 
 They were twa luvers deare. 120 
 
 V. 
 
 This little beautiful sonnet is reprinted 
 
 Hee, that loves a rosie cheeke. 
 
 from a small volume of ** Poems by Thomas 
 
 Or a corall lip admires, 
 
 Carew, Esq., one of the gentlemen of the pri- 
 
 Or from star-like eyes doth seeke 
 
 vie-chamber, and sewer in ordinary to his 
 
 Fuell to maintaine his fires. 
 
 majesty (Charles I.) Lond. 1640." This ele- 
 
 As old time makes these decay, $ 
 
 gant and almost forgotten writer, whose 
 
 So his flames must waste away. 
 
 poems have been deservedly revived, died in 
 
 
 the prime of his age, in 1639. 
 
 But a smooth and stedfast mind. 
 
 In the original follows a third stanza ; 
 
 Gentle thoughts, and calme desires. 
 
 which, not being of general application, nor 
 
 Hearts with equal love combined, 
 
 of equal merit, I have ventured to omit. 
 
 Kindle never-dying fires : 10 
 
 51 
 
 Where these are not, I despise 
 
 O-L 
 
 Lovely cheekes, or lips, or eyes. 
 
 -X- * * JiJ 
 
400 
 
 GEORGE BARNWELL. 
 
 VL 
 
 §tfixp §arntoHl 
 
 The suhjoct of this ballad is sufficiently 
 popular from the modern play which is 
 founded upon it. This was Avritten by George 
 Lillo, a je^A'eller of London, and first acted 
 about 1730.— As for the ballad, it was printed 
 at least as early as the middle of the last cen- 
 tury. 
 
 It is here j^iven from three old printed co- 
 pies, 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 excel- 
 lent 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 dAvell both far and near, 
 
 Regard ray story that I tell, 
 And to my song give ear. 
 
 A London lad I was, 5 
 
 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 ; 10 
 
 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, 15 
 
 A wanton I did meet. 
 
 A gallant dainty dame 
 
 And sumptuous in attire ; 
 With smiling look she greeted me, 
 
 And did my name require. 20 
 
 Which when I had declar'd, 
 
 She gave me then a kiss, 
 And said, 1 1 vould come to her 
 
 1 should have more than this. 
 
 Fair mistress, then quoth I, 25 
 
 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: 30 
 
 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, 35 
 
 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. 40 
 
 Thus parted we in peace, 
 
 And home I passed right ; 4 
 
 Then went abroad, and gathered in. 
 
 By six o'clock at night. 
 
 An hundred pound and one: 45 
 
 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 ; 50 
 Rustling in most brave attire, 
 
 WiUi hood and silken gown. 
 
 Who, through her beauty bright, 
 
 So gloriously did shine. 
 That she amaz'd my dazzling eyes, 55 
 
 She seemed so divine. 
 
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 
 
 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. 
 
 pardon me, quoth I, 
 
 Fair mistress, I you pray > 
 For why, out of my master's house, 
 So long I dare not stay. 
 
 Alas, good sir, she said. 
 
 Are you so strictly ty'd, 
 You may not with your dearest friend 
 
 One hour or two abide ? 
 
 Faith, then the case is hard ; 
 If it be so, quoth she, 
 
 1 would I Avere a prentice bound, 
 To live along with thee : 
 
 Therefore, my dearest George, 
 List well what I shall say, 
 
 And do not blame a woman much, 
 Her fancy to bewray. 
 
 Let not affection's force 
 
 Be counted lewd desire ; 
 Nor think it not immodesty, 
 
 I should thy love require. 
 
 With that she turn'd aside. 
 
 And with a blushing red, 
 A mournful motion she bewray'd 
 
 By hanging down her head. 
 
 A handkerchief she had 
 
 All wrought with silk and gold : 
 Which she to stay her trickling tears 
 
 Before her eyes did hold. 
 
 This thing unto my sight 
 
 Was wondrous rare and strange ; 
 And in my soul and inward thought 
 
 It wrought a sudden change: 
 
 That I so hardy grew, 
 
 To take her by the hand : 
 Saying, Sweet mis'vess, why do you 
 
 So dull and pensive stand? 
 
 65 
 
 70 
 
 75 
 
 Call me no mistress now. 
 
 But Sarah, thy true friend, 
 Thy servant, Millwood, honouring thee, 
 
 Until her life hath end. 
 
 If thou wouldst here alledge, 105 
 
 Thou art in years a boy ; 
 So was Adonis, yet was he 
 
 Fair Venus' only joy. 
 
 Thus I, who ne'er before 
 
 Of woman found such grace, 110 
 
 But seeing now so fair a dame 
 
 Give mo a kind embrace 
 
 I supt with her that night, 
 
 With joys that did abound ; 
 And for the same paid presently, 115 
 
 In money twice three pound. 
 
 An hundred kisses then, 
 
 For my farewel she gave ; 
 Crying, Sweet Barnwell, when shall I 
 
 Again thy company have? 120 
 
 stay not hence too long, 
 
 Svc'eet George, have me in mind. 
 
 Her words bewicht my childishness, 
 She uttered them so kind : 
 
 So that I made a vow, 125 
 
 Next Sunday without fail. 
 With my sweet Sarah once again 
 
 To tell some pleasant tale. 
 
 When she heard me say so, 
 
 The tears fell from her eye ; 130 
 
 George, quoth she, if thou aost fail, 
 
 Thy Sarah sure will dye. 
 
 Though long, yet loe ! at last, 
 
 The appointed day was come, 
 That I must with my Sarah meet; 135 
 
 Having a mighty sum 
 
 Of money in my hand,* 
 
 Unto her house went I, 
 Whereas my love upon her bed 
 
 In saddest sort did lye. 140 
 
 * The having a sum of money with him on Sunday, &c., 
 shows this narrative to have hei'n penned before the civil 
 wars : the sti i;t observance of the Sabbath was owing to 
 ■lOU j change of manners at that period. 
 
 80 
 
 85 
 
 90 
 
 95 
 
402 
 
 GEORGE BARNWELL. 
 
 What ails my heart's delight, 
 
 My Sarah dear ? quoth I ; 
 Let not my love lament and grieve, 
 
 Nor sigliing pine, and die. 
 
 But tell me, dearest friend, 145 
 
 What may thy vroes amend, 
 And thou shalt lack no means of help, 
 
 Though forty pound I spend. 
 
 With that she turnM her head, 
 
 And sickly thus did say, 150 
 
 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, 155 
 
 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. 160 
 
 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, 165 
 
 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 170 
 
 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 175 
 
 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. 180 
 
 " But how she us'd this youth, 
 
 In this his care and woe, 
 And all a strumpet's wiley ways, 
 
 The SECOND PART may showe." 
 
 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 5 
 
 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, 10 
 
 Hoping some time I may remaine, 
 
 In safety here with thee. 
 
 With that she knit her brows. 
 
 And looking all aquoy. 
 Quoth she, What should I have to do 15 
 
 With any prentice boy ? 
 
 And seeing you have purloyn'd 
 
 Your master's goods away. 
 The case is bad, and therefore here 
 
 You shall no longer stay. 20 
 
 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, 25 
 
 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 ; 30 
 
 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 35 
 
 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. 40 
 
 False woman, now farewell. 
 Whilst twenty pound doth last, 
 
 My anchor in some other haven 
 With freedom I will cast. 
 
GEORGE BARNWELL. 
 
 403 
 
 When she perceiv'd by this, 45 
 
 I had store of money there, 
 Stay, George, quoth she, thou art too quick: 
 
 Why, man, I did but jeer. 
 
 Dost think for all my speech, 
 That I would let thee go ? 
 
 Faith, no, said she, my love to thee 
 I wiss is more than so. 
 
 50 
 
 You scorne a prentice boy 
 
 I heard you just now swear. 
 Wherefore I will not trouble you. 55 
 
 Nay, George, hark in thine ear; 
 
 Thou shalt not go to-night, 
 What chance soe're befall : 
 
 But man we'll have a bed for thee. 
 Or else the devil take all. 
 
 60 
 
 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. 
 
 Pve a sister richly wed, 
 
 ril 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 excell. 
 
 65 
 
 70 
 
 75 
 
 85 
 
 Ere I will live in lack, 
 
 And have no coyn for thee ; 90 
 
 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. 95 
 
 For without money, George, 
 
 A man is but a beast: 
 But bringing money, thou shalt be 
 
 Always my welcome guest. 100 
 
 For shouldst thou be pursued 
 
 With twenty hues and cryes. 
 And with a warrant searched for 
 
 With Argus' hundred eyes. 
 
 Yet here thou shalt be safe ; 105 
 
 Such privy wayes there be. 
 That if they sought an hundred years, 
 
 They could not find out thee. 
 
 And so carousing both 
 
 Their pleasures to content : 110 
 
 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 ; 115 
 
 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.* 120 
 
 Unto his uncle then 
 
 He rode with might and mam, 
 Who with a welcome and good cheer 
 
 Did Barnwell entertain. 
 
 One fortnight's space he stayed 125 
 
 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, 130 
 
 Great store of money he had took : 
 
 When coming home again, 
 
 * i. e. for stopping and apprehending him at his father's. 
 
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. 
 
 Then seizing fourscore pound, 
 
 To London strai.^ht he hyed, 
 And unto Sarah Millwood all 
 
 The cruell fact descryed. 140 
 
 Tush, 'tis no matter, George, 
 
 So we the money have 
 To have good cheer in jolly sort. 
 
 And deck us fine and brave. 
 
 Thus lived in filthy sort, 145 
 
 Until their store was gone: 
 When means to get them any more, 
 
 I wis, poor George had none. 
 
 Therefore in railing sort. 
 
 She thrust him out of door : 150 
 
 Which is the just reward of those, 
 
 Who spend upon a whore. 
 
 O ! do me not disgrace 
 
 In this my need, quoth he. 
 She called him thief and murderer, 155 
 
 With all the spight might be : 
 
 To the constable she sent. 
 
 To have him apprehended ; 
 And shewed how far, in each degree, 
 
 He had the laws ofi"ended. IGO 
 
 AVhen Barnwell saw her drift, 
 
 To sea he got straightway ; 
 Where fear and sting of conscience 
 
 Continually on him lay. 
 
 165 
 
 Unto the lord mayor then, 
 
 He did a letter write ; 
 In which his own and Sarah's fault 
 
 He did at large recite. 
 
 Whereby she seized was 
 
 And then to Ludlow sent : 170 
 
 Where she was judg'd, condemned, and 
 hang'd. 
 
 For murder incontinent. 
 
 There dyed this gallant quean. 
 Such was her greatest gains : 
 
 For murder in Polonia, 
 
 Was Barnwell hang'd in chains. 
 
 Lo ! here's the end of youth, 
 That after harlots haunt ; 
 
 Who in the spoil of other men, 
 About the streets do flaunt. 
 
 175 
 
 180 
 
 VII. 
 
 %\t StAfcst Sl^jfen^Jr. 
 
 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 Resolu- 
 tion," Book II. Song XXI. In the first edi- 
 tion 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 Mis- 
 tress 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 ! unclaspe these wanton armes ;) 
 Sugred words can ne'er deceive me, 
 
 (Though thou prove a thousand charmes). 
 
 Fie, fi.e, 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 robb me of my rest : 
 
THE SPANISH VIRGIN, OR EFFECTS OF JEALOUSY. 
 
 405 
 
 Goe, goe, display 
 
 15 
 
 Shall I haunt the thronged vallies, 
 
 
 Thy beauty's ray 
 
 
 Whilst ther's noble hils to clinibe ? 
 
 
 To some more-soone enamour'd swaine : 
 
 
 No, no, though clownes 
 
 45 
 
 Those common wiles 
 
 
 Are scar'd with frownes, 
 
 
 Of sighs and smiles 
 
 
 I know the best can but disdaine : 
 
 
 Are all bestow'd on me in vaine. 
 
 20 
 
 And these He prove : 
 So will thy love 
 Be all bestowed on me in vaine. 
 
 
 I have elsewhere vowed a dutie ; 
 
 
 50 
 
 Turne away thy tempting eye: 
 
 
 
 
 Shew not me a painted beautie ; 
 
 
 I doe scorn to vow a dutie, 
 
 
 These impostures I defie: 
 
 
 Where each lustful! lad may wooe : 
 
 
 My spirit lothes 
 
 25 
 
 Give me her, whose sun-like beautie 
 
 
 Where gawdy clothes 
 
 
 Buzzards dare not scare unto : 
 
 
 And fained othes may love obtaine: 
 
 
 Shee, shee it is 
 
 55 
 
 I love her so, 
 
 
 Affoords that blisse 
 
 
 Whose looke sweares No ; 
 
 . 
 
 For which I would refuse no paine : 
 
 
 That all your labours will be vaine. 
 
 30 
 
 IT 
 
 But such as you, 
 
 
 Can he prize the tainted posies, 
 
 
 Fond fooles, adieu ; 
 
 
 Which on every brest are worne ; 
 
 
 You seeke to captive me in vaine. 
 
 GO 
 
 That may plucke the virgin roses 
 
 
 
 
 From their never-touched thorne? 
 
 
 Leave me then, you Syrens, leave me; 
 
 
 I can goe rest 
 
 35 
 
 Seeke no more to worke my harmes : 
 
 
 On her sweet brest, 
 
 
 Craftie wiles cannot deceive me. 
 
 
 That is the pride of Cynthia's traine : 
 
 
 Who am proofe against your charmes 
 
 
 Then stay thy tongue ; 
 
 
 You labour may 
 
 G5 
 
 Thy mermaid sono- 
 
 
 To lead astray 
 
 
 Is all bestowed on me in vaine. 
 
 40 
 
 The heart, that constant shall remaine: 
 And I the while 
 
 
 Hee's a foole, that basely dallies. 
 
 
 Will sit and smile 
 
 
 Where each peasant mates with him : 
 
 
 To hear you spend your time in vaine. 
 
 70 
 
 
 YI 
 
 II. 
 
 
 ®je Spiiis^ ffirg 
 
 in, 
 
 ar MttU 0f |eal0ttsg» 
 
 
 The subject of this ballad is taken fro 
 
 m a 
 
 All tender hearts, that ake to hear 
 
 
 folio collection of tragical stories, entitled. 
 
 Of those that suffer wrong ; 
 
 
 "The theatre of God's judgments, by 
 
 Dr. 
 
 All you, that never shed a tear, 
 
 
 Beard and Dr. Taylor, 1642." Pt. 2, p. 
 
 89. 
 
 Give heed unto my song. 
 
 
 — The text is given (with corrections) f 
 
 i-om 
 
 
 
 two copies; one of them in black-letter in 
 
 the 
 
 Fair Isabella's tragedy 
 
 5 
 
 Pepys Collection. In this every stanza is ac- 
 
 My tale doth far exceed : 
 
 
 companied with the following distich by way 
 
 Alas, that so much cruelty 
 
 
 of burden : 
 
 
 In female hearts should breed ! 
 In Spain a lady liv'd of late, 
 
 
 " Oh jealousie ! thou art nurst in hell : 
 
 
 Who was of high degree ; 
 
 10 
 
 Depart from hence, and therein dwell." 
 
 
 Whose wayward temper did create 
 Much woe and misery. 
 
 
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 25 
 
 Her bitter taunts would bear, 
 While oft adown her lovely cheek 
 
 Would steal the falling tear. 
 
 In vain in humble sort she strove 
 
 Her fury to disarm ; 30 
 
 As well the meekness of the dove 
 The bloody hawke might charm. 
 
 Her lord, of humour light and gay, 
 
 And innocent the while, 
 As oft as she came in his way, 35 
 
 Would on the damsell smile. 
 
 And oft before his lady's face, 
 
 As thinking her her friend. 
 He would the maiden's modest grace 
 
 And comeliness commend. 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. 
 
 For on a day it so befell, 45 
 
 When he was gone from home, 
 
 The lady all with rage did swell, 
 And to the damsell come. 
 
 And charging her with great ofience 
 And many a grievous fault ; 50 
 
 She bade her servants drag her thence, 
 Into a dismal vault, 
 
 That lay beneath the common-shore : 
 
 A dungeon dark and deep : 
 Where they were wont, in days of yore, 55 
 
 Offenders great to keep. 
 
 There never light of chearful 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 ; 
 
 Her malice to content. 
 
 This maid no sooner enter'd is. 
 
 But strait, alas ! she hears 70 
 
 The toads to croak, and snakes to hiss : 
 
 Then grievously she fears. 
 
 Soon from their holes the vipers creep, 
 
 And fiercely her assail : 
 Which makes the damsel sorely weep, 75 
 
 And her sad fate bewail. 
 
 With her fair hands she strives in vain 
 
 Her body to defend : 
 With shrieks and cries she doth complain, 
 
 But all is to no end. 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 85 
 
 To mark the maiden's groans ; 
 
 And plainly hears, within the den. 
 How she herself bemoans. 
 
 Again he to his lady hies 
 
 With all the haste he may : 90 
 
 She into furious passion flies, 
 
 And orders him away. 
 
 Still back again does he return 
 
 To hear her tender cries ; 
 The virgin now had ceas'd to mourn ; 95 
 
 Which fill'd him with surprize. 
 
 In grief, and horror, and affright, 
 
 He listens at the walls ; 
 But finding all was silent quite. 
 
 He to his lady calls. 100 
 
JEALOUSY, TYRANT OF THE MIND. 407 
 
 
 Too sure, lady, now quoth he, 
 
 The other close her neck embrac'd, 115 
 
 Your cruelty hath sped ; 
 
 And stopt her gentle breath. 
 
 
 Make hast, for shame, and come and see ; 
 
 
 
 I fear the virgin's d^ad. 
 
 The snakes, being from her body thrust, 
 Their bellies were so fill'd. 
 
 
 She starts to hear her sudden fate, 105 
 
 That with excess of blood they burst. 
 
 
 And does with torches run : 
 
 Thus with their prey were kill'd. 120 
 
 
 But all her haste was now too late, 
 
 
 
 For death his worst had done. 
 
 The wicked lady, at this sight, 
 With horror strait ran mad ; 
 
 
 The door being open'd, strait they found 
 
 So raving dy'd, as was most right, 
 
 
 The virgin stretch'd along : 110 
 
 'Cause she no pity had. 
 
 
 Two dreadful snakes had wrapt her round, 
 
 
 
 Which her to death had stung. 
 
 Let me advise you, ladies all, 125 
 Of jealousy beware: 
 
 
 One round her legs, her thighs, her wast. 
 
 It causeth many a one to fall, 
 
 
 Had twin'd his fatal wreath : 
 
 And is the devil's snare. 
 
 
 I] 
 
 K.. 
 
 
 |eal0W5S, %ant 0f % flinly. 
 
 
 This song is by Dryden, being inserted in 
 
 In absence, or unkind disdaine, 
 
 
 his Tragi-Comedy of *' Love Triumphant," 
 
 Sweet hope relieves the lovers paine : 
 
 
 &c. — On account of the subject, it is inserted 
 
 But, oh, no cure but death we find 
 
 
 here. 
 
 To sett us free 
 
 
 
 From jealousie, 15 
 
 
 What state of life can be so blest, 
 
 Thou tyrant, tyrant of the mind. 
 
 
 As love that warms the gentle brest ; 
 
 
 
 Two souls in one ; the same desire 
 
 False in thy glass all objects are. 
 
 
 to grant the bliss, and to require? 
 
 Some sett too near, and some too far : 
 
 
 If in this heaven a hell we find, 5 
 
 Thou art the fire of endless night. 
 
 
 Tis all from thee. 
 
 The fire that burns, and gives no light. 20 
 
 
 Jealousie ! 
 
 All torments of the damn'd we find 
 
 
 Thou tyrant, tyrant of the mind. 
 
 In only thee, 
 Jealousie ! 
 
 
 All other ills, though sharp they prove. 
 
 Thou tyrant, tyrant of the mind. 
 
 
 Serve to refine and perfect love : 10 
 
 
 
 52 
 
 
 
408 
 
 CONSTANT PENELOPE. 
 
 X. 
 
 C0nstHut |titd0p. 
 
 The ladles are indebted for the following 
 notable documents to the Pep^'s Collection, 
 where the original is preserved in black-letter, 
 and is entitled "A L iokinsi-^-lass 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 Ilellen, beauty's queen ; 
 
 Ulysses, general so free, 5 
 
 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 ; 10 
 
 Her ladies all about iier 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 ; 15 
 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 ; 20 
 
 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, 25 
 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 : 30 
 
 Thou god, whose power is in the deep, 
 And rulest in the ocean main. 
 
 My loving lord in safety keep 
 Till he return to me again : 
 
 That I his person may behold, 35 
 
 To me more precious far than gold. 
 
 Then straight the ships with nimble sails 
 Were all convey 'd out of her sight: 
 
 Iler 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, 45 
 
 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 ; 50 
 
 Iler fjime Avas noised every where, 
 
 To young and old the same was known. 
 
 That she no company would mind, 
 
 AVho were to vanity inclin'd. 
 
 Menu while Ulj'sses 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 ftiir, 
 
 No lady might with her compare. 
 
 55 
 
 CO 
 
 With costly gifts and jewels fine, 
 They did endeavour her to wdn ; 
 
 With banquets and the choicest wine. 
 For to allure her unto sin : 
 
 Most persons were of high degree, 65 
 
 AVho 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: 70 
 
 But constant she would still remain, 
 
 Ilopeing to see him. once again. 
 
 Iler book her dayly comfort wa^^ 
 And that she often did peruse; ' 
 
 She seldom looked in her glass ; 75 
 
 Powder and paint she ne'er would use. 
 
 I wish all ladies were as free 
 
 From pride, as was Penelope. 
 
VALENTINE 
 
 AND URSINE. 409 
 
 
 She in lier needle took delight, 
 
 To see the towers to ashes turn'd: 
 
 And likewise in her spinning-wheel ; 80 
 
 Then came Ulysses home to see 95 
 
 
 Iler maids about her every night 
 
 His constant, dear, Penelope. 
 
 
 Did use the distaff and the reel : 
 
 
 
 The spiders, that on rafters twine, 
 
 blame her not if she was glad. 
 
 
 Scarce spin a thread more soft and fine. 
 
 When she her lord again had seen. 
 Thrice-welcome home, my dear, she said, 
 
 
 Sometimes she would bewail the loss 85 
 
 A long time absent thou hast been: 100 
 
 
 And absence of her dearest love : 
 
 The wars shall never more deprive 
 
 
 Sometimes she thought the seas to cross, 
 
 Me of my lord whilst I'm alive. 
 
 
 Her fortune on the waves to prove. 
 
 
 
 I fear my lord is slain, quoth she, 
 
 Fair ladies all, example take; 
 
 
 He stays so from Penelope. 90 
 
 And hence a worthy lesson learn. 
 All youthful follies to forsake, 105 
 
 
 At length the ten years siege of Troy 
 
 And vice from virtue to discern: 
 
 
 Did end ; in flames the city burned ; 
 
 And let all women strive to be 
 
 
 And to the Grecians was great joy, 
 
 As constant as Penelope. 
 
 
 X 
 
 I. 
 
 
 ®0 fumk, m §m^ t0 % ®m. 
 
 
 By Col. Richard Lovelace: from the vol- 
 
 True, a new mistresse now I chase, 5 
 
 
 ume of his poems, entitled " Lucasta, Lond., 
 
 The first foe in the field ; 
 
 
 1G49," 12mo. The elegance of this writer's 
 
 And with a stronger faith imbrace 
 
 
 manner would be more admired if it had 
 
 A sword, a horse, a shield. 
 
 
 somewhat more of simplicity. 
 
 Yet this inconstancy is such, 
 
 
 Tell me not, sweet, I am. unkinde, 
 
 As you too shall adore ; 10 
 
 
 That from thejnunnerie 
 
 I could not love thee, deare, so much, 
 
 
 Of thy chaste breast and quiet minde 
 
 Lov'd I not honour more. 
 
 
 To warre and armes I flie. 
 
 
 
 X] 
 
 I. 
 
 
 fahntin^ a 
 
 nli Irsin^ 
 
 
 The old story-book of Valentine and Orson 
 
 " Over the dyke a bridge there lay, 
 
 
 (which suggested the plan of this tale, but is 
 
 That man and beest might passe away: 
 
 
 not strictly followed in it) w\as originally a 
 
 Under the bridge where sixty belles; 
 
 
 translation from the French, being one of 
 
 Right as the Romans telles ; 
 
 
 their earliest attempts at romance. See " Le 
 
 That there might no man passe in, 
 
 
 Bibliotheque de Romans, &c." 
 
 But all they rang with a gyn.'' 
 
 
 The circumstance of the bridge of bells is 
 
 Sign. E. iv. 
 
 
 taken from the old metrical legend of Sir 
 
 
 
 Bevis, and has also been copied in the Seven 
 
 In the Editor's folio MS., was an old poem 
 
 
 Champions. The original are, 
 
 on this subject, in a wretched corrupt state, 
 
 
410 
 
 VALENTINE AND URSINE. 
 
 unworthy the press : from which were taken 
 such particulars as could be adopted. 
 
 PART THE FIRST. 
 
 When Flora 'gins to decke the fields 
 
 With colours fresh and fine, 
 Then holy clerkes their mattins sing 
 
 To good Saint Valentine ! 
 
 The King of France that morning fair 5 
 
 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 ; 10 
 
 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 15 
 
 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. 
 
 20 
 
 The sudden sight surpriz'd them all ; 
 
 The courtiers gathered 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 : 
 
 25 
 
 30 
 
 35 
 
 And look me out some cunning nurse ; 
 
 Well nurtur'd let him bee ; 
 Nor ought be wanting that becomes 
 
 A bairn of high degree. 40 
 
 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 peers; 
 
 And shew'd in all he spake or did 
 A wit beyond his jears. 
 
 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. 
 
 45 
 
 50 
 
 And now the early downe began 
 
 To shade his youthful chin ; 
 When Valentine was dubb'd a knight, 55 
 
 That he might glory^ win. 
 
 A boon, a boon, my gracious liege, 
 
 I beg a boon of thee ! 
 The first adventure that befalls, 
 
 May be reserv'd for mee. 60 
 
 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 : 66 
 
 From Artoys forest we be come, 
 
 With weak and wearye feet. 
 
 Within those deep and drearye woods 
 There wends a savage boy ; 70 
 
 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. 76 
 
 To more than savage strength he joins 
 
 A more than human skill : 
 For arms, ne cunning may suffice 
 
 His cruel rage to still : 80 
 
 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. 
 
VALENTINE AND URSINE. 
 
 411 
 
 Well mounted on a milk-white steed, 85 
 
 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 ; 90 
 
 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 : 95 
 
 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. 100 
 
 Soon as Sir Valentine approached, 
 He starts with sudden spring ; 
 
 And yelling forth a hideous howl, 
 He made the forests ring. 
 
 As when a tyger fierce and fell 105 
 
 Hath spyed a passing roe, 
 And leaps at once upon his throat ; 
 
 So sprung the savage foe ; 
 
 So lightly leap'd with furious force 
 The gentle knight to seize : 110 
 
 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, 115 
 
 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. 120 
 
 Then lighting nimbly from his steed, 
 
 He drew his burnisht brand: 
 The savage quick as lightning flew 
 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. 
 
 125 
 
 Now with redoubled rage he roar'd ; 
 
 His eye-ball flash'd with fire ; 130 
 
 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 135 
 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. 140 
 
 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 145 
 
 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, 150 
 
 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, 155 
 
 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. 160 
 
 And 'cause with beares he erst was bred. 
 
 Ursine they call his name ; 
 A name which unto future times 
 
 The Muses shall proclame. 
 
 PART THE SECOND. 
 
 In high renown with prince and peere 
 
 Now liv'd Sir Valentine : 
 His high renown with prince and peere 
 
 Made envious hearts repine. 
 
 It chanc'd the king upon a day 5 
 
 Prepar'd a sumptuous feast: 
 And there came lords, and dainty dames, 
 
 And many a noble guest. 
 
412 VALENTmE 
 
 AND URSINE. 
 
 
 Amid their cups, that freely flowed, 
 
 IMad and outrageous with the pain, 
 
 
 Their revelry and mirth, 10 
 
 He whiil'd his mace of steel: 
 
 
 A youthful knight taxM A^alentino 
 
 The \Q"y wind of such a blow 
 
 55 
 
 Of base and doubtful biith. 
 
 Had made the champion reel. 
 
 
 The foul reproach, so g;r0vssly urg'd, 
 
 It haply mist; and now the knight 
 
 
 His generous heart di^l wound: 
 
 His glittering sword display'd. 
 
 
 And strait he vow'd he iie'er would rest 15 
 
 And riding round with whirhvind speed \ 
 
 Till he his parents found. 
 
 Oft made him feel the blade. 
 
 60 
 
 Then bidding king and peers adieu, 
 
 As Avhen a large and monstrous oak 
 
 
 Early one summer's day. 
 
 Unceasing axes how : 
 
 
 With faithful Ursine by his side, 
 
 So fast around the gyant's limbs 
 
 
 From court he took his way. 20 
 
 The blows quick-darting fiew. 
 
 
 O'er hill and valley, moss and moor, 
 
 As when the boughs w-ith hideous fal 
 
 65 
 
 For many a day they pass ; 
 
 Some hapless woodman crush : 
 With such a force the enormous foe 
 
 
 At length, upon a moated lake, 
 
 
 They found a bridge of brass. 
 
 Did on the champion rush. 
 
 
 Beyond it rose a castle fair, 25 
 Y-built of marble stone : 
 
 
 
 A fenrful blow, alas ! there came, 
 
 
 The battlements were gilt with gold, 
 
 Both horse and knight it took. 
 
 70 
 
 And glittred in the sun. 
 
 And laid them senseless in the dust; 
 
 
 So fatal was the stroke. 
 
 
 Beneath the bridge, with strange device, 
 
 
 
 A hundred bells were hung ; 30 
 
 Then smiling forth a hideous grin, 
 
 
 That man, nor beast, might pass thereon, 
 
 The gyant strides in haste, 
 
 
 But strait their larum rung 
 
 And, stooping, aims a second stroke: 
 •' Now caytifF breathe thy last I" 
 
 75 
 
 This quickly found the vouthful pair, 
 
 
 
 Who boldly crossing o'er. 
 
 But ere it fell, two thundering blow^s 
 
 
 The jangling sound bedeaft their ears, 35 
 
 Upon his scull descend: 
 
 
 And rung from shore to shore. 
 
 From Ursine's knotty club they came. 
 
 
 
 Who ran to save his friend. 
 
 80 
 
 Quick at the sound the castle gates 
 
 
 
 Unlock'd and opened wide, 
 
 Down sunk the gyant gaping wide. 
 
 
 And strait a gyant huge and grim 
 
 And rolling his grim eyes: 
 
 
 Stalk'd forth with stately pride. 40 
 
 The hairy youth repeats his blows : 
 
 
 Now yield you, caytiffs, to my will ; 
 
 He gasps, he groans, he dies. 
 
 
 He cried with hideous roar; 
 
 
 
 Or else the wolves shall eat your flesh. 
 
 Quickly Sir Valentine reviv'd 
 With Ursine's timely care : 
 
 85 
 
 And ravens drink your gore. 
 
 And now to search the castle walls 
 
 
 Vain boaster, said the youthful knight, 45 
 
 The venturous youths repair. 
 
 
 I scorn thy threats and thee : 
 
 
 
 I trust to force thy brazen gates. 
 
 The blood and bones of murder'd knights | 
 
 And set thy captives free. 
 
 They found where'er they came : 
 At length within a lonely cell 
 
 90 
 
 Then putting spurs unto his steed. 
 
 They saw a mournful dame. 
 
 
 He aim'd a dreadful thrust; 50 
 
 Her gentle eyes were dim'd with tears 
 
 
 The spear against the gyant glanc'd, 
 And caus'd the blood to burst. 
 
 Her cheeks were pale with woe : 
 
 
 
 And long Sir Valentine besought 
 Her doleful tale to know. 
 
 95 
 
 Ver. 23, i e. a lake that served for a moat to a castle. 
 
VALENTINE AND URSINE. 
 
 413 
 
 "Alas! youn;; knight," she weeping said, 
 
 Condole m}' wreichod fate ; 
 A childless mother litn-e you sec ; 
 
 A wife without a mate. 100 
 
 *' These twenty winters here forlorn 
 
 I've drawn my hated breath ; 
 S.)le witness (jf a m.)nster's crimes, 
 
 And wishing aye for death. 
 
 " Know, I am sister of a king, 105 
 
 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 : 110 
 
 When, lo ! a foul and treacherous priest 
 Y-wrought our loves' decay. 
 
 " His seeming goodness wan him pow'r ; 
 
 lie had his master's ear: 
 And long to me and all the world 115 
 
 , /' lie did a saint appear. 
 
 "One day, when we were all alone. 
 
 He proff'er'd odious love: 
 The wretch with horrour I repuls'd. 
 
 And from my presence drove. 120 
 
 *' lie 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, 125 
 
 My goodness he repay'd : 
 With jealous doubts he fill'd my lord, 
 
 And me to woe betray 'd. 
 
 " He hid a slave within my bed. 
 
 Then rais'd a bitter cry. 130 
 
 My lord, possest with rage, condemned 
 Me, all unheard, to dye. 
 
 " But, 'cause I then was great with child, 
 
 At length my life he spar'd: 
 But bade me instant quit the realme, 135 
 
 One trusty knight my guard. 
 
 *' Forth on my journey I depart, 
 
 Opprest with grief and woe ; 
 And towards my brother's distant court, 
 
 With breaking heart, I goc. 140 
 
 " 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, 14G 
 
 My childbed pains so fjist increast 
 Two lovely boys were born. 
 
 " The eldest fair, and smooth, as snow 
 That tips the mountain hoar: 150 
 
 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 155 
 
 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. 160 
 
 " But all forewearied, weak and spent, 
 
 I quickly swoon'd away ; 
 And there beneath the greenwood shade 
 
 Long time I lifeless lay. 
 
 "At length the knight brought me relief. 
 And rais'd me from the ground : 106 
 
 But neither of my pretty babes 
 Could ever more be found. 
 
 "And while in search we wander'd far. 
 We met that gyant grim ; 170 
 
 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 175 
 
 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. 180 
 
 For in your royal brother's court 
 
 Myself my breeding had ; 
 Where oft the story of your woes 
 
 Ilath made my bosom sad. 
 
414 
 
 THE DRAGON OF WANTLEY. 
 
 If so, know your accuser's dead, 185 
 
 And dying own'd his crime ; 
 And long your lord hath sought you out 
 
 Thro' every foreign clime. 
 
 And when no tidings he could learn 
 Of his much-wronged wife, 190 
 
 He vow'd thenceforth within his court 
 To lead a hermit's life. 
 
 Now heaven is kind ! the lady said ; 
 
 And dropt a joyful tear: 
 Shall I once more behold my lord ? 195 
 
 That lord I love so dear ? 
 
 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 brothers 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 chear 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. *** 
 
 — ♦t*' 
 
 XIII. 
 
 ®p grapn at Wimtlq. 
 
 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. 
 
THE DRAGON OF WANTLEY. 
 
 415 
 
 fio;bt by a young 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 ryght therein. 
 •}«• * -x- * 
 
 Than was he glad without fayle. 
 And rested a whyle for his avayle ; 
 And dranke of that water his fyll ; 
 And than he lepte out, with good wyll, 
 And with Morglay his brande 
 He assayled the dragon, I understande : 
 On the dragon he smote so faste, 
 Where that he hit the scales braste : 
 The dragon then faynted sore, 
 And cast a galon and more 
 Out of his mouthe of venim strong, 
 And on Syr Bevis he it flong: 
 It was venymous y-wis. 
 
 This seems to be meant by the Dragon of 
 Wantley's stink, ver. 110, As the politic 
 knight's creeping out, and attacking the dra- 
 gon, &c., seems evidently to allude to the fol- 
 lowing ; 
 
 Bevis blessed himselfe, 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 fyght 
 
 Betwene the dragon and that knyght ; 
 
 But ever whan Syr Bevis was hurt sore, 
 
 He went to the well, and washed him thore ; 
 
 He was as hole as any man, 
 
 Ever freshe as whan he began. 
 
 The dragon sawe it might not avayle 
 
 Besyde the well to hold batayle ; 
 
 He thought he would, wyth some wyle, 
 
 Out of that place Bevis begyle ; 
 
 He woulde have flowen then awaye, 
 
 But Bevis lepte after with good Morglaye, 
 
 And hyt him under the wynge, 
 
 As he was in his flyenge, &c. 
 
 Sign. M. jv. L. j. &c, 
 53 
 
 After all, perhaps the writer of this ballad 
 was acquainted with the above incidents only 
 through the medium of Spenser, who has as- 
 sumed 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 
 long tayl — with stings — his cruel rending 
 clawes — and yron teeth — his breath of smo- 
 thering smoke and sulphur" — and the dura- 
 tion 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 writ- 
 ten 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, col- 
 lated with such others as could be procured. 
 
 Old stories tell how Hercules^ 
 
 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, 5 
 
 Or he had ne'er done it, I warrant ye : 
 But More of More-Hall, with nothing at all, 
 He slew the dragon of Wantley. 
 
 This dragon had two furious wings, ■ 
 
 Each one upon each shoulder ; 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 teeth of iron ; 
 With a hide as tough as any buff, 15 
 
 Which did him round environ. 
 
 Have you not hear^ 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, 
 
 Some say he ate up trees. 
 And that the forests sure he would 
 
 Devour up by degrees : 
 
 25 
 
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 ; 
 there and then was this dragon's den, 
 You could not chuse but spy it. 40 
 
 r 
 
 ! 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 lodging. 
 And made a hideous noise : 60 
 
 save us all. More of More-hall, 
 
 Thou peerless knight of these woods ; 
 Do but slay this dragon, who won't leave us a 
 rag on. 
 We'll give thee all our goods. 
 
 /Tut, tut, quoth he, no goods I want ; 65 
 j 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 Shefiield town ; 
 With spikes all about, not within but without, 
 
 Of steel so sharp and strong ; 
 Both behind and before, arms, legs, and all 
 o'er, 
 Some five or six inches long. 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,~--t 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 nay 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. 
 
THE DRAGON OF WANTLEY. 
 
 417 
 
 Our politick knight, on the other side, 
 
 Crept out upon the brink, 
 And gave the dragon such a douse, 115 
 He knew not what to think : 
 By cock, quoth he, say you so, do you see ? 
 
 And then at him he let fly 
 With hand and with foot, and so they went 
 to^t; 
 And the word it was, Hey boys, hey ! 120 
 
 Your words, quoth the dragon, I don't un- 
 derstand ; 
 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 125 
 
 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, 130 
 
 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, 135 
 
 /-vAnd hit him a kick on the a . . . 
 
 / Oh, quoth the dragon, with a deep sigh. 
 And turn'd six times together, 
 Sobbing and tearing, cursing and swearing 
 Out of his throat of leather ; 
 More of More-hall ! thou rascal ! 140 
 
 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, 145 
 \ Alack, alack, for grief: 
 
 Had you but mist that place, you could 
 Have done me no mischief. 
 Then his head he shaked, trembled and 
 quaked. 
 And down he laid and cry'd ; 150 
 
 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 communica- 
 ted 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 
 above forty years ago : and it being a woody 
 rocky place, my friend made me clamber 
 over rocks and stones, not telling me to what 
 end, till I came to a sort of cave ; then asked 
 my opinion of the place, and pointing to one 
 end, says. Here lay the Dragon killed by 
 Moor of Moor-Hall : here lay his head ; here 
 lay his tail ; and the stones we came over on 
 the hill, are those he could not crack ; and 
 yon white house you see half a mile off, is 
 Moor-Hall. I had dined at the lodge, and 
 knew the man's name was Matthew, who was 
 a keeper to Mr. Wortley, and, as he endea- 
 voured to persuade me, was the same Mat- 
 thew 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. 
 
 fit Since the former editions of this hu- 
 morous old song were printed, the following 
 " Key to the Satire," hath been communica- 
 ted 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 Warncliffe Wood 
 (vulgarly pronounced Wantley), are in the 
 parish of Penniston, in Yorkshire. The rec- 
 tory 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 fa- 
 vour 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 
 
418 
 
 ST. GEORGE FOR ENGLAND. 
 
 part of a large purchase made by Ralph Bos- 
 ville, 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 re- 
 lates 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 Wort- 
 ley, the son of Nicholas, attempted again to 
 take the tithes in kind : but the parishioners 
 subscribed an agreement to defend their mo- 
 dus. 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 bot- 
 tom 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. Bos- 
 ville's Manor Court at Oxspring, and pays a 
 rose a year. " More of More-hall, with no- 
 thing 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 Wordesworth, the freehold lord of the 
 manor (for it is the copyhold manor that be- 
 longs 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 
 Wordesworth are the only lands that pay 
 tithes in the parish. 
 
 N. B. The "two days and a night," men- 
 tioned in ver. 125, as the duration of the com- 
 bat, was probably that of the trial at law. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Bl §tiiqt fax €n^lmh 
 
 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 un- 
 connected parts, so frequent in many of 
 them. 
 
 This ballad is given from an old black-letter 
 copy in the Pepys Collection, " imprinted at 
 London, 1612." It is more ancient than 
 many of the preceding ; but we place it here 
 
 for the sake of connecting it with the Second 
 Part. 
 
 Why doe you boast of Arthur and his 
 knightes, 
 
 Knowing 'well' how many men have en- 
 dured fightes ? 
 
 For besides King Arthur, and Lancelot du 
 lake. 
 
 Or Sir Tristram de Lionel, that fought for 
 ladies sake ; 
 
ST. GEORGE FOR ENGLAND. 
 
 419 
 
 Read in old histories, and there you shall 
 
 see 
 How St. George, St. George the dragon 
 made to flee. 
 St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis 
 was for France ; 
 Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. 
 
 Mark our father Abraham, when first he 
 
 resckued Lot 
 Onely with his household, what conquest 
 
 there he got : 
 David was elected a prophet and a king, 
 He slew the great Goliah, with a stone 
 
 within a sling : 
 Yet these were not knightes of the table 
 
 round ; 
 Nor St. George, St. George, who the dragon 
 
 did confound. 
 St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis 
 
 was for France ; 
 Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. 
 
 . Jephthah and Gideon did lead their men to 
 
 fight. 
 They conquered the Amorites, and put them 
 
 all to flight ; 
 Hercules his labours 'were' on the plaines 
 
 of Basse ; 
 And Sampson slew a thousand with the 
 
 jawbone of an asse, 
 And eke he threw a temple downe, and did 
 
 a mighty spoyle : 
 But St. George, St. George he did the dra- 
 gon foyle. 
 St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis 
 
 was for France ; 
 Sing, Soni 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 
 
 fighte : 
 Orlando Furioso he was a worthy knighte : 
 Remus and Romulus, were they that Rome 
 
 did builde : 
 But St. George, St. George the dragon made 
 
 to yielde. 
 St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis 
 
 was for France ; 
 Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. 
 
 The noble Alphonso, that was the Spanish 
 
 king, 
 The order of the red scarffes and bandroUes 
 
 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 main- 
 
 taine : 
 Rowland of Beame, and good * Sir' Oli- 
 
 vere 
 In the forest of Aeon slew both woolfe and 
 
 beare : 
 Besides that noble Hollander, ' Sir' Goward 
 
 with the bill : 
 But St. George, St. George the dragon's 
 
 blood did spill. 
 St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis 
 
 was for France ; 
 Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. 
 
 Valentine and Orson were of King Pepin's 
 
 blood : 
 Alfride and Henry they were brave knightes 
 
 and good : 
 The four sons of Aymon, that foUow'd 
 
 Charlemaine : 
 Sir Hughon of Burdeaux, and Godfrey of 
 
 BuUaine : 
 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 Knight- 
 hood, called the Order of the Band, instituted by Don Al- 
 phonsup, King of Spain, ... to wear a red ribband of three 
 fingers breadth," &c. See Ames' Typog. p. 327. 
 
420 
 
 ST. GEORGE FOR ENGLAND. 
 
 Bevis conquered Ascapart, and after slew 
 
 the boare, 
 And then he crost beyond the seas to com- 
 bat with the moore : 
 Sir Isenbras and Eglamore, they were 
 
 knightes most bold ; 
 And good Sir John Mandeville of travel 
 
 much hath told : 
 There were many English knights that 
 
 Pagans did convert : 
 But St. George, St. George pluckt out the 
 
 dragon's heart. 
 St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis 
 
 was for France ; 
 Sing, Honi soit qui mat y pense. 
 
 The noble Earl of Warwick, that was calFd 
 
 Sir Guy, 
 The infidels and pagans stoutlie did defie ; 
 He slew the giant Brandimore, and after 
 
 was the death 
 Of that most ghastly dun cowe, the divell 
 
 of Dunsmore heath ; 
 Besides his noble deeds all done beyond 
 
 the seas : 
 But St. George, St. George the dragon did 
 
 St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis 
 was for France ; 
 Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. 
 
 Richard Coeur-de-lion, erst king of this 
 
 land. 
 He the lion gored with his naked hand :^^ 
 The false Duke of Austria nothing did he 
 
 feare ; 
 But his son he killed with a boxe on the 
 
 eare: 
 
 Besides his famous actes done in the holy 
 
 lande : 
 But St. George, St. George the dragon did 
 withstande. 
 St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis 
 was for France ; 
 Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. 
 
 Henry the fifth he conquered all France, 
 
 And quartered their arms, his honour to 
 advance ; 
 
 He their cities razed, and threw their cas- 
 tles downe. 
 
 And his head he honoured with a double 
 crowne : 
 
 He thumped the French-men, and after 
 home he came ; 
 
 But St. George, St. George he did the dra- 
 gon tame. 
 St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis 
 was for France ; 
 Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. 
 
 St. David of Wales the Welsh-men much 
 
 advance : 
 St. Jaques of Spaine, that never yet broke 
 
 lance : 
 St. Patricke of Ireland, which was St. 
 
 Georges boy. 
 Seven yeares he kept his horse, and then 
 
 stole him away : 
 For which knavish act, as slaves they doe 
 
 remaine : 
 But St. George, St. George the dragon he 
 
 hath slain e. 
 St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis 
 
 was for France ; 
 Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. 
 
 XV 
 
 St. i^rp for €t^\uX 
 
 THE SECOND PART, 
 
 — Was written by John Grubb, M.A., of 
 Christ Church, Oxford. The occasion of its 
 being composed is said to have been as fol- 
 lows. A set of gentlemen of the university 
 
 * Alluding to the fabulous exploits attributed to this 
 king in the old romances. See the Dissertation prefixed to 
 the Third Series. 
 
 had formed themselves into a Club, all the 
 members of which were to be of the name of 
 George ; their anniversary feast was to be 
 held on St. George's day. Our Author soli- 
 cited strongly to be admitted ; but his name 
 being unfortunately John, this disqualifica- 
 tion was dispensed with only upon this condi 
 
ST. GEORGE FOR ENGLAND. 
 
 421 
 
 tion, that lie would compose a song in honour 
 of their Patron Saint, and would every year 
 produce one or more new stanzas, to be sung 
 on their annual festival. This gave birth to 
 the following humorous performance, the 
 several stanzas of which were the produce 
 of many successive anniversaries.* 
 
 This diverting poem was long handed about 
 in manuscript ; at length a friend of Grubb's 
 undertook to get it printed, who, not keep- 
 ing pace with the impatience of his friends, 
 was addressed in the following whimsical 
 macaronic lines, which, in such a collection 
 as this, may not improperly accompany the 
 poem itself. 
 
 EXPOSTULATIUNCULA, sivO QUERIMONIUN- 
 
 cuLA ad Antonium [Atherton] ob Poema 
 JoHANNis Grub 
 
 Viri 'fov coat/i; ingeniosissimi in lucem non- 
 dum edit. 
 
 ToNi ! Tune sines divina poemata Grubbi 
 Intomb'd in secret thus still to remain any 
 
 longer, 
 Tovvofx,a aov shall last, a rpvjSjSs Sta^rtspfj 
 
 Grubbe tuum nomen vivet dum nobilis ale-a 
 Efficit heroas, dignamque heroe puellam. 
 Est genus heroum, quos nobilis efficit ale-a 
 Qui pro niperkin clamant, quaternque liquoris 
 Quem vocitant Homines, Brandy, Superi 
 
 Cherry-brandy, 
 Sagpe illi long-cut, vel small-cut flare Tobacco 
 Sunt soliti pipes. Ast si generosior herba 
 (Per varies casus, per tot descrimina rerum) 
 Mundungus desit, tum non funcare recusant 
 Brown-paper tost^, vel quod fit arundine bed- 
 mat. 
 Hie labor, hoc opus est heroum ascedere 
 
 sedes ! 
 Ast ego quo rapiar? quo me feret entheus 
 
 ardor, 
 Grubbe tui memorem ? Divinum expande 
 
 poema. 
 Quae mora ? quse ratio est, quin Grubbi pro- 
 
 tinus anser 
 Virgilii, Flaccique 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 
 appeared the most natural order. The verses are properly- 
 long Alexandrines, hut the narrowness of the page made 
 it necessary to suhdivide them: they are here printed 
 with many improvements. 
 
 I At length the importunity of his friends 
 I 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. 
 Favete Unguis : carmina non prius 
 Audita, musarum sacerdos 
 
 Canto. HoR, 
 
 Sold by Henry Clements. Oxon. 
 
 / 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, 
 
 Y-cleped Caliburn, 10 
 
 Would cut a flint more easily 
 
 Than pen-knife cuts a corn ; 
 As case-knife does a capon carve. 
 
 So would it carve a rock 
 And split a man at single slash, 15 
 
 From noddle down to nock. 
 As Roman Augur's steel of yore 
 
 Dissected Tarquin's riddle, 
 So this would cut both conjurer 
 
 And whetstone thro' the middle. 20 
 
 He was the cream of Brecknock, 
 
 And flower of all the Welsh : 
 But George he did the dragon fell, 
 
 And gave him a plaguy squelsh 
 St. George he was for England; St. Dennis 
 was for France ; 25 
 
 Sing, Soni soit qui mal y pense. 
 
 Pendragon, like his father Jove, 
 
 Was fed with milk of goat ; 
 And like him made a noble shield 
 
 Of she-goat's shaggy coat: 30 
 
 On top of burnisht helmet he 
 
 Did wear a crest of leeks ; 
 And onions' heads, whose dreadful nod 
 ^ Drew tears down hostile cheeks. 
 Itch and Welsh blood did make him hot, 
 
 And very prone to ire ; 36 
 
 W was ting'd with brimstone, like a match, 
 
 And would as soon take fire. 
 
422 
 
 ST. GEORGE FOR ENGLAND. 
 
 As brimstone he took inwardly 
 
 When scurf gave him occasion, 40 
 
 His postern puff of wind was a 
 
 Sulphureous exhalation. 
 The Briton never tergivers'd, 
 
 But was for adverse drubbing, 
 And never turned his back to aught, 45 
 
 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. 50 
 
 He wounded, and, in their own blood, 
 
 Did anabaptize Pagans : 
 But George he made the dragon an 
 
 Example to all dragons. 
 St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis 
 was for France ; 55 
 
 Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. 
 
 Brave Warwick Guy, at dinner time, 
 
 Challeng'd a gyant savage ; 
 And streight came out the unwieldy lout 
 
 Brim-full of wrath and cabbage : 60 
 
 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 felPd him like an oak, 65 
 
 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, 70 
 
 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, 75 
 
 As bull-dogs did her father : 
 Grasiers, nor butchers this fell beast 
 
 E'er of her frolick hindred ; 
 John Dossetf she'd knock down as flat, 
 
 As John knocks down her kindred : 80 
 Her heels would lay ye all along. 
 
 And kick into a swoon ; 
 Frewin'sJ cow-heels keep up your corpse. 
 
 But hers would beat you down. 
 
 * Men of bulk answerable to tbeir places, as is well known 
 at Oxford. 
 
 f A butcber tbat then served the college. 
 
 X A cook, who on fast nights was famous for selling 
 cow-heel and tripe. 
 
 She vanquisht many a sturdy wight, 85 
 
 And proud was of the honour ; 
 Was pufft by mauling butchers so. 
 
 As if themselves had blown her. 
 At once she kickt, and pusht at Guy, 
 
 But all that would not fright him ; 90 
 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 : 96 
 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. 100 
 
 St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis 
 was for France ; 
 
 Sing, Ho7ii soit qui mal y -pense. 
 
 Tamerlain, with Tartarian bow. 
 
 The Turkish squadrons slew ; 
 And fetch'd the pagan crescent down, 105 
 
 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 : 110 
 
 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 115 
 
 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 : 120 
 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 125 
 
 Both beautiful and bold ; 
 She sear'd her breasts with iron hot. 
 
 And bang'd her foes with cold. 
 Her hand was like the tool, wherewith 
 
 Jove keeps proud mortals under : 130 
 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, 
 
ST. GEORGE FOE ENGLAND. 
 
 423 
 
 And melt the rapier of his soul, 135 
 
 In its corporeal scabbard. 
 Her beauty, and her drum to foes 
 
 Did cause amazement double ; 
 As timorous larks amazed are 
 
 With light and with a low-bell : 140 
 With beauty, and that lapland charm,* 
 
 Poor men she did bewitch all ; ' 
 
 Still a blind whining lover had, 
 
 As Pallas had her scrich-owl. 
 She kept the chastness of a nun 145 
 
 In armour, as in cloyster : 
 But George undid the dragon just 
 
 As you'd undo an oister, 
 St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis 
 was for France ; 
 
 Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. 150 
 
 Stout Hercules was offspring of 
 
 Great Jove and fair Alcmene : 
 One part of him celestial was, 
 
 One part of him terrene. 
 To scale the hero's cradle walls 155 
 
 Two fiery snakes combin'd. 
 And, curling into swaddling cloaths, 
 
 About the infant twin'd ; 
 But he put out these dragons' fires, 
 
 And did their hissing stop ; 160 
 
 As red-hot iron with hissing noise 
 
 Is quencht in blacksmith's shop. 
 He cleans'd a stable, and rubb'd down 
 
 The horses of new-comers ; 
 And out of horse- dung he rais'd fame 165 
 
 As Tom Wrenchf does cucumbers. 
 He made a river help him through ; 
 
 Alpheus was under-groom ; 
 The stream, disgust at office mean, 
 
 Ran murmuring thro' the room : 170 
 This liquid ostler to prevent 
 
 Being tired with that long work, 
 His father Neptune's trident took. 
 
 Instead of three-tooth'd dung-fork. 
 This Hercules, as soldier, and 175 
 
 As spinster, could take pains ; 
 His club would sometimes spin ye flax, 
 
 And sometimes knock out brains : 
 H' was forc'd to spin his miss a shift 
 
 By Juno's wrath and hfer-spite ; 180 
 
 Fair Omphale whipt him to his wheel, 
 
 As cook whips barking turn-spit. 
 From man, or churn, he well knew how 
 
 To get him lasting fame : 
 
 * The drum. 
 
 t Who kept Paradise Gardens at Oxford. 
 
 54 
 
 He'd pound a giant, till the blood, 185 
 
 And milk till butter came. 
 Often he fought Avith huge battoon, 
 
 And oftentimes he boxed ; 
 Tapt a fresh monster once a month, 
 
 As Hervey* doth fresh hogshead. 190 
 He gave Anteus such a hug. 
 
 As wrestlers give in Cornwall : 
 But George he did the dragon kill, 
 
 As dead as any door-nail. 
 St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis 
 was for France ; 195 
 
 Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. 
 
 The Gemini, sprung from an egg, 
 
 Were put into a cradle : 
 Their brains with knocks and bottled-ale. 
 
 Were often-times full addle : 200 
 
 And, scarcely hatched, these sons of him, 
 
 That hurls the bolt trisulcate. 
 With helmet-shell on tender head. 
 
 Did tustle with red-ey'd pole-cat. 
 Castor a horseman, Pollux tho' 205 
 
 , A boxer was, I wist : 
 The one was fam'd for iron heel : 
 
 Th' other for leaden fist. ^ 
 
 Pollux to shew he was a god. 
 
 When he was in a passion 210 
 
 With fist made noses fall down flat 
 
 By way of adoration : 
 This fist, as sure as French disease, 
 
 Demolish'd noses' ridges : 
 He, like a certain lordf was fam'd 215 
 
 For breaking down of bridges. 
 Castor the flame of fiery steed 
 
 With well-spur'd boots took down ; 
 As men, with leathern buckets, quench 
 
 A fire in country town. 220 
 
 His famous horse, that liv'd on oats, 
 
 Is sung on oaten quill ; 
 By bards' immortal provender 
 
 The nag surviveth still. 
 This shelly brood on none but knaves 225 
 
 Employ'd their brisk artillery : 
 And flew as naturally at rogues. 
 
 As eggs at thief in pillory. | 
 
 * A noted drawer at the Mermaid tavern in Oxford, 
 f Lord Lovelace broke down the bridges about Oxford, at 
 the beginning of the Revolution. See on this subject a 
 ballad in Smith's Poems, p. 102. Lend. 1713. 
 
 X It has been suggested by an ingenious correspondent, 
 that this was a popular subject at that time: 
 Not carted Bawd, or Dan de Foe, 
 In wooden RufiF ere blustered so. 
 
 Smith's Poems, p. 117. 
 
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 cleans'd from blood and 
 dust 
 
 To make a heavenly sign ; 
 The lads were, like their armour, scowr'd, 
 
 And then hung up to shine ; 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 periwig, 245 
 
 And curling snakes did powder. 
 These snakes they made stiff changelings 
 
 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, 255 
 
 And kept the army from town. 
 And changed the bullies into rocks. 
 
 That came t' invade Long-Compton.* 
 She post-diluvian stores unmans, 
 
 And Pyrrha's work unravels ; 260 
 
 And stares Deucalion's hardy boys 
 
 Into their primitive pebbles. 
 Red noses she to rubies turns, 
 
 And noddles into bricks : 
 But George made dragon laxative ; 265 
 
 And gave him a bloody flix. 
 St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis 
 was for France ; 
 Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. 
 
 By boar-spear Meleager got 
 
 An everlasting name, 
 And out of haunch of basted swine, 
 
 He hew'd eternal fame. 
 This beast each hero's trouzers ript. 
 
 And rudely shew'd his bare-breech. 
 
 270 
 
 * See the account of Rolriclit Stones, in Dr. Plott's Hist, 
 of Oxfordshire. 
 
 Pricktbut the wem, and out there came 275 
 
 Heroic guts and garbaclge. 
 Legs were secur'd by iron boots 
 
 No more than peas by peascods : 
 Brass helmets, with inclos'd sculls, 
 
 Wou'd crackle in's mouth like chesnuts. 
 His tawny hairs erected 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 asleep, 285 
 
 Nor horn, nor whip cou'd wake 'um : 
 It made them vent both their last blood, 
 
 And their last album-grecum. 
 But the knight gor'd him with his spear, 
 
 To make of him a tame one, 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 braAvn. 
 He sent his shade to shades below, 
 
 In Stygian mud to wallow ; 
 And eke the stout St. George eftsoon. 
 
 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 hinnible 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 pedagogue 315 
 
 Commits her dearest boy ; 
 Who bred him from a slender twig 
 
 To be the scourge of Troy ; 
 But ere he lasht the Trojans, h' was 
 
 In Stygian waters steept ; 320 
 
 As birch is soaked first in piss, ^ , 
 
 When boys are to be whipt. / 
 
 * Eradhurn, a gentleman commoner of Lincoln college, 
 gaye a silver arrow to he shot for hy the archers of the 
 nniversitj of Oxford. 
 
ST. GEORGE FOR ENGLAND. 
 
 425 
 
 With skin exceeding hard, he rose 
 
 From lake, so black and muddy, 
 As lobsters from the ocean rise, 325 
 
 With shell about their body : 
 And, as from lobster's broken claw, 
 
 Pick out the fish you might ; 
 So might you from one unshell'd heel 
 
 Dig pieces of the knight. 330 
 
 His myrmidons robb'd Priam's barns 
 
 And hen-roosts, says the song ; 
 Carried away both corn and eggs. 
 
 Like ants from whence they sprung. 
 Himself tore Hector's pantaloons, 335 
 
 And sent him down bare-breech'd 
 To pedant Radamanthus, in 
 
 A posture to be switched. 
 But George he made the dragon look. 
 
 As if he had been bewitch'd. 340 
 
 St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis 
 was for France ; 
 Sing, Honi soit qui mat y pense. 
 
 Full fatal to the Romans was 
 
 The Carthaginian Hanni- 
 bal ; him I mean, who gave them such 345 
 
 A devilish thump at Cannge : 
 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 : 350 
 Who, baffled by the massy rock, 
 
 Took vinegar for relief; 
 Like plowmen, when they hew their way 
 
 Thro' stubborn rump of beef. 
 As dancing louts from humid toes 355 
 
 Cast atoms of ill savour 
 To blinking Hyatt,f when on vile crowd 
 
 He merriment does endeavour. 
 And saws from sufi'ering timber out 
 
 Some wretched tune to quiver : 360 
 
 So Romans stunk and squeak'd at sight 
 
 Of Affrican carnivor. 
 The tawny surface of his phiz 
 
 Did serve instead of vizzard : 
 But George he made the dragon have 365 
 
 A grumbling in his gizzard. 
 St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis 
 was for France ; 
 Sing, Horii soit qui mal y pense. 
 
 The valour of Domitian, 
 It must not be forgotten ; 
 
 370 
 
 * Hannibal had but one eye. 
 
 t A one-eyed fellow, who pretended to make fiddles, as 
 well as play on them ; well known at that time in Oxford. 
 
 Who from the jaws of worm-blowing flies, 
 
 Protected veal and mutton. 
 A squadron of flies errant, 
 
 Against the foe appears ; 
 With regiments of buzzing knights, 375 
 
 And swarms of volunteers : 
 The warlike wasp encourag'd 'em 
 
 With animating hum ; 
 And the loud brazen hornet next. 
 
 He was their kettle-drum : 380 
 
 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, 385 
 
 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, 390 
 
 And slasht her so, that here lay head, 
 
 And there lay bag and honey : 
 Then 'mongst the rout he flew as swift, 
 
 As weapon made by Cyclops, 
 And bravely quell'd seditious buz, 395 
 
 By dint of massy fly-flops. 
 Surviving flies do curses breathe, 
 
 And maggots too at Caesar: 
 But George he shav'd the dragon's beard. 
 
 And Askelon"^- was his razor. 400 
 
 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 figure 
 among the Oxford wits so humorously enu- 
 merated in the following distich : 
 
 Alma novem genuit celebres Rhedj^cina 
 poetas 
 Bub, Stubb, Grubb, Crabb, Trap, Young, 
 Carey, Tickel, Evans. 
 
 These were Bub Dodington (the late Lord 
 Melcombe), 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. 
 
 As for our poet Grubb, all that we can 
 
 * The name of St. George's sword. 
 
426 MARGARET'S GHOST. 
 
 learn further of him, is contained in a feAv 
 
 Cujus variam in Unguis notitiam, 
 
 extracts from the University Register, and 
 
 et felicem erudiendis pueris industriam. 
 
 from his epitaph. It appears from the for- 
 
 grata adhuc memoria testatur Oxonium. 
 
 mer that he was matricukxted in 1667, being 
 
 Ibi enim JEdi Christi initiatus, 
 
 the son of John Grubb, " de Acton Burnel in 
 
 artes excoluit : 
 
 comitatu Salop, pauperis." He took his de- 
 
 Pueros ad easdem mox excolendas 
 
 gree of Bachelor of Arts, June 28, 1671 : and 
 
 accurate formavit : 
 
 became Master of Arts, June 28, 1675. He 
 
 Hue demum 
 
 was appointed Head Master of the Grammar 
 
 unanimi omnium consensu accitus, 
 
 School at Christ Church; and afterwards 
 
 eandem suscepit provinciam, 
 
 chosen into the same employment at Glou- 
 
 quam feliciter adeo absolvit, 
 
 cester, where he died in 1697, as appears 
 
 ut nihil optandum sit 
 
 from his monument in the church of St. 
 
 nisi ut diutius nobis interfuisset ? 
 
 Mary de Crypt in Gloucester, which is in- 
 
 Fuit enim 
 
 scribed with the following epitaph : 
 
 propter festivam ingenii suavitatem, 
 
 
 simplicem morum candorem, et 
 
 H. S. E. 
 
 prsecipuam erga cognatos benevolentiam 
 
 Johannes Grubb, A. M. 
 
 omnibus desideratissimus, 
 
 Natus apud Acton Burnel in agro Salopiensi 
 
 Obiit 2do die Aprilis, Anno D'ni, 1697, 
 
 Anno Dom. 1645. 
 
 ^tatis suae 51. 
 
 X^ 
 
 n. 
 
 ^npr^ 
 
 t's ^\nl 
 
 This ballad, which appeared in some of 
 
 Her face was like an April morn, 5 
 
 the public newspapers in or before the year 
 
 Clad in a wintry cloud : 
 
 1724, came from the pen of David Mallet, 
 
 And clay-cold was her lily hand. 
 
 Esq., who in the edition of his poems, 3 vols. 
 
 That held her sable shrowd. 
 
 1759, informs us that the plan was suggested 
 
 
 by the four verses quoted above in page 359, 
 
 So shall the fairest face appear, 
 
 which he supposed to be the beginning of 
 
 When youth and years are flown: 10 
 
 some ballad now lost. 
 
 Such is the robe that kings must wear, 
 
 " These lines, says he, naked of ornament, 
 
 When death has reft their crown. 
 
 and simple as they are, struck my fancy; 
 
 
 and bringing fresh into my mind an unhappy 
 
 Her bloom was like the springing flower, 
 
 That sips the silver dew ; 
 The rose was budded in her cheek, 15 
 
 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 
 
 Just opening to the view. 
 
 others elsewhere) had originally more of the 
 ballad simplicity, viz., 
 
 
 But love had, like the canker-worm. 
 
 
 Consumed her early prime : 
 
 "When all was wrapt in dark midnight, 
 And all were fast asleep," &c. 
 
 The rose grew pale, and left her cheek ; 
 
 She dy'd before her time. 20 
 
 'TwAS at the silent solemn hour, 
 
 "Awake !" she cry'd, " thy true love calls, 
 
 When night and morning meet ; 
 
 Come from her midnight grave ; 
 
 In glided Margaret's grimly ghost, 
 
 Now let thy pity hear the maid 
 
 And stood at William's feet. 
 
 Thy love refus'd to save. 
 
LUCY AND COLIN. 
 
 427 
 
 " This is the dark and dreary hour 25 
 
 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 : 30 
 
 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 ? 36 
 
 " 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 ? 40 
 
 " 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 ; 45 
 
 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 : 50 
 
 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, 55 
 
 Who died for love of you." 
 
 The lark sung loud ; the morning smiFd 
 
 With beams of rosy red : 
 Pale William shook in every limb, 
 
 And raving left his bed. 60 
 
 He hyed him to the fatal place 
 
 Where Margaret's body lay : 
 And stretch'd him on the grass-green turf. 
 
 That wrapt her breathless clay : 
 
 And thrice he calFd on Margaret's name. 
 And thrice he wept full sore : 66 
 
 Then laid his cheek to her cold grave. 
 And word spake never more. 
 
 ^ In a late publication, entitled " The 
 
 Friends, &c.,'' Lond., 1773, 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. 
 
 %ntu M)i €nUn 
 
 — ^Was vn-itten 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 Eosamond, 
 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 ; 
 
428 LUCY AND COLIN. 
 
 Nor e'er did Liffy's limpid stream 
 
 " To-morrow in the church to wed, 
 
 Reflect so fair a face. 
 
 Impatient, both prepare 
 
 
 But know, fond maid, and know, false youth, 
 
 Till luckless love and pining care 5 
 
 That Lucy will be there. 40 
 
 Impaired her rosy hue, 
 
 
 Her coral lip, and damask cheek, 
 
 " Then, bear my corse, ye comrades, bear, 
 
 And eyes of glossy blue. 
 
 The bridegroom blithe to meet ; 
 
 
 He in his wedding-trim so gay. 
 
 Oh ! have you seen a lily pale, 
 
 I in my winding-sheet.^' 
 
 When beating rains descend? 10 
 
 
 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 ; 46 
 
 
 He in his wedding-trim so gay. 
 
 By Lucy warn'd, of flattering swains 
 
 She in her winding-sheet. 
 
 Take heed, ye easy fair : 
 Of vengeance due to broken vows, 15 
 
 Then what were perjured Colin's thoughts ? 
 How were those nuptials kept? 50 
 
 Ye perjured swains beware. 
 
 r r 
 
 The bride-men flock'd round Lucy dead, 
 
 
 And all the village wept. 
 
 Three times, all in the dead of night, 
 
 
 A bell was heard to ring ; 
 
 Confusion, shame, remorse, despair, 
 
 And at her window, shrieking thrice, 
 
 At once his bosom swell : 
 
 The raven flap'd his wing. 20 
 
 The damps of death bedew'd his brow, 55 
 
 
 He shook, he groan'd, he fell. 
 
 Too v^ell the love-lorn maiden knew 
 
 
 That solemn boding sound ; 
 
 From the vain bride (ah, bride no more !) 
 
 And thus in dying words, bespoke 
 
 The varying crimson fled, 
 
 The virgins weeping round. 
 
 When, stretch'd before her rival's corse, 
 
 
 She saw her husband dead. 60 
 
 " I hear a voice you cannot hear, 25 
 
 
 Which says, I must not stay ; 
 I see a hand you cannot see, 
 Which beckons me away. 
 
 Then to his Lucy's new-made grave, 
 
 Convey'd by trembling swains. 
 One mould with her beneath one sod. 
 
 
 For ever now remains. 
 
 " By a false heart, and broken vows, 
 
 Oft at their grave the constant liind 65 
 
 In early youth I die. 30 
 
 And plighted maid are seen ; 
 
 Am I to blame, because his bride 
 
 With garlands gay, and true-love knots, 
 
 Is thrice as rich as I ? 
 
 They deck the sacred green. 
 
 "Ah Colin ! give not her thy vows ; 
 
 But, swain forsworn, whoe'er thou art. 
 
 Vows due to me alone : 
 
 This hallow'd spot forbear ; 70 
 
 Nor thou, fond maid, receive his kiss, 35 
 
 Remember Colin's dreadful fate, 
 
 Nor think him all thy own. 
 
 And fear to meet him there. 
 
THE BOY AND THE MANTLE. 
 
 429 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 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 
 MaDtel," quoted by M. de St. Palaye, in his 
 curious *' Memoires sur I'ancienne Chevale- 
 rie,'' Paris, 1759, 2 torn. 12mo. ; who tells us 
 the story resembles that of Ariosto's en- 
 chanted 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, His most likely that all the old sto- 
 ries 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 TAcad. des Inscrip., torn, 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 
 CouH Mantel, under a new title, Le Manteau 
 maliailU, 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 maintained his table round, 
 Beset with many a knight. 
 
 And there he kept his Christmas 5 
 
 "With mirth and princely cheare, 
 
 When, lo ! a straunge and cunning boy 
 Before him did appears. 
 
 A kirtle and a mantle 
 This boy had him upon. 
 
 With brooches, rings, and owches, 
 Full daintily bedone. 
 
 10 
 
 He had a sarke of silk 
 About his middle meet ; 
 
 And thus with seemely curtesy, 
 He did King Arthur greet. 
 
 15 
 
 " God speed thee, brave King Arthur, 
 
 Thus feasting in thy bowre ; 
 And Guenever thy goodly queen, 
 
 That fair and peerlesse flowre. 20 
 
 " Ye gallant lords, and lordings, 
 
 I wish you all take heed, 
 Lest, what you deem a blooming rose 
 
 Should prove a cankred weed.'' 
 
 25 
 
 Then straitway from his bosome 
 A little wand he drew ; 
 
 And with it eke a mantle 
 Of wondrous shape and hew. 
 
 ** Now have thou here. King Arthur, 
 Have this here of mee, 30 
 
 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 glaunced at his dame. 
 
 35 
 
 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 toe it shiver'd down. 
 As tho' with sheers beshradde. 
 
 One while it was too long. 
 Another while too short, 
 
 And wrinkled on her shoulders 
 In most unseemly sort, 
 
 40 
 
 45 
 
430 THE BOY AND THF, MANTLE. 
 
 Now green, now red it seemed, 
 
 Then all of sable hue. 50 
 " Beshrew me quoth King Arthur, 
 
 I think thou beest not true." 
 
 A saint his lady seemed, 
 With step demure and slow. 
 
 And gravely to the mantle 
 With mincing pace doth goe. 
 
 95 
 
 Down she threw the mantle, 
 
 Ne longer would not stay ; 
 But storming like a fury, 55 
 
 To her chamber flung away. 
 
 When she the same had taken, 
 That was so fine and thin. 
 
 It shrivelFd all about her. 
 And show'd her dainty skin. 
 
 100 
 
 She curst the whoreson weaver, 
 That had the mantle wrought : 
 
 And doubly curst the froward impe, 
 Who thither had it brought. 60 
 
 Ah ! little did her mincing, 
 Or his long prayers bestead ; 
 
 She had no more hung on her. 
 Than a tassel and a thread. 
 
 
 " I had rather live in desarts 
 Beneath the green-wood tree : 
 
 Than here, base king, among thy groomes. 
 The sport of them and thee." 
 
 Down she threwe the mantle, 
 With terror and dismay. 
 
 And, with a face of scarlet, 
 To her chamber hyed away. 
 
 105 
 
 Sir Kay call'd forth his lady, 65 
 
 And bade her to come near : 
 " Yet dame if thou be guilty, 
 
 I pray thee now forbear." 
 
 Sir Cradock call'd his lady, 
 And bade her to come neare ; 
 
 " Come win this mantle, lady, 
 And do me credit here. 
 
 no 
 
 This lady, pertly gigling, 
 
 With forward step came on, 70 
 And boldly to the little boy 
 
 With fearless face is gone. 
 
 " Come win this mantle, lady. 
 For now it vshall be thine, 
 
 If thou hast never done amiss, 
 Sith first I made thee mine." 
 
 115 
 
 When she had tane the mantle, 
 
 With purpose for to wear : 
 It shrunk up to her shoulder, 75 
 
 And left her b"**side bare. 
 
 The lady gently blushing. 
 With modest grace came on, 
 
 And now to trye the wondrous charm 
 Courageously is gone. 
 
 120 
 
 Then every merry knight, 
 
 That was in Arthur's court, 
 Gib'd and laught, and flouted. 
 
 To see that pleasant sport. % 80 
 
 When she had tane the mantle. 
 And put it on her backe. 
 
 About the hem it seemed 
 To wrinkle and to cracke. 
 
 
 Downe she threw the mantle, 
 
 No longer bold or gay, 
 But with a face all pale and wan, 
 
 To her chamber slunk away. 
 
 ** Lye still," shee cryed, " mantle ! 
 
 And shame me not for nought, 
 I'll freely own whate'er amiss, 
 
 Or blameful I have wrought. 
 
 125 
 
 Then forth came an old knight, 85 
 
 A pattering o'er his creed ; 
 And proffered to the little boy 
 
 Five nobles to his meed ; 
 
 " Once I kist Sir Cradocke 
 Beneathe the green wood tree : 
 
 Once I kist Sir Cradocke's mouth 
 Before he married mee." 
 
 130 
 
 " And all the time of Christmas 
 
 Plumb-porridge shall be thine, 90 
 
 If thou wilt let my lady fair 
 Within the mantle shine." 
 
 When thus she had her shriven, 
 And her worst fault had told, 
 
 The mantle soon became her 
 Right comely as it shold. 
 
 135 
 
THE BOY AND THE MANTLE. 
 
 431 
 
 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 145 
 
 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 : 150 
 
 Some threwe them under the table, 
 And swore that they had none. 
 
 Sir Cradock had a little knife, 
 
 Of steel and iron made ; 
 And in an instant thro' the skull 155 
 
 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. 1 60 
 
 The boy brought forth a home, 
 
 All golden was the rim : 
 Said he, " No cuckolde ever can 
 
 Set mouth unto the brim. 
 
 " No cuckold can this little home 165 
 
 Lift fairly to his head ; 
 But or on this, or that side, 
 
 He shall the liquor shed." 
 
 Some shed it on their shoulder. 
 
 Some shed it on their thigh ; 170 
 
 And hee that could not hit his mouth, 
 
 Was sure to hit his eye. 
 
 Thus he that was a cuckold, 
 
 Was known of every man: 
 But Cradock lifted easily, ' 175 
 
 And wan the golden can. 
 
 Thus boar's head, horn and mantle, 
 Were this fair couple's meed : 
 
 And all such constant lovers, 
 
 God send them well to speed. 180 
 
 Then down in rage came Guenever, 
 . And thus could spightful say, 
 55 
 
 *' Sir Cradock's wife most wrongfully 
 Hath borne the prize away. 
 
 " See yonder shameless woman, 185 
 
 That makes herselfe so clean : 
 
 Yet from her pillow taken 
 
 Thrice five gallants have been. 
 
 " Priests, clarkes, and wedded men. 
 
 Have her lewd pillow prest : 190 
 
 Yet she the wonderous prize forsooth 
 Must beare from all the rest." 
 
 Then bespake the little boy, 
 
 Who had the same in hold : 
 " Chastize thy wife. King Arthur, 195 
 
 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. 200 
 
 " All frolick light and wanton 
 She hath her carriage borne : 
 
 And given thee for a kingly crown 
 To wear a cuckold's home." 
 
 *** 
 
 ■^^■^ The Eev. 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 Earfron, one of 
 King Arthur's mistresses. She is said to 
 have possessed a mantle that would not fit 
 any immodest or incontinent woman ; this 
 (which the old writers say, was reckoned 
 among the curiosities of Britain) is frequently 
 alluded to by the old Welsh Bards. 
 
 C^LEiLE, 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- Wadling, &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. 
 
432 
 
 THE ANCIENT FRAGMENT OF 
 
 XIX. 
 
 %\t ^umt ix^mmt 0f t\t Itarriage nf Sir iatoaiiit 
 
 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, inaccuracies, 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, corrup- 
 tions, and nonsense of illiterate Reciters and 
 Transcribers had been superstitiously retain- 
 ed, 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 stan- 
 zas generally occur in the half-page now re- 
 maining, it is concluded that the other half 
 contained nearly the same number of stanzas. 
 
 KiNGE Arthur lines in merry Carleile 
 and seemely is to see 
 and there he hath w* him Queene Genev' 
 y* bride so bright of blee 
 
 And there he hath w*^ him Queene Genever 
 
 y* bride soe bright in bower 
 
 & all his barons about him stoode 
 
 y* were both stiffe and stowre 
 
 The K. kept a royall Christmasse 
 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 He haue noe other hier 
 
 K. Arthur then held vp his hand 
 according thene as was the law 
 he tooke his leaue 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 S"^ Gawaine 
 
 as he did make his mone 
 
 And there came to him his Cozen S*" Gawaine* 
 y* was a curteous knight 
 why sigh yo" soe sore vnckle Arthur he said 
 or who hath done the vnright 
 
 peace o peace thou gentle Gawaine 
 y* faire may thee be ffall 
 for if thou knew my sighing soe deepe 
 thou ,wold not meruaile att all 
 
 Ffor when I came to tearne wadling 
 a bold barron there I fand 
 w*'' a great club vpon his backe 
 standing stiffe & strong 
 
 And he asked me wether I wold fight 
 or from him I shold be gone 
 0* else I must him a ransome pay 
 & soe dep't him from 
 
 To fight w*^ him I saw noe cause 
 me thought it was not meet 
 for he was stiffe and strong w'^ 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 foresaid Tearne wadling 
 y* he might keepe his day 
 
 And as he rode over a more 
 hee see a lady where shee sate 
 
 *Sic 
 
THE MARRIAGE OF SIR GAWAINE. 
 
 433 
 
 betwixt an oke and a greene hollen 
 she was cladd in red searlett 
 
 Then there as shold have stood her mouth 
 
 then there was sett her eye 
 
 the other was in her forhead fast 
 
 the way that she might see 
 
 Her nose was crooked & turnd outward 
 her mouth stood foule a wry 
 a worse formed lady thee shee was 
 neuerman saw w**^ his eye 
 
 To halch 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 
 & yo** will not me againe 
 yett I may happen S' knight shee said 
 to ease thee of thy paine 
 
 Giue thou ease me lady he said 
 
 or helpe me any thing 
 
 thou shalt haue gentle Gawaine my cozen 
 
 & marry him w*** 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 baron there cold he srinde* 
 yfi^ a great weapon on his backe 
 standinge 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 himselfe a k. 
 
 And he sayd I haue thee & and thy land Ar- 
 thur 
 to doe as it pleaseth me 
 for this is not thy ransome sure 
 therfore yeeld thee to me 
 
 * Sic MS. 
 
 And then bespoke him noble Arthur 
 & bade him hold his hands 
 & give me leave to speake my mind 
 in defence of all my land 
 
 the* said as I came over a More 
 I see a lady where shee sate 
 betweene 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 
 doe me right as thou art a baron of sckill 
 this is thy ransome & all thy hyer 
 
 He sayes an early vengeance light on her 
 she walkes on yonder more 
 it was my sister that told thee this 
 she is a misshapen hore 
 
 But heer He make mine avow to god 
 to do her 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 w*^ them that day 
 and the formost of the company 
 there rode the steward Kay 
 
 Soe did S^ Banier & S-" Bore 
 S' Garrett w*^ them so gay 
 soe did S"" Tristeram y*^ gentle k* 
 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 
 y* vnseemly was to see 
 
 S"" Kay beheld this Ladys face 
 & looked vppon her suire 
 whosoeuer kisses this lady he sayes 
 of his kisse he stands in feare 
 
 S'" Kay beheld the lady againe 
 & looked vpon her snout 
 whosoeuer kisses this lady he sales 
 of his kisse he stands in doubt 
 
 * Sic MS. 
 
434 
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF SIR GAWAINEJ 
 
 Peace coz. Kay then said S'' Gawaine 
 amend thee of thy life 
 for there is a knight amongst us all 
 y* must marry her to his wife 
 
 What wedd her to wiffe then said S'^ Kay 
 
 in the diuells 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 be spake him noble k. Arthur 
 
 & 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 
 
 wether thou wilt haue me iji this liknesse 
 in the night or else in the day 
 
 And then bespake him Gentle Gawaine 
 w*^ 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 w*'^ thee shold play 
 yet I had rather if I might 
 haue thee fowle in the day 
 
 What when Lords goe w*^ ther seires* shee 
 
 said 
 both to the Ale and wine 
 alas then I must hyde my selfe 
 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 blesed be thou gentle Gawaine 
 
 this day y* I thee see 
 
 for as thou see me att this time 
 
 from hencforth I wilbe 
 
 * Sic in MS. -ptofdres, i. e. Mates. 
 
 My father was an old knight 
 & yett it chanced soe 
 that he married a younge lady 
 y* brought me to this woe 
 
 Shee witched me being a faire young Lady 
 to the greene forrest to dwell 
 & there I must walke in womans liknesse 
 most like a feeind of hell 
 
 She witched my brother to a Carlist B . . . 
 [About Nine Stanzas wanting.^ 
 
 that looked soe foule & that was wont 
 on the wild more to goe 
 
 Come kisse her Brother Kay then 
 
 waine 
 & amend the of thy liffe 
 I sweare this is the same lady 
 y* I marryed to my wiffe. 
 
 lid S' Ga- 
 
 S'" Kay kissed that lady bright 
 standing vpon his ffeete 
 he swore as he was trew knight 
 the spice was neuer so sweete 
 
 Well Coz. Gawaine says S*" Kay 
 
 thy chance is fallen arright 
 
 for thou hast gotten one of the fairest maids 
 
 I euer saw w*^ my sight 
 
 It is my fortune said S"" Gawaine 
 for my Vnckle Arthurs sake 
 I am glad as grasse wold be of raine 
 great Joy that I may take 
 
 S' Gawaine tooke the lady by the one arme 
 S"" Kay tooke 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 
 w*^ 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 S"" Gawaine that gentle knight 
 
THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 
 
 435 
 
 Soe did the knights both more and lesse 
 reioyced all that day 
 for the good chance y* hapened was 
 to S^ Gawaine & his lady gay. Fj&nis 
 
 In the Fac 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. 
 
 -•♦^ 
 
 %\t jOTt 0{ ®Erfito0ii|. 
 
 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 hied 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. 
 
 " weep not, lady, weep not so ; 
 
 Nor let vain fears 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 
 sought 
 
 Within this lonely wood. 
 Ah ! sore I fear his wandering feet 
 
 Have slipt in yonder flood." 
 
 ** ! 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, 
 
 He scales the clifi" 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 : 
 
 " 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. 
 
 The youth was clad in forest green, 
 With bugle-horn so bright : 
 
 •^ ^nv^, ^>^«vNA>^ ^ v^vj^^^tiki^'fi^, . 
 
436 
 
 THE HEKMIT OF WARKWORTH. 
 
 She in a silken robe and scarf, 
 Snatched 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 V 
 
 " 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 Salopians 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 casties, 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 ofi", ^mid Scottish hills, 
 
 The Percy lives unknown : 
 On strangers' bounty he depends. 
 
 And may not claim his own. 
 
 " 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 inexperienc'd youth. 
 
THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 
 
 43^ 
 
 " 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'sf 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' 
 
 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^ 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 Pleaven, that saw 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." 
 
 * Rolbert Stuart, Duke of Albany. See the continuation 
 of Fordun's Scoti-Chronicou, cap. 18, cap. 23, &c. 
 
 t Ralph Neyille, first Earl of Westmoreland, who chiefly- 
 resided at his two castles of Brancepeth and Raby, both in 
 the Bishopric of Durham. 
 
 " happy day V 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 banished 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."! 
 
 LoYELT smiPd 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 John of Gaunt, and half-sister of 
 King Henry IV. 
 
 t 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 soUd rock, is still very en- 
 tire and perfect. 
 
What sweet surprise o'erpower'd her breast! 
 
 Her cheek "what blushes dved, 
 When fondly 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." 
 
 " 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, 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, 
 
 * In the little island of Coquet, near Warkworth, are 
 still seen the ruin=! of a cell, which belonged to the Bene- 
 dictine monks of Tinemouth- Abbey. 
 
 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 carved, 
 Lean'd hovering o'er her breast ; 
 
 A weeping warrior at her feet ; 
 And near to these her crest.* 
 
 * This is a Bull's Head, the crest of the Widdrington fa- 
 mily. All the figures, &c., here described, are still visible, 
 only somewhat effaced with length of time. 
 
THE HERMIT OF WAKKWORTH. 
 
 439 
 
 The clift, the vault, but chief the tomb 
 Attract the wondering pair : 
 
 Eager they ask, " What hapless dame 
 Lies sculptured here so fair V 
 
 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 1" 
 
 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. 
 
 * VTiddrington Uastle is about five miles south of Wark- 
 worth. 
 
 56 
 
 " That heart," she said, " is lightly priz'd, 
 
 Which is too lightly won ; 
 And long shall rue that easy maid 
 
 Who yields her love too soon." 
 
 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 Mainfred 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.f 
 
 They sung how in the Conqueror's fleet 
 Lord William shipp'd his povrers, 
 
 And gain'd a fair young Saxon bride 
 With all her lands and towers. J 
 
 Then journeying to the Holy Land, 
 There bravely fought and died ; 
 
 But first the silver crescent won, 
 Some paynim Soldan's pride. 
 
 * See Dugdale's Baronetage, p. 269, &c. 
 
 ■j- In Lower Normandy are three places of the name of 
 Percy : whence the family took the surname of De Percy. 
 
 J William de Percy (fifth in descent from Galfred or 
 Geoffery de Percy, son of Mainfred) assisted in the con- 
 quest of England, and had given him the large posses- 
 sions, in Yorkshire, of Emma de Porte (so the Norman 
 writers name her), whose father, a great Saxon lord, had ' 
 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, 'he (to use the words of the old Whitby 
 Chronicle) wedded hyr that was very heire to them, in 
 discharging of his conscience." See Harl. MSS. 692 (26). 
 He died at Mountjoy, near Jerusalem, in the first cru- 
 
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 godli'ke 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 perils 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 Bertram 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 Jos- 
 celine de LouTaine. youngest son of Godfrey Barbatus, 
 Duke of Brabant, and brother of Queen Adeliza, 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 twaine ; 
 
THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 
 
 441 
 
 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 ; 
 " Beshrew 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 Tiriotdale, and 
 not far frcm 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. 
 
 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 out, alas !" she loudly shriek'd ; 
 
 "Alas ! how may 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. 
 
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, 
 ni 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 I 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 I" 
 
 " 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 ofience or wrong ?" 
 
 "My lord," he said, "is not at home, 
 
 To hear a minstrel's song ; 
 And, should 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. 
 
THE HERMIT OP WARKWORTH. 443 
 
 ''Minstrel/' he said, "thou play'st so sweet, 
 Fair entrance thou should'st win ; 
 
 But, alas ! I'm sworn upon the rood 
 To let no stranger in. 
 
 " 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 ! 
 
 " Yet, minstrel, in yon rising cliff 
 Thou'lt find a sheltering cave ; 
 
 A.nd here thou shalt my supper share, 
 And there thy lodging have." 
 
 "And ever shall my grateful lieart 
 
 Thy services repay :" — 
 Sir Bertram would no further hear, 
 
 But cried, " Vile traitor, stay ! 
 
 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. 
 
 • " Vile traitor ! yield that lady up I" 
 And quick his sword he drew ; 
 The stranger turn'd in sudden rage, 
 And at Sir Bertram flew. 
 
 The first night, as he silent watch'd 
 All at the midnight hour, 
 
 He plainly heard his lady's voice 
 Lamenting in the tower. 
 
 With mortal hate their vigorous arms 
 Gave many a vengeful blow ; 
 
 But Bertram's stronger hand prevail'd. 
 And laid the stranger low. 
 
 The second night, the moon shone clear, 
 
 And gilt the spangled dew ; 
 He saw his lady through the grate, 
 
 But 'twas a transient view. 
 
 " Die, traitor, die !" — A deadly thrust 
 Attends each furious word. 
 
 Ah ! then fair Isabel knew his voice 
 And rush'd beneath his sword. 
 
 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. 
 
 " stop," she cried, " stop thy arm ! 
 
 Thou dost thy brother slay !" — 
 And here the Hermit paus'd and wept : 
 
 His tongue no more could say. 
 
 When, lo ! he saw a ladder of ropes 
 Depending from the wall : 
 
 And o'er the moat was newly laid 
 A poplar strong and tall. 
 
 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." 
 
 And soon he saw his love descend 
 Wrapt in a tartan plaid, 
 
 Assisted by a sturdy youth 
 In Highland garb y-clad. 
 
 "Wert thou thyself that hapless youth? 
 
 Ah ! cruel fate !" they said. 
 The Hermit wept, and so did they : 
 
 They sigh'd ; he hung his head. 
 
 Amaz'd, confounded at the sight, 
 
 He lay unseen and still ; 
 And soon he saw them cross the stream, 
 
 And mount the neighbouring hill. 
 
 " blind and jealous rage," he cried, 
 " What evils from thee flow V 
 
 The Hermit paus'd ; they silent mourn'd : 
 He wept, and they were woe. 
 
 Unheard, unknown of all within, 
 
 The youthful couple fly ; 
 But what can 'scape the lover's ken, 
 
 Or shun his piercing eye ? 
 
 Ah ! when I heard my brother's name 
 
 And saw my lady bleed, 
 I rav'd, I wept, I curst my arm 
 
 That wrought the fatal deed. 
 
 With silent step he follows close 
 Behind the flying pair, 
 
 And saw her hang upon his arm 
 With fond familiar air. 
 
 In vain I clasp'd her to my breast, 
 And clos'd the ghastly wound ; 
 
 In vain I press'd his bleeding corpse, 
 And rais'd it from the ground. 
 
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 to think 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 increased 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. 
 
 Even with her latest breath. 
 She gave one parting, fond embrace, 
 
 And clos'd her eyes in death. 
 
 In wild amaze, 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 us soon exchang'd, 
 And strove to soothe my pain. 
 
 And soon those honour^ 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. 
 
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 lingered 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 passed 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, shalt now restore ; 
 
 And raise again the Percy name 
 More glorious than before. 
 
 He ceas'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. 
 
\i^iu^a. 
 
 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 antiqua- 
 ry 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 avail- 
 able sources of information, whether acces- 
 sible to all readers or to be obtained only by 
 
 patient industry and careful search. It will be 
 perceived he has not modernized the orthog- 
 raphy, 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 explana- 
 tory remarks as should communicate all the 
 information he was able to obtain concerning 
 its history. 
 
 f 0ljm J00VS |mt| Hnlr '§mml 
 
 We copy this ballad from Ritson's " Col- 
 lection 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 im- 
 mense 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 procla- 
 mation to have him apprehended," &c. 
 Grafton, after having told us that he " prac- 
 tised robberyes, &c.," adds, "The which 
 beyng certefyed to the king, and he, beyng 
 greatly offended therewith, caused his pro- 
 clamation to be made that whosoever would 
 bryng him quicke or dead, the king would 
 geve him a great summe of money, as by the 
 
 recordes in the Exchequer is to be seene : 
 But of 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 [Kircklies], where desiryng to be 
 let blood, he was betrayed and bled to death." 
 The Sloane MS. says, that " [being] dystem- 
 pered with cowld and age, he had great payne 
 in his lymraes, his bloud being corrupted; 
 therfore, to be eased of his payne by letting 
 bloud, he repayred to the priores of Kyr- 
 kesly, which some say was his aunt, a woman 
 very skylful in physique & surgery ; who, 
 perceyving him to be Robyn Hood, & way- 
 ing hoAve fel an enimy he was to religious 
 persons, toke reveng of him for her owne 
 
 (446) 
 
ROBIN HOOD'S DEATH AND BURIAL. 
 
 447 
 
 howse and all others by letting him bleed to 
 death. It is also sayd that one sir Roger of 
 Doncaster, bearing grudge to Robjn for some 
 injury, incyted the priores, with whome he 
 ■was very familiar, in such a manner to dis- 
 patch him." The Harleian MS., after men- 
 tioning the proclamation " set furth to have 
 him apprehended," adds, "at which time it 
 happened he fell sick at a nunnery in York- 
 shire called Birkleys [Kirkleys] ; & desiring 
 there to be let blood, hee was betrayed & 
 made bleed to death." 
 
 According to the Sloane MS. the prioress, 
 after "letting him bleed to death, buryed 
 him under a great stone by the hyw^ayes 
 syde :" which is agreeable 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 buryed by the high- 
 way side, where he had used to rob and 
 spoyle those that passed that way. And 
 vpon his grave the sayde prioresse did lay a 
 very fayre stone, wherein the names of Robert 
 Hood, William of Gol.desborough, and others 
 were graven. And the cause why she buryed 
 him there was, for that the common passen- 
 gers and travailers, knowyng and seeyng him 
 there buryed, might more safely and without 
 feare take their jorneys 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 
 scene there at this present." 
 
 There appears to be reasonable ground for 
 the belief that Robin 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 containing no fewer than four 
 hundred and fifty stanzas. It bears conclu- 
 sive evidence of antiquity, and may be consi- 
 dered at least as old as the time of Chaucer. 
 
 The ballad — "Robin Hood's Death and 
 Burial" — although its style is comparatively 
 modern, is clearly based upon one much 
 older: — it contains passages of too "genuine" 
 a character to have been the production of an 
 age much later than that in which flourished 
 the hero of the grene-wode. 
 
 The reader will, no doubt, desire to know 
 
 something concerning the career of Robin's 
 
 famous lieutenant, "Little John." "There 
 
 etandeth," as Stanihurst relates, "in Ostman- 
 
 57 
 
 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 
 one hundred foure score and nine, there 
 ranged three robbers and outlaws in England, 
 among which Robert Hood and Little John 
 weere cheefeteins, of all theeves doubtlesse 
 the most courteous. Robert Hood being be- 
 trayed at a nunrie in Scotland called Brick- 
 lies, the remnant of the crue was scattered, 
 and everie man forced to shift for himselfe. 
 Whereupon Little John was faine to flee the 
 realme by sailing into Ireland, where he so- 
 journed for a few dales at Dublin. The citi- 
 zens being doone to understand the wander- 
 ing outcast to be an excellent archer, request- 
 ed him hartilie to trie how far he could shoot 
 at random ; 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 woonder- 
 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 concealed : and therefore to eschew 
 the danger 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 yon 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 ; 10 
 
 But before he came there, as we do hear, 
 He was taken very ill. 
 
 And when that he came to fair Kirkley-hall, 
 
 He knock'd all at the ring, 
 But none was so ready as his cousin herself 
 
 For to let bold Robin in. 16 
 
 " Will you please to sit down, Cousin Robin," 
 she said, 
 " And drink some beer with me ?" 
 
448 
 
 ROBIN HOOD'S DEATH AND BURIAL. 
 
 'No, I will neither eat nor drink, 
 Till I am blooded by thee." 
 
 20 
 
 " Well, I have a room, cousin Robin," she 
 said, 
 
 "Which you did never see. 
 And if you please to walk therein, 
 
 You blooded by me shall be." 
 
 She took him by the lilly-white hand, 25 
 
 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 hira up in the room ; 30 
 
 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, 35 
 
 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. 40 
 
 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 Kobyn Hode :" — 
 
 " Yet he was heguiled, I wys, 
 
 Through a wycked womkn. 
 The pryoresse of Kyrkeply, 
 
 That nyewas of his kynne. 
 
 " 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, 45 
 
 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 ; 50 
 
 "A boon, a boon," cries Little John, 
 
 " Master, I beg of thee." 
 
 " What is that boon," quoth Robin Hood, 
 " Little John, thou begs of me?" 
 
 " It is to burn fair Kirkley-hall, 55 
 
 And all their nunnery." 
 
 " Now nay, now nay," quoth Robin Hood, 
 " That boon I'll not grant thee ; 
 
 I never ' hurt' woman in all my life, 
 
 Nor man in woman's company. 60 
 
 " I never hurt fair maid in all my time, 
 
 Nor at my 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, 65 
 
 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 ; 70 
 
 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, 75 
 
 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 Kirklfeys. 80 
 
 '0ri .Swttlis, 
 
 This ballad is the composition of John 
 Leyden : it was first published in the " Min- 
 strelsy of the Scottish Border," and subse- 
 quently, in the collected works of the estima- 
 
 ble and accomplished writer. The hero of 
 the story is supposed to be William Lord 
 Soulis, who was of royal descent, and who 
 entered, with several other nobles of rank. 
 
LORD SOULIS. 
 
 449 
 
 into a conspiracy against Robert de Bruce, 
 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. Com- 
 bining prodigious bodily strength with cru- 
 elty, 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 in- 
 cantations, 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 commis- 
 sion ; which they accomplished by boiling 
 him alive on the Nine-stane Rig, in a cauldron 
 said to have been long preserved at Skelf-hill, 
 a hamlet betwixt Hawick and the Hermitage. 
 Messengers, it is said, were immediately des- 
 patched by the King, to prevent the effects 
 
 * One of his accomplices, David de Brechin, was execu- 
 ted. He was nephew to the king, and his only crime was 
 his having 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 In- 
 gram de Umfraville, an English or Norman knight, then a 
 favourite follower of Robert Bruce. 'Why press you,' 
 said he, ' to see the dismal catastrophe of so generous 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 Brechin, sold his lands, 
 and left Scotland for ever. The story is beautifully told by 
 Barbour, Book 19 th." 
 
 of such a hasty declaration : but they only 
 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 ter- 
 ror. 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 de- 
 rives 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 — 
 " Rambles in Northumberland, and on the 
 Scottish Border," — the neighbouring pea- 
 santry whisper of the evil spirit believed to 
 be confined 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 kail-pot, of no very extraor- 
 dinary size, which was purchased by some 
 of the rebel army in 1715. The castle is now 
 the property of the Duke of Buccleugh. It 
 w-as, in 1546, the residence of the Earl of 
 Bothwell ; and here Queen Mary is said to 
 have visited him, riding from Jedburg 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 free- 
 booter, whom he had attempted to apprehend. 
 
450 
 
 LORD SOULIS. 
 
 Sir Walter Scott considers that the idea of 
 Lord Soulis' familiar was derived from the 
 curious storj of the " Spirit Orthone 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 
 Berners." Orthone enters the service of the 
 knight : — 
 
 "So this spyrite Orthone loved so the 
 knyght, that oftentymes he would come and 
 vysyte him, while he lay in his bedde aslepe, 
 and outher pull him by the eare, or els stryke 
 at his chambre dore or windowe. And whan 
 the knyght awoke, than he would saye, * Or- 
 thone, lat me slepe/ ' Nay,' quod Orthone, 
 ' that I will nat do, tyll I have shewed thee 
 such tydinges as are fallen a-late.' The ladye, 
 the knyghtes wife, wolde be sore afrayed, that 
 her heer wald stand up, and hyde herself 
 under the clothes. Than the knyght wolde 
 saye, ' Why, what tydinges hast thou brought 
 me?' Quod Orthone,'! am come out of 
 England, or out of Hungry, or some other 
 place, and yesterday I came hens, and such 
 things are tallen, 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. Orthone 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 for him to find some interminable 
 employment. Upon discovering the futility 
 of their attempts to accomplish the work as- 
 signed, they petitioned their taskmaster to be 
 allowed to mingle a few handfuls of barley- 
 chaff with the sand. On his refusal, they 
 were forced to leave untwisted the ropes 
 which they had shaped. Such is the tradi- 
 tionary 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, 5 
 
 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, 10 
 
 Till threefold ropes of sifted sand 
 Around 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." 16 
 
 Lord Soulis he sat in Hermitage Castle, 
 
 And Redcap was not by : 
 And he called on a page, who was witty and 
 
 To go to the barmkin high. 20 
 
 "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, 26 
 
 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, 30 
 
 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, 35 
 
 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." 40 
 
 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. 
 
 May she came, and May she gaed, 
 By Goranberry green ; 
 
 45 
 
LORD SOULIS. 451 
 
 And May she was the fairest maid 
 
 
 Far from relief, they seized the chief; 
 
 That ever yet was seen. 
 
 
 His men were far away ; 90 
 Through Hermitage slack they sent him back 
 
 May she came, and May she gaed, 
 
 
 To Soulis' castle gray ; 
 
 By Goranberry tower ; 
 
 50 
 
 Syne onward fure f )r Branxholm tower 
 
 And who was it but cruel Lord Soulis 
 
 
 Where all his merry-men lay. 94 
 
 That carried her from her bower ? 
 
 
 " Now, welcome, noble Branxholm's heir ! 
 
 He brought her to his castle gray, 
 
 
 Thrice welcome," quoth Soulis, " to me ! 
 
 By Hermitage's side ; 
 
 
 Say, dost thou repair to my castle fair, 
 
 Says — " Be content, my lovely May, 
 
 55 
 
 My wedding guest to be ? 
 
 For thou shalt be my bride." 
 
 
 And lovely May deserves, per fay, 
 
 A bride-man such as thee \" 100 
 
 With her yellow hair, that glittered fair, 
 
 
 
 She dried the trickling tear ; 
 
 
 And broad and bloody rose the sun. 
 
 She sighed the name of Branxholm's heir. 
 
 And on the barmkin shone, 
 
 The youth that loved her dear. 
 
 60 
 
 When the page was aware of Red Ringan 
 there. 
 
 ** Now, be content, my bonny May, 
 
 
 Who came riding all alone. 
 
 And take it for your ham^ ; 
 
 
 
 Or ever and aye shall ye rue the day 
 
 
 To the gate of the tower Lord Soulis he 
 
 You heard Young Branxholm's name. 
 
 
 speeds, 105 
 As he lighted at the wall. 
 
 "O'erBranxholm tower, ere the morning hour. 
 
 Says — "Where did ye stable my stalwart 
 
 When the lift is like lead sae blue. 
 
 66 
 
 steeds. 
 
 The smoke shall roll white on the we 
 night, 
 And the flame shall shine dimly throng 
 
 ary 
 
 And where do they tarry all V 
 
 h." 
 
 " We stabled them sure, on the Tarras Muir ; 
 
 
 
 We stabled them sure," quoth he— 110 
 
 Syne he's ca'd on him Ringan Red, 
 
 
 " Before we could cross the quaking moss 
 
 A sturdy kemp was he ; 
 
 70 
 
 They all were lost but me." 
 
 From friend, or foe, in Border feid, 
 
 
 
 Who never a foot would flee. 
 
 
 He clenched his fist, and he knocked on the 
 chest. 
 
 Red Ringan sped, and the spearmen led 
 
 
 And he heard a stifled ^roan ; 
 
 Up Goranberry slack ; 
 
 
 And at the third knock each rusty lock 115 
 
 Ay, many a wight, unmatched in fight. 
 
 75 
 
 Did open one by one. 
 
 Who never more came back. 
 
 
 He turned away his eyes as the lid did rise, 
 
 And bloody set the westering son. 
 
 
 And he listened sllentlie ; 
 
 And blood}* rose he up ; 
 
 
 And he heard breathed slow, in murmurs low, 
 
 But little thought young Branxholm's heir 
 
 *' Beware of a coming tree !" 120 
 
 Where he that night should sup. 
 
 80 
 
 In muttering sound the rest was drowned, 
 
 He shot the roebuck on the lee. 
 
 
 No other word heard he ; 
 
 The dun deer on the law ; 
 
 
 But slow as it rose, the lid did close 
 
 The glamour sure was in his ee 
 
 
 With the rusty padlocks three. 
 
 When Ringan nigh did draw. 
 
 
 * * * -X- ■5f 
 
 O'er heathy edge, through rustling sedge. 
 
 85 
 
 Now rose with Branxholm's ae brother 125 
 
 He sped till day was set ; 
 
 
 The Teviot, high and low ; 
 
 And he thought it was his merry men true, 
 
 Bauld Walter by name, of meikle fame, 
 
 When he the spearmen met. 
 
 
 For none could bend his bow. 
 
452 
 
 LORD SOULIS. 
 
 O'er glen and glade, to Soulis there sped 
 The fame of his array, 130 
 
 And that Teviotdale would soon assail 
 His towers and castle gray. 
 
 With clenched 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 suUenlie, — 
 " 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 wae 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 woful wight was he ; 
 Says — " Vengeance is mine, and I will not 
 repine. 
 
 But Branxholm's heir shall die ! 
 
 " What would you do, young Branx- 
 holm, 165 
 
 Gin ye had me, as I have thee V — 
 " 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 scrog bush thee 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, 
 
 " 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 ain men see. 
 With witches' hazel in each steel cap, 
 
 In scorn of Soulis' gramarye ; 200 
 
 Then shoulder-height for glee he lap, — 
 
 " Methinks I spye 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 
 
LORD SOULIS. 
 
 453 
 
 Then up bespake him true Thomas, 
 
 He was the lord of Ersyltoun ; 
 " 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 bands they bound him tight. 
 Both hands and feet, on the Nine-stane 
 lee. 
 
 That wizard accurst, the bands he burst : 
 They mouldered 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 spae-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 Faerie. 234 
 
 The black spae-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 curiouslie ; 240 
 But the ropes would neither twist nor twine 
 
 For Thomas true and his gramarye. 
 
 The black spae-book from his breast he took, 
 And again he turn'd it with his hand 
 
 And he bade each lad of Teviot add 
 The barley chaff to the sifted sand. 
 
 245 
 
 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, 
 Ribbed like the sand at mark of sea, 
 
 The ropes that would not twist nor turn 
 Shaped of the sifted sand you see. 
 
 The black spae-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 roU'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 show; 
 
 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," 
 writes !-ir Walter Scott, '• is not without a parallel in the real 
 history of Scotland." Mellville, of Glen lure, Sheriff of the 
 Mcarns,'was detested by the barona of hi.s country. Kei- 
 terated coQiplaints of his conduct having been made to 
 James I,, the monarch answered, in a moment of un- 
 guarded impatience, " Sorrow gin the sheriff were sodden, 
 and !>ui ped in broo !" The words were construed literally. 
 The baroLS prepared a fire and a boiling cauldron, iutc 
 which they plunged the unlucky sheriff. 
 
454 
 
 THE FRERE AND THE BOYE. 
 
 %\t ixtxt attir % S0ge: ^ lltrg (§ntt 
 
 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 Flete 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 Aide ;" 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, Ee. 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 an- 
 cient 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 no- 
 ble repository, anno 1731. Vide Smith's 
 Catalogue, Yitellius D. XII. 
 
 From the mention made in verse 429 of the 
 city of " Orlyaunce," and the character of 
 the " Offycyal," it may be conjectured that 
 this poem is of French extraction ; and, in- 
 deed, it is not at all improbable that the ori- 
 ginal is extant in some collection of old Fa- 
 bliaux. A punishment similar to that of the 
 good wife in this story, appears to have been 
 inflicted on the widow of a St. Gengulph, for 
 presuming to question the reality of her hus- 
 band'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 lyfe and longe 
 
 That lysteneth to my songe, 5 
 
 Or tendeth to my tale. 
 
 * There was once a copy of one or other of the ahove edi- 
 tions, or some different impression, with divers other cu- 
 rious pieces, in the printed library of Anthony k Wood 
 (No. 66) ; but the article, with others of the like natxire, 
 appears to have been clandestinely taken out. 
 
 There dwelled an husbonde in my countre 
 
 That had wyues thre, 
 
 By processe of tyme, 
 
 By the fyrst wyfe a sone he had, 10 
 
 That was a good sturdy ladde, 
 
 And an happy hyne. 
 
 His fader loued hym Aveel, 
 
 So dyde his moder neuer a dele, 
 
 I tell you as I thinke ; 15 
 
 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 halfe ynough he had, 20 
 
 But euermore of the worste : 
 
 Therfore euyll mote she fare, 
 
 For euer 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, 26 
 
 And that ryght soone in haste ; 
 
 Truly he is a cursed ladde, 
 
 I wolde some other man hym had, 
 
 That wolde hym better chaste. 30 
 
 Then sayd the good man agayne. 
 
 Dame, I shall to the sayne, 
 
 He is but tender of age ; 
 
 He shall abyde with me this yere, 
 
 Tyll he be more strongere, 35 
 
 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, 40 
 
 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 thynketh moost nedy. 45 
 
 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,* 50 
 
 And made ioye ynough ; 
 
 Forth he wente, truly to sayne, 
 
 *This seems to have been the beginning or title of some 
 old ballad. Maystress Tyll of Brentford takes notice of it 
 in her •' Testament," 4to. b. 1. 
 
 " Ah syrra, mary a way the mare." 
 
THE FRERE AND THE BOYE. 
 
 455 
 
 Tyll he came to the playne, 
 
 Hys dyner forth he drouth : 
 
 Whan he sawe it was but bad, 55 
 
 Fal lytell lust therto he had, 
 
 But put it vp agayne ; 
 
 Therfore he was not to wyte,'" 
 
 He sayd he wolde ete but lyte, 
 
 Tyll nyght that he home came. 60 
 
 And as the boye sate on a hyii. 
 
 An olde man came hym tyii, 
 
 Walkynge by the waye ; 
 
 Sune, he sayde, god the se. 
 
 Syr, welcome mote ye be, 65 
 
 The lytell boye gan saye. 
 
 The olde man sayd, 1 am an hongred sore, 
 
 Hast thou ony mete in store, 
 
 That thou mayst gyue me? 
 
 The chylde sayd, so gv)d lue saue, 70 
 
 To sucli vytayle as I haue 
 
 Welcome shall ye be. 
 
 Therof the olde man was gladde, 
 
 The boye drewe forth suche as he had, 
 
 And sayd, do gladly. 75 
 
 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 tliynges thre, 80 
 
 Thou shalt them neuer forgete. 
 
 Then sayd the boye, as 1 trowe, 
 
 It is best that 1 liaue a bowe, 
 
 Byrdes for to ' shete.' 
 
 A bowe, sone, 1 sliall the gyue, 85 
 
 That shall last the all thy lyue, 
 
 And euer a lyke meie, 
 
 Shote therin whau thou good thynke, 
 
 For yf thou shote and wynke, 
 
 The prycke thow shalte hytte. 90 
 
 Whan he the bowe in honde felte, 
 
 And the bolt-es vnder his belte, 
 
 Lowde than he lough ; 
 
 He sayd, now had 1 a pype, 
 
 Though it were neuer so lyte, 95 
 
 Than were I gladde ynough. 
 
 A pype, sone, thou shalte haue also, 
 
 In true musyke it shall go, 
 
 I put thee out of doubt ; 
 
 All that may the pype here 100 
 
 Shall not themselfe store. 
 
 But laugh and iepe aboute. 
 
 What shall the thyrde be? 
 
 For I wyll gyue the gyftes three, 
 
 Ver. 60, came home, De W. V. 84, shote, De W. shoote, 
 A. V. 99, 1 do the weU to wyte. De W. 
 58 
 
 As I haue sayd before. 105 
 
 The lytell boye on hym lough, 
 
 And sayd, syr, I haue ynough, 
 
 I wyll desyre no more. 
 
 The olde man sayd, my trouth I plyght, 
 
 Thou shalte haue that I the hyght; 110 
 
 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, 115 
 
 She wolde theron that I were cheke, 
 
 And stareth me in the face ; 
 
 Whan she loketh on me so, 
 
 I wolde she sholde let a rappe go, 
 
 That it myght rynge ouer all the place, 
 
 Than sayd the olde man tho, 121 
 
 Whan she loketh on the so 
 
 She shall begyn to blowe ; 
 
 All that euer it may here 
 
 Shall not themselfe stere, 125 
 
 But laugh on a rowe. 
 
 Farewell, quod the olde man. 
 
 God kepe the, sayd the chylde than, 
 
 I take my leue at the ; 
 
 G(»d, that moost best may, 130 
 
 Kepe the bothe nyght and day. 
 
 Gramercy, sone, sayd he. 
 
 Than drewe it towarde the nyght, 
 
 lacke hym hyed home full ryght. 
 
 It was his ordynaunce ; 135 
 
 He toke his pype and began to blowe, 
 
 All his beestes on a rowe, 
 
 Abonte hym they can daunce. 
 
 Thus wente he pypynge thrugh the towne, 
 
 His beestes hym folowed by the sowne, 140 
 
 Into his faders close ; 
 
 He wente and put them vp echone, 
 
 Homewarde he wente anone, 
 
 Into his faders hall he gose. 
 
 His fader at his souper sat, 145 
 
 Lytell lacke espyed well that. 
 
 And sayd to hym anone, 
 
 Fader, I haue kepte your nete, 
 
 I praye you gyue me some mete, 
 
 I am an hongred, by Saynt Ihone 150 
 
 I haue sytten metelesse 
 
 All this daye kepynge your beestes. 
 
 My dyner feble it was. 
 
 His fader toko a capons wynge. 
 
 And at the boye he gan it fljnge, 155 
 
 And badde hym ete apace. 
 
 Ver. 105, to the before. Idem. 
 
456 
 
 THE FRERE AND THE BOYE. 
 
 That greued his stepmoders herte sore, 
 
 As I tolde you before, 
 
 She stared by in in the face, 
 
 With that she let go a blaste, 160 
 
 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. 165 
 
 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, 170 
 
 She was almoost rente. 
 
 Quod the boye, wyll ye se 
 
 How my dame letteth pelletes fle, 
 
 In fayth or euer she stynte ? 
 
 The boye sayde vnto his dame, 175 
 
 Tempre thy bombe, he sayd, for sharae : 
 
 She was full of sorowe. 
 
 Dame, sayd the good man, go thy waye, 
 
 For I swere to the by my faye, 
 
 Thy gere is not to borowe. 180 
 
 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, 185 
 
 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, 190 
 
 I am ashamed, by Saynt lohn, 
 
 To tell you how I fare : 
 
 I praye you mete the boy tomorowe, 
 
 Bete h3un well and gyue hym sorowe, 
 
 And make the boye lame, 195 
 
 Quod the frere, I shall hym bete. 
 
 Quod the wyfe, do not forgete, 
 
 He dooth me moche shame: 
 
 I trowe the boye be some Avytche. 
 
 Quod the frere, I shall hym teche, 200 
 
 Ilaue thou no care ; 
 
 I shall hym teche yf I may. 
 
 Quod the wyfe, I the praye, 
 
 Do hym not spare. 
 
 On tho morowe the boye arose, 205 
 
 Into the felde soone he gose, 
 
 His beestes for to dryue ; 
 
 The frere ranne out at the gate, 
 
 Ver. 186, So A. and MS. all omitted in De W. 
 
 He was a ferde leest he came to late, 
 
 He ranne fast and blyue. 210 
 
 Whan he came vpon the londe, 
 
 Lytell lacke there he fonde, 
 
 Dryuynge his beestes all alone ; 
 
 Boye, he sayd, god gyue the shame, 
 
 What hast thou done to thy dame? 215 
 
 Tell thou me anone ; 
 
 But yf thou canst excuse the well, 
 
 By my trouth bete the I wyll, 
 
 I wyll no lenger abyde. 
 
 Quod the boye, what eyleth the? 220 
 
 My dame fareth as well as ye. 
 
 What nedeth ye to chyde? 
 
 Quod the boye, wyll ye wete 
 
 How I can a byrde shete. 
 
 And other thynge withall ? 225 
 
 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, 230 
 
 For that me lysteth to se. 
 
 He hytte the byrde on the heed, 
 
 That she fell downe deed. 
 
 No ferder myght she flee. 
 
 The frere to the busshe wente, 235 
 
 Vp the byrde for to hente, 
 
 He thought it best for to done. 
 
 lacke toke his pype and began to blows, 
 
 Then the frere, as I trowe. 
 
 Began to daunce soone ; 240 
 
 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, 245 
 
 That the blode brast out ; 
 
 And tare his clothes by and by, 
 
 His cope and his scapelary, <*-.V 
 
 And all his other wede. 
 
 He daunced amonge th(U"nes thycke, 250 
 
 In many places they dyde hym prycke, 
 
 That fast gan he blede. 
 
 lacke pyped and laughed amonge. 
 
 The frere among the thornes was thronge, 
 
 He hopped wunders hye ; 255 
 
 Ver. 211, So A. and MS. a londe. De W. 
 Ver. 255. 
 
 A hoppyd wonderley hey ; 
 
 The boy seyde, and lowhe with all, 
 
 Thes ys a sport reyall, 
 
 For a lord to se. MS. More. 
 
THE FRERE AND THE BOYE. 
 
 457 
 
 At the last he held vp his honde, 
 
 And sayd I haue daunced so longe, 
 
 That I am lyke to dye ; 
 
 Gentyll lacke, holde thy pype styll, 
 
 And my trouth I plyght the tyll, 260 
 
 I will do the no woo. 
 
 lacke sayd, in that tide, 
 
 Frere skyppe out on the ferder syde, 
 
 Lyghtly that thou were goo. 
 
 The frere out of the busshe wente 265 
 
 All to ragged and to rente, 
 
 And torne on euery syde ; 
 
 Unnethes on hym he had one cloute, 
 
 His bely for to wrappe aboute; 
 
 His barneys for to hyde. 270 
 
 The breres had hym scratched so in the 
 
 face, 
 And fin] many an other place. 
 He was all to bledde with blode ; 
 All that myght tlie frere se, 
 Were fayne awaye to flee, 275 
 
 They wende he had ben wode. 
 Whan he came to his boost, 
 Of his iourney he made no boost, 
 His clothes were rente all ; 
 Moche sorowe in his herte he had, 280 
 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 thynkcth by thyn arraye. 285 
 
 Dame, I haue ben with thy sone, 
 The deuyll of hell hym ouercome, 
 For no man elles may. 
 With that came in the good man, 290 
 
 The wife sayd to hym than. 
 Here is a foule araye ; 
 Thy sone that is the lefe and dere. 
 Hath almoost slayne this holy frere, 
 Alas ! and welawaye ! 295 
 
 The good man sayd, henedicite! 
 What hath the boye done frere to the? 
 Tell me without lette. 
 The frere sayd, the deuyll hym spede, 
 He hath made me daunce, maugre my hede, 
 Amonge the thornes, hey go bette.* 301 
 The good man sayd to hym tho, 
 Haddest thou lost thy lyfe so, 
 It had ben grete synne. 
 The frere sayd, by our lady, 305 
 
 The pype went so meryly, 
 
 *The name, it is probable, of some old dance. To 
 "dance hey go mad," is still a common expression in the 
 North. 
 
 That I coude neuer blynne. 
 
 Whan it drewe towarde the nyght, 
 
 The boye came home full ryght, 
 
 As he was wont to do ; 310 
 
 Whan he came into the hall, 
 
 Soone his fjxder gan hym call. 
 
 And badde hym to come hym to. 
 
 Boye, he sayd, tell me here, 
 
 What hast thou done to the frere ? 315 
 
 Tell me without lesynge. 
 
 Fader, he sayd, by my faye, 
 
 I dyde nought elles, as I you saye, 
 
 But pyped him a sprynge. 319 
 
 That pype, sayd his fader, wold I here. 
 
 Mary, god forbede ! 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 mournynge. 325 
 
 For the loue of god, quod the frere, 
 
 If ye wyll that pype here, 
 
 Bynde me to a post ; 
 
 For I knowe none other rede. 
 
 And I daunce I am but deed, 330 
 
 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 325 
 
 Laughed and had good game thereat, 
 
 And said the frere wolde not fall. 
 
 Than sayd the good man, 
 
 Pype Sonne, as thou can, 
 
 Ilardely whan thou wylle. 340 
 
 Fader, he sayd, so mote I the, 
 
 Haue ye shall ynough of gle, 
 
 Tyll ye bydde me be styll. 
 
 As soon as lacke the pype bent, 
 
 All that there w^ere verament, 345 
 
 Began to daunce and lepe ; 
 
 Whan they gan the pype here, 
 
 They myght not themselfe stere. 
 
 But hurled on an hope. 
 
 The good man was in no dyspayre, 350 
 
 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. 355 
 
 The good man had grete game. 
 
 How they daunced all in same ; 
 
 The good wyfe after gan steppe, 
 
 Ver. 312. His fader dyde hym soone call, De W. V. 327, 
 that he pype, De W. V. 339, Pype on good sone, De W. 
 
458 THE FllERE AND THE BOYE. 
 
 Euermore she kest her eje at lacke, 
 
 Frydaye came as ye may here, 
 
 410 
 
 And fast her tajle began to cracke, 360 
 
 lackes stepdame and the frere 
 
 
 Lowder than they coude speke. 
 
 Togeder there they mette ; 
 
 
 The frere hymselfe was almoost lost, 
 
 Folke gadered a grete pase, 
 
 
 For knockynge his heed ayenst the post, 
 
 To here euery mannes case, 
 
 
 He had none other grace ; 
 
 The offycyall was sette. 
 
 415 
 
 The rope rubbed hym vnder the chynne, 
 
 There was moche to do. 
 
 
 That the blode downe dyde rynne, 366 
 
 Maters more than one or two, 
 
 
 In many a dyuers place. 
 
 Both with preest and clerke ; 
 
 
 lacke ranne into the strete, 
 
 Some had testamentes for to preue 
 
 
 After hym fast dyde they lepe, 
 
 And fayre Avomen, by your leue, 
 
 420 
 
 Truly they coude not stynte ; 370 
 
 That had strokes in the derke. 
 
 
 They went out at the dore so thycke, 
 
 Euery man put forth his case. 
 
 
 That eche man fell on others necke, 
 
 Then came forth frere Topyas, 
 
 
 So pretely out they wente. 
 
 And lackes stepdame also ; 
 
 
 Neyghbours that were fast by, 
 
 Syr offycyall, sayd he, 
 
 425 
 
 Herde the pype go so meryly, 375 
 
 I haue brought a boye to thee. 
 
 
 They ranne into the gate ; 
 
 Which hath M'rought me moche woe; ] 
 
 Some lept ouer the hatch e, 
 
 He is a grete nygromancere, 
 
 
 They had no time to drawe the latche, 
 
 In all Orlyaunce is not his pere, 
 
 
 They wende they had come to late. 
 
 As Ity my trouth I trowe. 
 
 430 
 
 Some laye in theyr bedde, 380 
 
 He is a wytche, quod the wyfe ; 
 
 
 And helde vp theyr hede, 
 
 Than, as I shall tell you blythe, 
 
 
 Anone they^ were waked ; 
 
 Lowde coude she blowe.^ - 
 
 
 Some sterte in the waye, 
 
 Some laughed without fayle. 
 
 
 Truly as I you saye, 
 
 Some sayd, dame, tempre thy tayle, 435 i 
 
 Stark bely naked. 385 
 
 Ye wreste it all amysse. 
 
 
 By that they were gadred aboute, 
 
 Dame, quod the offycyall, 
 
 
 I wys there was a grete route, 
 
 Tel forth on thy tale. 
 
 
 Dauncynge in the strete ; 
 
 Lette not for this. 
 
 
 Some were lame and myght not go. 
 
 The wyfe was afrayed of an other cracke, | 
 
 But yet ywys they daunced to, 390 
 
 That no worde more she spacke, 
 
 441 
 
 On handes and on fete. 
 
 She durste not for drede. 
 
 
 The boye »ayd, now wyll I rest. 
 
 The frere sayd, so mote I the, 
 
 
 Quod the good man, I holde it best, 
 
 Knaue, this is long of the 
 
 
 With a mery chere ; 
 
 That euyll mote thou spede. 
 
 445 
 
 Sease, son, whan thou wylte, 395 
 
 The frere sayd, syr offycyall. 
 
 
 In fayth this is the meryest fytte 
 
 The boye wyll combro vs all, 
 
 
 That I herde this seuen yere. 
 
 But yf ye may him chaste ; 
 
 
 They daunced all in same, 
 
 Syr, he hath a pype truly. 
 
 
 Some laughed and had good game 
 
 Wyll make you daunce and lepe on 
 
 hye, 
 
 And some had many a fall. 400 
 
 Tyll your herte braste. 
 
 451 
 
 Thou cursed boye, quod the frere, 
 
 The offycyall sayd, so mot I the, 
 
 
 Here I somon the that thou appere 
 Before the offycyall ; 
 
 That pype wolde I fayne se. 
 
 
 Ver. 423, Than cam soret capias, MS. Y. 432, 
 
 blyue, A. 
 
 Loke thou be there on Fry day e, 
 
 Yer. 453, &c. 
 
 
 I wyll the mete and I may, 405 
 
 That pype well y se, 
 
 
 For to ordeyne the sorowe. 
 
 He Peyde, boy, hes het her? 
 
 
 The boye sayd, by god auowe, 
 
 Ye seer, be mey ffay, 
 Anon pype ws a lay, 
 
 
 Frere, I am as redy as thou. 
 
 And make vs all cher. 
 
 
 And Frydaye were to morowe. 
 
 The offeciall the pype hent, 
 And blow t«ll his brow hen bent, 
 Bot therof cam no gle ; 
 
 
 
 Ver. 361, Lowde, De W. V. 392, They, W. V. 402, 403, 
 
 The offeciall seyde. this ys nowth, 
 
 
 Y som' the afifor the comserey, MS. 
 
 Be god that me der bowthe, 
 
 
THE FRERE AND THE BOYE. 459 
 
 And knowe what mjrth that he can make. 
 
 But to holde stylle for goddes grace, 
 
 Mary, god forbede, thaa sayd the frere, 
 
 And for the loue of Mary mylde. 
 
 That he sholde pype here, 456 
 
 Than sayd lacke to them echone, 470 
 
 Afore that I hens the waye take. 
 
 If ye wolde me graunte with herte fre, 
 
 Pype on, lacke, sayd the offycyall, 
 
 That he shall do me no vylany, 
 
 I wyll here now how thou canst playe. 
 
 But hens to departe euen as I come. 
 
 lacke blewe vp, the sothe to saye, 460 
 
 Therto they answered all anone. 
 
 And made them soone to daunce all. 
 
 And promysed him anone ryght, 475 
 
 The offycyall lepte ouer the deske, 
 
 In his quarell for to fj ght. 
 
 And daunced aboute wonder faste, 
 
 And defende hym from his fone, 
 
 Tyll bothe his shynnes he ail to brest, 
 
 Thus they departed in that tyde, 
 
 Hym thought it was not of the best, 465 
 
 The offycyall and the sompnere, 
 
 Than cryed he vnto the chylde, 
 
 His stepdame and the frere. 
 
 To pype no more within this place, 
 
 With great ioye and moche pryde. 480 
 
 Het ys not worthe a sdo. 
 
 And a nethe meyt hepe. 
 
 Be mey fay, qod the freyr, 
 
 The offeciall began to star, 
 
 The boy can make het pype cler. 
 
 And seyde, hafe for they heyr. 
 
 y bescro hem for hes mede. 
 
 Stent of they lay, 
 
 The offecial bad the boy a say. 
 
 And boldeley haske of me, 
 
 Nay, qod the freyr, er that a way 
 
 What thou welt hafe for thy gle, 
 
 For that y for bede. 
 
 Y schall the redey pay. 
 
 Pype on, qod the offeciall, and not spar. 
 
 Then to stend Jake began. 
 
 The freyr began to star, 
 
 The offeciall was a werey man, 
 
 Jake hes pype bent. 
 
 Mey trowet y pleyt y the, 
 
 As Rone as Gake began to blow, 
 
 Thes was a god gle. 
 
 All they lepyd on a rowe. 
 
 And seyde Ihe worst that euer they se, 
 
 And ronde abowt they went 
 
 For hot was er neyth. 
 
 The offeciall had so gret hast, 
 
 Then bespake the offeciall, 
 
 That boyt hes schenys brast, 
 
 And leytley Gake can call, 
 
 A pou a blokys hende. 
 
 Hes pype he hem hent. 
 
 The clerkys to dans they hem sped, 
 
 And gaffe hem xx s. 
 
 And som all ther eynke sched, 
 
 And euer mor hes blesyng. 
 
 And som ther bekes rent, 
 
 For that merey ft't. 
 
 And som cast ther boky[s] at the wall. 
 
 When Gake had that money hent, 
 
 And som ouer ther felowys can fall, 
 
 Anon homard he went. 
 
 So weytley they lepyd. 
 
 Glad sherof was he ; 
 
 Ther was withowt let, 
 
 He waxed a wordeley marchande. 
 
 They stombylled on a hepe, 
 
 A man of gret degre. 
 
 They dansed all a bow the, 
 
 Hes stepdame, y dar say. 
 
 And yever the freyr creyd owt, 
 
 Dorst neuer after that day. 
 
 Y may no lengger dans for soyt, 
 
 Nat wonley ones desplese. 
 
 Y haffe lost halfife mey cod war, 
 
 They lowyd togedyr all thre. 
 
 When y dansed yn the thornes. 
 
 Hes father, hes stepdame and he, 
 
 Som to crey they began. 
 
 Affter yn gret eys. 
 
 Mey boke ys all to toren; 
 
 And that they ded, soyt to say, 
 
 Som creyd withowt let. 
 
 Tho hewyn they toke the way. 
 
 And som bad hoo ; 
 
 Withowtyn eney mes. 
 
 Som seyde het was a god game, 
 
 Now god that dyed for os all, 
 
 And som seyde they wer lame, 
 
 And dranke aysell and gall, 
 
 Y may no leynger skeppe; 
 
 Bryng them all to they bles, 
 
 Som dansed so long. 
 
 That beieuet on the name Jhc. 
 
 Tell they helde owt the townge, 
 
 
460 
 
 KEMPION. 
 
 ^tmi^xau 
 
 We copy tnis ballad from the " Minstrelsy 
 of the Scottish Border;" where it is given 
 " chiefly" from " Mrs. Brown's MS.," with 
 *' corrections from a recited fragment." Sir 
 Walter Scott, in some prefixtory remarks, re- 
 fers to several traditionary anecdotes, still 
 current in Scotland and on the borders, con- 
 cerning huge and poisonous snakes, or 
 " worms," destroyed by gallant knights in 
 the olden time. The manor of Sockburne, 
 in the bishopric of Durham, is held of the 
 bishop by the service of presenting to him 
 on his first entrance into his diocese, an an- 
 tique sword or falchion, to commemorate the 
 slaying of a monstrous creature that devoured 
 men, women, and children, — by Sir John 
 Conyers, who received the manor as a reward 
 for his bravery. Pollard's lands, near Bishop 
 Auckland, are held by a similar tenure ; and 
 the founder of the noble family of Somerville 
 is said to have performed a deed as wonder- 
 ful — by thrusting down the throat of the 
 snake a burning peat, "bedabbed with pitch, 
 rosett, and brimstone." A rude sculpture 
 carved above the entrance to the ancient 
 church at Linton in Roxburghshire, is said 
 to represent this exploit ; of which " the vul- 
 gar tell us," — 
 
 The wode Laird of Lariestoun 
 
 Slew the wode worm of Wormiestoune, 
 
 And wan all Lintoun parochine. 
 
 The story of the " Lambton worm" as re- 
 corded in Surtees' " History of Durham," is 
 still more remarkable. The heir of Lambton, 
 profanely fishing on a sabbath day, hooked a 
 small worm or elf, which he carelessly threw 
 into a well ; in process of time it grew to a 
 huge size, and madepreyof the whole country, 
 levying a contribution daily of "nine cows' 
 milk," and, in default of payment, devouring 
 man and beast. The heir who had wrought 
 the mischief, returning from the crusades, 
 determined to destroy it; and, by the advice 
 of a witch, or wise woman, clad himself in a 
 coat of mail studded with razor blades; select- 
 ing as the scene of battle the middle of a river, 
 so that as f^xst as the worm was cut to pieces 
 
 the stream carried away the dissevered parts, 
 and thus prevented their subsequent adhesion. 
 The knight had promised, however, that he 
 would slay the first living thing that met him 
 after his victory ; this chanced to be his 
 father, and, as he refused to keep his vow, 
 it was decreed that no chief of his family 
 should die in his bed for nine generations. 
 Popular tradition continues to point out the 
 vscene of the encounter. Stories of men and 
 women transformed into monsters are suffi- 
 ciently numerous, and have been found 
 among every people. Many such exist in 
 England, in Scotland, and in Ireland ; in the 
 latter country they are invariably supposed 
 to occupy lakes of unfathomed depth, out of 
 which they occasionally arise and make ex- 
 cursions among adjacent mountains, bearing 
 with them to their "palaces" beneath the 
 waters, the cattle of some unhappy " neigh- 
 bour," and not unfrequently the neighbour 
 himself. The origin of the superstition is 
 believed to have been Danish. The tradi- 
 tions of Denmark are full of such romances ; 
 and it is more than probable, that it may 
 have been introduced, by its sea-kings, into 
 the British Islands. 
 
 " The ballad of Kempion," writes Sir Wal- 
 ter Scott, " seems, from the names of the per- 
 sonages and the nature of the adventure, to 
 have been an old me rical romance degraded 
 into a baHad by the lapse of time, and the 
 corruption of reciters." The allusion to the 
 " arblast bow" would seem to affix the com- 
 position to a remote date.* Two ballads 
 which relate to a similar incident have been 
 preserved ; one entitled " Kemp Ovi'yne," by 
 Mr. Motherwell, and another " The Laidly 
 Worm of Spindleston-Heugh," affirmed to 
 have been composed, in 1270, by Duncan 
 Frazier, "living on Cheviot," but supposed 
 to have been, at least re-written, by Mr. 
 Robert Lambe, vicar of Norham. In " Kemp 
 Owyne," ' dove Isabel' is transformed into a 
 monster by her stepmother, and doomed to 
 retain her savage form — 
 
 * The string of the arbalast, or arbalipt. was drawn to 
 the notch in the rentre by means of a wheel, which was 
 usually hung to the girdle of the archer. 
 
KEMPION. 
 
 461 
 
 Till Kemp Ovryne come ower the sea 
 And borrow her with kisses three. 
 
 The three kisses are of course given ; when, 
 instead of the beast " whose breath was 
 Strang, whose hair was lang," — 
 
 Her breath was SAveet, her hair grew short, 
 And twisted nana about the tree ; 
 
 And, smilingly, she came about, 
 As fair a woman as fair could be. 
 
 The ballad of the " Laidly (loathsome) 
 Worm" Avas 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 — stript of its "amendments and enlarge- 
 ments." In this ballad, the daughter of the 
 King of Bamborough is metamorphosed by 
 hei' step-mother, and restored to her natural 
 shape by her brother " Childy Wynd," who 
 avftnges the wrong done to his sister by con- 
 verting the foul witch into a toad. As in 
 " Kempion," and " Kemp Owyne," the resto- 
 ration to humanity is effected by "kisses 
 three:"— 
 
 " 0, quit thy sword and bend thy bow, 
 
 And give nie kisses three ; 
 For though I am a poisonous worm, 
 
 No hurt I'll do to thee. 
 
 "0, quit thy sword and bend thy bow, 
 
 And give me kisses three ; 
 If I'm not won, ere the sun goes down, 
 
 Won I shall never be." 
 
 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. 
 
 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 hav- 
 ing chauntede out a goodlie booke, and 
 sprinkled, plentifully, holy water, — 
 
 Lo. where stood a hag before. 
 Now stood a ghastly stone ! 
 
 " Cum heir, cum heir, ye freely fee'd, 
 And lay your head low on my knee. 
 
 The heaviest weird I will you read, 
 That ever was read to gay ladye. 
 
 "0 meikle dolour sail ye dree, 5 
 
 And aye the salt seas o'er ye'se swim ; 
 
 And far mair dolour sail ye dree 
 
 On Estmere crags, when ye them climb. 
 
 " I weird ye to a fiery beast, 
 
 And relieved sail ye never be, 10 
 
 Till Kempion, the kingis son. 
 
 Cum to the crag, and thrice kiss thee."— 
 
 meikle dolour did she dree. 
 
 And aye the salt seas o'er she swam ; 
 And far mair dolour did she dree 15 
 
 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. 20 
 
 "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, 25 
 
 And they hae set her to the sea ; 
 
 But a mile before they reached the shore, 
 Around them she gared the red fire flee. 
 
 "0 Segramour, keep the boat afloat, 
 
 And let her na the land o'er near; 30 
 
 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, 35 
 Wi' that same shaft to shoot her dead. 
 
 " out of my stythe I winna rise, 
 (And it is not for the awe o' thee,) 
 
 Till Kempion, the kingis son, 39 
 
 Cum to the crag, and thrice kiss me." — 
 
 He has louted 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. 
 
462 
 
 THE DEMON LOVER. 
 
 " out o' my stythe I winna rise, 42 
 
 (And not for a* thy bow nor thee,) 
 
 Till Kerapion, the kingis son, 
 
 Cum to the crag, and thrice kiss me." — 
 
 And he has gi'en her kisses twa : 50 
 
 Awa she gaed, and again she cam. 
 The fieryest beast that ever you saw. 
 
 " out of my den I winna rise, 
 
 Nor flee it for the fear o' thee, 
 Till Kempion, that courteous knight, 55 
 
 Cum to the crag, and thrice kiss me." — 
 
 He's louted him o'er the lofty crag. 
 And he has gi'en her kisses three : 
 
 Awa she gaed, and again she cam. 
 
 The loveliest ladye e'er could be ! 60 
 
 " 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. 
 
 " was it warwolf* in the wood? 65 
 
 Or was it mermaid in the sea? 
 Or was it man or vile woman, 
 
 My ain true love, that mis-shaped thee V — 
 
 ** It wasna warwolf in the wood, 
 
 Nor was it mermaid in the sea : 70 
 
 But it was my wicked step-mother. 
 
 And wae and weary may she be !" — 
 
 " 0, a heavier weird shall light her on, 
 Than ever fell on vile woman ; 
 
 Her hair shall grow rough, 75 
 
 And her teeth groAv 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, 80 
 
 Till St. Mungo come over the sea." — 
 And sighing said that weary wight, 
 
 " I doubt that day I'll never see !" 
 
 %\t ^mau f 0ljK. 
 
 This ballad first appeared in the " Min- 
 strelsy of the Scottish Border ;" it was com- 
 municated 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 im- 
 proved 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. 
 
 " 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 ?" 
 
 " 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. 
 
" hold jour 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 l)ut 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 Lis 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 " fause 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 : — 
 
 59 
 
 [ "0 wae be to the ship, the ship, 
 And wae be to the sea ; 
 And wae be to the mariners 
 Took Jeanie Douglas frae me ! 
 
 "0 bonny, bonny was my love, 
 
 A pleasure to behold ; 
 The very hair o' my love's head 
 
 Was like the threads of gold. 
 
 " 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 AV alter 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, o'er which 
 
 No goblin or swart fairy of the mine 
 Hath hurtful power. 
 
464 
 
 THE DEMON LOVER. 
 
 " WHERE have you been my long, long love, 
 This long seven years and man-?" 
 
 " I'm come to seek my former vows, 
 Ye granted me before/' 
 
 *' hold your tongue of your former vows, 5 
 For they will breed sad strife ; 
 
 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 ; 10 
 
 "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 ; 
 
 1 might have had a king's daughter, 15 
 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." 20 
 
 '* faulse are the vows o* womankind, 
 
 But fair is their faulse 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, 25 
 
 And my two babes also, 
 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 ; 30 
 
 "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: 
 
 ** fare ye weel, my ain two babes, 35 
 
 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. 40 
 
 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, 45 
 
 Bent not on the heaving seas ; 
 And the sails, that were o' the taffetie, 
 
 Filled 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.* 
 
 50 
 
 " hold your tongue of your weeping," says 
 he, 
 
 " Of your weeping now let me be ; 
 I will shoAV you how the lilies grow 55 
 
 On the banks of Italy." 
 
 "0 what hills are yon, yon pleasant hills, 
 That the sun shines sweetly on?" 
 
 " yon are the hills of heaven," he said, 
 " Where you will never win." 60 
 
 *'0 whaten a mountain is yon," she said, 
 " All so dreary wi' frost and snow ?" 
 
 " yon is the mountain of hell," he cried, 
 " Where you and I will go." 
 
 And aye when she turn'd her round about, 
 Aye taller he seemed to be ; 66 
 
 Until that the tops o' the gallant ship 
 Nae taller were than he. 
 
 The clouds grew dark, and the wind grew 
 loud, 
 
 And the levin filled her e'e ; 70 
 
 And waesome wailed the snow-white sprites, 
 
 Upon the gurlie 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, remorse 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 tee. 
 
 And, at the same time, — 
 
 The thoughts o' grief came in her mind, 
 And she langed for to be hame; 
 
 While the miserable woman thus prays: — 
 
 " I may be buried in Scottish ground, 
 Where I was bred and born." 
 
HOW A MERCHANDE DYD IIYS WYFE BETRAY. 
 
 465 
 
 |i0to n "^m^mh bgb \p WiU Srirag. 
 
 The story of this ancient poem seems to 
 have appeared in all possible shapes. It is 
 contained in a tract entitled " Penny-wise, 
 pound-foolish ; or a Bristow diamond, set in 
 two rings, and both crack'd. Profitable for 
 married men, pleasant for young men, and a 
 rare example fur all good women," London, 
 1631, 4to. b. L, and is well known, at least in 
 the North, by the old ballad called "The 
 Pennyworth of Wit." It likewise appears, 
 from Langham's letter, 1575, to have been 
 then in print, under the title of "The Chap- 
 man of a Pennyworth of Wit ;" though no 
 edition of that age is now known to exist. 
 The following copy is from a transcript made 
 by the late Mr. Baynes from one of Bp. More's 
 manuscripts in the public library at Cam- 
 bridge (Ff, 2. 38, or 690), written apparently 
 about the reign of Edward the Fourth, or 
 Richard the Third ; carefully but unnecessa- 
 rily examined with the original. The poem 
 itself, however, is indisputably of a gi-eater age, 
 and seems from the language and orthography 
 to be of Scottish, or at least of North country 
 extraction. The fragment of a somewhat 
 different copy, in the same dialect, is con- 
 tained in a MS. of Henry the Sixth's time in 
 the British Museum (Bib. Har. 5396). It hns 
 evidently been designed to be sung to the harp. 
 
 Lystenyth, lordyngys, y you pray, 
 
 IIow a merchand dyd hys wyfe betray, 
 
 Bothe be day and be nyght, 
 
 Yf ye wyll herkyn aryght. 
 
 Thys songe ys of a merchand of thya cuntre, 
 
 That had a wyfe feyre and free ; 6 
 
 The marchand had a full gode wyfe, 
 
 Sche louyd hym trewly as hur lyfe, 
 
 What that euyr he to hur sayde, 
 
 Euyr sche helde hur wele apayde : 10 
 
 The marchand, that was so gay, 
 
 By another woman he lay ; 
 
 He boght hur gownys of grete pryce, 
 
 Furryd with menyvere and with gryse, 
 
 To hur hedd ryall atyre, 15 
 
 As any lady myght desyre 
 
 Hys wyfe, that was so trewe as ston, 
 
 He wolde ware no thyng vpon : 
 
 That was foly be my fay, 
 
 That fayrenes schulde tru loue betray. 20 
 
 So hyt happenyd, as he wolde, 
 
 The marchand ouer the see he schulde; 
 
 To hys leman ys he gon, 
 
 Leue at hur for to tane ; 
 
 With clyppyng and with kyssyng swete, 25 
 
 When they schulde parte bothe dyd they 
 
 wepe. 
 Tyll hys wyfe ys he gon, 
 Leue at her then hath he tan ; 
 Dame, he seyde, be goddys are. 
 Haste any money thou woldyst ware? 30 
 Whan y come bezon(^e the see 
 That y myzt the bye some ryche drewrfe. 
 Syr, sche seyde, as Christ me saue, 
 Ye haue all that euyr y haue ; 
 Ye schall haue a peny here, 35 
 
 As ye ar my trewe fere. 
 Bye ye me a peny worth of wytt, 
 And in youre hert kepe wele byt. 
 Styll stode the merchand tho, 
 Lothe he was the peny to forgoo, 40 
 
 Certen sothe, as y yow say. 
 He put hyt in hys puree and yede hys way. 
 A full gode wynde god hath hym sende, 
 Yn Fraunce hyt can hym brynge; 
 A full gode schypp arrayed he 45 
 
 AYyth marchaundyce and spycerfe. 
 Certen sothe, or he wolde reste, 
 He boght hys lemman of the beste, 
 He boght hur bedys, brochys and ryngys, 
 Nowchys of guide, and many feyre thyngys ; 
 He boght hur perry to hur hedd, 51 
 
 Of safurs and of rubyes redd ; 
 Hys wyfe, that was so trew as ston, 
 He wolde ware nothyng vpon : 
 That was foly be my fay, 55 
 
 That fayrenes schulde trew loue betray. 
 When he had boght all that he wolde, 
 The marchand ouyr the see he schulde. 
 The marchandys man to his mayster 
 
 speke, 
 Oure dameys peny let vs not forgete. 60 
 
 The marchand swore, be seynt Anne, 
 Zyt was that a lewde bargan, 
 To bye owre dame a penyworth of wytt, 
 In all Fraunce y can not fynde hyt. 
 
466 
 
 HOW A MERCHANDE DYD HYS WYFE BETRAY. 
 
 * An* olde man in the halle stode, 65 
 
 The marchandjs speche he undurzode : 
 The olde man to the marchand can saj, 
 A worde of counsell y yow pray, 
 And y schall selle yow a peny worth of wyt, 
 Yf ye take gode hede to hyt: 70 
 
 Tell me marchand, be thy lyfe, 
 Whethyr 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 ; 76 
 
 When thou comyst ouyr the salte fome, 
 Olde clothys then do the vpon, 
 To thy lemman that thou goo, 
 And telle her of all thy woo ; 80 
 
 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 haste tolde hur soo, 85 
 
 Then to thy weddyd wyfe thou go ; 
 Whedyr helpyth the bettur yn thy nede, 
 Dwelle with hur, as Cryste the spede. 
 The marchand seyde, wele must thou fare. 
 Have here thy peny, y haue my ware. 90 
 When he come ouer the salte fome, 
 Olde clothys he dyd hym vpon, 
 Hys lemman lokyd forthe and on hym see, 
 * And seyde to hur maydyn, how lykyth the ? 
 My love ys comyn fro beyonde the see, 95 
 Come hedur, and see hym wyth thyn eye. 
 The maydyn seyde, be my fay. 
 He ys yn a febuU array. 
 Go down, maydyn, in to the halle, 
 Yf thou mete the marchand wythalle, 100 
 And yf he spyrre aftyr me. 
 Say, thou sawe me wyth non eye ; 
 Yf he wyll algatys wytt. 
 Say in my chaumbyr y lye sore syke, 
 Out of hyt y may not wynne, 105 
 
 To speke wyth none ende of my kynne, 
 Nother wyth hym nor wyth none other, 
 Thowe he ware myn own brother. 
 Alias ! seyde the maydyn, why sey ye soo? 
 Thynke how he helpyed yow owt of moche 
 wo. 110 
 
 Fyrst when ye mett, wyth owt lesynge, 
 Youre gode was not worthe xx s., 
 Now hyt ys worthe cccc pownde. 
 Of golde and syluyr that ys rounds; 
 
 Ver. 65, And. V. 79. 80. These two lines are in the MS. 
 inserted after the four following. 
 
 Gode ys but a lante lone, 115 
 
 Some tyme men haue hyt, and some tyme 
 
 none ; 
 Thogh all hys gode be gon hym froo, 
 Neuyr forsake hym in hys woo. 
 Go downe, mi\dyn, as y bydd the, 
 Thou schalt no lenger ellys dwelle with me. 
 The maydyn wente in to the halle, 121 
 
 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, 125 
 
 Yn hyr chaumbyr sche lyeth full syke, 
 Out of hyt sche may not wynne. 
 To speke wyth non ende of hur kynne, 
 Nother wyth yow nor wyth none other, 
 Thowe ye were hur owne brother. 130 
 
 Maydyn, to my lemman that thou go, 
 And telle hur my gode ys loste me fro, 
 My schyp ys droAvnyd in the fom. 
 And all my gode ys loste me from ; 
 A gentylman have y slawe, 135 
 
 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. 140 
 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 towue, 145 
 
 And make the kyngys baylyes to come ; 
 
 Y swere, be god of grete renown, 
 
 Y wyll neuyr harbur the kyngys feloun. 
 The maydyn wente in to the halle. 
 
 And thus sche tolde the merchand alle ; 150 
 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 behynde. 
 
 THE SECOND FIT. 
 
 Lystenyth, lordyngys, great and small : 
 
 The marchand ys now to hys own halle ; 
 
 Of hys comyng hys wyfe was fayne, 
 
 Anone sche come hym agayne. 
 
 Husbonde, sche seyde, welcome ye be, 
 
 How haue ye farde beyonde the see? 160 
 
 Dame, 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 ; 
 
HOW A MERCHANDE DYD HYS WYFE BETRAY. 
 
 467 
 
 In a storme y was bestadde, 165 
 
 Was y neuyr halfe so sore adrad, 
 
 Y thanke hyt god, for so y may, 
 That euyr y skapyd on ly ve away ; 
 My schyp ys drownyd in the fom, 
 
 And all my gode ys loste me from ; 170 
 
 A gentylman haue y slavve, 
 
 I may not abyde the londys lawe ; 
 
 I pray the, as thou louest me dere, 
 
 As thou art my trewe weddyd fere, 174 
 
 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 ; 180 
 
 Y schall go to the kyng and to the quene, 
 And knele before them on my kneen, 
 There to knele and neuyr to cese, 
 
 Tyl of the kyng y haue getyn thy pees : 
 
 I can bake, brewe, carde and spynne, 185 
 
 My maydenys and y can sylvyr wynne, 
 
 Euyr Avhyll y am thy wyfe. 
 
 To maynten the a trewe mannys lyfe. 
 
 Certen sothe, as y yow say, 
 
 All nyght be hys wyfe he lay, 190 
 
 On the morne, as he forthe yede, 
 
 He kaste pn 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, 196 
 
 Sche put on hur a garment of palle. 
 
 And mett the marchand in the halle, 
 
 Twyes or thryes, or euyr he wyste, 
 
 Trewly sche had hym kyste. 200 
 
 Syr, sche seyde, be seynt John, 
 
 Ye were neuyr halfe so welcome home. 
 
 Sche was a schrewe, as haue y hele, 
 
 There sche currayed fauell well. 
 
 Dame, he seyde, be- seynt John, 205 
 
 Zyb ar not we at oon ; 
 
 Hyt was tolde me beyonde the see, 
 
 Thou haste another leman then me. 
 
 All the gode that was thyn and myne, 
 
 Thou haste geuyn hym, be seynt Martyn. 
 
 Syr, as Cryste bryng me fro bale, 211 
 
 Sche lyeth falsely that tolde the that tale ; 
 
 Hyt was thy wyfe, that olde trate, 
 
 That neuyr gode worde by me spake ; 
 
 Were sche dedd (god lene hyt wolde!) 215 
 
 Of the hau« all my wylle y schulde ; 
 
 Erly, late, lowde and stylle, 
 
 Of the schulde y haue all my wylle : 
 
 Ye schall see, so muste y the. 
 
 That sche lyeth falsely on me. 220 
 
 Sche leyde a canvas on the flore, 
 
 Longe and large, styffe and store, 
 
 Sche leyde theron, wythowten lyte, 
 
 Fyfty schetys waschen whyte, 
 
 Pecys of syluyr, masers of golde; 225 
 
 The marchand stode hyt to be holde: 
 
 He put hyt in a wyde sakk. 
 
 And leyde hyt on the hors bakk ; 
 
 He bad hys chylde go belyue. 
 
 And lede thys home to my wyue. 230 
 
 The chylde on hys way ys gon. 
 
 The marchande come aftyr anon ; 
 
 He caste the pakk downe in the flore, 
 
 Longe and large, styf and store, 
 
 As hyt lay on the grounde, 235 
 
 Hyt was wele worthe cccc pownde : 
 
 They on dedyn the mouth aryght, 
 
 There they sawe a ryall syght. 
 
 Syr, sayde hys wyfe, be the rode. 
 
 Where had ye all thys ryall gode ? 240 
 
 Dame, he seyde, be goddys are. 
 
 Here ys thy penyworth of ware ; 
 
 Yf thou thynke hyt not-^ele besett, 
 
 Gyf hyt another can be ware hytt bett ; 
 
 All thys wyth thy peny boght y, 245 
 
 And therfore y gyf hyt the frely ; 
 
 Do wyth all what so euyr ye lyste, 
 
 I wyll neuyr aske yow accowntys, bo Crysto. 
 
 The marchandys wyfe to hym can say, 
 
 Why come ye home in so febull array ? 250 
 
 Then seyde the marchand, sone ageyn, 
 
 Wyfe, for to assay the in certeyn ; 
 
 For at my lemman was y before, 
 
 And sche by me sett lytyll store. 
 
 And sche louyd bettyr my gode then me, ' 
 
 And so wyfe dydd neuyr ye. 256 
 
 To telle hys wyfe then he began, 
 
 All that gode he had takyn fro hys lemman ; 
 
 And all was becawse of thy peny, 
 
 Therfore y gyf hyt the frely ; 260 
 
 And y gyf god a vowe thys howre, 
 
 Y wyll neuyr more have paramo wre, 
 But the, myn own derlyng and wyfe, 
 Wyth the wyll y lede my lyfe. 
 
 Thus the marchandys care be gan to kele. 
 He lefte hys folye euery dele, 266 
 
 And leuyd in clennesse and honest^ ; 
 
 Y pray god that so do we. 
 God that ys of grete renowne, 
 
 Saue all the gode folke of thys towne: 270 
 
 Jesu, as thou art heuyn kynge, 
 
 To the blys of heuyn owre soules brynge. 
 
468 
 
 FAUSE FOODRAGE. 
 
 Jfause |'00irage. 
 
 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 Fhe 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. Farquhar, 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 retained all the 
 gongs 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 Blrs. 
 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 ne- 
 phew, my much esteemed friend. Professor Scott; and it 
 rests with me to feel that I owe them much more for the 
 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 ■-'tory, according to one way of telling, but 
 studied to ai-quire all the vai-ieties of the same tale which 
 ehe could meet with." 
 
 though there can be no question that it re- 
 ceived nf)any 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 Dou- 
 glas, 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, w^ith 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 
 "Complayntof Scotland," mention is made 
 of an ancient romance, entitled, "How the 
 King of Estmureland married the King's 
 daughter of Westmureland." But Mr. Kit- 
 son is of opinion, that— " Estmureland and 
 Westmureland have no sort of relation to 
 
FAUSE FOODRAGE. 
 
 469 
 
 Northumberland and Westmoreland. The 
 former was never called Eastmoreland, nor 
 were there any kings of Westmoreland, un- 
 less we admit the authority of an old rhyme, 
 cited by Usher ;— 
 
 Here the King We.^tmer 
 Slew the King Rothinger. 
 
 In the old metrical romance of " Kyng 
 Horn," or " Horn Child," we find both West- 
 nesse and Estnesse ; and it is somewhat sin- 
 gular, that two places, so called, actually ex- 
 ist in Yorkshire at this day. But " ness," 
 in that quarter, is the name given to an in- 
 let from a river. There is, however, great 
 confusion in this poeai, as "Horn" is called 
 king, s imetimes t)f one country, and some- 
 times of the other. In the French original, 
 Westir is said to have been the old name of 
 Ilirland 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 rata," adds the le.irned antiquary, 
 " highly probable, that the story, cited in the 
 'Complayntof Scotland,' was a romance of 
 ' King Horn,' whether prose or verse ; and, 
 consequently, that Estmureland and West- 
 mureland should there mean England and 
 Ireland ; though it is possible that no other 
 instance can be found of these two names 
 occurring 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 kevlls them amang, 
 
 And kevils them between ; 
 And they cast kevils them amang, 
 
 AVha 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. — Leges 
 Burgoram, cap. 59, de lot, cut, or kavil. Sla- 
 tua GUdcE, cap. 20. Nallns emat lanani, d^c, 
 nisi fuerit coufrater Gildce, doc. Ncque lot 
 neque cavil habmt cum aliqvo contratre nos- 
 tro. 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 comelye face, 
 
 And for her fair bodie. 
 
 They had not been four months married, 5 
 
 As I have heard them tell, 
 Until the nobles of the land 
 
 Against them did rebel. 
 
 And they cast kevils them amang, 
 
 And kevils them between ; 10 
 
 And they cast kevils them amang, 
 Wha suld gae kill the king. 
 
 some said yea, and some said nay, 
 
 Their words did not agree ; 
 Till up and got him, Fause Foodrage, 15 
 
 And swore it suld be he. 
 
 When bells were rung, and mass was sung, 
 
 And a' men bound to bed. 
 King Honour and his gaye ladye 
 
 In a hie chamber were laid. 20 
 
 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. 
 
 0, four and twenty silver keys 25 
 
 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 ? 30 
 
 Or what's the matter, Fause Foodrage, 
 Or wha has loot you in ?" — ■ 
 
 " ye my errand weel sail learn 
 
 Before that I depart."— 
 Then drew a knife, baith lang and sharp, 35 
 
 And pierced him to the heart. 
 
 Then up and got the queen hersell, 
 And fell low down on her knee ; 
 
 " spare my life» now, Fause Foodrage, 
 For I never injured thee. 40 
 
 " spare my life, now, Fause Foodrage, 
 
 Until I lighter be ! 
 And see gin it be lad or lass. 
 
 King Honour has left wi' me."— 
 
470 
 
 FAUSE FOODRAGE. 
 
 45 
 
 50 
 
 55 
 
 60 
 
 "0 gin it he a lass," he says, 
 
 " VVeel nursed it sail be; 
 But gin it be a lad bairn, 
 
 He sail be hanged hie. 
 
 "I winna spare fur his tender age, 
 
 Nor yet for his hie hie kin ; 
 But soon as e'er he born is, 
 
 He sail mount the gallows pin." — 
 
 four-and-twenty valiant knights 
 Were set the queen to guard ; 
 
 And four stood aye at her bouir 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. 
 
 she has birled these merry young men 
 With the ale but and the wine. 
 
 Until they were a' deadly drunk 
 As any wild-wood swine. 
 
 " narrow, narrow, is this window, 
 And big, big, am I grown !" — 
 
 Yet through the might of our Ladye, 
 Out at it she has gone. 
 
 She wandered up, she wandered down, 
 She wandered out and in ; 70 
 
 And, at last, into the very sAvine's stythe, 
 The queen brought forth a son. 
 
 Then they cast kevils them amang. 
 Which suld gae seek the queen ; 
 
 And the kevil fell upon Wise William, 
 And he sent his wife for him. 
 
 65 
 
 75 
 
 80 
 
 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 ?" — 
 
 *' out o* this I 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 85 
 
 R-ight weel to breast a steed ; 
 And I sail learn your turtle dow 
 
 As weel to write and read. 
 
 " And ye maun learn my gay goss-haw^k 
 To wield baith bow and brand; 90 
 
 Arid I sail learn your turtle dow 
 To lay gowd wi' her hand. 
 
 " At kirk and market when we meet, 
 
 We'll dare make nae avowe, 94 
 
 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. 100 
 
 It sae fell out, at this hunting, 
 
 Upon a simmer's day, 
 That they came by a fair castell, 
 
 Stood on a sunny brae. 
 
 *' dinna ye see that bonny castell, 105 
 
 Wi' halls and towers sae fiir? 
 Gin ilka man had back his ain. 
 
 Of it you suld be heir." — 
 
 " Hew I suld be heir of that castell. 
 
 In sooth, I canna see ; 110 
 
 For it belangs to Fause Foodrage, 
 And he is na kin to me." 
 
 "0 gin ye suld kill him, Fause Foodrage, 
 You would do but what was right ; 
 
 For, I wot, he killed your father dear, 115 
 Or ever ye saw the light. 
 
 "And gin ye suld kill him, Fause Foodrage, 
 There is no man durst you blame; 
 
 For he keeps your mother a prisoner. 
 
 And she daurna take ye hame." — 120 
 
 *"Thia metaphorical language," says Scott, "was cus- 
 tomary among the northern nations. In 925, King A del- 
 stein sent an embassy to HaraW Harfager, King of Nor- 
 way, the chief of which presented that prince with a 
 sword. As it was presented by the point, the Norwegian 
 chief, in receiving it, unwarily 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 Nor- 
 wesrian prince resolving to circumvent bis rival by a simi- 
 lar artifice, sent, next summer, an ambassy to Adelstein, 
 the chief of which presented Haco, the son of Harald. to the 
 English prince ; and placing him on his knees, made the 
 following declaration: — ^ Saraldus, Normanorwn Eex, 
 amice te sau at; albamque hanc avem bme institutam miitit 
 utque melius delnceps e.rudias. postulaV The King received 
 young Ilaco on his knees, which the Norwegian accepted, 
 in the name of his master, as a declaration of inferiority ; 
 according to the proverb, ' Is minor sanjper habetur, qui 
 cdterius Jilium educat.' " 
 
SIR AGILTIIORN. 
 
 471 
 
 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," 
 
 ** gin I be King Honour's son, 125 
 
 By our Ladye 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 casteil wa' ; 130 
 
 And soon he has seized on Fause Foodrage, 
 Wha loud for help 'gan ca'. 
 
 "0 baud your tongue, now, Fause Foodrage, 
 
 Frae me ye shanna flee;" — 
 Syne pierced him through the fause, fause 
 heart, 135 
 
 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. 140 
 
 Bit ^giltljnrn. 
 
 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- 
 cious or the vicious. 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 
 60 
 
 that he did service to our literature by show- 
 ing, that " the prevailing taste of Germany 
 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 vivacity of the circulation and liveliness of 
 sensation which distinguish a young subject." 
 It is certain, that at the period in which he 
 "flourished," English literature had become 
 sluggish, inert, and comparatively valueless; 
 while " 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 showalegitimate 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 and 
 
 * " Lewis was a martinet, if I may so term him, in the 
 nccuracy of rhymes and of numbers; I may add he had a 
 right to be so. for few persons have exhibited more mas- 
 tery of rhjme, or greater command over the meloc^y of 
 verse." * * * * "His works were admii-ed, and the 
 author became famous, not merely through his own 
 merit, though that was of no mean quality, but because he 
 had in some measure taken the public by surprise, by 
 u^ing a style of composition, which, like national melo- 
 dies, is so congenial to the j^eneral taste, that though it 
 palls by being much hackneyed, it has only to he for a 
 short time f irgotten in rd(U' to recover its original popu- 
 larity." — Sir "Walter Scoi^r. 
 
472 
 
 SIR AGILTHORN. 
 
 his imitators, towards the close of the last 
 century, absolutel}' flooded the libraries of 
 Gi-eat 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 failure's ; 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, vras 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 
 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 Scoit, 
 " 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, Avhich 
 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 woik, 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 5 
 
 E%r dimmt'd for others' woe thine eyes, 
 
 Thou'lt surely dew, with drops sincere, 
 The sod where lady Eva lies. 
 
SIR AGILTIIORN. 
 
 473 
 
 Yon crumbling chapel's sainted bound 9 
 
 Their hands and hearts beheld them plight ; 
 
 Long held yon towers, will) ivy crowned, 
 The beauteous dame and gallant knight. 
 
 Alas ! the hour of bliss is past, 
 
 For hark! the din of discord rings: 14 
 War's claiion sounds, Joy hears the blast, 
 
 And trembling plies his radiant wings. 
 
 And must sad Eva lose her lord? 
 
 And must he seek the martial plain? 
 Oh ! see, she brings his casque and sword ; 
 
 Oh ! hark, she pours her plaintive strain ! 
 
 " Blessed is the village damsel's fate, 21 
 
 Though poor and low her station be ; 
 
 Safe from the cares which haunt the great, 
 Safe from the cares which torture me ! 
 
 " No doubting fear, no cruel pain, 25 
 
 No dread suspense her breast alarms ; 
 
 No tyrant honour rules her swain, 
 And tears him from her folding arras. 
 
 *• She, careless wandering 'midst the rocks. 
 In pleasing toil consumes the day; 30 
 
 Aiid tends her goats, or feeds her flocks, 
 Or joins her rustic lover's lay. 
 
 "Though hard her couch, each sorrow flies 
 The pillow which supports her head ; 
 
 She sleeps, nor fears at morn her eyes 35 
 Shall wake, to mourn a husband dead. 
 
 " Hush, impious fears ! the good and brave 
 Heaven's arm will guard from danger free; 
 
 When death with thousands gluts the grave, 
 His dart, my love, shall glance from thee ; 
 
 "While thine shall fly direct and sure, 41 
 
 This buckler every blow repel ; 
 This casque from wounds that face secure, 
 
 Where all the loves and graces dwell. 
 
 " This glittering scarf, with tenderest care, 
 My hands in happier moments wove; 46 
 
 Cursed be the wretch, whose sword shall tear 
 The spell-bound work of wedded love ! 
 
 " Lo ! on thy falchion keen and bright, 
 I shed a trembling consort's tears ; 50 
 
 Oh ! when their traces meet thy sight, 
 Rexnember wretched Eva's fears ! 
 
 "Think how thy lips she f(mdly pressed. 
 Think how she wept — compelled to part; 
 
 Think every wound which scars thy breast. 
 Is doubly marked on Eva's heart!" — 56 
 
 " thou ! my mistress, wife, and friend I" — 
 Thus Agilthorn with sighs began ; 
 
 "Thy fond comp:aints my boson\ rend, 
 Thy tears my fainting soul unman : 60 
 
 "In pity cease, my gentle dame. 
 
 Such sweetness and such grief to join ! 
 
 Lest I forget the voice of Fame, 
 And only list to Love's and thine. 
 
 " Flow, flow, my tears, unbounded gush ! 65 
 Rise, rise, my sobs, I set ye free : 
 
 Bleed, bleed, my heart! I need not blush 
 To own that life is dear to me. 
 
 "The wretch whose lips have pressed the 
 bowl, ^ 
 
 The bitter howl of pain and woe, 70 
 
 May careless reach his mortarl goal, 
 
 May boldly meet the final blow : 
 
 " His hopes destroyed, his comfort wrecked, 
 A happier life he hopes to find ; 
 
 But what can I in heaven expect, 75 
 
 Beyond the bliss I leave behind? 
 
 " Oh, no ! the joys of yonder skies. 
 
 To prosperous love present no charms ; 
 
 My heaven is placed in Eva's eyes, 
 
 My paradise in Eva's arms. 80 
 
 " Yet mark me, sweet ! if Heaven's command. 
 Hath doomed my fall in martial strife. 
 
 Oh ! let not anguish tempt thy hand 
 To rashly break the thread of life 1 
 
 " No ! let our boy thy care engross, 85 
 
 Let him thy stay, thy comfort be; 
 
 Supply his luckless father's loss, 
 And love him for thyself and me. 
 
 " So may oblivion soon efface 
 
 The grief Avhich clouds this fatal morn ; 
 And soon thy cheeks aiford no trace 91 
 
 Of tears which fall for Agilthorn !" 
 
 He said ; and couched his quivering lance: 
 He said ; and braced his mooi>.y shield : — 
 
 Sealed a last kiss, threw a last glance, 95 
 Then spurred his steed to Flodden Field. 
 
474 
 
 SIR AGILTIIORN. 
 
 But Eva, of all joy bereft, 
 
 Stood rooted at the castle gate. 
 
 And viewed the prints his courser left, 
 While hurrying at the call of fate. 
 
 100 
 
 Forebodings sad her bosom told, 
 
 The steed which bore hi in thence so light, 
 llcr longing eyes would ne'er behold 
 
 Again bring home her own true knight. 
 
 While many a sigh her bosom heaves, 105 
 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 ; 110 
 
 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 o'er the combat, home repair, 115 
 
 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." 120 
 
 ** 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 ; 125 
 
 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 breas*^ ; 
 
 And now she bade the warder speak, 131 
 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, 135 
 
 Nought but the shades of Forest-Bov^-er." 
 
 "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. 140 
 
 " 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. 
 
 " 0, warder, from the castle tower, 145 
 
 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, 150 
 
 His eyes shot beams of gentle five, 
 
 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 155 
 
 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!" IGO 
 
 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? 165 
 
 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 O'^way'.s eyelids fell ; 170 
 
 Too truly Eva's heart explained, 
 
 W^hat meant those silent tears to tell. 
 
 " Come, come, my babe 1" she wildly cried, 
 " We needs must seek the field of woe: 
 
 Come, come, my babe ! cast fear aside ! 175 
 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, 179 
 
 And lightning streaks the heavens with red. 
 
 " Hark, hark, the AA'inds tempestuous rave I. 
 
 Oh ! be thy dread intent resigned ! 
 Or, if resolved the storm to brave, 
 
 Be this dear infant left behind !" 
 
THE LIFE AND DEATH OF TOM THUMBE. 
 
 475 
 
 " No, no ! with me my baby stays ! 185 
 
 With me he lives ; with me he dies ! 
 
 Fhish, lightnings, flcash ! your friendly blaze 
 Will shew me where my warrior lies." 
 
 see she roams the bloody field. 
 
 And wildly shrieks her husband's name: 
 
 see she stops and eyes a shield, 191 
 
 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, 195 
 
 Then on hif bosom sunk and died. 
 
 Huntsman, their rustic grave behold : 
 'Tis here, at night, the fairy king. 
 
 Where sleeps the fair, wdiere sleeps the bold, 
 Oft forms his light fantastic ring. 200 
 
 'Tis here, at eve, each village youth 
 With freshest flowers the turf adorns; 
 
 'Tis here he swears eternal truth, 
 By Eva's faith and Agil thorn's. 
 
 And here the virgins sadly tell, 
 Each seated by her shepherd's side, 
 
 How brave the gallant warrior fell, 
 How true his lovely lady died. 
 
 Ah ! gentle huntsman, pitying hear, 
 And mourn the gentle lovers' doom ! 
 
 Oh ! gentle hunstman, 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, 
 
 205 
 
 210 
 
 215 
 
 Should ne'er have cause to weep their own. 
 
 re fife anb geat^ of %m f l]wmbe. 
 
 It is needless to mention the popularity of 
 the following story. Every city, town, vil- 
 lage, shop, stall, man, woman, and child, in 
 the kingdom, 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 discovered. 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 
 h 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, 1626, Skelton, one of the characters, 
 after mentioning Elinor Humming, 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 Vapor, 
 Elinor Humming, Mary Ambree, Lang Meg 
 of Westminster, Tom Thumb, and Doctor 
 Rat."* 
 
 Five years before there had appeared "The 
 History of Tom Thumbe, the Little, for his 
 
 * Works, by Whalley, vi. 195. "Doctor Eat, the curate," 
 18 one of the Dramatis Fersonce in "Gammar Gurtoa'a 
 Needle." 
 
476 
 
 THE LIFE AND DEATH OF TOM THUMBE. 
 
 small stature surnamed King Arthur's 
 Dwarfe: Whose Life and adventures containe 
 many strange and wonderful accidents, pub- 
 lished for the delight of merry Time-spenders. 
 Imprinted at London for Tho. Langley, 1621, 
 (12m(). bl. 1.)" This, however, was only the 
 common metrical story turned into prose 
 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. 
 
 'j My merry Muse begets no Tales of Guy 
 of Warwicke, nor of bould Sir Beuis of Hamp- 
 ton ; nor will I trouble my penne with the 
 pleasant glee of Robin Hood, little lohn, the 
 Fryer and his Marian ; nor will I call to 
 minde the lusty Pindar of Wakefield, nor 
 those bold Yeomen of the North, Adam Bell, 
 Clem of the Clough, nor William of Clou- 
 DESLY, those ancient archers of all England, 
 nor shal my story be made of the mad merry 
 pranckes of Tom of Bethlem, Tom Lincolne, 
 or Tom a Lin, the Diuels supposed Bastard, 
 nor yet of Garagantua that monster of men,* 
 
 but of AN OLDER ToM, A ToM OF MORE ANTI- 
 QUITY, 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, 
 haue beene the only reuiuers of drowzy age 
 at midnight; old and young haue with his 
 Tales chim'd Mattens till the cocks crow in 
 the morning ; Batchelors and Maides with his 
 Tales haue compassed the Christmas fire- 
 blocke, till the Curfew-Bell rings candle out; 
 the old Shepheard and the young Plow boy 
 after their dayes labour, haue cavold out a 
 Tale of Tom Thumbe to make them merry 
 with : and who but little Tom, hath made 
 long nights seem short, and heauy toyles 
 easie ? Therefore (gentle Reader) considering 
 that old modest mirth is turned naked out of 
 doors, while nimble wit in the great Hall sits 
 vpon a soft cushion giuing dry bobbes; for 
 which cause I will, if I can new cloath him 
 in his former liuery, and bring him againe 
 into the Chimney Corner, where now you 
 
 * This is scarcely true; the titles of the two last chap- 
 ters being, 1. " How Tom Thumbe riding forth to take the 
 ayre. met with the great Garagantua. and of the speech 
 that wa"? betweene them." 2. " How Tom Thumbe after 
 conferenf'ehad with groat Garagantua returned, and how 
 he met with King Twadle." 
 
 must imagine me to sit by a good fire, 
 amongst a company of good fellowes ouer a 
 Avell spic'd Wassel-bowle of Christmas Ale 
 telling of these merry Tales which hereafter 
 folloAT." This is in the editor's possession. 
 
 In the panegyric verses (by Michael Dra}"-- 
 ton and others) upon Tom Coryate and his 
 Crudities, London, 1611, 4to., our hero is 
 thus introduced, along with a namesake, of 
 w^hom, unfortunately, we know nothing fur- 
 ther: 
 
 "Tom Thumbe is dumbe, vntill the pudding 
 
 creepe, 
 "In which he was intomb'd, then out doth 
 
 peope. 
 "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 
 CHILDHOOD (says honest Reginald Scot) our 
 mothers maids haue so terrified vs with an 
 ouglie diuell. . . and haue so fraied vs with 
 bull beggers, spirits, witches, vrchens, clues, 
 hags, fairies, satyrs, pans, faunes, sylens, kit 
 with the cansticke, tritons, centaurs, d^varfes, 
 giants, imps, calcars, coniurors, nymphes, 
 changlings, incubus, Robin good-fellow, the 
 spoorne, the mare, the man in the oke, the 
 belle-waine, the firedrake, the puckle, Tom 
 Thombe, hob-gobblin, Tom tumbler, boncles, 
 and such other bugs, that we are afraide of 
 our owne shadowes."f 
 
 To these researches we shall only add the 
 opinion of that eminent antiquary Mr. 
 Thomas Hearne, that this History, " how- 
 ever looked upon as altogether fictitious, yet 
 was CERTAINLY founded upon some authen- 
 TicK History, as being nothing else, origi- 
 nally, but a description of King Edgar's 
 
 DWARF."J 
 
 * In a different part of the work we find other charac- 
 ters mentioned, whose story is now, perhaps, irretrievably 
 forgot : 
 
 I am not now to tell a tale 
 
 Of George a Green, or lacle a Vale, 
 
 Or yet of Chittiface. 
 
 f Discouerie of Witchcraft. London. 1584, 4to. p. 155. 
 See also Arrhb. Ilarsnet's Declaration of Popish Impos- 
 ture. Ibi. Ifi04. 4to. p. 135. 
 
 J Benedictus Jb'ias, Appendix ad Pro'fationem, p. r.v. 
 Mr. Hearne was probably led to fix upon this monarch by 
 
THE LIFE AND DEATH OF TOM TIIUMBE. 
 
 ■477 
 
 In Arthurs court Tom Thumbe did liue, 
 
 
 ToM Thumbe, the which the Fayry-Queene 
 
 A mau of uiickle might, 
 
 
 Theie gave him to his name, 
 
 
 The best of all the table round, 
 
 
 Who, with her traine of Goblins grim, 
 
 
 And eke a doughty kni<j,ht: 
 
 
 Vnto his christning came. 
 
 40 
 
 His stature but an inch in height, 
 
 5 
 
 Whereas she cloath'd him richly braue, 
 
 
 Or quarter of a span ; 
 
 
 In garments fine and faire. 
 
 
 Then thinke you not this little knight, 
 
 
 Which lasted him f )r many yeares 
 
 
 Was prou'd a valiant man ? 
 
 
 In seemely sort to weare. 
 
 
 His father was a plow-man plaine, 
 
 
 His hat made of an oaken leafe, 
 
 45 
 
 His mother milkt the cow, 
 
 10 
 
 His shirt a spiders web. 
 
 
 But yet the way to get a sonne 
 
 ^ 
 
 Both light and soft for those his limbea 
 
 
 'This' couple knew not how, 
 
 
 That were so smally bred ; 
 
 
 Untill such time this good old man 
 
 
 His hose and doublet thistle downe, 
 
 
 To learned Merlin goes. 
 
 
 Togeather weau'd full fine ; 
 
 50 
 
 And there to him his deepe desires 
 
 15 
 
 His stockins of an apple greene, 
 
 
 In secret manner shoM'es, 
 
 
 Made of the outward rine ; 
 
 
 How in his heart he wisht to haue 
 
 
 His garters were two little haires, 
 
 
 A childe, in time to come, 
 
 
 PuU'd from his mothers eye, 
 
 
 To be his heire, though it might be 
 
 
 His bootes and shoes a mouses skin, 
 
 55 
 
 No bigger than his Thumbe. 
 
 20 
 
 There tand most curiously. 
 
 
 Of which old Merlin thus foretold, 
 
 
 Thus, like a lustie gallant, he 
 
 
 That he his wish should haue, 
 
 
 Aduentured forth to goe. 
 
 
 And so this sonne of stature small 
 
 
 With other children in the streets 
 
 
 The charmer to him gaue. 
 
 
 His pretty trickes to show. 
 
 60 
 
 No blood nor bones in him should be, 
 
 25 
 
 Where he for counters, pinns, and points 
 
 , 
 
 In shape and being such, 
 
 
 And cherry stones did play, 
 
 
 That men should heare him speake, but not 
 
 Till he amongst those gamesters young 
 
 
 His wandring shadow touch: 
 
 
 Had loste his stocke away. 
 
 
 But so vnseene to goe or come 
 
 
 Yet could he soone renue the same, 
 
 65 
 
 Whereas it pleasd him still; 
 
 30 
 
 When as most nimbly he 
 
 
 Begot and borne in halfe an houre, 
 
 
 Would diue into 'their' cherry-baggs, 
 
 
 To fit his fathers will. 
 
 
 And there 'partaker' be. 
 
 
 And in foure minutes grew so fast, 
 
 
 Un scene or felt by any one, 
 
 
 That he became so tall 
 
 
 Vntill a scholler shut 
 
 70 
 
 As was the plowmans thumbe in height, 
 
 35 
 
 This nimble youth into a boxe, 
 
 
 And so they did him call 
 
 
 Wherein his pins he put. 
 Of whom to be reueng'd, he tooke 
 
 
 Ver. 12, these. 
 
 
 some ridiculous lines added, about his own time, to 
 
 ntro- 
 
 (In mirth and pleasant game) 
 
 
 duce a spurious second and third part. See the common 
 
 Black pots, and glasses, which he hung 
 
 75 
 
 ed.tiona of Aldermary church-yard, &c., or that entitled 
 
 Vpon a bright sunne-beame. 
 
 
 "Thomas Redivivus : or, a compleat history of the life and 
 
 
 marvellous actions of Tom Thumb. In three tomes 
 
 Tn- 
 
 
 
 terspprsed with that ingenious comment of the late Dr. 
 
 The other boyes to doe the like. 
 
 
 Wa,;>:staff; and annotations by several hands. To whirh 
 
 In pieces broke them quite ; 
 
 
 is pivfix'd historical and critical remarks on the life and 
 writings of the author." London, 1729, folio. Dr. Wag- 
 staff's comment was written to ridicule that of Mr. Addi- 
 son, in the Spectator, upon the ballad of Chevy-Chase, and 
 
 For which they were most soundly whipt, 
 Whereat he laught outright. 80 
 
 
 
 is inserted in his works. 
 
 
 Ver. 67, the. V. 68, a taker. 
 
 
478 THE LIFE AND DEATH OF TOM TIIUMBE. 
 
 And so Tom Thumbe restrained was 
 
 
 Untill such tiaie his mother went 
 
 125 
 
 From these his sports and play, 
 
 
 A milking of her kine, 
 
 
 And by his mother after that 
 
 
 Where Tom vnto a thistle fast 
 
 
 Compel'd at home to stay. 
 
 
 She linked with a twine. 
 
 
 Whereas about a Christmas time, 
 
 S5 
 
 A thread that helde him to the same. 
 
 
 His father a hog had kil'd, 
 
 
 For feare the blustring winde 
 
 130 
 
 And Tom 'would' see the puddings made, 
 
 Should blow him thonce, that so she might | 
 
 'For fear' they should be spil'd. 
 
 
 Her Sonne in safety finde. 
 
 
 He sate vpon the pudding-boule, 
 
 
 But marke the hap, a cow came by, 
 
 
 The candle for to hold ; 
 
 90 
 
 And vp the thistle eate. 
 
 
 Of which there is vnto this day 
 
 
 Poore Tom withall, that, as a docke, 
 
 135 
 
 A pretty pastime told : 
 
 
 Was made the red cowes meate: 
 
 
 ! For Tom fell in, and could not be 
 
 
 Who being mist, his mother went 
 
 
 1 For euer after found, 
 
 
 Him calling euery where. 
 Where art thou Tom ? where art thou 
 
 
 For in the blood and batter he 
 
 95 
 
 Tom? 
 
 Was strangely lost and drownd. 
 
 
 Quoth he. Here mother, here : 
 
 140 
 
 [ Where searching long, but all in vaine, 
 I His mother after that 
 
 
 
 
 
 Within the red cowes belly here, 
 
 
 Into a pudding thrust her sonne, 
 i Instead of minced fat. 
 
 
 Your Sonne is swallowed vp. 
 
 
 100 
 
 The which into her feareful heart 
 
 
 
 
 Most carefull dolours put. 
 
 
 Which pudding of the largest size, 
 
 
 
 
 Into the kettle throwne, 
 
 
 Meane while the cowe was troubled much, | 
 
 i Made all the rest to fly thereout, 
 
 
 In this her tumbling wombe. 
 
 146 
 
 As with a whirle-wind blowne. 
 
 
 And could not rest vntil that she 
 Had backw^ard cast Tom Thumbe : 
 
 
 ; For so it tumbled vp and downe, 
 
 105 
 
 
 
 ; Within the liquor there, 
 
 
 Who all besmeared as he was, 
 
 
 ; As if the deuill 'had' been boyld; 
 
 
 His mother tooke him vp, 
 
 150 
 
 Such was his mothers feare. 
 
 i 
 
 
 To beare him thence, the which poore 
 She in her pocket put. 
 
 lad 
 
 1 That vp she tooke the pudding strait, 
 
 
 
 
 : And gaue it at the doore 
 
 110 
 
 Now after this, in sowing time, 
 
 
 f Vnto a tinker, which from thence 
 
 
 His father would him haue 
 
 
 1 In his blacke budget bore. 
 
 
 Into the field to driue his plow, 
 
 
 
 
 And therevpon him gaue 
 
 155 
 
 But as the tinker climb'd a stile. 
 
 
 
 
 By chance he let a cracke : 
 
 
 A whip made of a barly straw, 
 
 
 Now gip, old knaue, out cride Tom Thumbe, 
 
 To driue the cattle on : 
 
 
 There hanging at his backe : 
 
 116 
 
 Where, in a furrow'd land new sowne, 
 Poore Tom was lost and gon. 
 
 \ 
 
 At which the tinker gan to run, 
 
 
 
 
 And would no longer stay. 
 
 
 Now by a raven of great strength 
 
 160 
 
 But cast both bag and pudding downe. 
 
 
 Away he thence was borne, 
 
 
 ] And thence hyed fast away. 
 
 120 
 
 And carried in the carrions beake 
 
 
 
 
 Euen like a graine of come, 
 
 
 From which Tom Thumbe got loose at last 
 
 
 And home return'd againe: 
 
 
 Unto a giants castle top. 
 
 
 Where he from following dangers long 
 
 
 In which he let him fall. 
 
 165 
 
 In safety did remaine. 
 
 
 Where soone the giant swallowed vp 
 
 
 Ver. 87, to. V. 88, feared that. V. 107, had there. 
 
 His body, cloathes and all. 
 
 1 
 
 i 
 
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 170 
 
 The smallest quiet take, 
 
 So trauelling two dayes and nights, 
 
 With labour and great paine, 
 He came into the house whereas 
 
 His parents did remaine ; 215 
 
 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 was but halfe a mile in space 
 From good king Arthurs court. 
 
 The which in eight and forty houres 
 He went in weary sort. 
 
 Which lusty fish was after caught 
 
 And to king Arthur sent. 
 Where Tom was found, and made his dwarfe, 
 
 Whereas his dayes he spent 
 
 But comming to his fathers doore, 220 
 
 He there such entrance had 
 As made his parents both reioice, 
 
 And he thereat was glad. 
 
 Long time in liuely ioUity, 180 
 
 Belou'd of all the court, 
 And none like Tom was then esteemed 
 
 Among the noble sort. 
 
 His mother in her apron tooke 
 
 Her gentle sonne in haste, 225 
 And by the fier 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 left hand. 
 
 Whereas they feasted him three dayes 
 
 Vpon a hazell nut. 
 Whereon he rioted so long 230 
 
 He them to charges put ; 
 
 The which he did, and for the same 
 
 The king his signet gaue, 
 Which Tom ab ut his middle wore 190 
 
 Long time a girdle braue. 
 
 And there-upon grew wonderous sicke, 
 Through eating too much meate, 
 
 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 rain'd, 
 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 setled in the way. 
 His long and weary iourney forth 
 
 Did hinder and so stay. 
 
 And being neere his highnesse heart, 200 
 
 He crau'd a wealthy boone, 
 A liberall gift, the which the king 
 
 Comanded to be done, 
 
 Until his carefull father tooke 
 
 A birding trunke in sport, 245 
 And with one blast blew this his sonne 
 
 Into king Arthurs court. 
 
 For to relieue 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. 
 That all the best of Arthurs knights 250 
 
 Did him much pleasure show. 
 
 And so away goes lusty Tom, 
 
 With three pence on his backe, 
 A heauy burthen, which might make 210 
 
 His wearied limbes to cracke. 
 61 
 
 As good Sir Lancelot of the Lake, 
 
 Sir Tristam, and sir Guy; 
 Yet none compar'd with braue Tom Thnm, 
 
 For knightly chiualry. 255 
 
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 Chinon and the rest, 261 
 
 Yet still Tom Thumbe 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. 
 
 265 
 
 Which made the courtiers all agast, 
 
 For there that valiant man 
 Through Lancelots steed, before them all, 
 
 In nimble manner ran. 371 
 
 Yea horse and all, with speare and shield, 
 
 As hardly he was scene. 
 But onely by king Arthurs selfe 
 
 And his admired queene. 275 
 
 Who from her finger tooke a ring, 
 
 Through which Tom Thumbe made way. 
 
 Not touching it, in nimble sort, 
 As it was done in play. 
 
 He likewise cleft the smallest haire 280 
 
 From his faire ladies head, 
 Not hurting her whose euen hand 
 
 Him lasting honors bred. 
 
 Such were his deeds and noble acts 
 
 In Arthurs court there showne, 285 
 
 As like in all the world beside 
 Was hardly scene or knowne. 
 
 Now at these sports he toyld himselfe 
 
 That he a sicknesse tooke, 
 Through which all manly exercise 290 
 
 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. 295 
 
 His body being so slender small, 
 This cunning doctor tooke 
 
 A fine prospective glasse, with which 
 He did in secret looke 
 
 Into his sickened body downe. 
 And therein saw that Death / 
 
 Stood ready in his wasted guts A 
 To sease his vitall breath. 
 
 300 
 
 
 ■ij'.. 
 
 His armes and leggs consumed as small 
 As was a spiders web, 305 
 
 Through which his dying houre grew on. 
 For all his limbes grew dead. 
 
 His face no bigger than an ants, 
 
 Which hardly could be scene: 
 The losse of which renowned knight 310 
 
 Much grieu'd the king and queene. 
 
 And so with peace and quietnesse 
 
 He left this earth below ; 
 And vp into the Fayry Land 
 
 His ghost did fading goe. 315 
 
 Whereas the Fayry queen receiuM, 
 
 With heauy mourning cheere, 
 The body of this valiant knight, 
 
 Whom she esteem'd so deere. 
 
 For with her dancing nymph es in greene, 320 
 
 She fetcht him from his bed. 
 With musicke and sweet melody, 
 
 So soone as life was fled : 
 
 For whom king Arthur and his knights 
 Full forty dales did mourne ; 325 
 
 And, in remembrance of his name 
 That was so strangely borne, 
 
 He built a tomb of marble gray, 
 And yoare by yeare did come 
 
 To celebrate the mournefuU day, 
 And buriall of Tom Thum. 
 
 330 
 
 Whose fame still Hues in England here, 
 
 Amongst the country sort ; 
 Of whom our wives and children small 
 
 Tell tales of pleasant sport. 335 
 
THE EVE OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 481 
 
 t «b^ 0f St |0|n. 
 
 This ballad — the composition of Sir Walter 
 Scott — was originally published in the "Tales 
 of Wonder," edited by M. G. Lewis. The 
 scene of the Tragedy, " Smaylho'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 Smaylho'me Tower, it is seen many 
 miles in every direction. Among the crags 
 by which it is surrounded, one, more eminent, 
 is called the Watch fold, 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 Smaylho'me 
 Tower."* 
 
 When the ballad was republished in the 
 " Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border," it was 
 accompanied by some account of the battle 
 of " Ancram Moor," to which reference is 
 made in the poem, as " running red with 
 English blood" from the fight between "keen 
 Lord Evers" and 
 
 * 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 
 
 " those crags, that mountain tower. 
 
 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;" 
 
 " The Douglas true and the bold Buccleuch," 
 
 — 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 tow^rite 
 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 Fife-men, 
 and " the bold Buccleuch" with a small but 
 chosen body of his retainers, Evers and La- 
 toun were met, at Ancram Moor,f 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 kepte Berwick upon Tweed, 
 The town was never better kept, I wot; 
 He maintain'd leal and order along the Border, 
 And still was ready to prick the Scot. 
 
 " With our Queen's brother he hath been, 
 
 And rode rough-shod thro' Scotland of late ; 
 They have burn'd the Mers and Tiviotdale, 
 And knocked fuU loud at Edinburgh gate." 
 
 Lord Evers was slain at Ancram 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." 
 
 t The spot on which the battle was fought is called Lil- 
 yard's Edge, from an Amazonian Scottish woman of that 
 name, who is reported, by tradition, to have distinguished 
 herself in the same manner as Squire Witherington. 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 Lylliard lies under this stane. 
 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." 
 
482 
 
 THE EVE OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 the English fugitives. "In the battle fell 
 Lord Evers and his son, together with Sir 
 Brian Latoun, 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 VIIL, 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 ex- 
 clusively 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 gran- 
 deur ; 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 none — 
 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, 5 
 
 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-gerthe was a good steel sperthe. 
 
 Full ten pound weight and more. 
 
 The Baron return'd in three days' 
 And his looks were sad and sour : 
 
 And weary was his courser's pace, 
 As he reach'd his rocky tower. 
 
 15 
 
 He came not from where Ancram Moor 
 
 Ran red with English blood ; 
 Where the Douglas true, and the bold Buc- 
 cleuch, 
 
 ^Gainst keen Lord Evers stood. 20 
 
 Yet was his helmet hack'd and hew'd, 
 
 His acton pierced and tore. 
 His axe and his dagger with blood imbrued, — 
 
 But it was not English gore. 
 
 He lighted at the Chapellage, 25 
 
 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 ; 30 
 
 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 ! 
 Sinco I from Smaylho'me tower have been. 
 
 What did thy lady do?" 36 
 
 " My lady, each night, sought the lonely light, 
 That burns on the wild Watchfold ; 
 
 For, from height to height, the beacons bright 
 Of the English foemen told. 40 
 
 " The bittern 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 steps, and silent came 45 
 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, 50 
 
 And, by Mary's might ! 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. 56 
 
THE EVE OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 483 
 
 ** 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. 
 
 60 
 
 "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 ; 66 
 
 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 ; 70 
 
 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. 76 
 
 " * And I'll chain the blood-hound, 
 And the warder shall not sound, 
 
 And rush( s shall be strew'd on the stair ; 
 So, by the black rood-stone, and by holy St. 
 John, 80 
 
 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, 85 
 
 And my footstep he would know.' — 
 
 " * 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 da;ys do pass. 
 
 For the soul of a knight that is slayne.' — 
 
 " ' He turn'd him round, and grimly he 
 frown'd ; 91 
 
 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, 95 
 
 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, 100 
 
 From the dark to the blood-red high — 
 " 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 ; 105 
 On his shield was a hound, 
 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 ! 110 
 
 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 ; 115 
 
 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 — 120 
 
 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. 126 
 
 " 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, 130 
 
 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, 135 
 
 Where with maids that on her wait, 
 
 He found his lady fair. 
 
484 
 
 THE EVE OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 That lady sat in mournful mood ; 
 
 Look'd over hill and vale ; 
 Over Tweed's fair flood, and Mertoun's vrood, 
 
 And all down Teviotdale. 141 
 
 " Now hail, now hail, thou lady bright V — 
 
 " Now hail, thou Baron true ! 
 What news, what news, from Ancram fight? 
 
 What news from the bold Buccleuch ?" — 
 
 146 
 
 " The Ancram Moor is red with gore, 
 
 For many a southern fell ; 
 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 : 151 
 
 Then she stepp'd down the stair to her cham- 
 ber fair, 
 And so did her moody lord. 
 
 In sleep the lady mourn'd, 
 
 And the Baron toss'd and turn'd, 155 
 
 And oft to himself he said, — 
 " The worms around him creep, 
 And his bloody grave is deep 
 
 It cannot give up the dead I" — 
 
 It was near the ringing of matin-bell, 160 
 
 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 ; 165 
 
 And she was aware of a knight stood there — 
 Sir Eichard of Coldinghame ! 
 
 " Alas ! away, away I" she cried, 
 " For the holy Virgin's sake !" — 
 
 " Lady, I know who sleeps by thy side ; 
 But, lady, he will not awake. 171 
 
 " 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. 175 
 
 "By the Baron's brand, near Tweed's fair 
 strand, 
 
 Most foully slain, I fell ; 
 And my restless sprite on the beacon's height, 
 
 For a space is doomed to dwell. 
 
 " At our trysting-place, for a certain space, 
 I must wander to and fro ; 181 
 
 But I had not had power to come to thy bower, 
 Hadst thou not conjured me so."— 
 
 Love master'd fear — her brow she cross'd ; 
 
 " How, Richard, hast thou sped ? 185 
 
 And art thou saved, or art thou lost ?"— 
 
 The vision shook his head ! 
 
 " Who spilleth life shall forfeit life : 
 
 So bid thy lord believe : 
 That lawless love is guilt above, ' 
 
 This awful sign receive." 
 
 190 
 
 He laid his left palm on an oaken beam. 
 
 His right upon her hand ; 
 The lady shrunk, and fainting sunk, 
 
 For it scorch'd like a fiery brand. 195 
 
 The sable score of fingers four 
 Remains on that board impressed ; 
 
 And for evermore that lady wore 
 A covering on her wrist.* 
 
 There is a nun in Dryburgh bower, 200 
 
 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 none — 205 
 
 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 untU death be- 
 trayed the secret of the wearer. 
 
FRENNET HALL. 
 
 485 
 
 ixtuntt fall 
 
 We copy this ballad from Herd's collection 
 of "Ancient and Modern Scottish Songs, 
 Heroic Ballads, &c.," where it first appeared, 
 unaccompanied, however, by note or com- 
 ment, 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 in- 
 debted 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, Heroic 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 conisist 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 is " 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 hear, 
 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 Marquis 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." 
 
486 
 
 FRENNET HALL. 
 
 oftentimes mercy at God's hands for their 
 Bins ; syne clasped in each others arms, and 
 cheerfully suffered their martyrdom." The 
 Ballad-maker thus describes the horrible 
 catastrophe: — Aboyn is answering to his 
 servant, who entreats him to " loup down ;" — 
 
 " loup, loup, my dear master, 
 
 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, 
 
 1 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, Ro- 
 thiemay a brave youth, and the rest, by this 
 doleful fire, never enough to be deplored, to 
 the great grief and sorrow of their kin, pa- 
 rents, 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, 
 occurred in October, 1630. 
 
 The fire 
 
 When Frennet Castle's ivied walls ' 
 Through yellow leaves were seen ; 
 
 When birds forsook the sapless boughs, 
 And bees the faded green ; 
 
 Then Lady Frennet, vengefu' dame, 5 
 
 Did wander frae the ha', 
 To the wide forest's devrie gloom, 
 
 Among the leaves that fa'. 
 
 Her page, the swiftest of her train, 
 
 Had dumb a lofty tree, 10 
 
 Whase branches to the angry blast 
 Were soughing mournfullie. 
 
 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 
 
 " hie thee, hie 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. 
 
 " where, where, my good lord John, 
 
 tell me where ye ride ? 30 
 Within my castle-wall this nicht 
 
 1 hope ye mean to bide. 
 
 " Kind nobles, will ye but alicht, 
 
 In yonder bower to stay. 
 Soft ease shall teach you to forget 
 
 The hardness of the way." 
 
 " Forbear entreaty, gentle dame, 
 
 How can we here remain ? 
 Full well you know your husband deir 
 
 Was by our father slain : 
 
 35 
 
** The thoughts of which, with fell revenge, 
 
 Within your bosom swell : 
 Enraged you've sworn that blood for blood, 
 
 Should this black passion quell.'' 
 
 " fear not, fear not, good Lord John, 45 
 
 That I will you betray, 
 Or sue requital for a debt 
 
 Which nature cannot pay.* 
 
 "Bear witness, a' ye powers on high ! 
 
 Ye lichts that 'gin to shine ! 50 
 
 This nicht shall prove the sacred cord 
 
 That knits your faith and mine.'' 
 
 The lady slie, with honey'd words, 
 Enticed the youths to stay ; 
 
 But morning sun ne'er shone upon 
 Lord John and Rothiemay. » 
 
 55 
 
 %\lt f 0lTm (^mxxd; gx, to^as Srmmg^, 
 
 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, 1677, 12mo. bl. 1., 
 preserved in the curious and valuable collec- 
 tion of that excellent and most respected an- 
 tiquary Antony k Wood, in the Ashmolean 
 Museum ; compared with another impression, 
 for the same partners, without date, in the 
 editor's possession. The reader will find a 
 different copy of the poem, more in the bal- 
 
 * The following are the stanzas referred to in the intro- 
 ductory remarks : — 
 
 " The reek it rose 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. 
 
 " ' help me, help me, Lady Frennet, 
 I never etth;d 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 burnt 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 fraaiment, also, guilt is attributed to Lady Frennet. 
 
 62 
 
 lad 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 
 Cupids 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, 10 
 
 And if I like her countenance well. 
 The heir of all my lands she'st be. 
 
 But when he came the lady before, 
 Before this comely maid came he, 
 
 god thee save, thou lady sweet, 15 
 
 My heir and parand thou shalt be. 
 
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, 21 
 
 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, 25 
 
 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, 30 
 
 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, 35 
 How his daughters mind was set. 
 
 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. 40 
 
 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, 45 
 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, 50 
 
 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, 55 
 
 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. 60 
 
 But see that thou note his countenance well, 
 And his colour, and shew it to me ; 
 
 And go thy way and high thee again, 
 And forty shillings 1 will give thee. 
 
 For if he smile now with his lips, 65 
 
 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, 70 
 
 Then to his vow he hath some grace, 
 
 And false to him I'le never be. 
 
 Away this lacky boy he ran. 
 
 And a full speed forsooth went he, 
 
 Till he came to Strawberry-castle, 75 
 
 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 forc'd to be lord Phenix bride. 
 
 When he look'd on the letter fair, 81 
 
 The salt tears blemished his eye. 
 
 Says, I cannot read this letter fair. 
 Nor never a word to see or spy. 
 
 My little boy be to me true, 85 
 
 Here is five marks I will give thee, 
 
 And all these words I must peruse, 
 And tell my lady this from me : 
 
 By faith and troth she is my own, 89 
 
 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'le lose my life so sweet, 95 
 
 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, 101 
 
 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. 
 
THE LOVERS QUARREL. 
 
 489 
 
 Now by this book, the boy did say, 105 
 
 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. 112 
 
 On Guildford-green he will you meet, 
 
 He wishes you for him to pray. 
 For there he'l lose his life so sweet, 115 
 
 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 thee promise. 
 
 Here is ten pounds I will give thee. 120 
 
 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, 125 
 
 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 full good where she may be, 
 
 Now let us talk of Tommy Pots, 131 
 
 To his lord and master for aid went he. 
 
 Bat when he came lord Jockey before. 
 
 He kneeled lowly on his knee, 
 What news ? what news ? thou Tommy Pots, 
 
 Thou art so full of courtesie. 136 
 
 What tydings ? what tydings ? thou Tommy 
 Pots, 
 
 Thou art so full of courtesie ; 
 Thou hast slain some of thy fellows fair, 
 
 Or wrought to me some villany. 140 
 
 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'l not believe me by word of mouth, 
 But read this letter, and you shall see, 146 
 
 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, 
 
 Tommy Pots, take thou no care, 151 
 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, 155 
 
 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. 160 
 
 1 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 ; 166 
 
 If ever I come alive again, 
 Staid the wedding it shall be. 
 
 god be your speed, thou Tommy Pots, 
 Thou art well proved for a man, 170 
 
 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, 175 
 
 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. 180 
 
 Away by the bride then Tommy Pots 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. 
 
 welcome, welcome, thou Tommy Pots, 185 
 Thou serving-man of low degree. 
 
 How doth thy lord and master at home, 
 And all the ladies in that country ? 
 
490 THE LOVERS QUARREL. 
 
 My lord and master is in good health, 
 
 master, yet it is unknown. 
 
 1 trust since that I did him see ; 190 
 
 Within these two days well try'd it must be, 
 
 Will you walk with me to an out-side, 
 
 He is a lord, I am but a serving man, 235 
 
 Two or three words to talk with me ? 
 
 I fear I shall lose her with poverty. 
 
 You are a noble man, said Tom, 
 
 I prethee, Tom Pots, get thee on thy feet, 
 
 And born a lord in Scotland free, 
 
 My former promises kept shall be ; 
 
 You may have ladies enough at home, 195 
 
 As I am a lord in Scotland fair. 
 
 And never take my love from me. 
 
 Thou'st never lose her with poverty. 240 
 
 Away, away, thou Tommy Pots, 
 
 For thou'st have the half of my lands a year, 
 
 Thou serving-man stand thou aside ; 
 
 And that will raise thee many a pound, 
 
 It is not a serving-man this day, 
 
 Before thou shalt out-braved be. 
 
 That can hinder me of my bride. 200 
 
 Thou shalt drop angels with him on the 
 
 
 ground. 
 
 If I be a serving-man, said Tom, 
 
 
 And you a lord of high degree, 
 
 I thank you, master, said Tommy Pots, 245 
 
 A spear or two with you I'le run, 
 
 Yet there is one thing of you I would fain, 
 
 Before I'le lose her cowardly. 
 
 If that I lose my lady sweet. 
 
 Appoint a place, I will thee meet, 205 
 
 How I'st restore your goods again ? 
 
 Appoint a place of liberty. 
 
 If that thou win the lady sweet, 249 
 
 For there I'le lose my life so sweet, 
 
 Thou mayst well forth thou shalt pay me, 
 
 Or else my lady I'le set free. 
 
 If thou losest thy lady thou losest enough, 
 
 On Guildford-green I will thee meet, 
 
 Thou shalt not pay me one penny. 
 
 No man nor boy shall come with me. 210 
 
 You have thirty horses in one close. 
 
 As I am a man, said Tommy Pots, 
 
 You keep them all both frank and free, 
 
 rie have as few in my company. 
 
 Amongst them all there's an old white horse. 
 
 And thus staid the marriage was, 
 
 This day would set my lady free ; 256 
 
 The bride unmarried went home again, 
 
 That is an old horse with a cut tail. 
 
 Then to her maids fast did she laugh, 215 
 
 Full sixteen years of age is he ; 
 
 And in her heart she was full fain. 
 
 If thou wilt lend me that old horse, 
 
 
 Then could I win her easily. 260 
 
 My maidens all, the lady said. 
 
 That ever wait on me this day. 
 
 That's a foolish opinion, his master said. 
 
 Now let us all kneel down. 
 
 And a foolish opinion thou tak'st to thee ; 
 
 And for Tommy Pots let us all pray. 220 
 
 Thou'st have a better then ever he was. 
 
 
 Though forty pounds more it should cost 
 me. 
 
 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. 
 
 your choice horses are wild and tough, 265 
 
 For the young lord Arundel he shall be. 
 
 And little they can skill of their train; 
 
 
 If I be out of my saddle cast, 
 
 THE THIRD PART. 
 
 They are so wild they'l ne'r be tain. 
 
 When Tom Pots came home again, 225 
 
 
 To try for his love he had but a week, 
 
 Thou'st have that horse, his master said, 270 
 
 For sorrow, god wot, he need not care. 
 
 If that one thing thou wilt me tell ; 
 
 For four days that he fel sick. 
 
 Why that horse is better then any other. 
 
 With that his master to him came, 
 
 I pray thee, Tom Pots, shew thou to me. 
 
 
 Says, pray thee, Tom Pots, tell me if thou 
 
 That horse is old, of stomach bold, 
 
 doubt, 230 
 
 And well can he skill of his train, 275 
 
 Whether thou hast gotten thy gay lady, 
 
 If I be out of my saddle cast. 
 
 Or thou must go thy love without. 
 
 Ile'l either stand still, or turn again. 
 
t;he lovers quarrel. 
 
 491 
 
 Thou'st have the horse with all my heart, 
 And my plate coat of silver free, 
 
 An hundred men to stand at thy back, 280 
 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. 285 
 
 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. 
 
 290 
 
 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, 295 
 
 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, 300 
 
 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, 
 rie run my spear through his body. 
 
 305 
 
 I'le 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. 
 
 310 
 
 I'le 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 belov'd thou never shalt 
 be. 
 
 They turn'd their horses thrice about, 
 
 To run the race so eagerly ; 315 
 
 Lord Phenix he was fierce and stout. 
 
 And ran Tom Pots through the thick o' 
 th' thigrh. 
 
 He bor'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. 
 
 320 
 
 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. 325 
 
 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, 330 
 
 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 ; 335 
 
 Says, prethee, 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 hast run me throw the brawn o' the 
 arm, 340 
 
 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 stanch your blood, 
 If any thing you will give me. 
 
 As he did stanch lord Phenix blood, 350 
 Lord ! in his heart he did rejoice ; 
 
 I'le not take the lady from you thus. 
 But of her you'st have another choice. 
 
 Here is a lane of two miles long, 
 
 At either end we set will be, 355 
 
 The lady shall stand us among. 
 
 Her own choice shall set her free. 
 
 * i. e. he made use of a charm for that purpose. 
 
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. 361 
 
 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. 
 
 366 
 
 370 
 
 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, 375 
 
 For the lord Phenix had made a vow. 
 
 That with Tom Pots he would never fight. 
 
 give me this choice, lord Phenix said, 
 To prove whether true or false she be, 
 
 And I will go to the lady fair, 380 
 
 And tell her Tom Pots slain is he. 
 
 When he came from behind the wall. 
 With his face all bloody as it might be, 
 
 lady sweet, thou art my own, 
 
 For Tom Pots slain is he. 385 
 
 Now have I slain him, Tommy Pots, 
 
 And given him deaths wounds two or three; 
 
 lady sweet, thou art my own. 
 Of all loves, wilt thou live with me ? 
 
 If thou hast slain him, Tommy Pots, 390 
 And given him deaths wounds two or three, 
 
 I'le sell the state of my fathers lands, 
 But hanged shall lord Phenix be. 
 
 With that the lady fell in a swound, 
 
 For a grieved woman, god wot, was she ; 
 
 Lord Phenix he was ready then, 396 
 
 To take her up so hastily. 
 
 lady sweet, stand thou on thy feet, 
 Tom Pots alive this day may be; 
 
 I'le send for thy father, lord Arundel, 400 
 And he and I the wedding will see : 
 
 I'le 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'st have of me. 
 
 I'le see this wedding, lord Arundel said, 406 
 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, 410 
 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 
 prove, 415 
 
 Neither marry for gold nor goods, ._ 
 Nor marry for nothing but only lover' 
 
 For I had a lover true of my own, 
 
 A serving-man of low degree ; . 419 
 
 Now from Tom Pots I'le change his name, 
 For the young lord Arundel he shall be. 
 
 atlr^rin^ Mjnfuh. 
 
 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 scenery of the ballad is sa4d, 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 
 
KATHARINE JANFARIE. 
 
 493 
 
 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 importance, 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 favourite 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) 
 
 0, 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.' 
 
 * * -x- * * 
 
 " 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. 
 
 * * -Jt * 4fr 
 
 " 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 croupe 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." 
 •X- -X- » * * 
 
 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 o' 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 : — 
 
 " 0, meikle was the good red wine, 
 In silver cups did flow ; 
 But aye she drank to Lamington, 
 For with him would she go. 
 
 " 0, meikle was the good red wine, 
 In silver cups gaed round ; 
 At length they began to whisper words, 
 None could them understand. 
 
 " ' 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 2' 
 
 " * 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 !' 
 
494 
 
 KATHARINE JANFARIE. 
 
 *' It's up the Couden bank, 
 
 And down the Couden brae ; 
 And aye she made the trumpet sound, 
 It's a weel won play. 
 
 " 0, meikle was the blood was shed, 
 Upon the Couden 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 bounie 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 
 Bade them mount and ride awa'. 
 
 •' Then whingers flew frae gentles' sides, 
 And swords flew frae the sheas ; 
 And red and rosy was the blude 
 Ran down the lilye braes. 
 
 " The blood ran down by Cadden bank, 
 And down by Cadden brae; 
 And, sighing, said the bonnie bride, 
 * 0, wae's me for foul play V 
 
 " * My blessing on your heart, sweet thing ! 
 Wae to your wilful will ! 
 There's mony a gallant gentleman 
 Whose blude ye hae 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 Lauderdale, 5 
 
 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 ; 10 
 
 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. 
 
 15 
 
 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 e'en. 20 
 
 She sent to the Lord o' Lauderdale, 
 
 Gin he wad come and see ; 
 And he has sent word back again, 
 
 Weel answer'd she suld be. 
 
 And he has sent a messenger 25 
 
 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, 30 
 
 And she was aware of her first true love, 
 With riders mony a one. 
 
 She scoffed him, and scorned him, 
 
 Upon her wedding day ; 
 And said — " It was the Fairy court 35 
 
 To see him in array ! 
 
 "0 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 ?" — 40 
 
 " 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 of the blood-red wine 45 
 
 Was filled up them between. 
 And aye she drank to Lauderdale, 
 
 Wha her true love had been. 
 
 He's ta'en her by the milk-white hand. 
 And by the grass-green sleeve ; 50 
 
 He's mounted her hie 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 croupe 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." Marmion.'] 
 
HOW THE WISE MAN TAUGHT HIS SON. 
 
 495 
 
 " Now take your bride, Lord Lochinvar ! 
 
 Now take her if you may ! 
 But, if you take your bride again, 55 
 
 We'll call it but foul play/' 
 
 There were four-and-twenty bonnie boys, 
 
 A' clad in the Johnstone grey ; 
 They said they would take the bride again, 
 
 By the strong hand, if they may. ^0 
 
 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. 
 
 65 
 
 The blood ran down by Oaddon bank. 
 
 And down by Caddon brae ; 70 
 
 And, sighing, said the bonnie bride — 
 " wae's me for foul play I" 
 
 My blessing on your heart, sweet thing I 
 
 Wae to your wilfu' will ! 
 There's mony a gallant gentleman 75 
 
 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. 80 
 
 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. 
 
 i0to % Miu llan im^\i \n Bart. 
 
 This little moral piece, which, for the time 
 wherein it was written, 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 how- 
 ever 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. 
 
 liYSTENYTH all, and ze well here 
 
 How the wyse man taght hys son ; 
 Take gode tent to thys matere, 
 
 And fond to lere yf the con. 
 Thys song be zonge men was begon, 5 
 
 To make hem tyrsty and stedfast ; 
 But zarn that is oft tyme yll sponne, 
 
 Euyli hyt comys out at the last. 
 
 A wyse man had a fay re chyld. 
 Was well of fyftene zere age. 
 
 That was bothe meke and mylde, 
 Fayre of body and uesage ; 
 
 63 
 
 10 
 
 Gentyll of kynde and of corage, 
 For he schulde be hys fadur eyre ; 
 
 Hys ftidur thus, yn hys langage, 15 
 
 ' Taght' hys sone bothe weyll and fayre : 
 
 And sayd, son, kepe thys word yn hart, 
 
 And thenke theron 'tyll' thou be ded; 
 Zeyr day thy furst weke, 
 
 Loke thys be don yn ylke stede : 20 
 
 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, worschyp thy god on a day, 25 
 
 And, sone, thys schall thou haue to *mede,^ 
 Skyll fully what thou pray. 
 
 He wyll the graunt with outyn drede, 
 And send the al that thou hast nede 
 
 As 'far' as meser longyyth to strech, SO 
 This lyfe in mesur that thou lede, 
 
 And of the remlant thou ne rech. 
 
 Ver. 16, That. V. 18, thyll. V. 22, wyU. Y. 26, mad. 
 V. 30, for. 
 
 * i e. go to maes. 
 
496 
 
 HOW THE WISE MAN TAUGHT HIS SON. 
 
 And, sone, thy tong thou kepe also, 
 
 And be not tale wyse be no way, 
 Thyn owen tonge may be thy fo, 35 
 
 Therfor beware, 8one, j the pray. 
 Where and when, son, thou schalt say, 
 
 And be whom thou spekyst oght; 
 For thou may speke a word to day 
 
 That seuen zere thens may be forthozt. 40 
 
 Therfore, sone, be ware be tyme, 
 
 Desyre no offys for to bere. 
 For of thy neyborys mawgref, 
 
 Thou most hem bothe dysplese and dere, 
 Or ellys thy self thou must 'forswere,* 45 
 
 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 neyburs syt, 50 
 Lat newefangylnes the plese 
 
 Oftyn to remewe nor to flyt, 
 For and thou do thou wantys wyt, 
 
 For folys they remewe al to wyde ; 
 And also, sone, an euyl ' sygne' ys hyt, 55 
 
 A mon that can no wher abyde. 
 
 And, sone, of syche thyng j the warne, 
 
 And on my blyssyng take gode hede, 
 Thou vse neuer the tauerne ; 
 
 And also dysyng j the forbede : 60 
 
 For thyse two thyngys, with outyn drede, 
 
 And comon women, as j leue, 
 Maks zong men euyle to spede, 
 
 And ' falle' yn danger and yn myschefe. 
 
 And, sone, the more gode thou hast, 65 
 
 The rather bore the meke and lowe ; 
 Lagh not mych for that ys wast, 
 
 For folys ben by laghing * knowe.' 
 And, sone, quyte wele that thou owe, 
 
 So that thou be of detts clere ; 70 
 
 And thus, my lefe chylde, as j * trowe,' 
 
 Thou mest the kepe fro davngere. 
 
 And loke thou wake not to longe, 
 
 Ne vse not rere soperys to late ; 
 For, were thy complexion neuyr so strong, 
 
 Wyth surfet thou mayst fordo that. 76 
 Of late walkyng oftyn debate, 
 
 On nyztys for to syt and drynke 
 Yf thou wylt rule thyn astate, 
 
 Betyme go to bed and wynke. 80 
 
 Ver. 45, for swete. V. 55, sagne. V. 64, fuUe. V, 68, 
 knone. V. 71, trewe. 
 
 And, sone, as far furth as thou may, 
 
 On noil enquest that thou come, 
 Nor no fals wytnesse bere away. 
 
 Of no manys mater, all ne sum: 
 For better the were be defe and dowm, 85 
 
 Then for to be on any enquest. 
 That aftyr myzt be vndurnome, 
 
 A trewe man had hys quarel lest. 
 
 And, sone, yf thou wylt haue a wyfe. 
 
 Take hur for no couetyse, 90 
 
 But loke, sone, sche be the lefe, 
 
 Thou wyfe bywayt and wele awyse. 
 That sche be gode, honest, and wyse, 
 
 Thof sche be pore take thou no hede. 
 For sche ' schal' do the more seruys, 95 
 
 Then schall a ryche with owtyn drede. 
 
 For better it is in rest and pes, 
 
 A mes of potage and no more, 
 Then for to haue a thousand mes, 
 
 With gret dysese and angyr sore. 100 
 
 Therfore, sone, thynk on thys lore, 
 
 Yf thou wylt haue a wyfe with ese. 
 By hur gode set thou no store, 
 
 Thoffe sche wolde the bothe fesse and sesse. 
 
 And yf thy wyfe be meke and gode, 105 
 
 And serue the wele and ' plesantly', 
 Loke that thou be not so wode. 
 
 To charge hur then to owtragely : 
 But then fare with hur esely. 
 
 And cherysch hur for hur gode dede, 110 
 For thyng ouerdon vnskylfully, 
 
 Makys wrath to grow where ys no nede. 
 
 I wyl neyther glos ne ' paynt,' 
 
 But waran the on anodyr syde, 
 Yf thy wyfe come to make pleynt, 115 
 
 On thy seruandys on any syde. 
 Be nott to hasty them to chyde. 
 
 Nor wreth the or thou wytt the sothe, 
 For wemen yn wreth e they can not hyde, 
 
 But sone they reyse a smokei rofe. 120 
 
 Nor, sone, be not jelows, j the pray, 
 
 For, and thou falle in jelosye. 
 Let not thy wyfe wyt in no way, 
 
 For thou may do no more foly; 
 
 Ver. 95, schalt. V. 106, plesantyl. V. 113, praynt. V. 
 118, The MS. reads vrreth the not, bat the word not is in- 
 serted by a different, though very ancient, hand, which 
 has corrected the poem in other places; and in certainly 
 redundant and improper. 
 
BARTHRAM'S DIRGE. 
 
 497 
 
 For, and thy wyfe may onys aspye 125 
 
 That thou any thyng hur mystryst, 
 
 In dyspyte of thy fantesy. 
 
 To do the wors ys all hur lyst. 
 
 Therfore, sone, j byd the 
 
 Wyrche with thy wyfe as reson ys, 130 
 Thof sche be seruant in degre, 
 
 In som degre she felaw ys. 
 Laddys that ar bundyn, so haue j blys, 
 
 That can not rewle theyr wyves aryzt, 
 That makys wemen, so haue j blys, 135 
 
 To do oftyn 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 ' the to despyse:' 140 
 Wyth louys awe, sone, thy wyfe chastyse, 
 
 And let fayre wordys be thy zerde ; 
 Louys awe ys the best gyse. 
 
 My sone, to make thy wyfe aferde. 
 
 Nor, sone, thy wyfe thou schalt not chyde, 
 
 Nor calle hur by no vyieus name, 146 
 
 For sche that schal ly be thy syde. 
 
 To calle hur fowle yt ys thy schame ; 
 Whan thou thyne owen wyfe wyl dyffame, 
 
 Wele may anothyr man do so : 150 
 
 Soft and f^iyre men make tame 
 
 Herte and buk and wylde roo. 
 
 And, sone, thou pay ryzt wele thy tythe,* 
 And pore men of thy gode thou dele ; 
 
 And loke, sone, be thy lyfe, 155 
 
 Thou gete thy sowle here sum hele. 
 
 Thys world hyt turnys euyn as a whele, 
 All day be day hyt wyl enpayre. 
 
 And so, sone, thys worldys wele, 
 
 Hyt faryth but as a chery fare. 160 
 
 For all that euyr man doth here, - 
 
 Wyth besynesse and trauell bothe, 
 All ys wythowtyn were, 
 
 For oure mete, drynk, and clothe ; 
 More getys he not, wythowten othe, 165 
 
 Kyng or prynce whether that he be. 
 Be hym lefe, or be hym loth, 
 
 A pore man has as mych as he. 
 
 And many a man here gadrys gode 
 
 All hys lyfe dayes for othyr men, 170 
 
 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 then, 175 
 
 That he has gadred another schal spende. 
 
 Therfor, sone, be my counseyle, 
 
 More then ynogh thou neuyr covayt, 
 
 Thou ne wost wan deth wyl the assayle, 
 Thys werld ys but the fendys bayte. 180 
 
 For deth ys, sone, as I trowe. 
 
 The most thyng that certyn ys, 
 And non so vncerteyn for to knowe, 
 
 As ys the tyme of deth y wys ; 
 And therfore so thou thynk on thys, 185 
 
 And al that j haue seyd beforn : 
 And Ihesu * bryng' vs to hys blys, 
 
 That for us weryd the crowne of thorn. 
 
 §artferHm's gitp^ 
 
 This beautiful and most touching fragment 
 was originally published in the " Border Min- 
 strelsy ;" we know far too little concerning 
 it ttJ 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, 
 
 Ver. 135, The latter half of this line seems repeated by 
 mistake. V. 138, be. V. 140, to despyse thee. 
 
 * The author, from this and other admonitions, is sup- 
 posed to have been a parson. 
 
 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. 180, The latter part of this stanza seems to be want- 
 ing. V. 187, brynd. 
 
498 
 
 BARTHRAM'S DIRGE. 
 
 brothers, whose sister he had seduced, but 
 was afterwards buried, at her request, near 
 their usual piece of meeting, which may ac- 
 count 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 Elsdon in 
 Northumberland. But the mention of the 
 Nine-Stane Burn, and Nine-Stane Rig, seems 
 to refer to those places in the vicinity of Her- 
 mitage Castle {the scene of the Ballad of Lord 
 Soulis), which is countenanced by the men- 
 tioning our Lady's Chapel. Perhaps the hero 
 may have been an Englishman, and the lady 
 a native of Scotland, which renders the catas- 
 trophe 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 remem- 
 bers 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 
 chauntry for one priest to sing daily ad cru- 
 cem lapideam. Probably many of these 
 crosses had the like expiatory 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 con- 
 viction 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 Avere current on the Border, 
 and which, although now existing but in 
 " scraps," were once universally chaunted— 
 
 " Young wemen, whan thai will play, 
 Syng it among thaim ilk day." 
 
 " "Who will not regret," exclaims Sir Wal- 
 ter Scott, " that compositions of such interest 
 and antiquity should be now irrecoverable ? 
 But it is the nature of popular poetry, as of 
 popular applause, 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 eflForts of the Border Muse. Some of her 
 later strains, composed during the sixteenth 
 century, have survived even to the present 
 day ; but the recollection 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. 
 
BORTHWICK'S DECREE. 
 
 499 
 
 The music and the tale repaid their lodging, 
 and they were usually gratified with a dona- 
 tion of seed corn. By means of these men 
 much traditional poetry was preserved, which 
 must otherwise have perished. Other itine- 
 rants, not professed musicians, found their 
 welcome to their night's quarters readily in- 
 sured 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 cen- 
 turies." 
 
 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 rug- 
 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 sauch 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 Barthram'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. 
 
 10 
 
 15 
 
 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. 20 
 
 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, 25 
 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 Eriar staid upon the grave, 
 
 And sang till the morning tide ; 30 
 
 And a friar shall sing for Barthram's soul, 
 While the Headless Cross shall bide. 
 
 0r 
 
 xtVs Mttxtt, 
 
 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 
 
500 
 
 BORTHWICK'S DECREE. 
 
 distance 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 
 Iliad, 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. 
 
 Borthwick of North Berwick Law, 
 
 Wons in his Seaward Tower — 
 Which looketh on to the German Sea, 
 
 A wild and lanely Bower. 
 
 The sea mew and the shrieking gull, 5 
 
 May sing him to his sleep, 
 For the wash o' the wave comes oure the top 
 
 0' Borthwick's auncient keep. 
 
 Fair is the winding vale o^ Tweed, 
 
 Fair is the dawn of day, 10 
 
 Fair is the opening of the spring, 
 And sweet the gush of May. 
 
 But fairer, rarer, sweeter far, 
 
 Is Borthwick's Isabel, 
 She hath an eye — a rosy lip, 15 
 
 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 ? 20 
 
 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," 25 
 
 Plis 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 ; 30 
 
 Not for his scouts will I turn back, 
 Or lout to them I trow." 
 
 He had not gone abune a mile, 
 
 A mile or barely three. 
 When four stout hallyons unawares, 35 
 
 Sprung on him from the lea. 
 
 And *they have bound his arms ahint 
 
 With cord and hempen band, 
 " Does Borthwick treat me in this sort. 
 
 Like a thief upon your land ?" 40 
 
 " Wha' finds the wolf, or prowling tod 
 
 Within the Laird's domain. 
 Small weight shall rest upon his head 
 
 Who hath the vermin slain." 
 
 45 
 
 " 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 ; 50 
 
 A true man's word should kept thee back. 
 
 Why come in such effeir ? 
 
 *' My dochter Isabel is trothed 
 To Murray o' Marshall's Mead, 
 
 Why thrust thy self beneath my sword, 
 Why court her for thy greed ?" 
 
 55 
 
 60 
 
 " Every man may chase the hare 
 
 So long as runs 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 ? 66 
 
 He hath no more or I enough 
 Of bravery and fame. 
 
 " If he has noble blood and birth. 
 
 Strong limbs ! why so have I ; 70 
 
 If Murray outbrags 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, 75 
 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. 80 
 
BORTHWICK'S DECREE. 
 
 501 
 
 " I will not have ye fi>>:ht 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, 85 
 
 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 ; 90 
 
 No let or stop upon the ground 
 Shall have my child for his pain. 
 
 " For we come of the manly Borthwicks still, 
 
 In the auld and auncient days, 
 Who better loved the trick o' strength, 95 
 
 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 forego." 100 
 
 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," 105 
 
 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 ; 110 
 
 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 115 
 
 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. 120 
 
 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, 125 
 
 Lay still my Isabel ; 
 For the gully's deep ani^ the scaur is steep, 
 
 And the distance it is fell. 
 
 "Give me a glance o' thine hazel eye, 
 
 When I falter in my race, 130 
 
 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, 135 
 
 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 Isabel said and sighed. 140 
 
 " I see the Isle of May, and the Bass, 
 And the Yewe and Lamb in the sea. 
 
 The shores o' fife, the Dunbar coast, 
 Wi' canny Edinbrie." 
 
 "0 Isabel, I 'gin to faint, 145 
 
 For the way is long and steep ;" 
 
 The pretty maiden bowed her head, 
 And long, long did she weep. 
 
 " that I were a Bird this once, 
 
 But now and for thy sake, 150 
 
 Willie sweet, have courage yet, 
 
 And one mair effort make. 
 
 " give me not to Murray's arms, 
 
 I'll breathe upon thy face ;" 
 It freshened him, and he upward rushed, 155 
 
 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, 160 
 
 " 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." 
 
 " 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. 
 
 165 
 
502 
 
 SIR GILLUM OF MYDELTOUN 
 
 ** My Isabel, my strength does fail, 
 And the top we have not won ;" 
 
 *' Oh Willie, dear, one struggle mair, 
 Ere strength and hope are gone." 
 
 170 
 
 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, 175 
 
 And gained the mountain high ! 
 
 He gained the Saugh tree, and he placed 
 
 Fair Isabel on a stone. 
 And forward fell upon his face 
 
 Wi' a deep and hollow groan. 180 
 
 Borthwick the youth raised in his arms, 
 " He'll come roun' when he's nurst." — 
 
 But the blood cam' ow're poor Willie's lips, 
 For his very heart had burst. 
 
 There's a green grave on North Berwick 
 Law, 185 
 
 And a maniac comes and sings, 
 And wi' the burden o' hf r sang 
 
 The valley 'neath her rings. 
 
 " Love gave him strength, love gave him 
 speed," 
 
 So sings this mad damsel; 190 
 
 " Never a love was yet so fayre 
 
 But fortune it was fell." 
 
 A hunter ranged one early morn, 
 
 The top o' Berwick Law, 
 Wi' her cauld cheek on a caulder staue, 195 
 Withouten stir, withouten moan 
 
 Yon fair Mayden he saw. 
 
 Sit igillum al ^iMtmn, 
 
 This is a tradition, common amongst the 
 fishermen of Holy Island and the Main, which 
 I have woven 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 Isle, 
 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 ma- 
 rauding party of Soots. 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. 
 
 Bade 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 en- 
 compassed 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 dis- 
 tant 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 over 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 about a mile in length. 
 At the southernmost point is a rock of a coni- 
 cal figure, whereon is the Baron's " Castle of 
 red rock stone," almost perpendicular, sixty 
 feet in height, and crowned by a small for- 
 tress. There are four caves or coves 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 
 feet 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, "retayns at 
 this day one singular beauty ; the tovrer 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 
 
SIR GILLUxM OF MYDELTOUN, 
 
 503 
 
 with any superstructure, supported by the 
 south-east and north-east pillars, and orna- 
 mented 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." 
 
 Marraion. 
 
 The rock on which the castle of " red rock 
 stone" stands, is inaccessible save only by a 
 winding path, belting the rock on the south- 
 ern side. A fortress in this situation, before 
 the use of gunpowder, must have been impreg- 
 nable ; 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 leavis so green. 
 
 When trouts leap at a Summer jfly, 5 
 
 And hay be newly mawn, 
 To see his luve in the Holy Isle, 
 
 Gaed Gillum of iMydeltoun. 
 
 He cantered over the Fenham flats, 
 
 AVhen the tide was back the while, 10 
 
 Which once a day doth change that spot 
 From Continent to Isle. 
 
 The quicksands lurk by Manuel's head, 
 
 And deep is Waren's Bay ; 
 Yet gallantly with eident hand 15 
 
 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. 20 
 
 She donned he^ 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 
 
 I Sir Gillum he stabled his dapple steed 25 
 ' 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 ; 30 
 
 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 35 
 
 He laighly louted down. 
 
 "Thy dochter walks on the eastern shore 
 
 With Gillum of Mydeltoun ;" 
 The Sea King, wi' gobelet in his hand. 
 
 He strake the youth on the croun. 40 
 
 " 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 loun. 
 
 "Gillum, he slew my sister's sonne 45 
 
 Last Whitsun tryst was a year ; 
 
 His mither sail 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; 50 
 
 Short be his shrift, 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 al)bey has dungeons enow 55 
 
 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 ; 
 
 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." 
 
 65 
 
504 
 
 SIR GILLUM OF MYDELTOUN. 
 
 He waited until the rising tide 
 
 Covered the yellow sand ; 
 Then rose he up from the waving bent 
 
 With his faulchion in his hand. 
 
 70 
 
 ** 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, 75 
 
 In my steed's cave on the shore." 
 
 " 'Twere better thou goest," fayre Annie she 
 cried, 
 
 *' For a swieven I had of thee : 
 That a ratton it louped into my neck, 
 
 And rugget me grievously." 80 
 
 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, 85 
 
 My top mast to swing doun ;" 
 "I will do neither, an I wisse," 
 
 Quoth Gillum of Mydeltoun. 
 
 *' Thou art my Annie's father," he said, 
 
 " Albeit an enemy ; 90 
 
 I will not battle against thy hand. 
 For the love 'tween Annie and me." 
 
 The Baron and henchman closed on him, 
 When Sir Gillum he drewe his blade ; 
 
 And whistled the sword around his head, 95 
 As stern defence he made. 
 
 He clove the henchman to the teeth 
 Wi' a downright wicked blow ; 
 
 Parted his head, as the halflings fell 
 Upon his shoulders low. 
 
 100 
 
 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 coble boat. 
 
 To catch yon cursed thief; 
 A beggarly Scot to be her mate, 
 
 Good lord, I had as lief." — 
 
 105 
 
 110 
 
 Four fishermen sprang to their boat, 
 
 Four fishers I trow were they; 
 Wi' a heave and shout they ran her out, 115 
 
 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. 120 
 
 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, 125 
 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 ; 130 
 
 She craved him there to give her alms. 
 
 For in sooth her limbs were cold. 
 
 He drew a noble from his purse. 
 
 And gave it yon eldern dame ; 
 "Pray for me, gude wife," he said, "for the 
 road 135 
 
 Is not oft trod I came." 
 
 She gave an eildricht laugh at the gold : 
 
 Thy fortune I will prie, 
 Not every knight so gallant and brave 
 
 Doth give his gold so free." 140 
 
 She told him then some proven truths, 
 
 That long ago had past ; 
 " The bonny beast you ride upon 
 
 Shall be your death at last." 
 
 He patted the neck of his courser fleet, 145 
 " Good mother, you do but jest ; 
 
 For Rupert is gentle, swift, and good, 
 As a child at a nourice breast !" 
 
 " The wierd is written in heaven," she said, 
 " And scartit in hell below ; 150 
 
 Rupert will lay thee on thy bier 
 In mickle dool and woe." 
 
 " Alas and well a day !" he cried, 
 
 " That ever it should so fall ; 
 That I must slay the noblest steed 155 
 
 That was ever stabled in stall." 
 
THE DEATH OF KING MALCOLME. 
 
 505 
 
 He rode fleete Rupert down to the sane 
 For his herte was sad with woe ; 
 
 The tears were in Sir Gillum's eyes, 
 For he loved that courser soe. 
 
 Slowly Sir Gillum he lighted doun, 
 Took off the saddle and reins ; 
 
 Quo* he, " I am about to make 
 Small guerdon for thy pains." 
 
 160 
 
 165 
 
 He drew his sword so sharp and bright, 
 
 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 safer way, 
 Was e'en to kill his steed. 
 
 He struck fleete Rupert aneath the leg. 
 The blood spun frae the wound, 175 
 
 Till the noble charger moaned in pain. 
 And so fell on the ground. 
 
 He turned his eye 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 frien' in the sweet spring time. 
 He walkit forth in his pride. 185 
 
 He passed where the bones o' his proud 
 charger 
 
 Were bleaching in the wind ; 
 And Sir Gillum he said, " A better steed 
 
 In Englonde thou couldst not find, 
 
 " Than was the fleete one that lieth here ; 
 
 The tod and the corby crow 190 
 
 Have fed upon his peerless limbs, 
 
 And his flesh and blood also. 
 
 " 'Tvvas told me once that my fleete Rupert," 
 
 lie 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. 
 
 Whitening 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 spite of skill, or of earthly will, 
 
 Sir Gillum of Mydeltoun dies. 
 
 " A foolish wierd has proven ryghte : 205 
 
 Farewell, my fayre Annie, 
 For the fliithful steed I slew in my need. 
 
 Is now avenged on me. 
 
 " Where Rupert's bones lie in the mist, 
 
 Annie, lay my corse ; 210 
 
 And let that knight take most delight. 
 To cherish the steed that has borne him in 
 fyghte. 
 And never slay his Horse." 
 
 %\t itatl of fjng PaMmt 
 
 Is founded on the historical facts subjoined. 
 Alnwick Castle appears to have been a place 
 of great strength immediately after the Nor- 
 man Conquest ; for in the reign of King 
 William Rufus, it underwent a remarkable 
 siege from Malcolm the Third, King of Scot- 
 land, 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 sur- 
 rendering, when one of the garrison under- 
 took 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 
 
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 ;" proba- 
 bly where the bridge was afterwards built. 
 Prince Edward, Malcolm's eldest son, incau- 
 tiously advancing to revenge his father's 
 death, received a wound, of which he died 
 three days after. The spot Avhere 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 Scotlande was slain, on this spot, 
 besieging Alnwick Castle, Nov^^ 13, a.d. 
 M.XCIII." On the east side, "Malcolm's 
 Cross decayed by time, was restored by his 
 descendant, Elizabth Duchess of Northumb*^, 
 M.D.CCLXXIV." The Cross has three steps 
 to the pedestal ; on the north side are sculp- 
 tured 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. 
 
 The sun was glinting thro' the shaws, 
 
 And flowered the elder tree. 
 When Malcolme, King o' braid Scotland, 
 
 Rose up from the dew wet lea. 4 
 
 Sing oh so mournfully, so dulefully. 
 
 He held wild Morkall in Alnwick Towers, 
 
 Wi' a ring o' armed men ; 
 And all his warriors tented round, 
 
 Were thousands three and ten. 
 
 Sing oh. &c. 10 
 
 He pressed so sorely on the walls, 
 They were like to eat the stane ; 
 
 They slaughtered hounds and pinin' yauds. 
 Picked rattons to the Bane. 
 
 Sing oh, &c. 15 
 
 Morkall he swore to eat his gluves, 
 
 Or ere he yields the wa's. 
 And they are made of good doe's hide. 
 
 That, louped in Durham's shaws. 
 
 Sing uh, &c. 20 
 
 His bauldest men can hardlings bear 
 The weight o' their iron graith ; 
 
 A mother wad scaircely ken't her son 
 In that griesly band o' death. 
 Sing oh, &c. 
 
 25 
 
 It was upon a day in Spring, 
 
 When the scent came frae the thorn, 
 
 The Scottice monarch summon't them, 
 With three waughs o' the horn. 
 
 Sing oh, &c. 30 
 
 " Come doun from out your castell grey, 
 
 That wons up<m the hill, 
 Or by the rood, we'se shed your blood, 
 
 For we are sworn to kill." 
 
 Sing oh, &e. 35 
 
 Morkall he glinted ower the walls, 
 " So draw off a space your men ; 
 
 I yield my trust nae help arrives, 
 And Alnwick Castle's taen. 
 
 Sing oh, &c. 40 
 
 " But give to me your kingly word, 
 
 Ere I draw asp or bolt, 
 Ten minutes to come, ten minutes to gae, 
 
 Your faith and truth as a Scottice king, 
 I'se meet you on the holt. 45 
 
 Sing oh, &c. 
 
 "And I'll give up my Castle's keys 
 
 To thee, thou Scottice king; 
 The bravest men in a' the Merse 
 
 Can dow but as they ding." 60 
 
 Sing oh, &c. 
 
 " My hand and gluve, my faith and troth, 
 
 I give to thee also ; 
 And I'll grant thee thy liberty. 
 
 With leave to come and go." 55 
 
 Sing oh, &c. 
 
 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. 60 
 
 Sing oh, &c. 
 
 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. 65 
 
 Sing oh, &c. 
 
THE DEATH OF KING MALCOLME. 
 
 507 
 
 There was a fechtin his mind, 
 
 Then siccan a cry o' wild revenge, 
 
 
 For his cheek was deadly wan ; 
 
 Did earth and heaven stoun ; 
 
 
 And he purset his broos like one beset 
 
 The birds that skim'd alang the aii*. 
 
 
 With a deep and deadly ban. 70 
 
 For very fright fell doun. 
 
 115 
 
 Sing oh, &c. 
 
 Sing oh, &c. 
 
 
 His mind was set to do a deed, 
 
 The Scots are arming for the fight, 
 
 
 And he struck his rowells hard, 
 
 siccan a fearful shout, 
 
 
 The beast sprung forth with na' corn in his 
 
 They rushed red wud to the Castle gates, | 
 
 wame, 
 
 Like a herd o' frightened nowte. 
 
 120 
 
 He near fell o'er the yird. 75 
 
 Sing oh, &c. 
 
 
 Sing oh, &c. 
 
 Now baud thy ain thou wild Morkall, 
 
 
 He forded the Aln at the fall o' the hill, 
 
 For the Scots rage all below ; 
 
 
 An arrow's flight from the towers, 
 
 Thou'st fought in mony a battle field, 
 
 
 And on the knowe King Malcolme stood, 
 
 But never so wild a foe. 
 
 125 
 
 Surroundit by his powers. 80 
 
 Sing oh, &c. 
 
 
 Sing oh, &c. 
 
 
 
 
 From bendit bows, like winter's sleet, 
 
 
 Bauld Hammond check'd his bridle rein, 
 
 Some ten yards frae the King ; 
 He lowered his bassen'd cap, and stood 
 
 Shafts flyter thro' the sky ; 
 They bend the bonny mangonel, 
 And the stanes in showers fly. 
 
 130 
 
 Up in his stirrup ring. 85 
 
 Sing oh, &c. 
 
 
 Sing oh, &c. 
 
 
 
 Some on ilk ither's shouthers mount, 
 
 
 " I bear the keys o* Alnwick Gates ;" 
 
 Whilst reeking tar and pitch. 
 
 
 He said wi' saucy air ; 
 
 With blocks and bars and het water, 
 
 
 '* I hold them forth, let him wha likes 
 
 Fell warriors in the ditch. 
 
 135 
 
 Come tak them gin' he dare." 90 
 
 Sing oh, &c. 
 
 
 Sing oh, &c. 
 
 
 
 A score o' Chiefs put forth a stap, 
 
 0, 0, the sin ! 0, 0, the din ! 
 
 
 But Malcolme staid them a'; 
 
 That men should warsle so. 
 
 
 " Now feint a hand shall tak those keys, 
 
 They backward bore the bloody King, 
 
 
 Save him wha gives the law," 95 
 
 From that green and fatal knowe. 
 
 140 
 
 Sing oh, &c. 
 
 
 
 
 Bauld Hammond's spear hath gashec 
 
 his 
 
 He walkit thro' the yellow broom, 
 
 brows, 
 
 
 Fell Hammond he waited near; 
 
 His skull is bark't and riven. 
 
 1 
 
 He met him full, and in Malcolme's eye 
 
 And the priest wi' words o' grace and luve, | 
 
 He thrust his Border spear ; 100 
 
 The dying King hath shriven. 
 
 145 
 
 Sing oh, &c. 
 
 Sing oh, &c. 
 
 
 And turning round fled down the bank, 
 
 Yedward the Prince, that fated thrust 
 
 
 And squattered thro' the ford, 
 
 Doth honours to thee bring ; 
 
 
 And gained the Castell ; brig and baulk 
 
 Of braid Scotland and Comberuauld, 
 
 
 Right willingly were lower'd. 105 
 
 It makes thee mighty King. 
 
 150 
 
 Sing oh, &c. 
 
 Sing oh, &c. 
 
 
 Oh Jesu ! 'twas a fearful sight 
 
 The battle sounded loud and clear — - 
 
 
 To see that kingly man ; 
 
 Frae' his bed o' rushes dried. 
 
 
 Strake thro' the skull, whilst royal blood 
 
 Like one strong in life the King louped 
 
 up, 
 
 Left cheeks and haffets wan. 110 
 
 And his slogan wild he cried. 
 
 155 
 
 Sing oh, &c. 
 
 Sing oh, &o. 
 
 
508 
 
 THE SLAUGHTER OF THE BISHOP. 
 
 Sightless and feckless did he turn 
 
 His face to the fechtin band ; 
 He could na' speak, but he fetched his breath 
 
 And deadly shook his hand. 160 
 
 Sing oh, &c. 
 
 but for ae glance o' his eagle eye, 
 0' heaven's blessed light ; 
 
 To die as should become a Chief, 
 In the midst o' yonder fight. 
 Sing oh, &c. 
 
 He warsled wi' his agony, 
 
 And to die like a mangy tyke — 
 
 His Kingly soul flew frae his lips. 
 In a wild unearthly shriek. 
 
 Sing oh, &c. 
 
 165 
 
 170 
 
 His ooul and life fled from his flesh, 
 His haAvkis eyes were shent ; 
 
 He backward fell, a bloody corpse, 
 Ere his body touched the bent. 
 Sing oh, &c. 
 
 175 
 
 The deed stack to the bauld Hammond, 
 
 And for his joust sae grim, 
 Because he pierced King Malcolme's eye, 
 
 Piercy they curson't him. 180 
 
 Sing oh, &c. 
 
 They biggitt a cross whare Malcolme fell, 
 Where Hawthorn blossoms wave ; 
 
 I tell na lie, for ye yet may see, 
 
 King Malcolme's bloody grave. 185 
 
 Sing oh so dulefully, sae mournfully. 
 
 %\t Skttgpr 0f i\t §is|0)f. 
 
 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 ofi'ered 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 broughte 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 
 (WiUiam 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. There are squares still known by the 
 name of " Black Friars, White Friars," and 
 several lanes called "Grey Friars, Low 
 Friars, Crutched Friars," &c. 
 
 And, My masters, he sayd, what means this 
 effeir ? 
 
 " Bodin in effeir," a Border phrase, to come 
 armed for battle. 
 
 Rose high as Saynt Nicholasse. 
 
 See the Ballad of "Earl Moray." 
 
 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 
 
THE SLAUGHTER OF THE BISHOP. 509 
 
 laity were informed of this, and approved the 
 
 The stowne of tongues grewe threateninge, 
 
 miracle; the wood was carried to Tynemouth, 
 
 As the Bischoppe tended masse; 
 
 where the Saint's bodie was interred, to be 
 
 But the shoutinge and the people's groans, 
 
 there preserved in testimony thereof." 
 
 Rose highe as St. Nicholasse. 
 
 
 Gude redde, &c. 40 
 
 Bede, 
 
 
 Knowne for hys sanctitie. 
 
 The Bischoppe rushed to the altarr stone. 
 
 
 For he was a hasty manne ; 
 And, " My masters," he say'd, "what means 
 thiseffeir?" 
 
 See the life and writings of the Venerable 
 Bede. 
 
 
 When arose arounde the banne. 
 
 The Bischoppe has come with King William's 
 
 Gude redde, &c. 45 
 
 worde 
 
 
 To the Chapell by the gate ; 
 
 They closed uppone the Durham Saynt, 
 
 But he may rue his journeyings, 
 
 To split his shaven crowne. 
 
 Or ere it be too late. 
 
 When he helde the preciouse crosse aloofe, 
 
 Guderedde, short redde, slayye the Bischoppe. 
 
 Where our Savioure looked downe. 
 
 
 Gude redde, &c. 50 
 
 The people are there, with hanging looks, 6 
 
 
 And no man cries, " God blesse 
 
 But the howlinge men of the gate 
 
 Thee thou Bischoppe of King Willyam, 
 
 Preste on to slaye the Prieste, 
 
 Arrayed in holynesse." 
 
 So he withdrew into the chappelle, 
 
 Gude redde, &c. 10 
 
 As a sanctuarie of reste. 
 
 
 Gude redde, &c. 55 
 
 He hath broughte Kyng Willyam's honde, 
 
 
 Written on parchment fayre. 
 
 Uppe came Ringan of Lyraington, 
 
 Gif any like to see the wordes 
 
 And Roger of the fenne, 
 
 They in his face shall stare. 
 
 Ned of the Huddocks, St. Dunstone's Cocke, 
 
 Gude redde, &c. 15 
 
 And a host of shrieking menne. 
 
 
 Gude redde, &c. 60 
 
 The Black Friars and the White, 
 
 
 And eke the lowlye Greye, 
 
 The Bischoppe stoode, and his snowy hairs 
 
 Walk two's and two's wyth the proud Bisch- 
 
 Were streaming in the blast ; 
 
 oppe, 
 
 Quo he, " Have ye some reverence — " 
 
 A fayre sighte by my faye. 
 
 But the crosse from his gripe they cast. 
 
 Gude redde, &c. 20 
 
 Gude redde, &c. 65 
 
 In and upon the Gateshead streets, 
 
 He hastened to the altarr steppes. 
 
 The people gather and fille, 
 
 And there his courage keppe ; 
 
 Wyth sticks stelle headed, staves and stones, 
 
 A lowsel lifted his partizan. 
 
 The Durham Priest to kille. 
 
 And clave the chnppelle steppe. 
 
 Gude redde, &c. 25 
 
 Gude redde, &c. 70 
 
 They gather about the holye chappelle, 
 
 He clave the woode, when strange to tell 
 
 And talk of his perfidie ; 
 
 Out gushed a streame of bloode! 
 
 How that he has graspit all the tythes, 
 
 ** A mirackle," the Bischoppe criede 
 
 And swept the fat off the lea. 
 
 From the altarr where he stoode. 
 
 Gude redde, &c. 30 
 
 Gude redde, &c. 75 
 
 Ruddie his hue and whyte his haire. 
 
 "It shalle not save thee," fierce Ringan sayde, 
 
 Firm was his browe ; albeyte his eyes 
 
 And the Bischoppes skulle he clave. 
 
 Flamed in his hede lyke coals of fyre, 
 
 When bloode and brains flew all aboute. 
 
 As rounde he looked in wonder wyse. 
 
 On chappelle walle and pave. 
 
 Gude redde, &c. 35 
 
 Gude redde, &c. 80 
 
510 THE OUTLANDISH KNIGHT. 
 
 There was a fearfulle crie went uppe 
 
 When the boate it grounded in Jarrow Slake, 
 
 For horror at what was done ; 
 
 As of its ownc accorde. 
 
 They fled their wayes, and the Priestte was 
 
 Gude redde, &c. 100 
 
 lefte 
 
 
 Deade ! on the altarr stone. 
 
 Not all the menne in Christendie, 
 
 Gude redde, &c. 85 
 
 Forbye Northumberlande, 
 
 
 Coulde thruste the boate a fadom's lengthe 
 
 The Monkes of Jarrowe came up the Tyne, 
 
 From off the tail of the sande : 
 
 Wyth St. Cuthbert's banner a' streame, 
 
 Gude redde, &c. 105 
 
 And the dyrge rose for the Bischoppes soule, 
 
 
 The rowers* songe betweene. 
 
 But a gentil winde came from the west, 
 
 Gude redde, &c. 90 
 
 And they sung Saynt Cuthbert's hymn, 
 
 
 And the bodie dryfted to the lande, 
 
 They gatheret uppe the slaughtered Priestte, 
 
 As fast as itt coulde swym. 
 
 In his gory robes bedighte ; 
 
 Gude redde, &c. 110 
 
 Oh holye Chryste ! his crimsonne bloode 
 
 
 Had dyed his stole so whyte. 
 
 They buryed hym in solemn wyse, 
 
 Gude redde, &c. 95 
 
 In Jarrow Monasterie, 
 
 
 Where lived and prayed the holie Bade, 
 
 They never lyfted oarre or sayle, 
 
 Knowne for hys sanctitie. 
 
 When they hove the bodie aborde ; 
 
 Gude redde, &c. 115 
 
 %\t (BuMVis^ Pm#. 
 
 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 " Rich- 
 ardson's Table 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- 
 
 Ullin' 
 
 bell's well known Ballad of "Lord 
 Daughter," is on the same subject. 
 
 Who the author 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 unclaimed, 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 his fair bride be. 4 
 
 A broad, broad shield did this stranger wield, 
 Whereon 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 ; 10 
 
 "O mayden fayr, with the raven hayre, 
 Thou shalt at my bidding be. 
 
THE OUTLANDISH KNIGHT. 
 
 511 
 
 ** Thy sire he is from home, ladye, 
 
 For he hath a journey gone; 
 And his shaggy blood-hound is sleeping 
 sound 15 
 
 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." 20 
 
 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 stranger Knight, 25 
 This knight of the north countrie ; 
 
 *' mayden fayr with the raven hayre, 
 Do thou at my bidding be. 
 
 " Alight thee from thy mylk white steed, 
 And deliver it unto me ; 30 
 
 Six maids have I drowned where the billows 
 sound, 
 And the seventh one shalt thou be. 
 
 " But first pull off thy kirtle fine, 
 
 And deliver it unto me ; 
 Thy kirtle of green is too rich, I ween, 35 
 
 To rot in the salt, salt sea. 
 
 " Pull off,' pull off thy silken shoon, 
 
 And deliver them unto me ; 
 Methinks they are too fine and gay, 
 
 To rot in the salt, salt sea. 40 
 
 •' 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, 45 
 
 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 ; 50 
 
 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 beseem'd that tongue not tell, 55 
 But rather my sinne to hide. 
 
 " Who ever tempted weak woman 
 
 Unto a doede of evil ; 
 To tempt the first and then to twit, 
 
 Beseemeth but the deyvil." 60 
 
 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, 65 
 
 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 ; 70 
 
 Six damsels fayr thou hast drownM there, 
 
 But the seventh has drowned 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, 75 
 
 And utter'd an Ave Marie. 
 
 65 
 
512 
 
 COCHRANE'S BONNY GRIZZY. 
 
 C0cl]raite's '§nm^ §x^}i 
 
 This Ballad commemorates the matchless 
 devotion and indomitable courage of Grizel 
 Cochrane, when the tyranny and bigotry of 
 James VI. towards his Scottish subjects, 
 forced them to take up arms for the re- 
 dressal 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- 
 hell, enveloping in one common ruin all who 
 united their fortunes in the cause of its Chief- 
 tains. The same doom befell Sir John Coch- 
 rane ; for he was surrounded by the King's 
 troops, and though he made a desperate resist- 
 ance, was overpowered and conveyed to prison 
 in Edinburgh, His trial was brief, the judg- 
 ment 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 
 Berwick, divSguised in a palmer's weeds : and 
 robbed the man of the London Mail as de- 
 scribed 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 inter- 
 cession of his father, the Earl of Dundonald, 
 with the King's Confessor might be success- 
 ful. 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 
 Grizzy with wild vehemence ; " but my father 
 shall not die." To save him, as the Ballad 
 informs us, 
 
 She aiblins kenned a way. 
 
 Her masculine garments were again in re- 
 quisition ; again the rider had almost gained 
 the Moor of Tweedmouth, bearing with him 
 the doom of Cochrane ; but Grizzy was at 
 her post, and again despoiled him of his 
 packet. By this second robbery Grizzy in- 
 sured 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 greatrgrand- 
 mother of the late Sir John Stuart of Allan- 
 bank, and great-great-grandmother of the 
 celebrated Mr. Coutts, the Banker ; but a few 
 years ago the author of the Border Tales re- 
 ceived a letter from Sir Hugh Stuart, son of 
 Sir John, stating that his family would be 
 glad to have such a heroine as Grizel con- 
 nected with their genealogy ; but that they 
 were unable to prove such connexion. A few 
 miles from Belford may yet be seen a solitary 
 clump of fir trees, walled round, and stand- 
 ing by the road side, whidh is yet called 
 "Grizzy's clump," and pointed out as a part 
 of the thicket from whence Cochrane's bonny 
 dochter fired on the carrier of the mail. We 
 have lost much of the wisdom of our ances- 
 tors, 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, Kyloe Hills, Lowlinns, &c., 
 are places in the immediate vicinity of Grizzy'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 semple, 
 Whilst I croon to you my sang, 
 
 Ere suchan anither damsell peers, 
 The world will cease to wag ere lang : 
 
 For she is the flower o'er a.' the bower, 5 
 
 My blessings on Cochrane's Bonny Grizzy. 
 
COCHRANE'S BONNY GRIZZY. 
 
 513 
 
 Her feyther lay lang in the Embro jail, 
 
 Wearin fast to his end, 
 For his head maun be swept clean frae his 
 shouthers, 9 
 
 "When the warrant the King shall send ; 
 Singing waes me, wi' the tear in her e*e, 
 Did Cochrane's bonny dochter mourn. 
 
 She kist her feyther's lyart locks, 
 
 Unkemtt for mony a day; 
 And she said, " To save my feyther's life, 15 
 
 I 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, 20 
 
 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 all night, and she rose betimes, 25 
 And cross'd the lang brig o' the Tweed ; 
 
 And ouer the moor at Tweedmouth brae, 
 Sair dragglit was her woman's weed ; 
 
 And lightin doun by Haggerston Shaws, 
 
 Did Cochrane's bonny Grizzy. 30 
 
 A cloak she drew frae her saddle bag, 
 
 Wi' trunks and a doublet fayre. 
 She cut off wi' a faulding knife. 
 
 Her long and raven hair ; 
 And she dressed herself in laddies claiths. 
 Did Cochrane's Bonny Grizzy. 36 
 
 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, 40 
 
 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 best amang the hail." 46 
 
 In the dead of night did they gang to their 
 beds, 
 
 And so gaed Cochrane's dochter. 
 
 She rose ower the bed, ere the second coek, 
 Went j imply alang the floor ; 50 
 
 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, 55 
 
 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. 60 
 
 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," 65 
 
 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, 
 
 Till sense and e'en were blind ; 70 
 
 " A lang night 'tis ne'er sees a day,'* 
 
 Quoth Cochran's undaunted Grizzy. 
 
 The warlocks are dancing threesome reels, 
 
 On Goswick's haunted links. 
 The red fire shoots by Ladythorne, 75 
 
 And Tam wi' the lanthorn fa's and sinks ; 
 On Kyloe'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, 80 
 
 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, 85 
 From the whin bushes shot out a flame ; 
 
 His dappled filly reared up in affright. 
 And backward over he came ; 
 
 There's a hand on his craig, and a foot on his 
 mouth, 
 
 Twas Cochran's Bonny Grizzy. 90 
 
 " I will not tak thy life," she said, 
 " But gie me thy London news ; 
 
 No bloode of thine shall fyle my blade, 
 Gin me ye dinna refuse :" 94 
 
 She's prie'd the warrant, and away she flew, 
 
 Wi' the speed and strength o' the wild curlew. 
 
514 
 
 YOUNG RATCLIFFE. 
 
 Love ■will make a foe grow kind, 
 
 Love will bring blossom where bud is 
 naught, 
 Love hath softened a kingly mind ; 99 
 
 Grizzy hath mercy to councillors taught. 
 Her friends at court have prieven the life 
 0' Grizzy's banished feyther. 
 
 She's wedded unto a German knicht, 
 Her bairnies blyth wi' her sire remain, 
 
 She's cust the laddies cloots awa, 105 
 
 And her raven hair is growing again. 
 
 What think ye, gentles o' every degree, 
 
 Of Cochrane's Bonny Grizzy ? 
 
 |0wn{( lEUIiffK 
 
 The hero of this ballad, which appears 
 for the first time in print, was James Rad- 
 clifie, third Earl of Derwentwater, who was 
 beheaded for high treason on Tower Hill, in 
 1716. 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 
 Dibston, — 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 preservation. 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 here in sic effeir?" 
 This nobleman did say. 
 
 There looted his ladye by his side, 5 
 
 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, 10 
 
 And whoso follows not his flag 
 Sail never be content. 
 
 " The pick of a' the western hills, 
 
 With nordern Billies to boot, 
 Have thrown up caps for bonny James, 15 
 
 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 blood." 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 of schemes will often fail, 
 
 If not gane boldly thro." 
 
 Out answered Derwentwater bold, 
 
 " Why prop a falling tree ? 30 
 
 When does the Stuart's kingly cause, 
 Lie rotting on the lea. 
 
 " 111 speed and bloodshed never yet 
 
 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' a glunching o' disdain ; 
 " When others seek the smile o' kings, 
 
 To stay were ruth and shame. 
 
 " How could I live to hear my luve 
 Shamed as a coward man ? 
 
 Were I a Lord, in the foremost rank 
 I' fight for King and Ian'." 
 
 45 
 
YOUNG RATCLIFFE. 
 
 615 
 
 " Och," then quo* he, " my hinny sweet, 
 Wha nothing has to tyne 50 
 
 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 poppling by the moss grown stanes, 
 The waters flash between. 56 
 
 " 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." 
 
 60 
 
 65 
 
 Quo' she, " Shame fa' upon RatcliflFe, 
 
 Or ever I was told. 
 My husband snooves awa from fight, 
 
 For greed of yellow gold. 
 
 " That ever weary waefu' gear 
 Should mar so fair a cause. 
 
 That ever to stand by Jamie's side 
 Should make my Ratcliffe pause. 
 
 " There's Kenmure's up wi' the western lads, 
 Roy wi' the Highlandmen, 70 
 
 And Lochiel's clan, wi' pipes to their teeth. 
 Are skirling down the Glen ; 
 
 " There's Fenwickes, and Herries, and Fos- 
 ters too, 
 
 Wi' the feck of Cumberland, 
 Are ganging to tryst on Stagshaw Bank, 75 
 
 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. 
 
 80 
 
 " The smallest drop o' my Ratcliffe'a blood 
 
 Is far more dear to me 
 Than all the ryches ever sunk 
 
 In the waters of the sea." 
 
 He sprung away wi' a brow o' fire, 85 
 
 Gave three skips thro' the ha'; 
 And cried, " Hurrah for Jamie yet, 
 
 What ever may befa'. 
 
 " Go saddle me my Marigold, 
 
 That browses on the lea ; 90 
 
 My father's helmet and his sword. 
 
 So likewise bring to me." 
 
 The robin cheeped a dolorous note. 
 With the corn craik from the lea. 
 
 The owlet gave an eerie skriegh, 
 As he louped to saddle tree. 
 
 95 
 
 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. 100 
 
 It raised sore tews in Ratcliffe's breast, 
 
 To leave his plenished house ; 
 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 ; 106 
 
 " Forth fortune," he cried, " and fetters fill, 
 Heigh, Jamie oure the lea." 
 
 Young Ratcliffe called for the stirrup cup. 
 Ere he rode down the brae ; 110 
 
 He'se bid them never stint the wine, 
 Whatever men may say. 
 
 He flung the glass right oure his shouther, 
 When he had drained the toast ; 
 
 He kist his glov't hand to the Ha', 115 
 
 For oh he loved it most. 
 
 There's stir upon Newcastle Streets, 
 In Morpeth Town there's noise ; 
 
 And Berwick Johnnies wi' Cambo Billies, 
 Fratch wi' the Hexham boys. 120 
 
 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, 125 
 
 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. 
 
 Where many noblemen were slain. 
 And young Ratcliffe gat the wyte. 
 
 130 
 
516 
 
 YOUNG RATCLIFFE. 
 
 That siccan a cause suld ever fail ! 
 
 The prince has fled the land ; 
 Wi' Balmerin and auld Lovatt, 135 
 
 Bauld 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 once mair." 140 
 
 When first she looked the letter on, 
 
 She was baith red and rosy ; 
 But ere she read a word or twa, 
 
 She wallowt like a lily. 
 
 " Gae get to me my gude grey steed, 145 
 
 My menzie a gae 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 ; 150 
 
 And neither did she eat or drink 
 Till London Town did see her. 
 
 she fell on her bended knees, 
 I wat's she^s pale and weary ; 
 
 ** pardon, pardon, noble King, 
 And gie me back my dearie. 
 
 155 
 
 "I hae born sons to my Ratcliffe dear, 
 
 The last ne^er saw his daddie ; 
 Oh pardon, pardon, noble King, 
 
 Pity a waefu' ladie." 160 
 
 " Go bid the headis-man make haste," 
 
 Our King did loudly cry ; 
 " For as I live, or wear a crown, 
 
 Yon bold traytor shall die." 
 
 Kenmures came, and Fenwickes ran, 165 
 And they were stark and steady ; 
 
 And a the word among them a', 
 "Was " Ratcliffe, keep ye ready." 
 
 An aged man at the King's right hand. 
 Says "Noble King, but hear me ; 170 
 
 Gar her tell down ten thousand pounds. 
 And gie her back her dearie." 
 
 Quo' Geordie, "Not for all the goud 
 
 That ever a King could tell, 
 It shall not save young Ratcliffe's life, 175 
 
 From the axe he's earned full well." 
 
 And then appeared the fatal block. 
 And syne the axe to head him ; 
 
 And Ratcliffe coming down the stair, 
 
 Wi' bands o' airn they lead him. 180 
 
 But tho' he was chain'd in fetters strong. 
 
 That gyved his noble limb. 
 There was nae ane in a' the court. 
 
 That looked sae bra' as him. 
 
 He clasped his lady by the waist, 185 
 
 And kist her lips sae red ; 
 " Be mindful of my youngest bairn. 
 
 When is his father dead." 
 
 Geordy has taen sae sair a fright. 
 
 He's no safe in his hall ; 190 
 
 And the tane and the tither maun hauld their 
 gabs, 
 
 Young Ratcliffe's head maun fall. 
 
 His blood has watted the Tower block, 
 
 And dyed his yellow hair ; 
 His Countess sits wailing in Dilston Halls, 
 
 But Ratcliffe is na there. 196 
 
THE FAIR FLOWER OF NORTHUMBERLAND. 
 
 517 
 
 W M^ ll^toa at '§axt\umMmx)i. 
 
 This Ballad treats of the betrayal and de- 
 sertion of a daughter of " the good Erie 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 Shakspeare, 
 who took it in turn from that truly old Eng- 
 lish Ballad, "It was a Friar of Orders Grey,^' 
 attributed with I know not what justice to 
 Beaumont and Fletcher. The last verse but 
 one is added, as I thought the ends of Ballad 
 justice would not be fulfilled, 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 re- 
 sorted to, preparatory to execution for treason- 
 able or disgraceful ofiences. 
 
 / It was a Knight in Scotland born, 
 / Follow my love, come over the Strand ; 
 Was taken prisoner, and left forlorn 
 
 Even by the good Erie Northumberland. 
 
 Then was he cast in prison strong, 5 
 
 Follow my love, come over the Strand ; 
 
 Where he could not walk or lay along. 
 Even by the good Erie Northumberland. 
 
 And as in sorrow thus he lay, 
 
 Follow my love, come over the Strand ; 10 
 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 prisoner had of her a sight, 15 
 
 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. 20 
 
 " 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 ; 26 
 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 ; 30 
 
 " 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, 35 
 
 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, 41 
 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 ; 46 
 
 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 ; 50 
 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, 55 
 
 To wend from her father in fayre Scotland. 
 
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, 61 
 
 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, 65 
 
 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 ; 70 
 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 here, 75 
 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.^' 80 
 
 " Fear not the ford, fair lady," quo' 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, 85 
 
 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 ; 90 
 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, 95 
 
 The fairest tovna in all Scotland. 
 
 "Now choose," quo' he, "thou wanton Flower, 
 Follow my love, come over the Strand ; 
 
 If thou wilt be my paramour, 
 Or get thee home to Northumberland. 100 
 
 " 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, 105 
 Follow my love, come over the Strand ; 
 
 I'll have thy horse, go thou on foot, 
 Go, get thee home to Northumberland." 
 
 **0 false and faithless Knight," quo she, 
 Follow my love, come over the Strand ; 110 
 
 " 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, 115 
 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. 120 
 
 Then sat she down full heavily. 
 
 Follow my love, come over the Strand; 
 
 At length two Knights came ridin by. 
 Two gallant Knights of fair England. 
 
 She fell down humbly on her knee, 125 
 
 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; 130 
 And by a false Knight, who brought me here 
 
 From the good Erie of Northumberland." 
 
 They took h«r up behind them there. 
 Follow my love, come over the Strand ; 
 
 And brought her to her home again, 135 
 And he the good Earl of Northumberland. 
 
SYR JOHN LE SPRYNGE. 
 
 519 
 
 They chopped the spurs from the false 
 Knight's 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. 
 
 (very ancient.) 
 
 This old ballad occurs in Sharpens 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 headed in Sharpens 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 fled ; 
 When the Martyr's palm and golden crown 
 Reward Chryst's soldiers dead. 
 
 The crescent was the symbol of Saladin, 
 and it is on record, that an ancestor of the 
 Percies 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 appella- 
 tion, 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. 
 
 Prat 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 
 
520 
 
 LADY JEAN. 
 
 He fell not before the paynim sword, 
 Ere the waning Crescent fled ; 
 
 When the martyr's palm and golden crown 
 Reward Chryst's soldiers dead. 
 
 He fell not in the battle field, 10 
 
 Beneath St. George's banner bryght ; 
 
 When the pealyng cry of victory, 
 
 Might cheer the soule of a dying Knyght. 
 
 But at dead of night, in the soft moonlight. 
 In his garden bower he lay, 15 
 
 And the dew of sleepe 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, 20 
 
 Did his soule from his body fleete. 
 
 And through mist and mirk and moonlight 
 grey, 
 
 Was forced away from the bleeding clay, 
 To the dreadful judgment seat. 
 
 In the southermost aisle his coat of mail, 
 Hangs o'er the marble shrine ; 
 
 And his tyltyng spere is rustyng there, 
 His helm and his gabardine. 
 
 25 
 
 And aye the mass priest sings his song, 
 And patters many a prayer ; 30 
 
 And the chaunting bell tolls loud and long, 
 And aye the lamp burns there. 
 
 And still when that guilty night returns, 
 On the eve of Saynt Barnaby bryght, 
 
 The dying taper faintly burns 35 
 
 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 knee. 40 
 
 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 vows you keep, 45 
 
 And kiss no leman gay; 
 For he that sinks in sin to sleepe, 
 
 May never wake to pray. 
 
 Judge not, sinner as thou art. 
 
 Commune with thy secret herte, 50 
 
 And watch, for thou knowst not the houre, 
 But to Jesus bright, and Mary of might, 
 Pray for the soule of the murdered Knight, 
 
 That died in the moonlit bower. 
 
 falrg |«ii. 
 
 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 intended bridegroom 
 in the Ballad, may have been the " Dacre" of 
 
 Flodden 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 VII L The Umphreville or 
 TJmfraville, 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 ao- 
 
LADY JEAN. 
 
 521 
 
 count of a banquet given by Walter de Hep- 
 scotes, the Abbot, a.d. 1376, on the day of the 
 Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary, to 
 Henry, the Fourth Lord of Alnwick, and 
 thirteen Knights, amongst whom occurs the 
 name of " Ingram de Unfraville/' 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 become 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. 
 
 By BothaFs tower, sweet Wansbeck's stream 
 
 Bins bickerin to the sea ; 
 Aloft, the breezes of the morn 
 
 The banners waving free. 
 
 There's joy in Bothal's bonny bowers, 5 
 
 There's mirth within the ha' ; 
 But oure the cheek of Lady Jean, 
 
 The tricklin tear drops fa'. 
 
 She sits within her chamber high, 10 
 
 Her cousin's by her side ; 
 Yet sweir is she to don the dress 
 
 That's fitting for a bride. 
 
 " haste ! Lord Dacre's on his way, 
 Ye hae na time to spare ; 15 
 
 Come let me clasp that jimp 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, 20 
 
 Wi' goud 'ill stand its lane. 
 
 " This jewelled chaplet ye'U put on. 
 
 That broidered necklace gay ; 
 For we maun ha' ye buskit well 
 
 On this your bridal day." 25 
 
 " Ellen, you would think it hard 
 
 To wed against your will ; 
 I never loved Lord Dacre yet, 
 
 I dinna like him still. 
 
 " He kens, tho' oft he sued for love 30 
 
 Upon his bended 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 ; 35 
 
 Yet this fond heart can ne'er be his. 
 Although he claim my hand. 
 
 " Ellen, softly list to me, 
 
 I still may scape the snare ; 
 This morn I sent to Otterbourne, 40 
 
 The tidings would be there. 
 
 " And hurrying on, comes Umphreville, 
 
 His spur is sharp at need ; 
 There's nane in a' Northumberland 
 
 Can boast a fleeter steed. 45 
 
 " 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, 50 
 
 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 ; 55 
 
 Alas ! alas ! for Umphreville, 
 His heart may well be sair; 
 
 " Keep back, keep back. Lord Dacre's steed, 
 
 Ye mauna trot or gang ; 
 And haste ye, haste ye, Umphreville, 60 
 
 Your lady thinks you lang." 
 
 In velvet sheen she wadna dress, 
 
 Nae pearlins oure her shone, 
 Nor broidered necklace sparkling bright, 
 
 Would Lady Jean put on. 65 
 
522 
 
 SIR RICHARD WHITTINGTON'S ADVANCEMENT. 
 
 Up rose she frae her cushioned seat, 
 
 And tottered like to fa' ; 
 Her cheek grew like the rose, and then 
 
 Turned whiter than the wa\ 
 
 " Ellen, thraw the casement up, 70 
 
 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 ; 75 
 
 Out thro' the postern comes the train, 
 Lord Dacre comes before. 
 
 " Fu' yauld and gracefu' lichts he doun, 
 
 Sae does his gallant band ; 
 And low he doffs his bonnett plume, 80 
 
 And shakes your father's hand. 
 
 " List, lady, list ! a bugle note, 
 It soundeth faintly clear ; 
 
 Up, up ! I see abune the wa* 
 Your true love's pennon'd spear/' 85 
 
 And up fu' quick gat Lady Jean, 
 
 Nae ailment had she mair ; 
 Blyth was her look, and firm her step, 
 
 As she ran down the stair. 
 
 As thro' amang the apple trees, 90 
 
 An' up the walk she flew, 
 Untill she reached her true love's side, 
 
 Her breath she scarcely drew. 
 
 Lord Dacre fain would see the bride 
 
 He sought her bower alone ; 95 
 
 And dowf and blunket 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 Umphreville 
 To bonny Otterbourne. 
 
 100 
 
 Sit p^arif Mpttingt0n's Jlibanam^nt* 
 
 There is something so fabulous, or at least, 
 that has such a romantic appearance in the 
 history of Whittington, that we shall not re- 
 late it ; but refer our readers to common tra- 
 dition, 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 Lon- 
 don, 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, choris- 
 ters, clerks, &c.,and an almshouse for thirteen 
 poor men, called Whittington College. He en- 
 tirely 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-Smith- 
 field ; 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 
 
 sera 1393 ; William Stondon, by trade a gro- 
 cer, 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 Molde Fitzwarren : at 
 whose house, traditions say, Whittington 
 lived a servant, when he got his immense 
 riches by venturing his^tf in one of his mas-" 
 ter'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 
 
SIR RICHARD WHITTINGTON'S ADVANCEMENT. 
 
 523 
 
 William Whittington, and dame Joan 
 
 his 
 
 Whereupon, back again, 
 
 
 wife ; and for Hugh Eitzwarren, and dame 
 
 Whittington came with speed, 
 
 
 Molde his wife, the fathers and mothers of 
 
 A servant to remain. 
 
 
 the said Richard Whittington and Alice his 
 
 As the Lord had decreed. 
 
 40 
 
 wife: For king Richard the Second, 
 
 and 
 
 
 
 Thomas of Woodstock, duke of Gloucester, 
 
 Still blessed be the bells. 
 
 
 special lords and promoters of the said Rich- 
 
 This was his daily song; 
 
 
 ard Whittington, &c. 
 
 
 This my good fortune tells, 
 
 
 /Here must I tell the praise 
 
 
 Most sweetly have they rung. 
 
 
 
 
 
 Of worthy Whittington, 
 
 
 If God so favour me, 
 
 45 
 
 Known to be in his days 
 
 
 I will not prove unkind ; 
 
 
 Thrice lord-mayor of London. 
 
 
 London my love shall see. 
 And my large bounties find. 
 
 
 But of poor parentage 
 
 5 
 
 
 
 Born was he, as we hear, 
 
 
 But, see his happy chance! 
 
 
 And in his tender age 
 
 
 This scullion had a cat. 
 
 50 
 
 Bred up in Lancashire. 
 
 
 Which did his state advance, 
 And by it wealth he gat. 
 
 
 Poorly to London then 
 
 
 
 
 Came up this simple lad ; 
 
 10 
 
 His master ventur'd forth, 
 
 
 Where, with a merchant-man, 
 
 
 To a land far unknown, 
 
 
 Soon he a dwelling had; 
 
 
 With merchandize of worth, 
 As is in stories shown : 
 
 55 
 
 And in a kitchen plac'd, 
 
 
 
 
 A scullion for to be ; 
 
 
 Whittington had no more 
 
 
 Where a long time he pass'd 
 In labour drudgingly. 
 
 15 
 
 But this poor cat as then. 
 
 
 
 Which to the ship he bore. 
 
 
 
 
 Like a brave valiant man. 
 
 60 
 
 His daily service was 
 
 
 Vent'ring the same, quoth he, 
 
 
 Turning at the fire ; 
 
 
 I may get store of gold, 
 
 
 And to scour pots of brass, 
 
 
 And mayor of London be, 
 
 
 For a poor scullion's hire : 
 
 20 
 
 As the bells have me told. 
 
 
 Meat and drink all his pay. 
 
 
 Whittington's merchandise, 
 
 65 
 
 Of coin he had no store; 
 
 
 Carried to a land 
 
 
 Therefore to run away. 
 
 
 Troubled with rats and mice. 
 
 
 In secret thought he bore. 
 
 
 As they did understand ; 
 
 
 So from the merchant-man. 
 
 25 
 
 The king of the country there, 
 
 
 Whittington secretly 
 
 
 As he at dinner sat, 
 
 70 
 
 Towards his country ran. 
 
 
 Daily remain'd in fear 
 
 
 To purchase liberty. 
 
 
 Of many mouse and rat. 
 
 « 
 
 But as he went along, 
 
 
 Meat that on trenchers lay, 
 
 
 In a fair summer's morn. 
 
 30 
 
 No way they could keep safe ; 
 
 
 London's bells sweetly rung 
 
 
 But by rats bore away, 
 
 75 
 
 Whittington's back return ; 
 
 
 Fearing no wand or staff ; 
 
 
 Evermore sounding so, 
 
 
 Whereupon, soon they brought 
 
 
 Turn again, Whittington; 
 
 
 Whittington's nimble cat ; 
 
 
 For thou, in time, shalt grow 
 
 35 
 
 Which by the king was bought, 
 
 
 Lord-mayor of London. 
 
 
 Heaps of gold giv'n for that. 
 
 80 
 
524 LIFE AND DEATH OF RICHARD III. 
 
 Home again came these men, 
 
 Ten thousand pounds he gave 
 
 105 
 
 With their ship laden so, 
 
 To his prince willingly ; 
 
 
 Whittington's wealth began 
 
 And would no penny have 
 
 
 By this cat thus to grow ; 
 
 For this kind courtesy. 
 
 
 Scullion's life he forsook, 85 
 
 As god thus made him great. 
 
 
 To be a merchant good, 
 
 So he would daily see < 
 
 110 
 
 And soon began to look 
 
 Poor people fed with moat, / 
 
 
 How well his credit stood. 
 
 To shew his charity : 
 
 
 After that, he was chose 
 
 Prisoners poor cherish'd were, 
 
 
 Sheriff of the city here, 90 
 
 Widows sweet comfort found ; 
 
 
 And then full quickly rose 
 
 Good deeds, both far and near. 
 
 115 
 
 Higher as did appear : 
 
 OPhim do still resound. 
 
 
 For to the city's praise, 
 
 Whittington's college is 
 
 
 Sir Richard Whittington 
 
 One of his charities ; 
 
 
 Came to be in his days 95 
 
 Record reporteth this, 
 
 
 Thrice mayor of London. 
 
 To lasting memories. 
 
 120 
 
 More his fame to advance. 
 
 Newgate he builded fair, 
 
 
 Thousands he lent the king. 
 
 For prisoners to lye in ; 
 
 
 To maintain war in France, 
 
 Christ-Church he did repair. 
 
 
 Glory from thence to bring. 100 
 
 Christian love for to win. 
 
 
 And after, at a feast 
 
 Many more such like deeds 
 
 125 
 
 "Which he the king did make. 
 
 Were done by Whittington ; 
 
 
 He burnt the bonds all in jest. 
 
 Which joy and comfort breeds, 
 
 
 And would no money take. 
 
 To such as look thereon. 
 
 
 P^ Hnir l^atfe 0f 
 
 Plwli % ip. 
 
 
 A SONG of the life and death of king Rich- 
 
 For his desires were still (by blood) 
 
 
 ard III., who, after many murthers by him 
 
 To be made England's king. 
 
 10 
 
 committed upon the princes and nobles of 
 
 Which he to gain that golden prize, 
 
 
 this land, was slain at the battle of Bos worth, 
 
 Did many a wondrous thing : 
 
 
 in Leicestershire, by Henry VII. king of 
 
 He slaughter'd up our noble peers, 
 
 
 England. 
 
 And chiefest in this land. 
 
 
 
 With every one that likely was 
 
 15 
 
 
 His title to withstand. 
 
 
 ' In England once there reigned a king, 
 
 Four bloody fields the tyrant fought, 
 
 
 A tyrant fierce and fell. 
 
 E're he could bring to pass. 
 
 
 Who for to gain himself a crown, 
 
 What he made lawless claim unto, 
 
 
 Gave sure his soul to hell : 
 
 As his best liking was ; 
 
 20 
 
 Third Richard was this tyrant's name, 5 
 
 Sixth Henry's princely son he slew, 
 
 
 The worst of all the three ; 
 
 Before his father's face, 
 
 
 That wrought such deeds of deadly dole. 
 
 And weeded from our English throne 
 
 
 That worser could not be. 
 
 All his renowned race. 
 
 
LIFE AND DEATH OF RICHARD III. 
 
 525 
 
 This king likewise in London tower, 
 
 He murthering made away: 
 His brother duke of Clarence life, 
 
 He also did betray, 
 With those right noble princes twain, 
 
 King Edward's Children dear, 
 Because to England's royal crown 
 
 He thought them both too near. 
 
 25 
 
 30 
 
 His own dear wife also he slew, 
 
 Incestuously to wed 
 His own dear daughter, which for fear, 
 
 Away from him was fled : 36 
 
 And made such havock in this land. 
 
 Of all the royal blood, 
 That only one was left unslain. 
 
 To have his claims withstood. 40 
 
 Earl Richmond he by heaven preservM, 
 
 To right his country's wrong, 
 From France prepar'd full well to fight, 
 
 Brought o'er an army strong: 
 To whom lord Stanley nobly came, 45 
 
 With many an English peer. 
 And join'd their forces all in one, 
 
 Earl Richmond's heart to chear. 
 
 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 madding fury shows. 
 And thought it but in vain to stay, 
 
 And so to battel goes. 
 
 50 
 
 55 
 
 Earl Richmond he in order brave. 
 
 His fearless army led. 
 In midst of whom these noble words, 
 
 Their valiant leader said, 60 
 
 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, 65 
 
 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, 70 
 
 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, 75 
 
 Desparingly did say. 
 Shall Henry Richmond with his troops 
 
 O'er-match us thus by might, 
 That comes with fearful cowardice, 
 
 Withus this day to fight? 80 
 
 Shall Tudor from Plantagenet 
 
 Win thus the crown away ? 
 No, Richard's noble mind foretels, 
 
 That ours will be the day : 
 For golden crowns we bravely fight, 85 
 
 And gold shall be their gain. 
 In great abundance giv'n to them. 
 
 That live this day unslain. 
 
 These words being spoke, the battels joinM, 
 
 Where blows they bravely change, 90 
 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, 95 
 
 At last the tyrant dies. 
 
 Thus ended England^s woful war. 
 
 Usurping Richard dead. 
 King Henry fair Elizabeth 
 
 In princely sort did wed : 100 
 
 For he was then made England's king, 
 
 And she his crowned queen : 
 So Hwixt 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. 
 
526 
 
 THE DOLEFUL DEATH OF QUEEN JANE. 
 
 g0leM ^mt\ at (^mm ^mt, • 
 
 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 wri- 
 ters, 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 ad- 
 vance anything concerning the manner of her 
 death, but shall quote the opinions of some 
 of our writers, that every one may be at lib- 
 erty to judge for themselves. 
 
 Anne of Bullen, Henry Vlllth's second 
 queen, being beheaded in the tower for adul- 
 tery, king Henry was married the very next 
 day to lady Jane ; who, on the 12th of Octo- 
 ber (according to the opinion of a vast majo- 
 rity), was delivered of a son at Hampton- 
 court. But notwithstanding this, Sir John 
 Hayward asserts, that prince Edward was 
 not born until the 17th; and adds, "All re- 
 ports 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.^' 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 VIH., 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 na- 
 tive 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 & preste a enfanter, mais 
 quand ce vint au terme de I'accouchement 
 elle eut tant de tourment & de peine, qu' il I 
 
 luit fallut fendre le"Cost6 par lequel on tira 
 son fruit le douzieme Jour d' Octobre a Win- 
 
 desore Elle mourut douze jours apr6s et 
 
 fut enterr^ au Chateau de Windsore." 
 
 When as king Henry rul'd this land, 
 He had a queen I understand ; 
 Lord Seymour's daughter fair and bright. 
 King Henry's comfort and delight : 
 Yet death, by his remorseless pow'r, 5 
 
 Did blast the bloom of this sweet Flow'r; 
 
 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 ; 10 
 
 Where rightly from her womb did spring 
 A joyful comfort to her king, 
 A welcome blessing to the land, 
 Preserved by God's most holy hand. 
 
 mourn, &c. 15 
 
 The queen in travail, pained 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, 20 
 Than ever yet his grace had shown. 
 
 mourn, &c. 
 
 Then being something eas'd in mind, 
 His eyes a slumbering sleep did find; 
 Where dreaming he had lost a rose, ^ 25 
 But which he could not well suppose; 
 A ship he had, a rose by name ; 
 Oh, no! It was his royal Jane. 29 
 
 mourn, &c. 
 
 Being thus perplex'd with grief and care, 
 A lady to him did repair, 
 And said, king ! show us thy will ; 
 The queen's sweet life to save or spill. 
 If she cannot deliver'd be. 
 Yet save the flower, tho' not the tree. 35 
 
 mourn, &c. 
 
THE HONOUR OF A LONDON TRENTICE. 
 
 527 
 
 Then down upon his tender knee, 
 For help from heaven prayed he, 
 Mean while into a sleep they cast 
 His queen, which evermore did last; 40 
 
 And op'ning then her tender womb. 
 Alive they took this budding bloom. 
 
 mourn, &c. 
 
 This babe so born much comfort brought. 
 And chear'd his father's drooping thought, 
 Prince Edward he was call'd by name, 46 
 Graced with virtue, wit and fame ; 
 And when his father left this earth, 
 He ruPd this land by lawful birth. 
 
 mourn, &c. 50 
 
 But mark the powerful will of heav'n ; 
 We from this joy were soon bereav'n : 
 Six years he reigned in this land, 
 And then obeyed God's command. 
 And left his crown to Mary here, 55 
 
 Whose five years reign cost England dear. 
 
 mourn, &c. 
 
 Elizabeth reign'd next to her. 
 Fair Europe's pride, and England's star; 
 The world's wonder ; for such a queen 60 
 Under heaven was never seen : 
 A maid, a saint, an angel brioht, ,JNL I 
 In whom all princes took delight. 
 
 mourn, mourn, mourn, fair ladies; 
 Elizabeth, the flower of England's dead. 
 
 %\% '%mm 0f a f 0nkn 'fantict 
 
 BEING AN ACCOUNT OF HIS MATCHLESS MANHOOD AND BRAVE ADVENTURES DONE IN TURKEY, AND 
 BY WHAT MEANS HE MARRIED THE KING'S DAUGHTER, ETC. 
 
 The following song relates to a noble piece 
 of chivalry performed in Queen Elizabeth's 
 days, and therefore claims a place here ; 
 though it must be acknowledged we have not 
 been able to discover who the hero was, nor 
 any account of the facts on which the ballad 
 is founded. 
 
 Of 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, 5 
 
 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. 
 
 67 
 
 10 
 
 15 
 
 And in that famous country 
 
 One year he had not been, 
 E'er he by tilt maintained 
 
 The honour of his queen, 
 Elizabeth his princess. 
 
 He nobly did make known, 
 To be the phoenix of the world, 
 
 And none but she alone. 
 
 20 
 
 25 
 
 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, 30 
 
 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, 35 
 
 To pull this youngster down ; 
 Who at his father's words 
 
 These boasting speeches said, 
 Thou art a tray tor English boy, 
 
 And hast the traytor play'd. 40 
 
528 THE HONOUK OF A LONDON TRENTICE. 
 
 I am no boy, nor traytor, 
 
 But God that knows all secrets. 
 
 
 Thy speeches I defy, 
 
 The matter so contriv'd, 
 
 90 
 
 For which I'll be revenged 
 
 That by this young man's valour 
 
 
 Upon thee by and by. 
 
 They were of life depriv'd ; 
 
 
 A London 'prentice still 45 
 
 For being faint for food, 
 
 
 Shall prove as good a man, 
 
 They scarcely could withstand 
 
 
 As any of your Turkish knights, 
 
 The noble force, and fortitude. 
 
 95 
 
 Do all the best you can. 
 
 And courage of his hand ; 
 
 
 And therewithal he gave him 
 
 For when the hungry lyons 
 
 
 A box upon the ear, 50 
 
 Had cast on him their eyes, 
 
 
 Which broke his neck asunder, 
 
 The elements did thunder 
 
 
 As plainly doth appear. 
 
 With the echo of their cryes : 
 
 100 
 
 Now know, proud Turk, quoth he, 
 
 And running all amain 
 
 
 I am no English boy. 
 
 His body to devour, 
 
 
 That can with one small box o'th' ear 
 
 Into their throats he thrust his arms, 
 
 The prince of Turks destroy. 50 
 
 With ail his might and power: 
 
 
 When as the king perceived 
 
 From thence by manly valour. 
 
 105 
 
 His son so strangely slain. 
 
 Their hearts he tore in sunder, 
 
 
 His soul was sore afflicted 
 
 And at the king he threw them. 
 
 
 With more than mortal pain: 60 
 
 To all the peoples wonder. 
 
 
 And in revenge thereof. 
 
 This I have done, quoth he. 
 
 
 He swore that he should dye 
 
 For lovely England's sake. 
 
 110 
 
 The cruellest death that ever man 
 
 And for my country's maiden queen, 
 
 Beheld with mortal eye. 
 
 Much more will undertake. 
 
 
 Two lyons were prepared 65 
 
 But when the king perceived 
 
 
 This 'prentice to devour, 
 
 His wrathful lyons hearts. 
 
 
 Near famished up with hunger. 
 
 Afflicted with great terror. 
 
 115 
 
 Ten days within the tower. 
 
 His rigour soon reverts, 
 
 
 To make them far more fierce. 
 
 And turned all his hate 
 
 
 And eager of their prey, 70 
 
 Into remorse and love, 
 
 
 To glut themselves with human gore. 
 
 And said it is some angel, 
 
 
 Upon this dreadful day. 
 
 Sent down from heav'n above. 
 
 120 
 
 The appointed time of torment, 
 
 No, no, I am no angel. 
 
 
 At length grew nigh at hand. 
 
 The courteous young man said. 
 
 
 When all the noble ladies 75 
 
 But born in famous England, 
 
 
 And barons of the land, 
 
 Where God's word is obey'd ; 
 
 
 Attended on the king, 
 
 Assisted by the heavens, 
 
 125 
 
 To see this 'prentice slain. 
 
 Who did me thus befriend. 
 
 
 And bury'd in the hungry maws 
 
 Or else they had most cruelly 
 
 
 Of those fierce lyons twain. 80 
 
 Brought here my life to end. 
 
 
 Then in his shirt of cambrick. 
 
 The king in heart amazed, 
 
 
 With silks most richly wrought. 
 
 Lift up his eyes to heaven. 
 
 
 This worthy London 'prentice 
 
 And for his foul ofiences 
 
 130 
 
 Was from the prison brought. 
 
 Did crave to be forgiven ; 
 
 
 And to the lyons given 85 
 
 Believing that no land 
 
 
 To stanch their hunger great. 
 
 Like England may be seen, 
 
 
 Which had not eat in ten days space 
 
 No people better govern'd 
 
 
 Not one small bit of meat. 
 
 By virtue of a queen. 
 
 135 
 
THE STORY OF ILL MAY-DAY. 
 
 529 
 
 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. 
 
 140 
 
 %\t mm rf P Pa-taH. 
 
 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 magnified and illus- 
 trated the story. The thing happened on the 
 May-eve, of the year 1517, the eighth of Henry 
 Vlllth's reign. Numbers of foreigners were 
 at that time settled in England, with particu- 
 lar privileges ; and our author observes, ran 
 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 c, 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 v6ry 
 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 prisoners. Shortly 
 after, the duke of Norfolk, and the earl of 
 Surrey, with 1300 soldiers, came into the 
 city, and joining the lord-mayor and alder- 
 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 ; Lincolne, 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. 
 
530 THE STORY OF 
 
 ILL MAY-DAY. 
 
 Peruse the stories of this land, 
 
 Such multitudes together went, 49 
 
 And with advisement mark the same, 
 
 No warlike troops could them withstand, 
 
 And you shall justly understand 
 
 Nor yet by policy them prevent, 
 
 How ill May-day first got the name. 
 
 What they by force thus took in hand: 
 
 For when king Henry th' eighth did reign, 5 
 
 Till at the last king Henry's power. 
 
 And ruled our famous kingdom here, 
 
 This multitude encompass'd round, 54 
 
 His royal Queen he had from Spain, 
 
 Where with the strength of London's tower, 
 
 With whom he lived full many a year. 
 
 They were by force suppress'd and bound. 
 
 Queen Catherine nam'd, as stories tell, 
 
 And hundreds hang'd by martial law. 
 
 Sometime his elder brother's wife : 10 
 
 On sign-posts at their masters doors. 
 
 By which unlawful marriage fell 
 
 By which the rest were kept in awe, 
 
 An endless trouble during life : 
 
 And frighted from such loud uproars : 60 
 
 But such kind love he still conceiv'd 
 
 And others which the fact repented, 
 
 Of his fair queen, and of her friends. 
 
 (Two thousand prentices at least) 
 
 Which being by Spain and France perceiv'd, 
 
 Were all unto the king presented, 
 
 Their journeys fast for England bends. 16 
 
 As mayor and magistrates thought best. 
 
 And with good leave were suffered 
 
 With two and two together tied, 65 
 
 Within our kingdom here to stay: 
 
 Through Temple bar and Strand they go. 
 
 Which multitude made victuals dear, 
 
 To Westminster there to be tried, 
 
 And all things else from day to day : 20 
 
 With ropes about their necks also : 
 
 For strangers then did so increase, 
 
 But such a cry in every street, 
 
 By reason of king Henry's queen, 
 
 Till then was never heard or known, 70 
 
 And privileg'd in many a place 
 
 By mothers for their children sweet, 
 
 To dwell, as was in London seen. 
 
 Unhappily thus overthrown. 
 
 Poor tradesmen had small dealing then, 25 
 
 Whose bitter moans and sad laments 
 
 And who but strangers bore the bell ? 
 
 Possess'd the court with trembling fear, 
 
 Which was a grief to Englishmen, 
 
 Whereat the queen herself relents, 75 
 
 To see them here in London dwell: 
 
 Tho' it concern'd her country dear : 
 
 Wherefore (God wot) upon May-eve, 
 
 What if (quoth she) by Spanish blood, 
 
 As prentices on Maying went, 30 
 
 Have London's stately streets been wet. 
 
 Who made the magistrates believe, 
 
 Yet will I seek this country's good. 
 
 At all to have no other intent. 
 
 And pardon for these young men get. 80 
 
 But such a may-game it was known, 
 
 Or else the world will speak of me, 
 
 As like in London never were ; 
 
 And say queen Catherine was unkind. 
 
 For by the same full many a one, 35 
 
 And judge me still the cause to be. 
 
 With loss of life did pay full dear : 
 
 These young men did these fortunes find : 
 
 For thousands came with bilbo blade, 
 
 And so disrob'd from rich attires, 85 
 
 As with an army they could meet, 
 
 With hairs hang'd down, she sadly hies, 
 
 And such a bloody slaughter made 
 
 And of her gracious lord requires 
 
 Of foreign strangers in the street, 40 
 
 A boon, which hardly he denies. 
 
 That all the channels ran down with blood, 
 
 The lives (quoth she) of all the blooms 
 
 In every street where they remain'd ; 
 
 Yet budding green, these youths I crave ; 
 
 Yea, every one in danger stood, 
 
 let them not have timeless tombs, 91 
 
 That any of their part maintain'd ; 
 
 For nature longer limits gave : 
 
 The rich, the poor, the old, the young, 45 
 
 In saying so, the pearled tears 
 
 Beyond the seas tho' born and bred, 
 
 Fell trickling from her princely eyes ; 
 
 By prentices they suffer'd wrong, 
 
 Whereat his gentle queen he chears, 95 
 
 When armed thus they gather'd head. 
 
 And says. Stand up, sweet lady rise. 
 
JOHNIE OF BREADISLEE. 
 
 531 
 
 The lives of them I freely give, 
 
 No means this kindness shall debar, 
 Thou hast thy boon, and they may live, 
 
 To serve me in my Bullen war. 100 
 
 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, 107 
 
 And liv'd beloved all her days : 
 And when king Henry stood in need 
 
 Of trusty soldiers at command, 110 
 
 These prentices 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 Bullen too they did advance, 115 
 
 St. George's lusty standard then ; 
 
 Let Tourine, Tournay, and those towns 
 That good king Henry nobly won. 
 
 Tell London's prentices renowns, 119 
 
 And of their deeds by them there done. 
 
 For ill May-day, and ill May-games, 
 
 Performed in young and tender days. 
 Can be no hindrance to their fames, 
 
 Or stains of manhood any ways : 
 But now it is ordain' (i by law, 125 
 
 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 misdeed, 
 
 Which once thro' headstrong young men 
 came ; 130 
 
 And that's the cause that I do read, 
 
 May-day doth get so ill a name. 
 
 (0pe 0f '§xt^Mtt 
 
 This is styled by Sir Walter Scott " an an- 
 cient 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 ruinous ; — " Near to this 
 castle there was a park, built by Sir Thomas 
 Randolph, on the ftice of a very great and 
 bigh 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 Johnie'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 " wof ul 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- 
 isbank :" — 
 
 Johnie rose up on a May morning, 
 Called for water to wash his hands ; 
 
 And he's awa to Braidisbanks, 
 To ding the dun deer down. 
 
 Johnie lookit east, and Johnie lookit west, 5 
 
 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." 
 
 10 
 
 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." 
 
532 
 
 JOIINIE OF BREADISLEE. 
 
 They've eaten sae mickle o' the gude venison, 
 And they've drunken sae muckle o' the 
 blude ; 
 
 That they've fallen into as sound a sleep, 
 As gif that they w^ere dead. 
 
 It's doun, and it's doun, and it's doun, doun, 
 And it's doun amang the scroggs ; 
 
 And there ye '11 espy twa bonny boys lie, 
 Asleep amang their dogs. 
 
 They've vraukened 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 I" 
 
 And Mr. Motherwell suggests the introduc- 
 tion of the following beautiful stanza (pre- 
 served 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." 
 
 Aiiother 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 worset 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 evi- 
 dently introduced some improvements of his 
 own. We copy the concluding verse: — 
 
 " lay my brown sword by my side. 
 
 And my bent bow at my feet ; 
 And stay the howling o' my gray dogs 
 
 That sound may be my sleep." 
 Plis 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 reck- 
 less character of their lives, their indomita- 
 ble 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 
 published 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 Grime ;" and 
 by Scott, " Ilughie the Graeme." The follow- 
 ing 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 Graeme, 
 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 Graeme, 
 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." 
 
JOHNIE OF BREADISLEE. 
 
 533 
 
 When Johnie's mother gat word o' that, 5 
 Her hands for dule she wrang — 
 
 " Johnie ! for my benison, 
 To the greenwood dinna gang ! 
 
 " Eneugh ye hae o' gude wheat bread, 
 
 And eneugh o' the blude-red wine ; 10 
 
 And, therefore, for nae venison, 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, 15 
 
 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. 20 
 
 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 ; 26 
 
 And wi' these he has feasted his bluidy 
 hounds. 
 As if they had been earl's sons. 
 
 They eat sae much o' the venison. 
 
 And drank sae much o' the blude, 30 
 
 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 Hislinton, 35 
 
 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. 40 
 
 " As I came down by Merriemas, 
 
 And down among the scroggs, 
 The bonniest childe that ever I saw 
 
 Lay sleeping among his dogs. 
 
 The buttons that were on his sleeve 
 Were o' the goud sae gude: 50 
 
 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, 55 
 
 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 V 60 
 
 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, 65 
 
 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 bane ; 70 
 
 He's laid him twa-fald over his steed. 
 Bade him carry the tidings hame. 
 
 " 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 ?'•' 
 
 75 
 
 The shirt that was upon his back 
 Was o' the holland fine ; 
 
 The doublet which was over that 
 Was o' the lincome twine. 
 
 45 
 
 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 !" 80 
 
 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, 85 
 
 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 ; 90 
 
 But I ne'er brought to Breadislee, 
 What grieved my heart sae sair. 
 
534 
 
 THE DOWIE DENS OF YARROW. 
 
 But wae betyde that silly auld carle, 
 An ill death shall he die ! 
 
 For the highest tree in Merriemas, 
 Shall be his morning's fee." 
 
 95 
 
 Now Johnie's gude bend bow is broke, 
 And his gude graie dogs are slain ; 
 
 And his body lies dead in Durrisdeer, 
 
 And his hunting it is done. 100 
 
 %\t ^Mt §itn af |aOTto. 
 
 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 
 Ramsey'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 
 resemblance, 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 them amang, 
 
 It must be fought — nae parly. 
 
 The version preserved by Mr. Motherwell 
 was taken down " from the recitation of an 
 old woman in Kilbarcan," 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 stealed 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- 
 
THE DOWIE DENS OF YARROW. 
 
 535 
 
 son, entitled 'Lizie Lindsay,'" which Jamie- 
 son 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 frag- 
 ment 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." 
 " 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 af- 
 terwards, 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 Tushie- 
 law, 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 pas- 
 senger, 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 mar- 
 68 
 
 riage 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. 
 
 -A 
 Late at e'en, drinking the wine ) 
 
 And ere they paid the lawing. 
 
 They set a combat them between, 
 
 To fight it in the dawing. 
 
 " stay at hame, my noble lord ! 5 
 
 stay at hame, my marrow ! 
 My cruel brother will you betray 
 
 On the dowie houms of Yarrow."— 
 
 " fare ye weel, my ladye gaye ! 
 
 fare ye weel, my Sarah ! 10 
 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, ; 
 She belted him with his noble brand, 15 
 
 And he's away to Yarrow. 
 
 As he gaed up the Tennies bank, 
 
 1 wot he gaed wi' sorrow. 
 
 Till down in a den, he spied nine armed men, 
 On the dowie houms of Yarrow. 20 
 
 " ! 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, 25 
 
 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 ; 30 
 
 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 ; 34 
 
 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." — 40 
 
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. 
 
 " gentle wind, that bloweth south, 45 
 
 From where my love repaireth, 
 Convey a kiss from his dear mouth. 
 
 And tell me how he fareth ! 
 
 '* But in the glen strive arm^d men ; 
 
 They've wrought me dole and sorrow ; 50 
 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 dowie banks of Yarrow. 
 
 55 
 
 She kissed his cheek, she kaimed his hair 
 She searched his wounds all thorough, 
 
 She kissed them till her lips grew red, 
 On the dowie houms of Yarrow. 60 
 
 " Now hand 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." 
 
 " hand your tongue, my father dear ; 65 
 
 Ye mind me but of sorrow ; 
 A fairer rose did never bloom 
 
 Than now lies cropped on Yarrow." 
 
 tlM Mill 
 
 This Ballad is founded on a legend apper- 
 taining to Thirlwall, whose proprietors in 
 remote times were called Barons, and held 
 under the Kings of Scotland as Lords of Tin- 
 dale. The township and manor derives its 
 name from the Roman thralling or barrier 
 wall running through it. To " thirll," in the 
 old Northumbrian dialect, means to bind or 
 enthral. 
 
 Thirlwall Castle stands on a rocky preci- 
 pice above the river Tiffalt ; 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 luve 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 luve ; 
 
 He's kill'd, he's kill'd, on Yarrow." 
 
 '< gentle wind, that bloweth south, 
 
 To where my luve repau-eth, 
 Convey a kiss from his dear mouth, 
 
 And tell me how he fareth. 
 
 " But o'er yon glen run armed men, 
 
 Have wrought me dule 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 slew 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 
 
BELTED WILL. 
 
 531 
 
 ago, a man who was ploughing in an adjoin- 
 ing 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 unbounded 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 
 vain ; 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 Morpeth is erecting 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 went 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 men will speak of the Baron's wealth, 
 Whatever he may say, 6 
 
 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. 
 
 10 
 
 But the Baron hath retainers bold, 
 
 And swatchers mony ane. 
 And the castle walls are high to win, 15 
 
 Howe'er they fidge and fain. 
 
 The boldest ane o' a' his men 
 
 Was Jockey of the Sheugh; 
 The Baron loved him like a brither, 
 
 And that was fair enoo. 20 
 
 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 25 
 
 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 peeled willey wan ; 30 
 
 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, 35 
 
 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. 40 
 
 " He reaves and harries ilka ane, 
 
 Tho' he has goups o' gold ; 
 Ise lay a trap for him bedeen, 
 
 By which he shall be sold." 
 
 Thirlwall's Baron heard his speech, 45 
 
 Wi' scorn amaist he 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 ; 50 
 
 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, 55 
 
 Some plunder for to get. 
 
538 BELTED WILL. 
 
 ** There are a swatch o' Englishers 
 
 "Come off your naigs ye sorning crew. 
 
 
 Coming frae Carlisle toun, 
 
 Of southron pock-puddings, 
 
 30 
 
 Well laden wi' the yellow goud, ^ 
 
 Or ye sail hae the gude cauld steel, 
 
 
 For Annan are they boun." 60 
 
 So gie us a' your things." 
 
 
 " Gae tak a dozen o' my men, 
 
 " Wese gie ye that," said ane o' them, 
 
 
 And brattle o'er the lea, 
 
 " Yese no forget I wisse, ^^^^^^^"" 
 
 
 Lay wait and watch untill they pass 
 
 This mony a day gude Jock o' the Sheugh, | 
 
 The Bowness witches tree. 
 
 And that my Billie's this." 
 
 36 
 
 " A dozen o' ye well may lick 65 
 
 They threw the cloaks from off their hides. 
 
 Three score o' English tykes, 
 
 And back and breastplate shone ; 
 
 
 Tak a' they have, and leave them sae 
 
 They grippit their swords, the first blow struck | 
 
 To tell o' this wha likes." 
 
 Was echoed with a groan. 
 
 40 
 
 Then Jock banged o'er the broomy knowe. 
 
 Gude faith, but Jock had fund his match 
 
 
 And reached the witches tree, 70 
 
 For the Southrons hacked about ; 
 
 
 And wi' his dozen freebooters, 
 
 The Thirlwall boys were fain to fight, 
 
 
 Lay doun on thir bellie. 
 
 But soon put to the route. 
 
 
 FiTTE Second. 
 
 Of twelve o' Jock's gude freebooters 
 
 45 
 
 Jock heard a sound, and looked up, 
 " Ye fule," says one, *' lig doun, 
 
 But three fled owre the lea, 
 
 
 The other nine lay still eneuch 
 
 
 It's but a patrick on the wing, 
 
 Beside the witches' tree. 
 
 
 Or a reaving tod in the broome." 
 
 Poor Jock is doun upon his back. 
 
 
 Quo' Jack, "Gude Willie ye say wrang, 5 
 And so I'll prove to you ; 
 
 Wi' a sair clour on the head ; 
 His billies all are stiffening, 
 And three o' them are fled. 
 
 50 
 
 Its no ane tod, its a baker's dozen. 
 
 
 
 That's low in the broome the noo.'* 
 
 Out spoke the twenty travellers, 
 
 
 There cam on twenty Englishers, 
 
 Wi' cloaks and saddle bags; 10 
 There cam on twenty travellers, 
 
 " Why Jock, how's this of a'. 
 Ye bid us to a meal gude faith," 
 And then ye rin awa ?" 
 
 55 
 
 Mounted on goodly naigs. 
 
 Quo' Jack, as they bund fast his arms. 
 
 
 
 And raised him frae the lea. 
 
 
 " A shame upon yon sorning crew," 
 
 Quo' Jock, " the deil me flay, 
 Ise have half dozen o' yon yauds 15 
 
 " Gif I had kenned ye were Belted Will's men, 
 The devil might stopped ye for me." 60 
 
 Before that home I gae. 
 
 Fytte Third. 
 
 
 "That they suld ride so cantily, 
 
 The Baron o' Thirlwall looked abroad. 
 
 
 The deil pike out thar e'en. 
 
 From out his strong castell, 
 
 
 And the muckle fiend their baggies gnaw, 
 
 And he saw three men come posting on, 
 
 
 For well stuffed hae they been." 20 
 
 Out owre the fern and fell. 
 
 
 Cam on those twenty travellers, 
 
 " I wad," said he, " they run a race, 
 
 5 
 
 With lang cloaks flowing doun. 
 
 A thousand merks I lay 
 
 
 Cam on these twenty travellers. 
 
 Upon the wight in the red jerkin. 
 
 
 All thro' the yellow broome. 
 
 He wins the race this day." 
 
 
 Then started up Jock and his men 25 
 
 The three men burst in on his room. 
 
 
 Wi' sic an awfu yell, 
 
 *' My lord," then each one said, 
 
 10 
 
 Ye might have heard it at the top 
 
 "Jock o' the Sheugh is wounded sair, 
 
 
 Of Skiddaw or CriffeU. 
 
 And nine gude fallows dead." 
 
 
BELTED WILL. 
 
 539 
 
 The dark spot flew to the Baron's cheek, 
 
 " Ye cowards one and a' 
 Gae join your bluidy billie's then, 15 
 
 Whatever may befa'." 
 
 Down steep steps they lower went. 
 Till they reached the founding rock ; 
 
 At length the Earlie came to a door. 
 And he shot back the lock. 
 
 60 
 
 He struck each man the neck intill, 
 
 And they fell on the floor ; 
 " To fly without a single blow, 
 
 Shows valour to be poor. 20 
 
 They went into a dungeon high, 
 And Jock o' the Sheugh lay there ; 
 
 He raisit himself upon his crook, 
 To look upon the pair. 
 
 
 " Gif Belted Will suld harm a hair 
 0' Jock o' the Sheugh his head, 
 
 I'll put the Border in siccan a bl^eze, 
 Shall mak him flee with dread. 
 
 " Good e'en to ye," said Belted Will, 
 
 " I am a serving man 
 Unto the Warden o' the March, 
 
 For as simple as I stan. 
 
 65 
 
 ** Gif Jock o' tbe Sheugh hangs for this ploy, 
 The hail o' the March sail weep, 26 
 
 Nae man sail wauken in the morn, 
 That gangs alive to sleep. 
 
 " My name is Thomas Featherstone, 
 
 As I now tell to thee, 
 Come of as good a kith and kin 
 
 As any the north countrie." 
 
 70 
 
 ** Mony a mither sail weep her lane, 
 
 With outen woe and alack ; 30 
 
 Many a red cock craw betimes. 
 In a farmer's garth or stack." 
 
 " I downa question ye, my man," 
 Quo' Jock wi' gruesome mood ; 
 
 " But ye must mak me wun thro' walls. 
 Or else do me nae good." 
 
 75 
 
 They brought these words to Belted Will, 
 
 As at racket ball he played ; 
 But the only answer he loot fall, 35 
 
 " Wese sune see that," he said. 
 
 " Haith lad, here's wine and gude pasty, 
 Sae never fash your thoomb ; 
 
 Ye've been in siccan a state before, 
 For a' ye look sae gloom." 
 
 80 
 
 He went up to his own chamber 
 
 Wi' ane stout serving man ; 
 He stript him o' his earlie's claethes. 
 
 And naked there did stan. 40 
 
 " And that is true," quo' Thirlwall's Jock, 
 " Sae gies the gude red wine ;" 
 
 They sat them doun upon the floor, 
 As in a chamber fine. 
 
 He pat aff silk and sendal too, 
 And plume, and belt, and a'. 
 
 And drew on druggett and hodden grey ; 
 But he didna look sae braw. 
 
 " Then here's to thee !" quo Belted Will, 85 
 
 The very words he spak ; 
 " The same to you," roared Jock o' the Sheugh, 
 ! And slapped him on the back. 
 
 He went in that room a belted yerl, 45 
 
 And a serving man cam out; 
 He took a lamp frae the window neuk, 
 
 And looked sharp aboot. 
 
 Jock told him o' his wickedness. 
 From now since he could stand ; 
 
 The frolics of his wantonness. 
 In England and Scotland. 
 
 90 
 
 He lifted up the painted arras. 
 
 And a little door he spied ; 50 
 The lad and him went in the wall, 
 
 Wi' quick and hasty stride. 
 
 Nine Englishmen he had murderet. 
 
 Beside some orra thing: 
 " No much to crack about," quo Jock, 
 
 " Nor worth the mentioning." 
 
 95 
 
 They went along a close passage, 
 
 Built in the Castle wall ; 
 Sometimes up heights, then over baulks, 55 
 
 Syne forced to stoop and crawl 
 
 How he had robbed and plundered a', 
 
 On Sabbath and wor-day ; 
 " Are ye no sorry for these things ?" 
 
 Then Belted Will did say. 
 
 100 
 
540 BELTED WILL. 
 
 " Gude faith, my lad, I'm no that saft, 
 
 But scarcely had the midnight fell, 
 
 
 For were I free the morn, 
 
 When spite o' a' his care. 
 
 
 I wad be off upon the auld score, 
 
 Belted Will his castell stormed. 
 
 
 As sure as ye were born." 
 
 For a' he fought so sair. 
 
 
 Up rose his comrade frae the floor 105 
 " At morning ye sail die ; 
 
 A tar barrel and reeking peat, 
 
 25 
 
 They laid unto his nest. 
 
 
 It were a shame to let ye scape, 
 
 Threw open gates and wide vsdndows, 
 
 
 Living so wickedly. 
 
 And the night wind did the rest. 
 
 
 /" Had^st thou but said, Good lord, me save, 
 / I am a sinful man, 110 
 1 There were some hopes o' thy convert, 
 ' To lengthen out life's span. 
 
 The Baron fled frae room to room. 
 
 
 By the flames o' his own ha*, 
 
 30 
 
 "He's gien me light to go to bed. 
 Whatever may befa'. " 
 
 
 
 He rushed into his inner room, 
 
 
 " Thou hast rejoiced in all thou'st done, 
 
 Where his golden table lay ; 
 
 
 In guiltyness content ; 
 
 The devil in likeness o' a dwarf 
 
 35 
 
 And thou shalt die :" so saying this, 115 
 
 Kept watch there night and day. 
 
 
 He from the dungeon went. 
 
 Belted Will pursued him hard. 
 
 
 Puir Jock leuked with a serious face, 
 
 Amid the flame and stour. 
 
 
 Frae's hand there dropped the gill ; 
 
 For he cut the skirt frae the Baron's cloak. 
 
 *' Now save my soul, what have I said ? 
 
 As he whisked thro' the door. 
 
 40 
 
 That sure was Belted Will !" 120 
 
 " Save me now thou gruesome elf, 
 And my saul and body's thine ;" 
 
 
 Fytte Fourth. 
 
 The dwarf he jabbered hideously. 
 But never made a sign. 
 
 
 By Brampton's town there stands an oak, 
 
 
 
 Upon a hill so high; 
 
 Belted Will called for a ram. 
 
 45 
 
 And Jock was broughten there betimes. 
 
 To bash the doorway doun, 
 
 
 Upon the tree to die. 
 
 The red flames thro' the keyhole flashed. 
 And filled wi' reek the room. 
 
 
 They strapped him to the highest branch, 
 
 
 
 Of all that goodly tree, 6 
 
 " My soul and bodie," the Baron said, 
 
 
 And there the righteous chaplain prayed 
 
 Abjuring Chryst his sign ; 
 
 50 
 
 For Jock's soul solcmnlie. 
 
 The devil he grippit him in his arms, 
 " Now, Baron, art thou mine." 
 
 
 Thirl wall's Baron saw the sight. 
 
 
 
 And swore revenge to have ; 10 
 
 The door gaed splint'ring frae the posts, 
 
 
 For better part o' a summer's day 
 
 In rushed the enemie ; 
 
 
 He nothing did but rave. 
 
 But Baron, dwarf, and goud table, 
 I wat they could na see. 
 
 55 
 
 He sent a messenger sae bold 
 
 
 
 To Will, wha cried in scorn, 
 
 And legends say the ugsome dwarf 
 
 
 " Better he looks intill his nest, 15 
 
 Threw all into a well. 
 
 
 I'se burn it ere the morn." 
 
 And by the glamour o' his art, 
 
 
 
 Cast over all a spell: 
 
 60 
 
 The Baron fled to his castell, 
 
 Which never may be rendered vayn 
 
 
 And guarded it sae grim ; 
 
 But by a widow's son ; 
 
 
 " The fiend tak Belted Will," he cried, 
 
 And he shall find the gold table, 
 
 
 " 'Tis word and blow wi' him." 20 
 
 When years away have run. 
 
 
BELTED WILL. 
 
 541 
 
 Belted Will looked up at the tower, 65 
 
 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 ;" 70 
 
 Then ThirlwalFs freebooters cried out, 
 "Ho! Belted Will, we yield." 
 
 Of horse and foot five hundred strong 
 
 Were mustered on that morn, 
 To keep the castle o' gude Thirlwall, 75 
 
 Wi^ sword, and spear, and horn. 
 
 They drove them untill Cumbernauld, 
 
 All that were prisoners taen ; 
 But many by the Warden's men 
 
 In the blazing towers were slain. 80 
 
 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, ^ 85 
 
 For many a lonely hour. 
 All thro' the night thro' the cold daylight, 
 
 In Naworth's dungeon tower. 
 
(B\u 
 
 Btttlj. 
 
 The Scottish words are denoted by s., French by f., Latin by 1., Anglo-Saxon by a. s., Icelandic 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' Au, s. all. 
 
 Abacke, back. 
 
 Abone, aboon, s. above. 
 
 Aboven ous, above us. 
 
 Abowfjht, about. 
 
 Ahraide, abroad. 
 
 Abye, suffer, to pay for. 
 
 Acton, a kind of armour made of 
 
 taffeta, or leather quilted, Ac., 
 
 worn under the habergeon, to 
 
 save the body from bruises, f., 
 
 Hocqveton. 
 A deid of nicJit, s. in dead of 
 
 night. 
 Adrud, afraid. 
 Adoovtry, Advouterotis, adultery, 
 
 adulterous. 
 Aff, s. off. 
 Afore, before. 
 Aft, s. oft. 
 Agayne, against. 
 Acjoe, gone. 
 Ahte, ought. 
 Aik, s. oak. 
 Ain, Awin, s. own. 
 Aith, s. oath. 
 Alote, of late. 
 Al, albeit, although. 
 Alemn.igne, f Germany. 
 Al yife, although. 
 Ah/ntys, by all means. 
 AlyeH, probably corrupted for al- 
 
 y((tes, always. 
 Amoiu/e, at the same time. 
 An, and. 
 
 A)icient, a flag, banner. 
 Ancyent, standard. 
 Aud, if. 
 
 Ane, s. one, an, a. 
 Angel, a gold coin worth lOs. 
 Ann, if. 
 Ant, and. 
 
 Apayde, satisfied, contented. 
 Aplilit, Al aplyht, quite complete. 
 
 Aquoy, coy, shy. 
 
 Are, Goddys are, God's heir or 
 son, i. e., Jesus Christ, who is 
 also God himself. 
 
 Array, dress, clothing. 
 
 Arrayed, freighted, furnished. 
 
 Aras, Arros, arrows. 
 
 Arcir, archer. 
 
 Argnbushe, harquebusse, an old 
 fashioned kind of musket. 
 
 Ase, as. 
 
 Assinde, assigned. 
 
 Assoyl'd, Assoyled, absolved. 
 
 Astate, estate, also a great per- 
 son. 
 
 Astonied, astonished, stunned. 
 
 Astound, Astonyed, stunned, asto- 
 nished, confounded. 
 
 Ath, Athe, o' th', of the. 
 
 Attowre, s, out, over, over and 
 abov. 
 
 A Ticyde, of Tweed. 
 
 Anowe, a vow, an oath. 
 
 Aidd, s. old. 
 
 Anreat, golden. 
 
 Austerne, stern, austere. 
 
 Avowe, vow. 
 
 Avoyd, void, vacate. 
 
 Awa', s. away. 
 
 Axed, asked. 
 
 Ayance, against. 
 
 Ayenst, against. 
 
 Aye, ever, also, ah, alas. 
 
 Azein, Agein, against. 
 
 Azont, s. beyond. 
 
 Azont the ingle, s. beyond the fire. 
 The fire was in the middle of 
 the room. 
 
 In the west of Scotland, at this pre- 
 sent 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-houi=es, from 
 the front of which a very wide chim- 
 ney projects like a bow window; the 
 fire is in a grate like a malt-kiln 
 
 grate, round which the people sit: 
 sometimes they draw this grate into 
 the middle of the room. — Mr. Lambe. 
 
 B. 
 
 J5a', s. ball. 
 
 Baclieleere, knight. 
 
 Baile, bale, evil, hurt, mischief, 
 misery. 
 
 Buirne, s. child. 
 
 Bairn, s. child. 
 
 Bairded, s. bearded. 
 
 Baith, s. Bathe, both. 
 
 Bale, evil, mischief, misery. 
 
 BaUnc, s. a nursery term, hush, 
 lullaby, &c. 
 
 Balysbete, Better our bales, reme- 
 dy our evils. 
 
 Bane, bone. 
 
 Ban, curse, Banning, cursing. 
 
 Banderolles, streamers, little flags. 
 
 Band, bond, covenant. 
 
 Bar, bare, 
 
 Bargan, business, commission. 
 
 Bar-hed, bare-head, or perhaps 
 bared. 
 
 Barne, Berne, man, person. 
 
 Base court, the lower court of a 
 castle. 
 
 Basnete, Basnite, Basnyte, Baso- 
 net, Bassonnette, helmet. 
 
 Battes, heavy sticks, clubs. 
 
 Baud, s. bold. 
 
 Bartzen, s. Skinne, perhaps sheep's 
 leather dressed and coloured 
 red, f. Barane, sheep's 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 sig- 
 nify perhaps badger's skin. 
 
 Bayard, a noted blind horse in 
 the old romances. The horse 
 on which the four sons of Ay- 
 
 (543) 
 
544 
 
 GLOSSARY. 
 
 mon rode is called Bayard 
 Montalbon, by Skelton, in his 
 "Phillip Sparrow." 
 
 Bearing arrow, an arrow that car- 
 ries well. Or perhaps bearing 
 or birring, i. e., whirling or 
 whirring arrow, from isl. Bir. 
 ventus, or a. s. 
 
 Bene, fremitus. 
 
 Beam, Bairn, s. a child, also hu- 
 man creature. 
 
 Be, s. by, Be that, by that time. 
 
 Bed, bade. 
 
 Bede, offer, engage, 
 
 Bedeene, immediately. 
 
 BedUjht, bedecked. 
 
 Bedone, wrought, made up. 
 
 Bedijls, beadles. 
 
 Bedj/s, beads. 
 
 Befall, befallen. 
 
 Befoir, s. before. 
 
 Beforn, before. 
 
 Beyylde, beguiled, deceived. 
 
 Beheard, heard. 
 
 Behests, commands, injunctions. 
 
 Behove, behoof. 
 
 BeliKc, immediately, presently. 
 
 Belijfe, p. Belive, immediately, by 
 and by, shortly. 
 
 Bende-how, a bent bow, qu. 
 
 Bene, Bean, an expression of con- 
 tempt. 
 
 Ben, be, are. 
 
 Ben, Be)ie, 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.) — 
 31r. Lambe. 
 
 Ben, s. within doors. 
 
 Of the Scottish words Ben and But, 
 Bex 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. 
 
 Beuison, blessing. 
 
 Bent, s. long grass, also wild 
 fields, where bents, <fcc., grow. 
 
 Bent, bents, (where bents, long 
 coarse grass, &c,, grow), the 
 field, fields. 
 
 Benyngne, Benigne, benign, kind, 
 
 Beoth, be, are. 
 
 Bernes, barns, 
 
 Beeve, s. bier. 
 
 Bereth, (In trod.) beareth. 
 
 Ber the prys, bare the prize. 
 
 Berys, beareth. 
 
 Beseeme, become. 
 
 Besett, laid out, bestowed. 
 
 Beshrew me, a lesser form of im- 
 precation. 
 
 Brshradde, cut into shreds. 
 
 Bef^mirche, to soil, discolour. 
 
 Besprent, besprinkled. 
 
 Bestadde, situated, placed. 
 
 Beste, beest, art. 
 
 Bested, abode. 
 
 Bestis, beests. 
 
 Bestrajvghted, distracted. 
 
 Beth, be, are. 
 
 Be that, by that time. 
 
 Beefe, did beat. 
 
 Bet, better, bett, did beat. Ware 
 hytt bett, lay it out to more ad- 
 vantage. 
 
 Bewraies, discovers, betrays. 
 
 Bickarte, bickered, skirmished. 
 
 (It is also used sometimes in the 
 sense of, " swiftly coursed," 
 which seems to be the sense, p. 
 63, col. 1. — Mr. Lambe). 
 
 Mr. Lambe also interprets " Bicker- 
 ing," by rattling, e. g. 
 
 And on that slee Ulysses head, 
 Sad curses down does bicker. 
 
 Translat. of Ovid. 
 
 Bill, &c., I have delivered a pro- 
 mise in writing, confirmed by 
 an oath. 
 
 Bi mi leaute, by my loyalty, ho- 
 nesty. 
 
 Birk, s. birch tree. 
 
 Blan, Blanne, did blin, i. e. lin- 
 ger, stop. 
 
 Blane, Blanne, did blin, i. e. lin- 
 ger, stop. 
 
 Blare, to emblazon, display. 
 
 Blaw, s. blow, 
 
 Blee, colour, complexion. 
 
 Bleid, s, Blede, bleed. 
 
 Blent, blended. 
 
 Blent, ceased. 
 
 Blinne, cease, give over. 
 
 Blinkan, Blinkand, s. twinkling. 
 
 Blinking, squinting. 
 
 Blink, s. a glimpse of light, the 
 sudden light of a candle seen 
 in the night at a distance. 
 
 Blinks, s. twinkles, sparkles. 
 
 Blist, blessed. 
 
 Blive, Belive, s. immediately. 
 
 Bloomed, beset with bloom. 
 
 Blude, Blidd red, blood, s. blood 
 red. 
 
 Blnid, Bluidy, s. blood, bloody. 
 
 Blynne, stop, cease, give over, 
 
 Blyfh, Blithe, s, sprightly, joyous, 
 
 Blyth, s, joy, sprightliness. 
 
 Blythe, Blyne, blithe, with spirit. 
 
 Blyve, Belive, s, instantly. 
 
 Boare, bare. 
 
 Bode, abode, stayed. 
 
 Boist, Boisteris, s. boast, boasters. 
 
 Bookesman, clerk, secretary. 
 
 Bollys, bowls. 
 
 Boltes, shafts, arrows. 
 
 Bomen, bowman. 
 
 Boon, favour, request, petition. 
 
 Boone, a favour, request, petition. 
 
 Bonny, Bonnie, s. comely. 
 
 Bore, born. 
 
 Borrowed, warranted, pledged, was 
 
 exchanged for. 
 Borroioe, Boroxne, pledge, surety. 
 Borotoe, to redeem by a pledge. 
 Bote, boot, advantage. 
 Boot, Boote, advantage, help, as- 
 sistance. 
 Boote, gain, advantage. 
 Bot, s. but, sometimes it seems 
 used for both, or, besides, more- 
 over. 
 Bot and, (it should probably be 
 
 both and), and also 
 Bot, s. without, Bot dreid, with- 
 out dread, certainly. 
 Bougill, s. bugle-horn, hunting 
 
 horn. 
 Bougills, s. bugle horns. 
 Bounde, Bowynd, Botvned, pre- 
 pared, 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, cham- 
 ber, also a dwelling in general. 
 Bowre, bower, habitation, cham- 
 ber, parlour, perhaps from isl. 
 Boioan, to dwell. 
 Bowre-iooman, s. chamber-maid. 
 Boiore-win doiv, chamber-window. 
 Bowendes, bounds, 
 Boivne, ready, 
 
 Boicne, ready, Bowned, prepared. 
 Bowne ye, prepare ye, get ready. 
 Bowys, bows, 
 Brade, Braid, s. broad. 
 Brae, s, the brow or side of a hill, 
 
 a declivity. 
 Braes of Yarrow, s. the hilly 
 
 banks of the river Yarrow. 
 Braid, s, broad, large. 
 Brakes, tufts of fern. 
 Brand, sword, 
 Brandes, swords. 
 Brast, burst. 
 Bruste, burst, 
 Brau), s. brave. 
 Braijiy, s. bravely. 
 Brayd, s, arose, hastened. 
 Brayd attoiore the bent, s. hasted 
 
 over the field. 
 Brayde, drew out, unsheathed. 
 Breech, breeches. 
 Breeden bale, breed mischief. 
 Brede, breadth. So Chaucer. 
 

 GLOSSARY. 
 
 545 
 
 Brede, bread. 
 
 Bute, s. boot, advantage, good. 
 
 Chanteclere, the cock. 
 
 Bred banner, broad banner. 
 
 Bat if, unless. 
 
 Chap, knock. 
 
 Brenand-drake, p. may perhaps 
 
 But toithout. But let, without hin- 
 
 Chaste, chastise, correct. 
 
 be the same as a fire-drake, or 
 
 drance. 
 
 Ghayme, chain. 
 
 fiery serpent, a meteor or fire- 
 
 But, s, without, out of doors. 
 
 Ghays, chase. 
 
 work so called. Here it seems 
 
 
 Check, to stop. 
 
 to signify burning embers, or 
 
 But, or Butt, is from the Dutch Buy- 
 ten. Lat. extra, prceter, prcfterquum, 
 
 Check, to rate at. 
 
 fire brands. 
 
 which is compounded oi the same. pre- 
 
 Che, (Somerset dialect), I. 
 
 Breng, Bryng, bring. 
 
 position. By or Be, and of uyt, the same 
 as OUT in English. 
 
 Gheefe, the upper part of tbe 
 
 Brenn, s. burn. 
 
 
 scutcheon in heraldry. 
 
 Breere, Brere, briar. 
 
 Butt, s. out, the outer room, 
 
 Cheis, s. choose. 
 
 Brest, burst, broke. 
 
 Buttes, butts to shoot at. 
 
 Cheke, choaked. 
 
 Brefher, brethren. 
 
 Bydys, Bides, abides. 
 
 Chevaliers, f. knights. 
 
 Bridal, (properly bride-all), the 
 
 Byears, Beeres, biers. 
 
 Chill, (Som. dial.) I will. 
 
 nuptial feast. 
 
 Bye, buy, paji for, also, Abey, 
 
 Child, knight, children, knights. 
 
 Brigiie, Bri'gg, bridge. 
 
 suffer for. 
 
 Ghield, s. is a slight or familiar 
 
 5/-imme,publie,universally known, 
 
 Byll, Bill, an ancient kind of hal- 
 
 way of speaking of a person, 
 
 a. s. Bryme, idem. 
 
 bert, or battle axe. 
 
 like our English word fellow. 
 
 Britled, carved, vid. Bryttlynge. 
 
 Byn, Bine, Bin, been, be, are. 
 
 The Ghield, i. e. the fellow. 
 
 Gloss, vol. 1. 
 
 Byrche, birch-trees, birch-wood. 
 
 Chould, (ditto) r would. 
 
 Broad-arrow, s, a broad forked 
 
 Byre, s. cow-house. 
 
 Christentie, Christendom. 
 
 headed arrow. 
 
 Byste, beest, art. 
 
 Christentye, Chrystiante, Christen- 
 
 Brooche, Brouche, 1st, a spit. 2dly, 
 
 By thre, of three. 
 
 dom. 
 
 a bodkin. 3dly, any ornamental 
 
 
 Church-ale, a wake, a feast in 
 
 trinket. Stone buckles of silver 
 
 
 commemoration of the dedica- 
 
 or gold, with which gentlemen 
 
 
 tion of a church. 
 
 and ladies clasp their shirt- 
 
 C. 
 
 Churl, clown, a person of low 
 
 bosoms and handkerchiefs, are 
 
 
 birth, a villain. 
 
 called in the north, brooches, 
 
 Gadgily, s. merrily, cheerfully. 
 
 Chyf, Chyfe, chief. 
 
 from the f. broche, a spit. 
 
 Caitiff, a slave. 
 
 Chylder, children, children's. 
 
 Brouch, an ornamental trinket, a 
 
 C<dde, callyd, called. 
 
 Chylded, brought forth, was deli- 
 
 stone buckle for a woman's 
 
 Cnllcer, a kind of musket. 
 
 vered. 
 
 breast, &q., vid. Brooche. Glos. 
 
 Ctimseho, s. stern, grim. 
 
 Glaiths, s. clothes. 
 
 vol. 3. 
 
 Ganna, s. cannot. 
 
 Clattered, beat so as to rattle. 
 
 Brocht, s, brought. 
 
 Can cane, Gan, began to cry. 
 
 Cldiode, clawed, tore, scratched ; 
 
 Broehys, ornamental pins, or 
 
 Can curtesye, know, understand 
 
 figuratively beat. 
 
 buckles, like the Romnn Jibulm, 
 
 good manners. 
 
 dead, s. clothed. 
 
 (Avith a single prong) for the 
 
 Can, Gan, begun. 
 
 Gleading, s. clothing. 
 
 breast or head-dress. 
 
 Cannes, wooden-cups, bowls. 
 
 Cled, s. clad, clothed. 
 
 Brodinge, pricking. 
 
 Cantabanqui, ital. ballad-singers, 
 
 Glenking, clinking, jingling. 
 
 Brooke, bear, endure. 
 
 singers on benches. 
 
 Clennes:ie, cleanness, chastity. 
 
 Brooke, enjoy. 
 
 Cantles, pieces, corners. 
 
 Clepe, call. 
 
 Brouk her with loinne, enjoy her 
 
 Cunty, s. cheerful, chatty. 
 
 Cltaped, Cleped, called, named. 
 
 with pleasure, a. s. brok. 
 
 Gapul, a poor horse. 
 
 Gierke, scholar. 
 
 Browd, broad. 
 
 Ccpull hyde, horse-hide. 
 
 Clerks, clergj'men, literati, scho- 
 
 Brozt, brought. 
 
 Care-bed, bed of care. 
 
 lars. 
 
 Bryttlynge, Brytling, cutting up. 
 
 Carle, churl, clown. It is also 
 
 Gliding, s. clothing. 
 
 quartering, carving. 
 
 used in the north for a strong 
 
 Glim, the contraction of Clemeflt, 
 
 Buen, Bueth, been, be, are. 
 
 hale old man. 
 
 Glough, a north-country word for 
 
 Bugle, bugle-horn, a hunting- 
 
 Carline, s. the feminine of carle. 
 
 a broken cliff. 
 
 horn, being the horn of a bugle, 
 
 Garpe, to speak, recite, also to 
 
 Clowch, clutch, grasp. 
 
 or wild bull. 
 
 censure. 
 
 Cly2jpyng, embracing. 
 
 Buik, s. book. 
 
 Carping, reciting. 
 
 Goate, cot, cottage. 
 
 BargeuH buds, young shoots. 
 
 Garpe of care, complain through 
 
 Cockers, a sort of buskins or short 
 
 Burn, Bourn, brook. 
 
 care. 
 
 boots fastened with laces or but- 
 
 Bushment, ambush ment, ambush, 
 
 Carlish, churlish, discourteous. 
 
 tons, and often worn by farmers 
 
 a snare to bring them into 
 
 Cast, mean, intend. 
 
 or shepherds. In Scotland they 
 
 trouble. 
 
 Gau, s. call. 
 
 are called Cutikins, from Cute, 
 
 Basket, Buskt, dressed. 
 
 Gauld, s. cold. 
 
 the ankle. " Cokers, fishermen's 
 
 Busk ye, s. dress ye. 
 
 Cawte, vid. Kaiote. 
 
 boots." — (Littleton's Diction.) 
 
 Busk, dress, deck. 
 
 Caytiffe, caitiff, slave, despicable 
 
 Cohorted, incited, exhorted. 
 
 Busk and boun, i. e. make your- 
 
 wretch. 
 
 Cokeney, seems to be a diminutive 
 
 selves ready and go ; Boun, to 
 
 Certe^ certainly. 
 
 for cook, from the Latin co- 
 
 go. (north country.) 
 
 Cetywall, Setiioall, the herb vale- 
 
 quinator, or coquinarius. The 
 
 Buskt them, prepared themselves, 
 
 rian ; also, mountain spikenard. 
 
 meaning seems to be that 
 
 made themselves ready. 
 
 See Gerard's Herbal. 
 
 " every five and five had a cook 
 
546 
 
 GLOSSARY. 
 
 or scullion to attend them." — 
 
 Chaucer's Cant. Tales, Svo. vol. 
 
 iv. p. 253. 
 Collayne, Cologne steel. 
 Cold rost, (a phrase), nothing to 
 
 the purpose. 
 Cold, could, knew. 
 Coleyne, Cologne steel. 
 Com, came. 
 Comhre, encumber, be too many 
 
 for. 
 Comen, Commyn, come. 
 Confetered, confederated, entered 
 
 into a confederacy. 
 Con, can, c/an, began. Item. Con- 
 
 spriuge, (a phrase), sprung. 
 
 Con fare, went, passed. 
 Con thanks, give thanks. 
 Cop head, the top of anything, sax. 
 Corage, heart, spirit, inclination, 
 
 disposition. 
 Cordiwin, cordwayne, properly 
 
 Spanish or Cordovan leather ; 
 
 here it signifies a more vulgar 
 
 sort. 
 Corsiare, courser, steed. 
 Cost, coast side. 
 Coote, coat. 
 
 Cote, cot, cottage. Item, coat. 
 Cotydyallye, daily, every day. 
 Coulde, cold. Item, could. 
 Could he, was. Coidd dye, died 
 
 (a phrase). 
 Could hear, a phrase for bare. 
 Could creip, s. crept. Could say, 
 
 said. 
 Could weij}, s. wept. 
 Could his good, knew what was 
 
 good for him. Or perhaps could 
 
 live upon his own. 
 Couniie, count, earle. 
 Coup>e, a pen for poultry. 
 Coidhen, knew. 
 Couth, could. 
 Covetise, covetousness. 
 Coyntrie, Coventry. 
 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. 
 Crinkle, run in and out, run into 
 
 flexures, wrinkle. 
 Cristes curs, 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. c. 
 
 lame. " The horse crooks," i. e. 
 
 goes lame. 
 
 Crook, twist, wrinkle, distort. 
 
 Croicch, crutch. 
 
 Crouneth, crown ye. 
 
 Crowt, to pucker up. 
 
 Crumiding, crooked ; or perhaps 
 
 with crooked knotty horns. 
 Cryance, belief, f. (7/-ea»ce,[whence 
 
 recreant]. But in p. 12, col. 1, 
 
 &c., it seems to signify fear, f. 
 
 Crainte. 
 Cule, cool. 
 Cum, s. come, came. 
 Cummer, s. gossip, friend, f. Com- 
 
 mire, Compere, 
 Cure, care, heed, regard. 
 Cartes, courteous. 
 
 D. 
 
 Dale, s. deal, Bot give I dale, un- 
 less I deal. 
 Dame, mistress. Oure dameys 
 
 peny, Our mistress's penny. 
 Dampiied, damned, 
 Dampned, condemned. 
 Dan, an ancient title of respect, 
 
 from Lat. Dominus. 
 Dank, moist, damp. 
 Danske, Denmark, query. 
 Darr'd, s, hit. 
 
 Darh, perhnps for Thar, there. 
 Dart the trie, s. hit the tree, 
 Daukin, diminutive of David. 
 Daunger huult, coyness holdeth. 
 Dawes, (introd.), days. 
 Deulan, deland, s. dealing. 
 Deare day, charmiug pleasant 
 
 day. 
 Deas, Deis, 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.) dead. 
 Deid, s. Dede, deed. Item, dead. 
 Deid-bell, s. passing-bell. 
 Dell, deal, part. Ecery dell, every 
 
 part. 
 Dell, narrow valley. 
 Dele, deal. 
 Delt, dealt. 
 
 Deelye dight, richly fitted out. 
 Demains, demesnes, estate in 
 
 lands. 
 Deme, deemed, judge, doomed. 
 Deemed, doomed, judged, Ac; 
 
 thus, in the Isle of Man, judges 
 
 are called deemsters. 
 Den, grave, 
 
 Denny, deny (rhythm! 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. 
 Deol, dole, grief. 
 Deepe-fette, deep-fetched. 
 Depured, purified, run clear. 
 Deere, hurt, mischief. 
 Deerly, preciously, richly. 
 Dere, Deye, die. 
 Dere, Deere, dear, also hurt. 
 Derked, darkened. 
 Deru, s. secret, I dern in secret. 
 Descreeve, describe. 
 Descrye, Describe, describe. 
 Denyz, 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 waa 
 
 dight, grief was upon him. 
 Dill, still, calm, mitigate. 
 Din, Dinne, noise, bustle. 
 Ding, knock, beat. 
 Dint, stroke, blow. 
 Discust, discussed. 
 Disva, s. does not. 
 Dis, this. 
 Distrere, the horse rode by a 
 
 knight in the tournament. 
 Dites, ditties. 
 Dochter, s. daughter. 
 Do gladly, eat heartily. 
 Dois, s, Doys, does. 
 Dole, grief. 
 Dol. See Deol, Dule. 
 Dolours, dolorous, mournful. 
 Dolefuldumps, sorrowful gloom, or 
 
 heaviness of heart. 
 Doluyn, delved, buried. 
 Do7i, down. 
 Dosend, s. dosing, drowsy, torpid, 
 
 benumbed, &c. 
 Doth, Dothe, doeth, do. 
 Doubt, fear. 
 Doublet, a man's inner garment, 
 
 waistcoat. 
 Douhteous, doubtful. 
 Doughetie, i, e. doughty man. 
 Doughte, Doughete, Doughetie, 
 
 Doioghtye, doughty, formidable. 
 Doughtiness of dent, sturdiness of 
 
 blows. 
 Dounae, 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, dreaded, feared. 
 Drake. See Brenand Drake. 
 Drap, s, drop, 
 Drapping, s. dropping. 
 
GLOSSARY. 
 
 547 
 
 Dre, suffer. 
 
 Drede, fear, doubt. 
 
 Breid, s. Dretde, Drede, dread. 
 
 Breips; s. drips, drops. 
 
 Dreiry, s. dreary. 
 
 Drewte. The word properiy sig- 
 nified love, courtship, &c., and 
 hence a love-token, or love-gift j 
 in which sense it is used by 
 Bp. Douglas. 
 
 Dfie, s. suffer. 
 
 Drovgh, drew. 
 
 Bronyevft, drovers, such as drive 
 herds of cattle, deer, &c. 
 
 Droiocy drew. 
 
 Drye, suffer. 
 
 Dryghies, dryness. 
 
 Dryncf, drink. 
 
 Dryvnrs, drovers. 
 
 Duble dyse, double (false) dice. 
 
 Bnde, did. Dudest, didst. 
 
 Dnghtie, doughty. 
 
 Dule, s. Duel, Dot, dole, grief. 
 
 Dwellan, JDwelland, s. dwelling. 
 
 Dyan, Dyand, s. dying. 
 
 Dyce, s. dice, chequer-work. 
 
 Dyd, Dyde, did. 
 
 Dyght, dicjht, dressed, put on, put. 
 
 Dyht, to dispose, order. 
 
 Dyne, s. dinner, 
 
 Dynte, dint, blow, stroke. 
 
 Dysgysyiige, disguising, masking. 
 
 Dyrt, vid. Dight. 
 
 E. 
 
 Fame, Erne, uncle. 
 
 Eard, s, earth. 
 
 Earn, s. to curdle, make cheese. 
 
 Eatke, easy. 
 
 Eather, s. either, 
 
 Ech, Eche, Eiche, Elke, each. 
 
 Ee, s. Eie, eye. Een, Eyne, eyes. 
 
 Ee, even, evening. 
 
 Effiind, pour forth. 
 
 E/fsoon, in a short time. 
 
 Elked, s. added, enlarged. 
 
 Eitu s. even. 
 
 Eir, Evir, s. e'er, ever. 
 
 Eke, also ; Eike, each. 
 
 Eliern, s. elder. 
 
 Eldridge, Scntice, Elriche, El- 
 ritck, Elriche ; wild, hideous, 
 ghostly. Item, lonesome, unin- 
 habited, except by spectres, &c. 
 Gloss, to A. Ramsey, Elritcht, 
 laugh. Gen. Shep. a. 5. 
 
 In the ballad of ?ir Cawline, we 
 have '* Kldrid're Hill," pt. 1, ver. 59, 
 Eldridge Kni-ht. pL 1, v. 63. pt. 2, 
 V. 86. EldridKe Sword, pt. 1, v. 145. 
 So Gawin Douulns calls the Cyclops, 
 the '• I'Jrifhe Brethir," i. e. bretlin^n ; 
 and in bis Prologue, he thus describes 
 the night-owl, 
 
 " Laithely of forme, with crukit cam- 
 scho beik, 
 
 Ugsome to here was his wyld Elriche 
 skriek." 
 
 In Bannatyne's MS. Poems (fol. 135, 
 in the Advocates' Library at Edin- 
 burgh) is a whimsical rhapsody of a 
 deceased old woman, travelling in the 
 other world, in which, 
 "Scho wanderit, and zeid, by to an 
 Elrich well." 
 
 In the Glossary to G. Douglas, El- 
 riche, &c., is explained by *' wild, hide- 
 ous, Lat. Trux. immanis ;" but it seems 
 to imply somewhat more, as in Allan 
 Ramsay's Glossary. 
 
 Elke, each. 
 
 Elliiviynge, embellishing. To il- 
 lumine a book was to ornament 
 it with paintings in miniature. 
 
 Ellyconys, s. Helicons. 
 
 Elvish, peevish, fantastical. 
 
 Ert}e, kinsman, uncle. 
 
 Endyed, dyed. 
 
 Eny, s. Eyn, eyes, Ene, s. even. 
 
 Enharpid, hooked or edged with 
 mortal dread. 
 
 Enkankered, cankered. 
 
 Enouch, s. enough. 
 
 Ensue, follow. 
 
 Entendement, f. understanding. 
 
 Ententify, to the intent, purposely. 
 
 Envie, Envye, malice, ill-will, in- 
 jury. 
 
 Er, Ere, before, are. Ere, ear. 
 
 Erst, s. heretofore. 
 
 Eterminable, interminable, unli- 
 mited. 
 
 Ettled, aimed. 
 
 Evanished, s. vanished. 
 
 Everiche, every, each. 
 
 Everychone, every one, 
 
 Everych, cue, every one, 
 
 Ewhughts, or Ewe-botights, s. are 
 small enclosures, or pens, into 
 which the farmers drive (Sco- 
 tice, weir) their milch ewes 
 morning and evening, in order 
 to milk them. They are com- 
 monly made with fall-dykes, 
 i, e. earthen dykes. 
 
 Eyre, heir. 
 
 Eysell, vinegar. 
 
 Ezar, azure. 
 
 F. 
 
 Each, Feche, fetch. 
 
 Fader, Fatheris, s. Fadur, father, 
 
 fathers. His fadur eyre, his 
 
 father's heir. 
 Fadge, s. a thick loaf of bread, 
 
 figuratively, any coarse heap of 
 
 stuff. 
 i?'a, 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 
 healthful look. (Ramsay) per- 
 haps, far off (free from) fear. 
 
 Fallan, Falland, s. falling. 
 
 Falds, s. thou foldest. 
 
 Fals, false. Item, falleth. 
 
 Falser, a deceiver, hypocrite. 
 
 F(dsing, dealing in falsehood. 
 
 Fannes, instruments for winnow- 
 ing corn. 
 
 Fang, seize, carry off. 
 
 Farden, fared, flashed. 
 
 Fare, go, pass, travel. 
 
 Fare, the price of a passage, shot, 
 reckoning. 
 
 Farley, wonder. 
 
 Fauell, deceit. See Skelton's 
 Bowge of Courte. The mean- 
 ing of the text is nevertheless 
 still obscure, though it should 
 seem to be the origin of our 
 modern phrase to curry favour. 
 
 Fanlcone, faulcon. 
 
 Fauzt, faucht, s. fought. It., fight. 
 
 Favjn, s. fallen. 
 
 Fay, Faye, faith. 
 
 Fayere, fair. 
 
 Fayne, fiiin, glad. 
 
 Faytors, deceivers, dissemblers, 
 cheats. 
 
 Feare, Fere, Feire, mate. 
 
 Feat, nice, neat. 
 
 Featously, neatly, dexterously. 
 
 Fehle, Fehull, Fehyll, poor, 
 wretched, miserable. 
 
 Fe, fee, reward ; also bribe. But 
 properly fee is applied to lands 
 and tenements which are held 
 by perpetual right, and by ac- 
 knowledgment of superiority to 
 a higher lord. Thus, in fee, i. e. 
 in feudal service, 1. feudum, 
 <fec. — Blount. 
 
 Feffe, enfeoff, 
 
 Feil, s, Fele, many. So Hardingo 
 has Lords fele, i. e. many 
 Lords. 
 
 Feir, s. Fere, fear. 
 
 Felay, Feloy, fellow. 
 
 Fele, Fell, furious, skin. 
 
 Fend, defend. 
 
 Fendys pray, &c., from being the 
 prey of the fiends. 
 
 Fee, reward, recompense ; it also 
 signifies land when it is con- 
 nected with the tenure by which 
 it is held, as knight's fee, &c. 
 
 Fere, fear. Item, companion, wife, 
 husband, lover, friend. 
 
 Ferliet, s. wondered. 
 
 Ferly, wonder, also wonderful. 
 
 Fersly, fiercely. 
 
 Feztyng, fighting. 
 
 Fesante, pheasant, 
 
 Fette, fetched. 
 
548 
 
 GLOSSARY. 
 
 
 Fetteled, prepared, addressed, 
 
 Forsters ofthefe, foresters of the 
 
 Galliard, a sprightly kind of 
 
 made ready. 
 
 king's demesnes. 
 
 dance. 
 
 Fet, fetched. 
 
 Fort, drunk. 
 
 Ganion, to make game, to sport. 
 
 Feys, s. predestinated to death, 
 
 Forthozt, thought of, remembered. 
 
 a. s. Damenian, jocari. Hence 
 
 or some misfortune ; under a 
 
 Forth y, therefore. 
 
 backgammon. 
 
 fatality. 
 
 Forthyiiketh, repenteth, vexeth. 
 
 Gane, Gan, began. 
 
 Feyt, faith. 
 
 troubleth. 
 
 Gane, s. gone. 
 
 Fie, beasts, cattle. 
 
 Fou, Fow, s. full, also fuddled. 
 
 Gang, s. go. 
 
 Fillan, Filland, s. filling. 
 
 Fou, Fow, s. full. Item, drunk. 
 
 Gdnyde, gained. 
 
 Filde, field. 
 
 Fowarde, Vawarde, the van. 
 
 Garde, Garred, made. 
 
 Finaunce, fine, forfeiture. 
 
 Forwatcht, overwatched, kept 
 
 Gure, Gar, s. make, cause, force, 
 
 Find frost, find mischance or dis- 
 
 awake. 
 
 compel. 
 
 aster. A phrase still in use. 
 
 Frae, s. fro, from. 
 
 Gargeyld, from Gargouille, f. the 
 
 Firth, Frith, s. a -wood. It., an 
 
 Frae they begin, from their begin- 
 
 spout of a gutter. The tower was 
 
 arm of the sea, 1. fretum. 
 
 ning, from the time they begin. 
 
 adorned with spouts cut in the 
 
 Fitt, division, part. 
 
 Freake, Frehe, Freyke, man, per- 
 
 figures of greyhounds, lions, &c. 
 
 
 son, human creature, also a 
 
 Gar, s. to rnake, cause, &c. 
 
 Fitts, i. e. "divisions or parts in 
 music" are alluded to in Troilus and 
 
 whim or maggot. 
 
 Garland, the ring within which 
 
 Cressida, A. iii. sc. 1. See Mr. Stee- 
 
 Freake, Freke, Freyke, man, hu- 
 
 the prick or mark was set to be 
 
 Teus's note. So in Shakspeare's King 
 Henry V. (A. 3, se. 8), the king says 
 
 man creature, fellow. 
 
 shot at. 
 
 " My army's but a weak and sickly 
 
 Fre-bore, free-born. 
 
 Gart, Garred, s. made. 
 
 guard, 
 
 Freekys, persons. 
 
 Gayed, made gay (their clothes). 
 
 Yet God before, tell him we will come 
 
 Freits, s. ill-omens, ill-luck, any 
 
 Gear, Geire, Geir, Gair, s. goods. 
 
 
 old superstitious saw, or im- 
 
 effects, stuff". 
 
 Fit, Fyt, Fytte, part or division 
 
 pression. 
 
 Gederede ys host, gathered his 
 
 of a song. Hence Fytt, is a 
 
 
 host. 
 
 An ingenious correspondent in the 
 
 
 strain of music. 
 
 North thinks Freit is not an unlucky 
 
 Gef, Geve, give. 
 
 Fit, s. foot. 
 
 omen, but, "that thing which terri- 
 
 Geid, s. gave. 
 
 Geere will sicay, this matter will 
 
 Fit, s. feet. 
 
 fies," viz. Terrors will pursue them 
 that look after frightful things. Fright 
 
 Fiveteen, fifteen. 
 
 is pronounced by the common people 
 
 turn out, aff"air terminate. 
 
 Flayne, flayed. 
 
 in the North Freet. 
 
 Gerte, (intro.) pierced. 
 
 Fles, p. fleece. 
 
 Freere, Fere, mate, companion. 
 
 Gest, act, feat, story, history, (it 
 
 Fleylce, a large kind of hurdle. 
 
 Freers, Fryars, friars, monks. 
 
 is jest in MS.) 
 
 Cows are frequently milked in 
 
 Freyke, humour, indulge, freak- 
 
 Geiinge, what he had got, his 
 
 hovels made ef fleykes. 
 
 ishly, capriciously. 
 
 plunder, booty. 
 
 Flindurs, s. pieces, splinters. 
 
 Freyned, asked. 
 
 Geve, Gevend, give, given. 
 
 Flnwan, s. flowing. 
 
 Frie, s. Fre, free. 
 
 Gibed, jeered. 
 
 Fhjt, shift. 
 
 Froo, from. 
 
 Gie, Gien, s. give, given. 
 
 Flyte, to contend with words. 
 
 Fruward, forward. 
 
 Giff, if. 
 
 scold. 
 
 Furth, forth. 
 
 Gife, Giff, if. 
 
 Folys, fools. 
 
 Fuyson, foyson, plenty, also sub- 
 
 Gi, Gie, s. give. 
 
 Fom, Fome, sea. 
 
 stance. 
 
 Gillore, (Irish) plenty. 
 
 Foo, foes. 
 
 Fowkin, a cant word for a fart. 
 
 Gimp, Jimp, s. neat, slender. 
 
 Forebode, commandment, God 
 
 Fyers, (intro.) fierce. 
 
 Gin, s. an, if. 
 
 forbade, Oner Gods forbode. 
 
 Fykkill, fickle. 
 
 Gin, Gyn, engine, contrivance. 
 
 [Praeter Dei preceptum sit.] 
 
 Fyll, fell. 
 
 Gins, begins. 
 
 q. d. God forbid. 
 
 Fyled, fyling, defiled, defiling. 
 
 Gip, an interjection of contempt. 
 
 Fond, contrive, also endeavour, 
 
 Fyr, fire. 
 
 Girt, s. pierced. Thorough-girt, 
 
 fly, try. 
 
 Fytt, fit, part, canto. 
 
 pierced through. 
 
 Fonde, found. 
 
 Fytte, strain. 
 
 Give otore, s. surrender. 
 
 Fone, foes. 
 
 Give, Gif, Giff, if. 
 
 Force, no force, no matter. 
 
 
 Glaive, f. sword. 
 
 Forced, regarded, heeded. 
 
 G. 
 
 Glede, a red-hot coal. 
 
 Fordo, undo, ruin, destroy. 
 
 
 Glee, merriment, joy. 
 
 Foregoe, quit, give up, resign. 
 
 Gaberlunzie, Gaberlunye, s. a wal- 
 
 Glen, s. a narrow valley. 
 
 Foreicearied, much wearied. 
 
 let. 
 
 Glente, glanced, slipt. 
 
 Forfend, prevent, defend. 
 
 Gaberlunzie-mun, s. a wallet-man. 
 
 Glie, s. glee, merriment, joy. 
 
 Foyfend, avert, hinder. 
 
 i. e. tinker, beggar. 
 
 Glist, s. glistened. 
 
 For-fought, overfou^ht. 
 
 Oadliugs, gadders, idle fellows. 
 
 Glose, set a false gloss or colour. 
 
 Formare, form«r. 
 
 Gadryng, gathering. 
 
 Gloior, s. stare, or frown. 
 
 For, on account of. 
 
 Gae, s. gave. 
 
 Gloze, canting dissimulation, fair 
 
 Forsede, regarded, heeded. 
 
 Gae, Goes, s. go, goes. 
 
 outside. 
 
 Fore, I do no fors, I don't care. 
 
 Gaed, Gade, s. went. 
 
 God, goods, merchandise. 
 
 Forst, heeded, regarded. 
 
 Ga, Gais, s. go, goes. 
 
 Goddes, goddess. 
 
 Forst, forced, compelled. 
 
 Gair, s. geer, dress. 
 
 Gode, (intro.) good. 
 
GLOSSARY. 
 
 549 
 
 Gode, goods, property. 
 
 Goo, gone. 
 
 Guud, p, sc. a good deal, 
 
 Good-e'ens. good e'enings. 
 
 Goon, go. 
 
 Gode, Godness, good, goodness. 
 
 God-be/ure, i. 8. God be thy guide, 
 a form of blessing. 
 
 Gngfjling eyen, goggle eyes. 
 
 Gone, (intro.) go. 
 
 Gorgpt, the dress of the neck. 
 
 Gowan, s. the common yellow 
 crow-foot, or goldcup. 
 
 Gowd, s. Goidd, gold. 
 
 Graiiie, scarlet. 
 
 Graithed goioden, s. was capari- 
 soned with gold. 
 
 Gramnrcy, thanks, grand mercie. 
 
 Gramereye, i. e. I thank you, f, 
 Grrand-mercie. 
 
 Graunge, granary, also a lone 
 country house. 
 
 Graythed, s. decked, put on. 
 
 Gvea-hondes, grey-hounds. 
 
 Greece, fat, (a fat hart) from f. 
 graisse. 
 
 Grece, a step, a flight of steps, 
 Grees. 
 
 Gree, s. a prize, a victory. 
 
 Greened, grew green. 
 
 Grennyng, grinning. 
 
 Greet, s. weep. 
 
 Gret, great, grieved, swoln, ready 
 to burst. 
 
 Gr'et, Grnt, great. 
 
 Greves, Groves, bushes, 
 
 Gro)me,9, attendants, servants. 
 
 Groundion, groundwall. 
 
 Growende, Growynd, ground. 
 
 (rro!o«es, grounds, (rhythmi gratia. 
 Vid. Sowne.) 
 
 Growte, in Northamptonshire is a 
 kind of small beer extracted 
 from the malt after the strength 
 has been drawn oflF. In Devon 
 it is a kind of sweet ale medi- 
 cated with eggs, said to be a 
 Danish liquor. 
 
 Growte fs a kind of fare much used 
 by Danish sailors, being boiled groats, 
 (i. e. hulled oats) or else shelled barley, 
 served up very thick, and butter added 
 to it. (Mr. Lambe.) ' 
 
 Gn'ppel, griping, tenacious, mi- 
 serly. 
 
 Grype, a griffin. 
 
 Gryse, a species of fur. 
 
 Grysely groned, dreadfully 
 groaned. 
 
 Gude, Guid, Geud, 8. good. 
 
 Guerdon, reward. 
 
 Gide, red. 
 
 Gybe, jest, joke. 
 
 Gyle, guile. 
 
 Gyles, guiles. 
 
 / 
 
 Gyn, engine, contrivance. 
 Gyrd, girded, lashed. 
 Gyse. s. guise, form, fashion, way, 
 manner, method. 
 
 Hnhhe ase he brew, have as he 
 brews. 
 
 Habergeon, f. a lesser coat of mail. 
 
 Hable, able. 
 
 Haggis, a sheep's stomach stuflfed 
 with a pudding made of mince- 
 meat, &c. 
 
 Ha, Hae, s. have. Item, hall. 
 
 Ha, s. hall. 
 
 Ha, have. Ha, s. hall. 
 
 Hail, h(de, s. whole, altogether. 
 
 Halched, Halsed, saluted, em- 
 braced, fell on his neck, from 
 halse, the neck, throat. 
 
 Halesnme, wholesome, healthy. 
 
 H(dt, holdeth. 
 
 Hame, Hamward, home, home- 
 ward. 
 
 Handbow, the long-bow, or com- 
 mon bow, as distinguished from 
 the cross-bow. 
 
 Han, have, 3 pers. plur. 
 
 Hare swerdes, their swordes. 
 
 Haried, harried, haryed, haroiced, 
 robbed, pillaged, plundered. 
 " He harried a bird's nest." — 
 Scott, 
 
 Harrowed, harassed, disturbed. 
 
 Hai-locke, perhaps charlocke, or 
 wild rape, which bears a yellow 
 flower, and grows among corn, 
 &c. 
 
 Harnisine, harness, armour. 
 
 Hartly lust, hearty desire. 
 
 Hirwos, harrows. 
 
 Hastarddis, perhaps hasty rash 
 fellows, or upstarts, qu. 
 
 Hafche, a low or half door. 
 
 Haxdd, s. to hold. Item, hold, 
 strong, bold. 
 
 Haitss-bane, s. the neck-bone, 
 (halse-bone) a phrase for the 
 neck. 
 
 Haves, (of) effects, substance, 
 riches. 
 
 Hav, have. 
 
 Hainonr, behaviour. 
 
 Hawberk, a coat of mail consist- 
 ing of iron ring3, &c. 
 
 Hawkin, synonymous to Halkin, 
 dimin. of Harry. 
 
 Hayll, advantage, profit, (for the 
 profit of all England,) a. s. HsdI, 
 salus. 
 
 Heal, hail. 
 
 Heare, here, hair. 
 
 Hear, here. 
 
 Heathenness, the heathen part of 
 the world. 
 
 Hech, hatch, small door. 
 
 Hecht to lay thee low, s. promised, 
 engaged to Iny thee low. 
 
 Hede, Hied, he'd, he would, heed. 
 
 Hed, Hede, head. 
 
 Hednr, hither. 
 
 Hee's, s. he shall, also he has. 
 
 He, Hee, Hye, high. 
 
 He, Hie, hasten. 
 
 He, Hye, to hie or hasten. 
 
 Heicht, s. height. 
 
 Heiding-hill, s. the 'heading (i. e. 
 beheading) hill. The place of 
 execution wjis anciently an ar- 
 tificial hillock. 
 
 Heil, s. hell, health. 
 
 Heir, s. here, hear. 
 
 Hele, health. 
 
 Helen, heal. 
 
 Helpcth, help ye. 
 
 Hem, Em, them. 
 
 Heniie, hence. 
 
 Head, kind, gentle. 
 
 Hende, civil, gentle. 
 
 Hente, (intro.) help, pulled, 
 
 Hent, Hente, held, laid hold of, 
 also received, take. 
 
 Heo, (intro.) they. 
 
 Heere, hear. 
 
 Here, their, hear, hair. 
 
 Her, hare, their. 
 
 Hcrkneth, hearken ye. 
 
 Hert, Hertis, heart, hearts. 
 
 Hes, s. has, 
 
 Hest, hast, 
 
 Hest, command, injunction, 
 
 Hett, Hight, bid, call, command. 
 
 Het, hot. 
 
 Hether, hither. 
 
 Hether, s. heath, a low shrub that 
 grows upon the moors, <fcc. so 
 luxuriantly as to choak the 
 grass, to prevent which the in- 
 habitants set whole acres of it 
 on fire, the rapidity of which 
 gave the poet that apt and noble 
 simile, in p. (Mr. Hutchinson.) 
 
 Heuch, s. a rock or steep hill. 
 
 Hevede, Hecedest, had, hast. 
 
 Hereriche, Herenricli, heavenly. 
 
 Hewkes, heralds' coats. 
 
 Hewyne in to, hewn in two. 
 
 Hewyug, Hewinge, hewing, hack- 
 ing. 
 
 Hey-day guise, frolic, sportive 
 frolicsome manner. 
 
 This word is perhaps corruptly 
 given, being apparently the same with 
 Hrydrguies, or Heydegtjives, which 
 occurs in Spenser, and means a " wild 
 frolic dance." — Johnson's Dictionary. 
 
 Heynd, Hend, gentle, obliging. 
 Hejre, high, Heyd, s. hied. 
 
550 
 
 GLOSSARY. 
 
 . 
 
 HicJit A-hicht, s. on height. 
 
 Hoved or hoven means in the 
 
 properly the contraction of joy, 
 
 Hie dames to loail, s. high (or 
 
 North swelled. But Mr. Lambe 
 
 so rejoice is written rejoce in 
 
 great) hidies to wail, or, hasten, 
 
 thinks it is the same as houd. 
 
 old Scottish MSS. particularly 
 
 hidies, to wail, <fec. 
 
 still used in the North, and ap- 
 
 Ban.atyne's — passim. 
 
 Hie, go, run. 
 
 plied to any light substance 
 
 Join, s. joll or jowl. 
 
 Hie, Hye, He, Hee, high. 
 
 heaving to and from an undulat- 
 
 Jupe, an upper garment, fr, a 
 
 High, hye, come, hasten, return 
 
 ing surface. The vowel u is often 
 
 petticoat. 
 
 speedily. 
 
 used there for the consonant v. 
 
 
 Hiyht, engage, engaged, promised, 
 
 Howeres, Howers, hours. 
 
 K. 
 
 named, called. 
 
 Huerte, heart. 
 
 
 Hi, Hie, he. 
 
 Haggle, hug, clasp. 
 
 Kail, call. 
 
 Hilly >i, hills. 
 
 Hye, Hyest, high, highest. 
 
 Kame, s. comb. 
 
 Hilt, taken off, flayed, Sax. hj'lden. 
 
 Hyght, promised. 
 
 Kameing, s. combing. 
 
 Hinch-hoyft, Heiich, properly 
 
 Hyghte, on high, aloud. 
 
 Kan, can. 
 
 haunch-men, pages of honour, 
 
 Hyne, a hind is a servant. 
 
 Kantle-piece, corner. 
 
 pages attending on persons of 
 
 Hyp-halt, lame in the hip. 
 
 Karls, carls, churls, Karlis of 
 
 office. 
 
 Hyndattowre, s. behind, over, or 
 
 kynd, churls by nature. 
 
 Hind, s. behind. 
 
 about. 
 
 Kaitk, s. chalk. 
 
 Hinde, Hend, gentle. 
 
 Hyu, his, also is. 
 
 Kaided, called. 
 
 Hinys, s. hangs. 
 
 Hyt, (intro.) it. 
 
 Kawte and keene, cautious and 
 
 Hinny, s. honey. 
 
 Hyznes, highness. 
 
 active, 1. cautus. 
 
 Hip, Hej), the berry ■which con- 
 
 
 Keipand, s. keeping. 
 
 tains the stones or seeds of the 
 
 
 Keel, s. raddle. 
 
 dog-rose. 
 
 I. 
 
 Kele, cool. 
 
 Hir,Hir lane, s. her, herself alone. 
 
 
 Kempes, soldiers, warriors. 
 
 Hirsel, s. herself. 
 
 Ich, I, Ich hiqveth, I bequeath. 
 
 Kemperye-man, soldier, warrior, 
 
 Hit, it. Hit he write, it be written. 
 
 Iclipped, called. 
 
 fighting-man. 
 
 Hode, hood, cap. 
 
 iff, if- 
 
 "Germanis camp, exerdtum, aut lo- 
 
 Hoo, ho, an interjection stopping 
 or desisting, hence stoppage. 
 
 f/ere, to gather. 
 Ifeth, in faith. 
 
 cum ubi exercitus castrametatur, sig- 
 nificat: inde ipsis vir Castrensis, et 
 militaris kemffer, et Aempher et Kemper, 
 
 Hollen, probably a corruption for 
 
 Ilfnrdly. s. ill-favoured, uglily. 
 
 et Icimber, et kamper, pro varietate dia- 
 
 holly. 
 
 lid, I'd, I would. 
 
 leetorum vocatur. Vocabulum hoc 
 nostro sermone nondum penitus exo- 
 
 Holden, hold. 
 
 He, I'll, I will. 
 
 levit: Norfolcienses enim plebio, et 
 
 Hole, whole. Hall, idem. 
 
 Ilka, s. each, every one. 
 
 proletario sermone dicunt." He is a 
 
 Hooly, s. slowly. 
 
 like, every Ilk, every one. 
 
 kemper old man, i. e. " Senex vegetus 
 est." " Hiuc Cimbris suum nomen; 
 
 Hvltes, woods, groves, in Norfolk 
 
 Ilk, This Ilk, s. this same. 
 
 Kimher enum homo bellicosus pugil, 
 
 a plantation of cherry-trees, is 
 
 Ilk one, each one. 
 
 robustus miles, &c., significat." She- 
 ringham de Angler, nentis orig. pag. 
 
 called a " cherry holt," also 
 
 I-lore, lost, I-etrike, stricken. 
 
 57. Eectius au tem Lazius [apud eun- 
 
 sometimes '* hills." 
 
 Im, him. 
 
 dum, p. 49]. " Cimbros, a bello quod 
 
 
 Impe, a little demon. 
 
 kamff, at Saxonice kamp, nuncupatos 
 
 Holtes seems eTidently to signify 
 
 crediderim, unde bellatores, viri dk 
 
 hills in the following passage from Tu- 
 
 In fere, I fere, to gather. 
 
 kempffer, die kemper." 
 
 berville's " Songs and Sonnets," 12mo. 
 1567, fol 56. 
 
 Ingle, s. fire. 
 
 Kempt, combed. 
 
 " Yee that frequent the hilles, 
 
 Inowe, enough. 
 
 Kerns, s. combs. 
 
 And hi,^hest Holtes of all, 
 
 Into, s. in. 
 
 Kend, s. knew. 
 
 Assist me with your skilful quilles, 
 And :isten wh'm I call." 
 
 Litres, entrance, admittance. 
 
 Ken, Kenst, know, knowest. 
 
 As also in this other verse of an ancient 
 
 lo forth, corruptly printed so. 
 
 Ke7\e, keen. 
 
 poet, 
 " Underneath the Holtes so hoar." 
 
 should probably be loo, i. e. 
 
 Keepe, care, heed. So in the old 
 
 
 halloo. 
 
 play of Hick Scorner (in the 
 
 Holtis hair, s. hoar hills. 
 
 Ireful, angry, furious. 
 
 last leaf but one), " I#eepe not 
 
 Holy-roode, holy cross. 
 
 Ise, I shall. 
 
 to clymbe so hye," i. e. I study 
 
 Holy, wholly, or perhaps hole, 
 
 Is, is, his. 
 
 not, care not, tfcc. 
 
 whole. 
 
 I trowe, (I believe) verily. 
 
 Kepers, &<i., those that watch by 
 
 Horn, Hem, them. 
 
 Its iieir, s. it shall ne'er. 
 
 the corpse shall tie up my 
 
 Honden lorynge, hands wring. 
 
 I-titned, tuned. 
 
 winding-sheet. 
 
 Hondridth, Hondred, hundred. 
 
 I-ween, (I think) verily. 
 
 Kever-chefes, handkerchiefs, (vid. 
 
 Hone, hand. 
 
 / ivisse, (I know) verily. 
 
 intro.) 
 
 Honge, hang. hung. 
 
 / wot, (I know) verily. 
 
 Kid, Kyd, Kithe, made known, 
 
 Hontyng, hunting. 
 
 I wys, I tcis, (I know) verily. 
 
 shown. 
 
 Hop-halt, limping, hopping, and 
 
 lye, eye. 
 
 Kilted, s. tucked up. 
 
 halting. 
 
 Janglers, talkative persons, tell- 
 
 Kind, Kiiide, nature, p. to carpia 
 
 Hone, stockings. 
 
 tales, also wranglers. 
 
 our kind, it is natural for us to 
 
 Hount, hunt. 
 
 Jenkin, diminutive of John. 
 
 talk of. 
 
 Hoitzle, give the sacrament. 
 
 Jimp, s. slender. 
 
 Kirk, 8. church. 
 
 Hoced, heaved, or perhaps hover- 
 
 Jogelers, jugglers. 
 
 Kirk-wa, s. chureh-wall, or per- 
 
 ed, hung moving, (Gl. Chauc.) 
 
 Jo, s. sweet-heart, friend. Jo is 
 
 haps ehurch-yard-wall. 
 
GLOSSARY. 551 
 
 Kirm, s. churn. 
 
 Lea, lea, field, pasture. 
 
 Liege-men, vassals, subjects. 
 
 Kirtle, a petticoat, woman's gown. 
 
 Leal, Leil, s. loyal, honest, true, 
 
 Lig, s. lie. 
 
 Kists, s. chests. 
 
 f. loyal. 
 
 Lightly, easily. 
 
 Kit, cut. 
 
 Leane, conceal, hide, Item, lye. 
 
 Lightsome, cheerful, sprightly. 
 
 Kith and kin, acquaintance and 
 
 (query.) 
 
 Liked, pleased. 
 
 kindred. 
 
 Leanyde, leaned. 
 
 Limitonrs, friars licensed to beg 
 
 Kithe or Kin, acquaintance nor 
 
 Learnd, learned, taught. 
 
 within certain limits. 
 
 kindred. 
 
 Lease, lying, falsehood. With- 
 
 Limitacionne, a certain precinct 
 
 Knace, servant. 
 
 outen lease, verily. 
 
 allowed to a limitour. 
 
 Kneen, knees. 
 
 Lea.synge, lying, falsehood. 
 
 Lingell, a thread of hemp rubbed 
 
 Knellan, Knelland, s. knelling, 
 
 Lee, lea, the field, plain, open field. 
 
 with rosin, &c., used by rustics 
 
 ringing the knell. 
 
 Lee, s. lie. 
 
 for mending their shoes. 
 
 Knicht, s. knight. 
 
 Leeche, physician. 
 
 Lire, flesh, complexion. 
 
 Knights fee, such a portion of 
 
 Leechinge, doctoring, medicinal 
 
 Lith, Z?7Ae,Z^iAe, attend, hearken, 
 
 land as required the possessor 
 
 care. 
 
 listen. 
 
 to serve with man and horse. 
 
 Leek, phrase of contempt. 
 
 Lither, idle, worthless, naughty, 
 
 Knowles, Knolls, little hills. 
 
 Leffe, (Intro.) Leefe, dear. 
 
 fro ward. 
 
 Kntjled, knelt. 
 
 Lefe, Leeve, dear. That is the 
 
 Liver, deliver. 
 
 Kowarde, coward. 
 
 le/e, that is so dear to thee ; 
 
 Licerance, deliverance, (money, 
 
 Kowe, cow. 
 
 whom thou art so fond of; dear. 
 
 or a pledge for delivering you 
 
 Kurteis, courteous. 
 
 or beloved. Be hym lefe, or he 
 
 up.) 
 
 Kuntrey, country. 
 
 hym loth, let him like it or not; 
 
 Lodlye, loathsome. Vid, Lothly. 
 
 Kynd, nature. 
 
 let him be agreeable or unwil- 
 
 Lo'e, Loed, s. love, loved. 
 
 Kythe, appear, also make appear. 
 
 ling. 
 
 Lought, Lowe, Lugh, laughed. 
 
 show, declare. 
 
 Leid, s. lyed. 
 
 Loo, halloo ! 
 
 Kythed, s. appeared. 
 
 Leiman, Lenian, lover, mistress. 
 
 Loke, lock of wool. 
 
 Kyrtell, vid. Kirtle. In the Intro. 
 
 Leir, s. Lere, learn. 
 
 Longes, belongs. 
 
 it signifies a man's under gar- 
 
 Leive, s. leave. 
 
 Lope, leaped. 
 
 ment. 
 
 Leman, Lemman, mistress, concu- 
 
 Lorrel, Losel, a sorry worthless 
 
 Bale, in his Actes of English Vota- 
 
 bine, lover, gallant, paramour. 
 
 pei'son. 
 
 ries, (2d part, fol. 53), uses the word 
 
 Lene, lend. 
 
 Lordyngys, <fec., sirs, masters, gen- 
 tlemen. 
 
 Kyrtle to signify a Monk's Frock. He 
 says Roger, Earl of Shrewsbury, when 
 
 Lenger, longer. 
 
 he was dying, sent '• to Clunyake, in 
 
 Lengeth in, resideth in. 
 
 Lore, lesson, doctrine, learning. 
 
 France, for the Kyrtle of Hugh the 
 
 Leer, look. 
 
 Lore, lost. 
 Lore, doctrine. 
 
 Abbot there," &c. 
 
 Lere, face, complexion, a. s. 
 
 Kye, Kine, cows. 
 
 hleajie, facies, vultus. 
 
 Loset, losed, loosed. 
 
 
 Lere, learn. 
 
 Lothly, (vide Lodlye) loathsome. 
 
 
 Lerned, learned, taught. 
 
 The adverbial terminations some 
 
 L. 
 
 Leese, s. lose. 
 
 and LT were applied indifferently by 
 
 
 Lett, Lutte, hinder, slacken, leave 
 
 our old writer.'! : thus as we have Lothly 
 
 Lache, want. 
 
 off, Late, let. 
 
 for loathsome, so we have Ugsome in 
 a sense not very remote from Ugly, in 
 
 Lagh, laugh. 
 
 Lette, delay. Lette not for this, 
 
 Lord Surrey's Version of J^neid. 11. 
 
 Laghing, laughing. 
 
 be not hindered or prevented 
 
 viz. " In every place the ugsome sights 
 I saw." 
 
 Laide unto her, imputed to her. 
 
 by what has happened from 
 
 
 Laith, s. loth. 
 
 proceeding. 
 
 Loud and still, phrase, at all times. 
 
 Laithly, s. loathsome, hideous. 
 
 Lettest, hinderest, detainest. 
 
 Lough, laugh, laughed. 
 
 Lambs-wool, a cant phrase for ale 
 
 Let, hinder, hindered. 
 
 Louked, looked. 
 
 and roasted apples. 
 
 Lettyng, hindrance, i. e. without 
 
 Lounge, (Intro.) lung. 
 
 Lane, Lain, s. lone, ffer lane, 
 
 delay. 
 
 Loun, s, Loion, Loon, rascal, from 
 
 alone by herself. 
 
 Leuch, Leugh, s. laughed. 
 
 the Irish Liun, slothful, slug- 
 
 Lang, s. long. 
 
 Leue, believe. 
 
 gish. 
 
 Langsome, s. long, tedious. 
 
 Leeve London, dear London, an 
 
 Loitrd, Lour, s, Zever, had rather. 
 
 Lante, lent. 
 
 old phrase. 
 
 Louted, Lowtede, lowed, did obei- 
 
 Lap, s. leaped. 
 
 Leeveth, believeth. 
 
 sance. 
 
 Largesse, f. gift, liberality. 
 
 Lever, rather. 
 
 Loves. Of all loves, an adjuration 
 
 Lasse, less. 
 
 Leves and Bowes, leaves and 
 
 frequently used by Shakspearo 
 
 Laueh, lauehed, s. laugh, laughed. 
 
 boughs. 
 
 and contemporary writers. 
 
 Launde, lawn. 
 
 Leiod, ignorant, scandalous. 
 
 Loveth, love, plural number. 
 
 Layden, laid. 
 
 Lewde, foolish. 
 
 Lowe, a little hill. 
 
 Laye, law. 
 
 Leyke, Like, play. 
 
 Lowde and sty lie, windy and calm. 
 
 Lay-land, land that is not 
 
 Leyre, lere, learning, lore. 
 
 Lowhe, laughed. 
 
 ploughed, green-sward. 
 
 Lihhards-hane, a herb so called. 
 
 Lowns, s. blazes, rather opposed 
 
 Lay-lands, lands in general. 
 
 Libbard, leopard. 
 
 to windy, boisterous. 
 
 Layne, lain, Vid. Leane. 
 
 Lichtly, s. lightly, easily, nimbly. 
 
 Lowte, Lout, bow, stoop. 
 
 Layne, lien, also laid. 
 
 70 
 
 Lie, s. Lee, field, plain. 
 
 Lude, Laid, Luivt, s, loved. 
 
552 
 
 GLOSSARY. 
 
 
 Luef, love. 
 
 ATaze, a labyrinth, anything en- 
 
 3Iore, originally and properly sig- 
 
 LueR, Lute, s, loves, love 
 
 tangled or intricate. 
 
 nifies a hill, (from a. s, mo-n, 
 
 LmclzH, s. looks. 
 
 Lurdeii, Lut'deyne, sluggard, 
 
 drone. 
 Lya», Lyand, s. lying. 
 Lyard, gray, a name given to a 
 
 horse from its gray colour, as 
 
 On the top of Catherine-Hill, Win- 
 chester, (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, 
 cal ed a Miz-Maze. The senior boys 
 obli.,red the jimiorsto tread it, to pre- 
 vent the figure from being lost, as I 
 
 mons,) but the hills of the 
 North being generally full of 
 bogs, a 3Ioor came to signify 
 boggy, marshy ground, in gene- 
 ral. 
 3Ioref<, hills, wild downs. 
 
 Bayard, from bay. 
 
 am informed by an ingenious corre- 
 
 3Iorrownynges, moi'nings. 
 
 Lynde, Lyne, the lime tree, or 
 
 spondent. 
 
 3forne, To morn, to-morrow in the 
 
 collectively lime trees, or trees 
 
 Mean, moderate, middle sized. 
 
 morning. 
 
 in general. 
 
 Meany, retinue, train, company. 
 
 3Iorne, s. on the morrow. 
 
 Lyn, lies. 
 
 Meed, Meede, reward. 
 
 3Io7'nyng, mourning. 
 
 Ly>itenyih, (Intro.) listen. 
 
 3Ieid, s. mood. 
 
 3fort, death of the deer. 
 
 Lyth, Lythe, LytJisome, pliant. 
 
 Meise, s. soften, reduce, mitigate. 
 
 Mosses, swampy grounds, covered 
 
 flexible, easy, gentle. 
 
 Meit, s. Meet, fit, proper. 
 
 with peat moss. 
 
 Lyven na Ilore, live no more, no 
 
 3Iell, honey; also, meddle, min- 
 
 3Iost, must. 
 
 longer. 
 
 gle. 
 
 3fote J thee, might I thrive. 
 
 Lyzt, light. 
 
 Me, men. Me con (men 'gan). 
 
 Movght, mot, mote, might. 
 
 
 Men of armes, gens d'armes. 
 
 Motve, may, 3Ioii, s. mouth. 
 
 M. 
 
 Meniveere, a species of fur. 
 
 3Iuchele host, 3Iickle boast, great 
 
 
 Meuse the faught, s, p. measure 
 
 boast. 
 
 Mnden, made. 
 
 the battle. To give to the 
 
 3Iude, s, mood. 
 
 Ifahound, Mahowne, Mahomet. 
 
 mense, is to give above the 
 
 3Iulne, mill. 
 
 Mitir, s. Mare, more. 
 
 measure. Twelve, and one to 
 
 3fun, 3Iaun, s, must. 
 
 Mait, s. might. 
 
 the mense, is common with 
 
 3Iure, 3Iures, s. wild downs, 
 
 Maje-iie, Maist, Mayeste, may'st. 
 
 children in their play. 
 
 heaths, &c. 
 
 ilakinrj, sc. verses, versifying. 
 
 3Ienzie, s. Meaney, retinue, com- 
 
 3Iurne, 3Iurnt, 3Iurning, s. mourn, 
 
 Makys, iVakes, mates. 
 
 pany. 
 
 mourned, moui-ning. 
 
 As the words make and mate were 
 
 Merehea, marches. 
 
 3Iusis, muses. 
 
 in some ca^es used promiscuously by 
 ancient writers ; so the words cake and 
 cate soem to have been applied with 
 
 Messager, f. messenger. 
 Me-thtniketh, methinks. 
 
 3fyllan, Milan steel. 
 3fyne-ye-ple, perhaps, many plies, 
 
 the sauie indifferency : this will illus- 
 trate that conimnn English Proverb, 
 " tt3 tutu Gat (i. e. Cate; in pan." A 
 pan-cake is in Northamptonshire still 
 
 Met, Meit, s. Mete, meet, fit, pro- 
 per. 
 Meyn^. See 3feany. 
 
 or folds. Monyple is still used 
 in this sense in the North. 
 (Mr. Lambe.) 
 
 called a'Pan-cate. 
 
 Mickle, much, great. 
 
 3Iyrry, merry. 
 
 Male, coat of mail. 
 
 31'icht, might. 
 
 Mysuryd, misused, applied to a 
 
 Mane, man. Item, moan. 
 
 3Iidge, a small insect, a kind of 
 
 bad purpose. 
 
 Mane, Mainiiig, s. moan, moaning. 
 
 gnat. 
 
 3Iyzt, Myzty, might, mighty. 
 
 Mainjouel, an engine used for dis- 
 
 3Iightte, mighty. 
 
 
 charging great stones, arrows, 
 
 Minged, mentioned. 
 
 
 Ac, before the invention of 
 
 3finny, s. mother. 
 
 N. 
 
 gunpowder. 
 
 Minstral, s. minstrel, musician,&c. 
 
 
 March jierfi, in the parts lying 
 
 MinstreUie, music. 
 
 NaitMng, s. nothing. 
 
 upon the marches. 
 
 3Iirke, s. dark, black. 
 
 Nams, names. 
 
 March-pine, March-pane, a kind 
 
 Mirkie, dark, black. 
 
 Na, Nae, s. no, none. 
 
 of biscuit. 
 
 Ifirry, s. Meri, merry. 
 
 Nane, s. none. 
 
 Margnrite, a pearl, 1. 
 
 3Iisdouht, suspect, doubt. 
 
 Nar, nor. Item, than. 
 
 Marrow, s. equal. 
 
 Miscreants, unbelievers. 
 
 Natheless, nevertheless. 
 
 3Iark, a coin, in value 13s. Ad. 
 
 3Iishap, misfortune. 
 
 Nat, not. 
 
 Mart, s. marred, hurt, damaged. 
 
 3fi)ikaryed, miscarried. 
 
 Near, s. Ner, Nere, ne'er, never. 
 
 Mast, Maste, may'st. 
 
 Misken, mistake, also, in the Scot- 
 
 Neat, oxen, cows, large cattle. 
 
 Maaterye, Mayestry, a trial of skill, 
 
 tish idiom, "let a thing alone." 
 
 Neatherd, a keeper of cattle. 
 
 high proof of skill. 
 
 (Mr. Lambe.) 
 
 Neo.tresse, a female keeper of cat- 
 
 Mangre, spite of, ill will (I incur). 
 
 3Iister, s. to need. 
 
 tle. 
 
 Maiigre, in spite of. 
 
 3fither, s. mother. 
 
 Neigh him neare, approach him 
 
 Manger, Mangre, spite of. 
 
 3Iode, mood. 
 
 near. 
 
 Maun, s. must. 
 
 3Ioiening, by means of,'f. 
 
 Nee, Ne, nigh. 
 
 Mann, s. Mun, must. 
 
 3Iold, mould, ground. 
 
 Neir, s. Nere, ne'er, never. 
 
 Mavis, s. a thrush. 
 
 3Io, 3foe, more. 
 
 Nere ne luere, were it not for. 
 
 Mawt, s. malt. 
 
 Mome, a dull, stupid person. 
 
 Neist, Nyest, next, nearest. 
 
 Mayd, Mnyde, maid. 
 
 3Ionund, moaning, bemoaning. 
 
 New/angle, Nevj/angled, fond of 
 
 Maye, maid, (rhythmi gratia.) 
 
 Mone, moon. 
 
 novelty, of new fashions, &c. 
 
 Mayne, foroe, Strength, horse's 
 
 3 fan, s, month. 
 
 Nicked him. of naye, nicked him 
 
 mane. 
 
 Monynduy, Monday. 
 
 with a refusal. 
 
GLOSSARY. 
 
 "■■- 
 553 
 
 NicM, s. night. 
 
 Owre, s. over. 
 
 Piece, s. a little. 
 
 Nipt, pinched. 
 
 Owre toord, s. the last word, the 
 
 Pighf, Pyght, pitched. 
 
 Nuble, a gold coin, in value 20 
 
 burthen of a song. 
 
 Pil'd, peeled, bald. 
 
 groats, or fis. 8rf. 
 
 Owt, out. 
 
 Pine, famish, starve. 
 
 Nobles, Noblesse, nobleness. 
 
 
 Pious ehanson, a godly song, or 
 
 Nollys, noddles, heads. 
 
 P. 
 
 ballad. 
 
 Nam, took, Nome, name. 
 
 
 Mr. Rowe's Edit, has " The first row 
 
 Nonce, purpose, For the nonce, for 
 
 Pall, a cloak or mantle of state. 
 
 of the Kubrick." v hich has been sup- 
 
 the occasion. 
 
 Palle, a robe of state. Purjile 
 
 posed by Dr. Warburton to refer to 
 the red-lettered titles of old Ballads. 
 
 Non, none. None, noon. 
 
 and pall, i. e. a purple robe or 
 
 In the large collection made by Mr. 
 
 Norland, s. northern. 
 
 cloak, a phrase. 
 
 Pepys, I do not remember to have seen 
 
 Norse, s. Norway. 
 
 Palmer, a pilgrim, who, having 
 
 one single ballad with its title printed 
 in red letters. 
 
 North-gnles, North Wales. 
 
 been at the Holy Land, carried 
 
 
 Non, now. 
 
 a palm branch in his hand. 
 
 Pite, Pittye, Pyle, pity. 
 
 Nourice, s. nurse. 
 
 Paramour, lover. Item, a mis- 
 
 Plaine, complaint. 
 
 Nont, Nocht, s. nought, also not. 
 
 tress. 
 
 Plaining, complaining. 
 
 seenas for * ne mought.' 
 
 Parde, Perdie, verily, f. par dieu. 
 
 Play and, s. playing. 
 
 Nowght, nought. 
 
 Paregall, equal. 
 
 Play-feres, playfellows. 
 
 Nowls, noddles, heads. 
 
 Partake, participate, assign to. 
 
 Pleasance, pleasure. 
 
 Noi/e, annoy, query. 
 
 Parti, party, a part. 
 
 Plein, complain. 
 
 Nozt, nought, not. 
 
 Pattering, murmuring, mumbling, 
 
 Plett, s. platted. 
 
 Nurtured, educated, bred up. 
 
 from the manner in which the 
 
 Plowmell, a small wooden ham- 
 
 Nye, Ny, nigh. 
 
 Paternoster was anciently hur- 
 
 mer occasionally fixed to the 
 
 Nyzt, night. 
 
 ried over, in a low, inarticulate 
 
 plow, still used in the North; 
 
 
 voice. 
 
 in the Midland counties in its 
 
 
 Pa, s. the river Po. 
 
 stead is used a plow-hatchet. 
 
 0. 
 
 Pauky, s. shrewd, cunning, sly. 
 
 Phjzt, plight. 
 
 
 or saucy, insolent. 
 
 Poll-cat, a cant word for a whore. 
 
 Ohraid, s. upbraid. 
 
 Paves, a pavice, a large shield 
 
 Pollys, Powlls, Polls, head. 
 
 Ocht, s. ought. 
 
 that covered the whole body, f. 
 
 Pompal, pompous. 
 
 Oferlyng, superior, paramount. 
 
 pauvois. 
 
 Pondered, a term in Heraldry, for 
 
 opposed to underling. 
 
 Pavilliane, pavillion, tent. 
 
 sprinkled over. 
 
 gin, s. if, a phrase. 
 
 Pay, liking, satisfaction, hence 
 
 Popingay, a parrot. 
 
 Onfuughten, Uv/onghten, unfought. 
 
 well apaid, 1. e. pleased, highly 
 
 Porcupig, porcupine, f, porcepig. 
 
 On-lo/t, aloft. 
 
 satisfied. 
 
 Porterner, perhaps pocket or 
 
 On, one, an. 
 
 Paynim, pagan. 
 
 pouch, Pautoniere in fr. is a 
 
 On, one, On man, one mani 
 
 Pearlins, a coarse sort of bone- 
 
 shepherd's scrip (vide Col- 
 
 One, on. 
 
 lace. 
 
 grave.) 
 
 Ony, s. any. 
 
 Pece, Piece, sc. of cannon. 
 
 Portres, porteress. 
 
 Onys, once. 
 
 Pele. a baker's peel. 
 
 Powlls, polls, heads. 
 
 Or, Ere, before ; OR seems to have 
 
 Penon, a banner or streamer. 
 
 Poionnes, pounds, (rhyth. gratia.) 
 
 the force of the Latin vel and 
 
 borne at the top of a lance. 
 
 Poio, Pou, Powed, s. pull, pulled. 
 
 to signify even. 
 
 Pentnrchye of tenses, five tenses. 
 
 Preas, Prese, press. 
 
 Or-ere, before. 
 
 Perchniinc, f. parchment. 
 
 Preced, pressed, Presed. 
 
 Or-eir, before ever 
 
 Perelous, parlous, perilous, dan- 
 
 Prest, f. ready. 
 
 Orisons, s. prayers, f. ORAISONS. 
 
 gerous. 
 
 Presfly, Prestlye, readily, quickly. 
 
 Osf, Oste, Oust, host. 
 
 Per fay, verily, f. par foy. 
 
 Pricked, spurred forward, travel- 
 
 On, Oure, you, your. Ibid., our. 
 
 Peere, Pere, Peer, equal. 
 
 led a good round pace. 
 
 Oat alas! exclamation of grief. 
 
 Peer, Peerless, equal, without 
 
 Pricke-ioand, a wand set up for a 
 
 Otit-brayde, drew out, unsheathed. 
 
 equal. 
 
 mark. 
 
 Out-horn, the summoning to arms 
 
 Perfight, perfect. 
 
 Prickes, the mark to ehoot at. 
 
 by the sound of a horn. 
 
 Peering, peeping, looking nar- 
 
 Priefe, prove. 
 
 Out ower, s. quite over, over. 
 
 rowly. 
 
 Priving, s. proving, tasting. 
 
 Outrake, an out-ride, or expedi- 
 
 Perill, danger. 
 
 Prove, proof. 
 
 tion. To raik, s. is to go fast. 
 
 Perkin, diminutive of Peter. 
 
 Protcess, bravery, valour, military 
 
 Outrake is a common term 
 
 Perlese, peerless. 
 
 gallantry. 
 
 among shepherds. When their 
 
 Pees, Pese, peace. 
 
 Prowes, prowess. 
 
 sheep have a free passage from 
 
 Persit, Pearced, pierced. 
 
 Prude, pride. Itpm, proud. 
 
 enclosed pastures into open and 
 
 Pertc, part. 
 
 Pryhe, the mark, commonly a 
 
 airy grounds, they call it a good 
 
 Pertyd, parted. 
 
 hazle wand. 
 
 outrake. (Mr. Lambe.) 
 
 Petye, pity. 
 
 Pryme, daybreak. 
 
 Oicare of none, hour of noon. 
 
 Peyn, pain. 
 
 Piling, s. pulling. 
 
 Owches, bosses or buttons of gold. 
 
 Philomcne, Philomel, the nightin- 
 
 Puissnnt, strong, powerful. 
 
 Owene, Atoen, Ain, s. own. 
 
 gale. 
 
 Pnlde, pulled. 
 
 Owre, Owr, a. o'er. 
 
 Pibrochs, s. Highland war- tunes. 
 
 Purchased, procured. 
 
554 
 
 GLOSSARY. 
 
 
 Purfel, an ornament of embroid- 
 
 Reakt, regarded. 
 
 Rues, Rwethe, pitieth. 
 
 ery. 
 
 Rede, Rend, advise, advice. 
 
 Rugged, pulled with violence. 
 
 Purfelled, embroidered. 
 
 Rede, Redde, read. 
 
 Rushy, should be Rashy gair, 
 
 Purvayed, provided. 
 
 Redresse, care, labour. 
 
 rushy stuff, ground covered 
 
 
 Refe, bereave, or perhaps Rive, 
 
 with rushes. 
 
 Q. 
 
 split. 
 
 Ruthful, rueful, woful. 
 
 Refe, Reve, Reeve, bailiff. 
 
 Ruth, pity. 
 
 Qttadrmit, four-square. 
 
 Reft, bereft. 
 
 Ruthe, pity, woe. 
 
 Quoil, shrink, flinch, yield. 
 
 Register, the officer who keeps the 
 
 Rydere, ranger. 
 
 Quaint, cunning, nice, fantastical. 
 
 public register. 
 
 Ryde, i, e. make an inroad. 
 
 Quarry, in hunting or hawking 
 
 Reid, s. advise. 
 
 Rynde, rent. 
 
 is the_glaughtered game, &c. 
 
 Reid, s. reed. Rede, red. 
 
 Ryschys, rushes. 
 
 Quat, s. quitted. 
 
 Reidroan, s. red-roan. 
 
 Rywe, rue. 
 
 Quay, Quhey, s. a young heifer, 
 
 Reek, s. smoke. 
 
 Ryzt, right. , 
 
 called a Whie in Yorkshix'O. 
 
 Rekeles, Recklesse, regardless, void 
 
 
 Quean, sorry, base woman. 
 
 of care, rash. 
 
 S. 
 
 Quell, subdue, also kill. 
 
 Remeid, s. remedy. 
 
 
 Quel, cruel, murderous. 
 
 Renneth, Renning, runneth, run- 
 
 Safer, sapphyre. 
 
 Quelch, a blow or bang. 
 
 ning. 
 
 Saft, s. soft. 
 
 Quere, quire, choir. 
 
 Renn, run. 
 
 Saif, s. safe. 
 
 Quest, inquest. 
 
 Renish, Renisat, perhaps a deriva- 
 
 Sair, s. sore. 
 
 Quha, s. who. 
 
 tion from Reniteo, to shine. 
 
 Saim, s. same. 
 
 Quhair, s. where. 
 
 Renyed, refused. 
 
 Sail, s. shall. 
 
 Quhar, s, where. 
 
 Rescoiis, rescues. 
 
 Saif, s. save, Savely, safely. 
 
 Quhan, Whan, a. when. 
 
 Reeve, bailiff. 
 
 Saisede, seized. 
 
 Quhaneer, s. whene'er. 
 
 Reve, bereave, deprive. 
 
 Sark, shit-t, shift. 
 
 Quhatten, s. what. 
 
 Revers, s. robbers, pirates, rovers. 
 
 Sar, Sair, s. sore. 
 
 Quhat, s. what. 
 
 Reweth, regrets, has reason to re- 
 
 Sa, Sae, s. so. 
 
 Quhen, s. when. 
 
 pent. 
 
 Sat, Sete, set. 
 
 Quhy, s. why. 
 
 Rew, s. take pity. 
 
 Saut, s. salt. 
 
 Quick, alive, living. 
 
 Rewth, rutb, Rewe, pity. 
 
 Savyde, saved. 
 
 Quillets, quibbles, 1. quidlibet. 
 
 Ryall, Ryal, royal. 
 
 Saw, Say, speech, discourse. 
 
 Quitt, requite. 
 
 Richt, s. right. 
 
 Say, Assay, attempt. 
 
 Quo, quoth. 
 
 Riddle, seems to be a vulgar 
 
 Say, saw. 
 
 Quyle, s. while. 
 
 idiom for unriddle ; or is per- 
 
 Say us no harm, say no ill of us. 
 
 Quyrry. See Quarry, above. 
 
 haps a corruption of reade, i. e. 
 
 Sayne, say. 
 
 Quyte, requited. 
 
 advise. 
 
 Scant, scarce. Item, scantiness. 
 
 Quyt, s. quite. 
 
 Ride, make an inroad. 
 
 Schall, shall. 
 
 Qwyknit, s. quickened, restored 
 
 Rin, s. run. Rin my errand, a con- 
 
 Schapped, perhaps swapped. Vid. 
 
 to life. 
 
 tracted way of speaking for 
 
 loc. 
 
 
 " run on my errand." The pro- 
 
 Sehattered, shattered. 
 
 R. 
 
 noun is omitted. So the French 
 
 Schaw, s, show. 
 
 
 say faire message. 
 
 Schene, s. Sheen, shining, also 
 
 Eade, s. rode. 
 
 Rise, shoot, bush, shrub. 
 
 brightness. 
 
 Bae, a roe. 
 
 Rive, rife, abounding. 
 
 Schip, s. ship. 
 
 Raik, s. to go a-pace, Raik on 
 
 Roche, rock. 
 
 Sehiples, s. shipless. 
 
 raiD, go fast in a row. 
 
 Roode- cross, crucifix. 
 
 Scho, Sche, s. she. 
 
 Paine, reign. 
 
 Rood-loft, the place in the church 
 
 Schone, shone. 
 
 Raise, s. rose. 
 
 where the images were set up. 
 
 Schoote, shot, let go. 
 
 Ranted, s. were merry. Vide 
 
 Rood, Roode, cross, crucifix. 
 
 Schowte, Schowtte, shout. 
 
 Gloss, to Gentle Shepherd. 
 
 Ronne, ran, Roone, run. 
 
 Schrill, s. shrill. 
 
 Rashing, seems to be the old 
 
 Roufe, roof. 
 
 Schuke, s. shook. 
 
 hunting term for the stroke 
 
 Route, go about, travel. 
 
 Sclat, slate, little table-book of 
 
 made by a wild boar with his 
 
 Routhe, ruth, pity. 
 
 slates to write upon. 
 
 fangs. 
 
 Rowned, Roionyd, whispered. 
 
 Scomfit, discomfit. 
 
 Eamjht, reached, gained, obtained. 
 
 Row, Rowd, s. roll, rolled. 
 
 Scot, tax, revenue, a year's tax 
 
 Rayne, reane, rain. 
 
 Rowyned, round. 
 
 of the kingdom, also shot, reck- 
 
 Raysse, race. 
 
 Rowght, rout. 
 
 oning. 
 
 Razt, Raught, or self-bereft. 
 
 Rudd, ruddiness, complexion. 
 
 Scathe, hurt, injury. 
 
 Readies, careless. 
 
 Rude, s. Rood, cross. 
 
 Sed, said. 
 
 Reade, Rede, advise, hit off. 
 
 Ruell-bones, perhaps bones di- 
 
 Seik, s. Seke, s. seek. 
 
 Read, advice. 
 
 versly coloured, f. Riole, or per- 
 
 Sek, sack. 
 
 Readme, Reaume, realm. 
 
 haps small bone rings fi'om the 
 
 Sel, Sell, self. 
 
 Reas, raise. 
 
 f. rowe^Ze, a small ring or hoop. — 
 
 Selver, Siller, silver. 
 
 Reave, bereave. 
 
 Cotgrave's Diet. 
 
 Seneachall, steward. 
 

 GLOSSARY. 
 
 655 
 
 Sene, seen. 
 
 Sich, Sic, s. such, Sich, s. sigh. 
 
 French word saouler, " to stuff 
 
 Sen, s. since. 
 
 Sick-like, s. such-like. 
 
 and cram, to glut." Vid. Cot- 
 
 Senvy, mustard seed, f. senvie. 
 
 Side, s. long. 
 
 grave). 
 
 Sertayne, Sertenlye, certain, cer- 
 
 Sied, s. saw. 
 
 Sowden, Soiodain, sultan. 
 
 tainly. 
 
 Sigh-clout, (Sythe-clottt), a clout 
 
 Soione, sound, (rhyt. gr.) 
 
 See, Sees, s. sea, seas. 
 
 to strain milk through, a strain- 
 
 Soivre, sour. 
 
 Se, Sene, Seying, see, seen, seeing. 
 
 ing clout. 
 
 Soiore, Soare, sore. 
 
 Seething, boiling. 
 
 Sighan, Sighand, s. sighing. 
 
 Sowter, shoemaker. 
 
 Seetyicall, see Cetywall. 
 
 Sik, Sike, such. 
 
 Soy, f. silk. 
 
 Seve, seven. 
 
 Siker, surely, certainly. 
 
 Spak, Spaik, s. spake. 
 
 Sey you, say to, tell you. 
 
 Siller, s. silver. 
 
 Speere. Vide locum. 
 
 Sey, s. say, a kind of woollen 
 
 Sindle, s. seldom. 
 
 Spec, Sjjrik, Spack, s. spake. 
 
 stuff. 
 
 Sitteth, sit ye. 
 
 Sped, speeded, succeeded. 
 
 Seyd, s. saw. 
 
 Sith, since. 
 
 Speik, s. speak. 
 
 Shave, Be shave, be shaven. 
 
 Skaith, Scath, harm, mischief. 
 
 Speir, s. Spere, Speare, Speere, 
 
 Shaws, little woods. 
 
 Skalk, perhaps from the Germ. 
 
 Spire, ask, inquire. 
 
 Shear, entirely, (penitus). 
 Sheele, She'll, she will. 
 
 Schalck, malicious, perverse 
 (Sic Dan. Skalek nequitia, ma- 
 
 So Chaucer, in his Rhyme of Sir 
 Thopas, 
 
 Sheene, Skene, shining. 
 
 licia, &c. Sheringham de Ang. 
 
 " He sough te north and south, 
 
 Sheits, Shetes, s. sheets. 
 
 Orig. p. 318),- or perhaps from 
 
 And oft he spired with his mouth." 
 i. e. iuquired.— not, spied, as in the 
 
 Shee's, she shall. 
 
 the Germ. Schalchen, to squint. 
 
 new edition of Canterbury Tales, vol. 
 
 Sheene, shining. 
 
 Hence our northern word Skelly, 
 
 ii. p. 234. 
 
 Shent, shamed, disgraced, abused. 
 
 to squint. 
 
 Spence, Sjiens, expense. 
 
 Shepenes, Shipens, cow-houses. 
 
 Skinker, one that serves drink. 
 
 Sjjendyd, probably the same as 
 
 sheep-pens, a. s. Scypen. 
 
 Skinkled, s. glittered. 
 
 spanned, grasped. 
 
 Sheeve, Shive, a great slice or 
 
 Skomfit, discomfit. 
 
 Speered, Sparred, i. e. fastened. 
 
 luncheon of bread. 
 
 Skott, shot, reckoning. 
 
 shut. 
 
 Shield-bone, the blade bone, a 
 common phrase in the north. 
 
 Slade, a breadth of greensward 
 between plow-lands or woods, 
 
 So in an old " Treaty se agaynst 
 Pestilence, &c., 4to. Emprinted by 
 
 Shimmered, s. glittered. 
 
 Ac. 
 
 Wynkyn de Worde," we are exhorted 
 
 Shimmering, shining by glances. 
 
 Slaited, s. whetted, or perhaps 
 
 to " spere (i. e. shut or bar) the wyn- 
 dowes agenst the south," fol. 5. 
 
 Shirt of mule or mail, was a gar- 
 
 wiped. 
 
 
 ment for defence, made all of 
 
 Slattered, slit, broke into splinters. 
 
 Spillan, Spilland, s. spilling. 
 
 rings of iron, worn under the 
 
 ^^«w;, slew, (Sc. Abel). 
 
 Sjjill, Spille, spoil, come to harm. 
 
 coat. According to some the 
 
 Slean, Slone, slain. 
 
 Spill, spoil, destroy, kill. 
 
 hauberk was so formed. 
 
 Sleath, slayeth. 
 
 Spindles and whorles, the instru- 
 
 Shoea, s. Shoone, shoes. 
 
 Slee, s. slay, also sly. 
 
 ments used for spinning in 
 
 Shoke, shookest. 
 
 Sle, Slee, Sley, Slo, slay, Sleest, 
 
 Scotland, instead of spinning 
 
 Shold, Sholde, should. 
 
 slayest. 
 
 wheels. 
 
 Shape, shaped. 
 
 Ship, s. Slepe, sleep. 
 
 The rock, spindles, and whorles are 
 
 Shape, betook me. 
 
 Slode, slit, split. 
 
 very much used iu Scotland aud the 
 northern parts of Northumberland, at 
 
 Shorte, s. shorten. 
 
 Slone, slain. 
 
 this time. The thread for shoemakers, 
 
 Sho, Scho, s. she. 
 
 Slo, Sloe, slay. 
 Sloughe, slew. 
 
 and even linen webs, and all the twine 
 
 Shote, shot. 
 
 of which the Tweed salmon nets are 
 made, are spun upon spindles. They 
 
 Shradds, Vid. locum. 
 
 Smithers, s. smothers. 
 
 are said to make a more even and 
 
 Sh-ead, cut into small pieces. 
 
 Sna', Snaw, s. snow. 
 
 smooth thread than spinning wheels. 
 Mr. Lambe. 
 
 Shreeven, Shriven, confessed her 
 
 Soil, Saulle, Soicle, soul. 
 
 sins. 
 
 Soldain, Soldan, Soioden, sultan. 
 
 Sporeles, spurless, without spurs. 
 
 Shreto, a bad, an ill-tempered per- 
 
 Sonn, s. Son, sun. 
 
 Spole, shoulder; f. espaule. It 
 
 son. 
 
 Sond, a present, a sending. 
 
 seems to mean, " arm-pit." 
 
 Shreioard, a male shrew. 
 
 Sane, soon. 
 
 Sprente, spurted, sprung out. 
 
 Shrift, confession. 
 
 Sort, company. 
 
 Spurging, froth that purges out. 
 
 Shrive, confess. Item, hear con- 
 
 Soothly, truly. 
 
 Spurn, Spume, a kick. See Tear, 
 
 fession. 
 
 Sooth, truth, true. 
 
 Spyde, spied. 
 
 Shroggs, shrubs, thorns, briers. 
 
 Soth, Sothe, South, Southe, Soath, 
 
 Spylt, spoiled, destroyed. 
 
 G. Doug. Scroggis. 
 
 truth. 
 
 Spyi, Spyte, spite. 
 
 Shullen, shall. 
 
 Soth-Ynglonde, South England. 
 
 Squelsh, a blow, or bang. 
 
 Shnlde, should. 
 
 Sondan, Sovdain, suUiin. 
 
 Stabille, perhaps 'stablish. 
 
 Shunted, shunned. 
 
 Sonldnn, Soldan, Soivdan, sultan. 
 
 Stalwart, Stalworth, stout. 
 
 Shiirting, recreation, diversion, 
 
 Sovld, s. Sidd, should. 
 
 Stalworthlye, stoutly. 
 
 pastime. Vid. Gawin Douglas's 
 
 Souling, victualling. Sotrle is 
 
 Stane, s. Slean, stone. 
 
 Gloss. 
 
 still used in the north for any 
 
 Stark, stiff, entirely. 
 
 Shyars, shires. 
 
 thing eaten with bread; a. s. 
 
 Startojjes, buskins, or half boots 
 
 Shyuand, s. shining. 
 
 suple, suple, Job. xxi. 5. (or 
 
 worn by rustics, laced down be- 
 
 Sih, kin, akin, related. 
 
 to soide, may be from the 
 
 fore. 
 
556 
 
 GLOSSARY. 
 
 Stead, Stede, place. 
 
 Stean, s. stone. 
 
 Steedye, steady. 
 
 Stel, steel, Steilly, s. steely. 
 
 Stele, steel. 
 
 Steid, s. Stede, steed. 
 
 Steir, s. stir. 
 
 Sterris, stars. 
 
 Sterne, stern, or perhaps, stars. . 
 
 /S'feri, start, started. 
 
 Sterte, Sterted, started. 
 
 Steven, time. 
 
 Steven, voice. 
 
 Still, quiet, silent. 
 
 Stint, stop, stopped. 
 
 Stirande stage, a friend inter- 
 preted this, " many a stirring 
 travelling journey." 
 
 Stondei-es, standers by. 
 
 Sloup of loeir, pillar of war, 
 
 Stoiind, Stonde, (Intro.) space, 
 moment, hour, time. 
 
 Stoand, time, Astound, a-while. 
 
 Stour, Stower, Stoure, fight, dis- 
 turbance, &G. This word is 
 applied in the north to signify 
 dust agitated and put into mo- 
 tion, as by the sweeping of a 
 room. 
 
 Slower, Stowre, stir, disturbance, 
 fight. 
 
 Stown, stolen. 
 
 Stowre, strong, robust, fierce. 
 
 Stra, Strae, s. straw. 
 
 Streiglit, straight. 
 
 Strekene, Stricken, struck. 
 
 Stret, street. 
 
 Striek, strict. 
 
 Strike, stricken. 
 
 Stroke, struck. 
 
 Stude, Stuid, s. stood. 
 
 Styntyde, stinted, stayed, stopped. 
 
 Styrt, start. 
 
 Suar, sure. 
 
 Summere, a sumpter horse. 
 
 Sum, s. some. 
 
 Sunlpters, hOrses that carry 
 clothes, furniture, &q. 
 
 Sune, s. soon. 
 
 Suore by ys chin, sworn by his 
 chin. 
 
 Surcease, cease. 
 
 Stithe, Swith, soon, quickly. 
 
 Sicapte, Siuapped, Sioopede, struck 
 violently, Scot. Sweap, to 
 scourge, (vid. Gl. Gaw. Dougl.) 
 or perhaps exchanged; sc. 
 blows, so " Swap or Swopp" 
 signifies. 
 
 Swaird, the grassy surface of the 
 ground. 
 
 Swarvde, Swnrved, climbed, or, 
 as it is now expressed in the 
 midland counties, Swarm, To 
 sivarm, is to draw onesolf up a 
 
 tree, or any other thing, cling- 
 ing to it with the legs and arms, 
 as hath been suggested by an 
 ingenious correspondent. 
 
 Swa, Sa, so. 
 
 Swat, Swatte, Swotte, did sweat. 
 
 Swear, sware. 
 
 Swearde, Sioerd, sword. 
 
 Sweare, swearing, oath, 
 
 Sweaven, a dream. 
 
 Sweit, s. Swete, sweet. 
 
 Sweere, Swire, neck. 
 
 Sweypyls. A Sweypyl is that staff 
 of the flail, with which corn is 
 beaten ouc, vulg. a Supple, 
 called in the midland counties, 
 a Swindgell, where the other 
 part is termed the hand-staff. 
 
 Sicinkers, labourers, 
 
 Swith, quickly, instantly. 
 
 Swyke, sigh. 
 
 Swyoing, whoring. 
 
 Swypyng, striking fast, (Cimb. 
 Suipan, cito agere, or rather 
 " scourging" from volvere, rap- 
 tare). — Scot. Sioeap, to scourge. 
 Vide. Glossary to Gawin Dou- 
 glas. 
 
 Sych, such. 
 
 Syde-shear, Sydis-ahear, on all 
 sides. 
 
 Syd, side. 
 
 Syne, s. then, afterwards. 
 
 Syshemell, Ishmael. 
 
 Syth, since. 
 
 Syzt, sight. 
 
 Taihen, s. token, sign. 
 
 Taine, s. Tane, token. 
 
 Take, taken. 
 
 Talents, perhaps golden orna- 
 ments, hung from her head to 
 the value of talents of gold. 
 
 Targe, target, shield. 
 
 Tear, this seems to be a proverb, 
 " That tearing, or pulling, oc- 
 casioned his spurn or kick," 
 
 Teene, Tene, sorrow, indignation, 
 wrath, properly injury affront, 
 
 Teenefu, s. full of indignation, 
 wrathful, furious, 
 
 Te he ! interjection of laughing, 
 
 Teir, s. Tere, tear. 
 
 Tent, s, heed, 
 
 Termagaunt, the god of the Sa- 
 racens, See a memoir on this 
 subject in page 75. 
 
 The old French romancers, who had 
 corrupted termagant into tervagant, 
 couple it with the name of Mahomet, 
 as constantly as ours : thus, in the old 
 Roman de Blanchardin, 
 
 " Cy guer pisou tuit Apolin, 
 Et Mahomet et Tergavant." 
 
 Hence Ion taine, with great humour, 
 in his tale entitled "La Fiancee du 
 E.oy de Garbe," says, 
 " Et reviant Mahom. Jupin, et Terva- 
 gant, 
 Avec maint autre die unon moins ex- 
 travagant." 
 Mem. de I'Acad. des Inscript, tom. 20, 
 4to, p. 352. 
 
 As termagant is evidently of Anglo- 
 Saxon derivation, and can only be ex- 
 plained from the elements of that lan- 
 guage; its being corrupted by the old 
 French romancers proves that they 
 borrowed some things from ours. 
 
 Terry, diminutive of Thierry, 
 
 Theodoricus, Didericus. Lat. 
 
 also of Terence. 
 Te, to, Te make, to make. 
 Tha, them, Thah, though. 
 Thair, their, Thair, Thare, there. 
 Thame, s. them. 
 Than, s, then. 
 
 Thare, Their e, Ther, Thore, there. 
 Thear, Ther, there. 
 Thee, thrive, Ifote he thee, may he 
 
 thrive. 
 The God, seems contracted for 
 
 The he, i. e. high God. 
 The, Thee, thrive. So mote I thee, 
 
 so may I thrive. 
 
 So in Chaucer, passim, Canterbury 
 Tales, vol. i. p. 308. 
 
 " God let him never the." 
 
 The, they, The wear, they were. 
 
 The, thee, Thend, the end. 
 
 Ther-for, therefore. 
 
 Therto, thereto, Thes, these. 
 
 Ther, their. 
 
 Thii, they. 
 
 Thie, thy, Thotve, thou. 
 
 Thi sone, thy son. 
 
 Thilke, this. 
 
 Thir towmonds, s. these twelve 
 months. 
 
 Thir, s. this, these. 
 
 Thirtti thousent, thirty thousand. 
 
 Thocht, thought. 
 
 Thole, Tholed, suffer, suffered. 
 
 Tho, then, those, the. 
 
 Thouse, s. thou art. 
 
 Thoust, thou shalt, or shouldest. 
 
 Thrall, captive. Thraldom, cap- 
 tivity. 
 
 Thrang, s. throng, close. 
 
 Thro.wis, s. throes. 
 
 Threape, to argue, to aflRrm or 
 assert, in a positive overbearing 
 manner. 
 
 Thre, Thrie, s. three. 
 
 Thrie, Thre, three. 
 
 Thrif, thrive. 
 
 Thrilled, twirled, turned round. 
 
 Thritte, thirty. 
 
 Throng, hastened. 
 
 Thropes, villages. 
 
 Throw, s. through. 
 
 Thruch, Throuch, S. through. 
 
 Thud, noise of a fall. 
 
GLOSSARY. 
 
 557 
 
 Tkewes, manners, limbs. 
 Thei/ther-ward, thitherward, to- 
 
 ■wards that place. 
 Tihbe. In Scotland, Tibbe is the 
 
 diminutive of Isabel. 
 Tl/t, s. pufif of wind. 
 Till, s. to, when, query. 
 Till, unto, entice. 
 Tild duion, pitched, qt. 
 Timkin, diminutive of Timothy. 
 Tine, lose. 
 Tint, s. lost. 
 
 Tiried, twirled, turned round. 
 Too-fall, s. twilight. 
 
 Too-t;dl of the night, " seems to be an 
 ima,L!;e drawn from a suspended canopy, 
 so let fall as to cover what is below."— 
 Mr. Lambe. 
 To, too. Item, two. 
 Tone, T'one, the one. 
 Ton, Tone, the one. 
 Tor, a tower ; also a high pointed 
 
 rock, or hill. 
 Tow, Toioe, two, Twa, s. two. 
 Tow, s. to let down with a rope, 
 
 &c. 
 Toioyn, town. 
 Traiterye, treason. 
 Trenchant, f. cutting. 
 Tres-hardie, f. thrice hardy. 
 Treytory, Traitnry, treachery. 
 Trichard, treacherous, fr. tricheur. 
 Tricthen, trick, deceive. 
 Tride, tried. 
 Trie, s. Tre, tree. 
 Triest furth, s. draw forth to an 
 
 assignation. 
 Trifidcate, three forked, three 
 
 pointed. 
 Trim, exact. 
 
 Troth, truth, faith, fidelity. 
 Trovgh, Tronth, troth. 
 Trowthe, Trolh, Tru, true. 
 Trow, believe, trust, also verity. 
 Trumped, boasted, told bragging 
 lies, lying stories. So in the 
 north they say, "that's a trump," 
 i. e. a lie; "she goes about 
 trumping," i. e. telling lies. 
 Trumps, made of a tree, perhaps, 
 " wooden trumpets," musical 
 instruments fit enough for a 
 mock tournament. 
 Tuik, s. took. 
 Tuke gude kerp, s. kept a close 
 
 eye upon her. 
 Tul, s. till, to. 
 
 Turn, such turn, such an occasion. 
 Turnes a crab, so. at the fire roasts 
 
 a crab. 
 Tush, an interjection of contempt, 
 
 or impatience. 
 Twa, s. two. 
 Twayne, two. 
 Twin'd, s. parted, separated. Vid. 
 
 Gr. Douglas. 
 Twirile, twist, s. thoroughly 
 
 twisted, " twisted/ 
 twist," f. tortille. 
 
 IT. 
 
 twirled 
 
 Uch, each. 
 
 Uf/some, s. shocking, horrible. 
 
 Uubcthoughi, for bethought. So 
 
 Unlosse, for loose. 
 Unctuous, fat, clammy, oily. 
 Undermerles, afternoons. 
 Undight, undecked, undressed. 
 Unkempt, uncombed. 
 Unmacklye, mis-shapen. 
 Unmiifit, s. undisturbed, uncon- 
 
 founded, perhaps Unmuvii. 
 Unreeled, opened ; a term in falcn. 
 Unsett Steven, unappointed time, 
 
 unexpectedly. 
 Unsonsie, s. unlucky, unfortunate. 
 Untyll, unto, against. 
 Ure, use. 
 Uthers, s. others. 
 
 V. 
 
 Vair, (Somersetsh. Dialect,) fail'. 
 
 Vatzient, s. valiant. 
 
 Vazen, (Som.) probably for Fai- 
 then, i. e. faiths ; as Housen, 
 Closen, ifec. 
 
 Venu, (Intro.) approach, coming. 
 
 Vices, (probably contracted for 
 devices) screws, or perhaps, 
 turning pins, swivels. An in- 
 genious friend thinks a vice is 
 rather "a spindle of a press," 
 that goeth by a vice, that seem- 
 eth to move of itself. 
 
 Vilane, rascally. 
 
 Vive, (Somerset.) five. 
 
 Voyded^ quitted, left the place. 
 
 Vriers, (Som.) friars. 
 
 W. 
 
 Wa, s. wa, wall. 
 
 Wadded, perhaps from Woad, 
 i. e. of a light blue colour. 
 
 Taylor, in his History of Gavel-kind, 
 p. 49, says, '• Bnglil, from the British 
 word brith, which signifies their wad- 
 de-colour ; this was a light blue." — 
 Minshew's Dictionary. 
 
 Wad, s. Wold, Wolde, would. 
 Wae, Wae.fo', woe, woful. 
 Waeioorth, s. woo betide. 
 Waine, wagon. 
 WaUoioit, s. faded, withered. 
 Walker, a fuller of cloth. 
 W(dtered, Weltered, rolled along, 
 
 also wallowed. 
 Waltering, weltering. 
 WaJy, an interjection of grief. 
 
 Wame, s. womb. 
 Wame, Wem, s. belly. 
 Wane, the same as Ane, one. So 
 Wone, is one. 
 
 In fol. 355 of Bannatyne's MS. is a 
 ghort fragment in which Wane is used 
 fov Ane; or, one: viz. 
 '• Amongst the monsters that we find, 
 There's wane belovved of womankind, 
 Kenowned for antiquity. 
 From Adame drivs his pedigree." 
 
 Wan neir, s. draw near. 
 
 Wanrvfe, s. uneasy. 
 
 War, aware. 
 
 Warde, s. advise, forewarn. 
 
 Ward, s. watch, sentinel. 
 
 Warke, s. work. 
 
 Warld, s. world. 
 
 Warldis, s. worlds. 
 
 Waryson, reward. 
 
 Waryd, s. accursed. 
 
 Wassel, drinking, good cheer. 
 
 Wute, s. Weete, Weie, Witte, Wot, 
 
 Wote, Wotte, know. 
 Wate, s. blamed. Prat, of Wyte, 
 
 to blame. 
 Wat, Wot, know, am aware. 
 Wat, s. wet, also knew. 
 Wax, to grow, become. 
 Wayward, froward, peevish. 
 Wayde, waved. 
 Wenl, wail. 
 
 Weale, happiness, prosperity, Ac. 
 Weave in, s. drive in gently. 
 Wearifu', wearisome, tiresome, 
 
 disturbing. 
 Wecde, clothing, dress. 
 Weedes, clothes. 
 Wee, s. little. 
 Weel, well, also we'll. 
 Ween, Ween'd, think, thought. 
 Weet, s. wet. 
 Wedous, widows. 
 Weil, s. Weepe, weep. 
 Weinde, s. Wende, Went, Weende, 
 
 Weened, thought. 
 Weid, s. Wede, Weed, clothes, 
 
 clothing. 
 Weird, wizzard, witch, properly 
 
 fate, destiny. 
 Well aioay, exclamation of pity. 
 Weldynge, ruling. 
 Wei of pite, source of pity. 
 Welkin, the sky. 
 Weme, womb, belly, hollow. 
 Wem, (Intro.) hurt. 
 Wende, went, Wcndefh, goQth, 
 Wende, Weene, thought. 
 Wend, Wends, go, goes. 
 Wene, Weenest, ween, weenest. 
 Werre, Weir, s. war. Warris, 8. 
 
 wars. 
 Werryed, worried. 
 Wereth, defendeth. 
 Werke, work. 
 Wer, were. 
 Wes, was. 
 
658 
 
 GLOSSARY. 
 
 .'. 
 
 A 
 
 Westlin, s, western. 
 
 Wondersly, Wonderhj, won- 
 
 Ye seth, Y-seth, in faith. 
 
 Westlings, western, or whistling. 
 
 drously. 
 
 Ycha, Ilka, each, every. 
 
 
 Wha, s. who. 
 
 Won, wont, usage. 
 
 Yeldyde, yielded. 
 
 
 Whair, s. where. 
 
 Wone, one. 
 
 Yenoiighe, ynoughe, enough. 
 
 
 Whan, s. when. 
 
 Worshijyfully friended, of wor- 
 
 Yerrarchy, hierarchy. 
 
 
 Whang, s. a large slice. 
 
 shipful friends. 
 
 Yere, Yeere, year, years. 
 
 
 Wheehjng, wheeling. 
 
 Worihe, worthy. 
 
 Yerle, Yerlle, earl. 
 
 
 Wheder, whither. 
 
 Wot, know, think. 
 
 Yerly, early. 
 
 
 Whig, sour whey, or butter-milk. 
 
 Wote, Wot, know, I loote, verily. 
 
 Yese, s. ye shall. 
 
 
 While, until. 
 
 Wonche, mischief, evil, a. s. pohT, 
 
 Yestreen, s. yester evening. 
 
 
 Whilk, s. which. 
 
 i. e. Wogh. Malum. 
 
 Yf, if. 
 
 
 Whittles, knives. 
 
 Wo, Woo, woe. 
 
 Yfere, together. 
 
 
 Whit, jot. 
 
 Wow, an exclamation of wonder. 
 
 Y-founde, found. 
 
 
 W hoard, hoard. 
 
 also Vow, London dialect. 
 
 Ygnoraunce, ignorance. 
 
 
 Whorles. Vide Spindles. 
 
 Wracke, ruin, destruction. 
 
 Yll, ill. 
 
 
 Whos, whoso. 
 
 Wrang, s. wrung. 
 
 Ylke, Ilk, same. That ylk, that 
 
 
 Whylhj^, whilst. 
 
 Wreake, pursue revengefully. 
 
 same. 
 
 
 Wi', s. with. 
 
 Wrench, wretchedness. 
 
 Ylythe, (Intro.) listen. 
 
 
 Wight, person, strong, lusty. 
 
 Wright, write. 
 
 Yn, in. 
 
 
 Wight, human creature, man or 
 
 Wringe, contended with violence. 
 
 Yn house, home. 
 
 
 woman. 
 
 Writhe, writhed, twisted. 
 
 Ynglonde, England. 
 
 
 Wighty, strong, lusty, active, 
 
 Wronge, wrong. 
 
 Yngglishe, Ynglysshe, English. 
 
 
 nimble. 
 
 Wrougt, wrought. 
 
 Yode, went. 
 
 
 Wi(/htli/e, vigorously. 
 
 Wroken, revenged. 
 
 Youe, you. 
 
 
 will, s. shall. 
 
 Wall, s. will. 
 
 Y-picking, picking, culling, ga- 
 
 
 Wild, worm, serpent. 
 
 Wyght, strong, lusty. 
 
 thering. 
 
 
 Wildingn, wild apples. 
 
 Wyghtye, the same. 
 
 Ys, is, his, in his. 
 
 
 Wilfull, wandering, perverse, err- 
 
 Wijld, wild deer. 
 
 Y-slatv, slain. 
 
 
 ing. 
 
 Wyn7ie, Win, joy. 
 
 Ysto7ige, (Intro.) stung. 
 
 
 Winnae, will not. 
 
 Wynnen, win, gain. 
 
 Yt, it. 
 
 
 Windar, perhaps the contraction 
 
 Wynde, Wende, go. 
 
 Yth, in the. 
 
 
 of Windhover, a kind of hawk. 
 
 Wyste, knew. 
 
 Y-we7'e, were. 
 
 
 Windling, s. winding. 
 
 Wyte, blame. 
 
 Y-wis, I wis, verily. 
 
 
 Will, s. get, gain. 
 
 Wyt, Wit, Weet, know. 
 
 Y-wrought, wrought. 
 
 
 Winsome, agreeable, engaging. 
 
 
 Y-wys, truly, verily. 
 
 
 Wirke toidier, work more wisely. 
 
 Y. 
 
 Y-yote, molten, melted. 
 
 
 Wisse, direct, govern, take care 
 
 
 
 of, a. s. pi jr* -plan. 
 
 Y, I, Y synge, I sing. 
 
 Z. 
 
 
 Wiss, know, wist, knew. 
 
 Yae, s, each. 
 
 Zacring-bell, Som. Snoring bell, a 
 
 
 Wit, Weet, know, understand. 
 
 Yalping, s. yelping. 
 
 little bell rung to give notice 
 
 
 Withouten, Withoiighten, without. 
 
 Yaned, yawned. 
 
 of the elevation of the host. 
 
 
 Wobster, s. Webster, weaver. 
 
 Yave, gave. 
 
 Zee, Zeene, Som. see, seen. 
 
 
 Wood-wroth, s. furiously enraged. 
 
 Yate, gate. 
 
 Zees, ye shall. 
 
 
 Woodioeele, or Wodeivale, the 
 
 Y-beare, Y-boren, bear, borne. 
 
 Ze, s. ye, Zee're, ye are. 
 
 
 golden ourle, a bird of the 
 
 So Y-founde, found, Y-mad, 
 
 Zede, Yede, went. 
 
 
 thrush kind. Gloss. Chaue. 
 
 made, Y-wonne, won. 
 
 Zef Yef\L 
 
 
 The original MS. has Wood- 
 
 Y-built, built. 
 
 Zeirs, s. years. 
 
 
 weete. 
 
 Ych, Yche, each. 
 
 Zellow, s. yellow. 
 
 
 Wode, Wod, wood, also mad. 
 
 Ycholde yef, I should if. 
 
 Zeme, take care of, a. s, seman. 
 
 
 Wode-ioard, towards the wood. 
 
 Ychone, each one. 
 
 Zent, through, a, s, zeonb- 
 
 
 Woe-begone, lost in woe, over- 
 
 Ychon, each one. 
 
 Zestrene, s, yester e'en. 
 
 
 whelmed with grief. 
 
 Ychulle, (Intro.) I shall. 
 
 Zit, s. Zet, yet. 
 
 
 Woe-man, a sorrowful man. 
 
 Ychyseled, cut with the chisel. 
 
 Zonder, s. yonder. 
 
 
 Woe-worth, woe be to [you], a. s. 
 
 Y-cleped, named, called. 
 
 Zong, s. young. 
 
 
 northan (fieri) to be, to become. 
 
 Y-con'd, taught, instructed. 
 
 Zou, s. you, Zour, s. your. 
 
 
 Woe, woful, sorrowful. 
 
 Y-core, chosen. 
 
 Zoud, s. you'd, you would. 
 
 
 Wolde, would. 
 
 Ydle, idle. 
 
 Zoiir-lane, Yourlane, alone, by 
 
 
 Wonne, dwell. 
 
 Yee, eye. 
 
 yourself. 
 
 
 Wonders, wondrous. 
 
 Yearded, buried. 
 
 Zouth, s. youth. 
 
 
 Wonde, (Intro.) wound, winded. 
 
 Ye bent, Y-bent, bent. 
 
 Z\de, s. Yule, Christmas. 
 
 
 Won'd, Wonn'd, dwelt. 
 
 Yede, Yode, went. 
 
 Zung, s. young. 
 
 
 «-.ij* The printer has usually sul 
 
 )stituted the letter z, to express the 
 
 character t, which occurs in old 
 
 
 MSS., but we are not to suppose 
 
 that this 7- was ever pronounced a 
 
 3 our modern z; it had rather the 
 
 
 force of y (and perhaps of gh), I 
 
 )eing no other than the Saxon lett 
 
 ir T. which the Scots and English 
 
 
 have, in many instances, changed 
 
 into y, as ^eajib, yard, jeap., ye£ 
 
 ir, geon J, young, &c. 
 
 
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