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جاناں
OF
FICH
F.P. Stephanoff.
J.Portbury
Queen Elizabeth in Woodstock Parks

HENRY GODDARD,
RELIQUES
OF
ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY,
59 Siphanoff
COLLECTED BY
THOMAS PERCY
BISHOP OF DROMORE.
L. Stocks
Robin Hood and Maid Marian.
LONDON
HENRY G.BOHN: YORY STREET, COVENT GARDEN
MDCCCXLV
Ģ thee
c
}
J
RELIQUES
OF
j
ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY:
CONSISTING OF
OLD HEROIC BALLADS, SONGS,
AND OTHER PIECES,
OF OUR
EARLIER POETS,
TOGETHER WITH SOME FEW OF LATER DATE,
AND A COPIOUS GLOSSARY.
BY THOMAS PERCY, D.D.
BISHOP OF DROMORE.
LONDON:
HENRY G. BOHN, YORK STREET, COVENT GARDEN.
MDCCCXLV.
¿
ΤΟ
ELIZABETH,
LATE DUCHESS AND COUNTESS OF NORTHUMBERLAND,
IN HER OWN RIGHT
BARONESS PERCY,
ETC. ETC. ETC.,
WHO, BEING SOLE HEIRESS TO MANY GREAT FAMILIES
OF OUR ANCIENT NOBILITY,
EMPLOYED THE PRINCELY FORTUNE,
AND SUSTAINED
THE ILLUSTRIOUS HONOURS, WHICH SHE DERIVED FROM THEM,
THROUGH HER WHOLE LIFE,
WITH THE GREATEST DIGNITY, GENEROSITY, AND SPIRIT;
AND WHO FOR HER MANY PUBLIC
AND PRIVATE VIRTUES
WILL EVER BE REMEMBERED
AS ONE OF THE FIRST CHARACTERS OF HER TIME,
THIS LITTLE WORK
WAS ORIGINALLY DEDICATED :
AND AS IT SOMETIMES AFFORDED HER AMUSEMENT,
AND WAS HIGHLY DISTINGUISHED
BY HER INDULGENT APPROBATION,
IT IS NOW.
WITH THE UTMOST REGARD, RESPECT, AND GRATITUDE,
CONSECRATED
TO HER BELOVED AND HONOURED
MEMORY.
Log me to go
Set
Page
1 ESSAY on the Ancient Minstrels in England xiii
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
CONTENTS.
7 Sir Patrick Spence. A Scottish Ballad
8 Robin Hood and Guy of Gisborne
9 An Elegy on Henry, Fourth Earl of Nor-
thumberland, by Skelton
10 The Tower of Doctrine, by Stephen Hawes
11 The Child of Elle
12 Edom (Adam) o'Gordon. A Scottish Ballad
2 The aged Lover renounceth Love
3 Jepthah Judge of Israel..
4 A Robyn, Jolly Robyn
··
10 Corydon's Farewell to Phillis
•
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
BOOK THE SECOND.
(Containing Ballads that illustrate Shakspeare.)
Essay on the Origin of the English Stage .. 32
1 Adam Bell, Clym o' the Clough, and Wil-
liam of Cloudesly...
The Ballad of Constant Susannah
..
Fortune
·
·
18 The Friar of Orders Gray
··
••
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
··
•
5 My Mind to me a Kingdome is....
6 The Patient Countess, by W. Warner
7 Dowsahell, by Drayton
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
+ Northumberland betrayed by Douglas
1 10
··
5
9
10
11
12
13
19
20
20
24
27
28
30
40
47
48
48
49
50
51
120000 8:2050 m
52
53
55
55
55
59
60
61
63
63
64
66
70
70
71
73
76
77
79
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
23 Winifreda..
14 The Witch of Wokey..
··
•
15 Bryan and Pereene. A West India Ballad,
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
•
2 On the Death of King Edward I.
3 An original Ballad, by Chaucer.
The Turnament of Tottenham
5 For the Victory at Agincourt..
6 The Not-browne Mayd
..
•
·· •
•
7 A Balet by the Earl Rivers
8 Cupid's Assault. By Lord Vaux
9 Sir Aldingar
10 The Gaberlunzie Man. Scottish. By King
James V.
•
•
•
•
BOOK THE SECOND.
1 A Ballad of Luther, the Pope, a Cardinal,
and a Husbandman
..
··
14 The Murder of the King of Scots.
..
-
••
104
11 On Thomas Lord Cromwell
105
12 Harpalus. An ancient English Pastoral .. 106
13 Robin and Makyne. An ancient Scottish
Pastoral.
14 Gentle Herdsman, tell to me
·· •
•
• • ·
15 King Edward IV. and the Tanner of Tam-
worth..
•
16 As ye came from the Holy Land
A Scottish Fragment. By
17 Hardyknute.
Sir J. Bruce
4
··
·
• • ..
Pige
80
81
•
13 Lady Anne Bothwell's Lament. A Scottish
Song
** ***** **
81
82
83
84
84
85
117
2 John Anderson my Jo. A Scottish Song.. 119
3 Little John Nobody
119
4 Queen Elizabeth's Verses, while Prisoner
at Woodstock
5 The Heir of Linne
•
6 Gascoigne's Praise of the fair Bridges, after-
wards Lady Sandes
7 Fair Rosamond. By Thomas Delone
8 Queen Eleanor's Confession
86
88
89
90
92
92
95
96
100
100
101
123
124
127
9 The Sturdy Rock
129
10 The Beggar's Daughter of Bednal Green.. 129
An Essay on the word FIT, and the Ancient
Ballad Singing
107
108
110
112
113
132
11 Fancy and Desire. By the Earl of Oxford 133
12 Sir Andrew Barton...
134
120
121
137
138
víii
CONTENTS.
15 A Sonnet by Queen Elizabeth
16 The King of Scots and And. Browne. By
W. Elderton
•
17 The Bonny Earl of Murray. A Scottish
Song
18 Young Waters. A Scottish Song.
•
19 Mary Ambree
20 Brave Lord Willoughby.
142
142
143
145
21 Victorious Men of Earth. By James Shirley 146
··
22 The Winning of Cales
23 The Spanish Lady's Love
•
O •
• •
24 Argentile and Curan. By W. Warner.
25 Corin's Fate..
26 Jane Shore
27 Corydon's Doleful Knell
1 The Complaint of Conscience
2 Plain Truth and Blind Ignorance
•
•
BOOK THE THIRD.
Essay on the Metre of Pierce Plowman's
Visions
•
•
•
156
161
163
3 The Wandering Jew
164
4 The Lye. By Sir Walter Raleigh
166
•
5 Verses (viz. two Sonnets) by King James I.
167
6 King John and the Abbot of Canterbury.. 167
7 You Meaner Beauties. By Sir H. Wotton
8 The Old and Young Courtier.
169
169
170
9 Sir John Suckling's Campaigne..
10 To Althea from Prison. By Col. Lovelace 171
•
•
•
··
BOOK THE SECOND.
1 The Legend of Sir Gaz
146
147
.. 148
152
152
155
•
• ·
•
••
BOOK THE FIRST.
Essay on the Ancient Metrical Romances
1 The Boy and the Mantle
2 The Marriage of Sir Gawaine
3 King Ryence's Challenge
4 King Arthur's Death. A Fragment.
5 The Legend of King Arthur..
11 The Downfal of Charing Cross..
171
172
12 Loyalty Confined. By Sir Roger L'Estrange
13 Verses by King Charles I…….
173
14 The Sale of Rebellious Household Stuff
15 The Baffled Knight, or Lady's Policy
16 Why so Pale? By Sir John Suckling..
17 Old Tom of Bedlam. Mad Song the First 177
18 The Distracted Puritan. Mad Song the
174
175
177
•
•
• •
.. • •
Second
178
19 The Lunatic Lover. Mad Song the Third. 179
20 The Lady Distracted with Love. Mad Song
the Fourth..
•
Page
139
180
21 The Distracted Lover. Mad Song the Fifth 180
22 The Frantic Lady. Mad Song the Sixth.. 181
23 Lilli-Burlero. By Lord Wharton..
181
24 The Braes of Yarrow. In Imitation of the an-
cient Scottish Manner. By W. Hamilton 182
25 Admiral Hosier's Ghost. By Mr. Glover. 183
26 Jemmy Dawson. By Mr. Shenstone 185
SERIES THE THIRD.
•
....
140
•
•
..
185
196
199
202
203
205
206
206
208
6 A Dyttie to Hey Downe
7 Glasgerion
8 Old Robin of Portingale
9 Child Waters
209
10 Phillida and Corydon. By Nic. Breton
211
212
11 Little Musgrave and Lady Barnard
12 The Ew-bughts Marion. A Scottish Song. 213
13 The Knight and Shepherd's Daughter
14 The Shepherd's Address to his Muse. By
N. Breton
215
15 Lord Thomas and Fair Ellinor
215
16 Cupid and Campaspe. By John Lilye.... 216
17 The Lady turned Serving man
217
18 Gil (Child) Morrice. A Scottish Ballad.. 218
•
•
•
· •
2 Guy and Amarant. By Sam. Rowlands
3 The Auld Good-man. A Scottish Song
4 Fair Margaret and Sweet William.
5 Barbara Allen's Cruelty
226
6 Sweet William's Ghost. A Scottish Ballad 227
7 Sir John Grehme and Barbara Allan. Ditto 228
8 The Bailiff's Daughter of Islington
228
..
9 The Willow Tree. A Pastoral Dialogue... 229
10 The Lady's Fall
230
11 Waly, waly, Love be bonny. A Scottish
Song
12 The Bride's Burial.
Troy
23 The Witches Song. By Ben Johnson.
24 Robin Good-fellow
..
•
25 The Fairy Queen..
26 The Fairies Farewell. By Dr. Corbet..
BOOK THE THIRD.
231
232
13 Dulcina
233
14 The Lady Isabella's Tragedy.
234
15 A Hue and Cry after Cupid. By Ben Jonson 235
16 The King of France's Daughter
235
17 The Sweet Neglect. By Ben Jonson
18 The Children in the Wood..
237
238
19 A Lover of late was I.
239
20 The King and the Miller of Mansfield. 240
21 The Shepherd's Resolution. By G. Wither 242
22 Queen Dido, or the Wandring Prince of
•
··
•
•
..
··
•
••
··
··
• •
Page
214
•
1 The Birth of St. George..
2 St. George and the Dragon
3 Love will find out the Way
4 Lord Thomas and Fair Annet. A Scottish
Ballad
255
256
5 Unfading Beauty. By Tho. Carew
6 George Barnwell..
257
7 The Stedfast Shepherd. By Geo. Wither.. 260
8 The Spanish Virgin; or the Effects of
Jealousy.
11 To Lucasta, on going to the Wars. By Col.
Lovelace
12 Valentine and Ursine
13 The Dragon of Wantley.
14 St. George for England.
The First Part..
15 St. George for England. The Second Part.
By J. Grubb.
16 Margaret's Ghost. By David Mallet
17 Lucy and Colin. By Tho. Tickell
18 The Boy and the Mantle, Revised, &c.
19 The ancient Fragment of the Marriage
Sir Gawaine
20 Hermit of Warkworth
Glossary
220
222
225
225
261
9 Jealousy, Tyrant of the Mind. By Dryden 262
10 Constant Penelope
263
243
244
245
247
247
of
249
252
254
264
264
268
271
272
276
277
278
280
283
293
ADVERTISEMENT
TO THE
FOURTH EDITION.
TWENTY years have near elapsed since the last edi-
tion of this work appeared. But, although it was
sufficiently a favourite with the public, and had long
been out of print, the original Editor had no desire
to revive it. More important pursuits had, as might
be expected, engaged his attention; and the present
edition would have remained unpublished, had he
not yielded to the importunity of his friends, and
accepted the humble offer of an Editor in a nephew,
to whom, it is feared, he will be found too partial.
These volumes are now restored to the public
with such corrections and improvements as have
occurred since the former impression; and the text
in particular hath been emended in many passages
by recurring to the old copies. The instances being
frequently trivial, are not always noted in the
margin; but the alteration hath never been made
without good reason: and especially in such pieces
as were extracted from the folio manuscript so often
mentioned in the following pages, where any varia-
tion occurs from the former impression, it will be
understood to have been given on the authority of
that MS.
The appeal publicly made to Dr. Johnson in the
first page of the following preface, so long since as
in the year 1765, and never once contradicted by
him during so large a portion of his life, ought to
have precluded every doubt concerning the existence
of the MS in question. But such, it seems, having
been suggested, it may now be mentioned, that while
this edition passed through his press, the MS, itself
was left for near a year with Mr. Nichols, in whose
house, or in that of its possessor, it was examined
with more or less attention by many gentlemen of
eminence in literature. At the first publication of
these volumes, it had been in the hands of all, or
most of, his friends; but, as it could hardly be ex-
pected that he should continue to think of nothing
else but these amusements of his youth, it was after-
wards laid aside at his residence in the country.
Of the many gentlemen above mentioned, who
offered to give their testimony to the public, it will
be sufficient to name the Hon. Daines Barrington,
the Rev. Clayton Mordaunt Cracherode, and those
eminent Critics on Shakespeare, the Rev. Dr.
Farmer, George Steevens, Esq., Edmund Malone.
Esq. and Isaac Reed, Esq., to whom I beg lea
appeal for the truth of the following representatio
The MS. is a long narrow folio volume, contain
ing 195 Sonnets, Ballads, Historical Songs, and
Metrical Romances, either in the whole or in part,
for many of them are extremely mutilated and imper-
fect. The first and last leaves are wanting; and of
54 pages near the beginning half of every leaf hath
been torn away, and several others are injured
towards the end; besides that through a great part
of the volume the top or bottom line, and sometimes
both have been cut off in the binding.
In this state is the MS. itself: and even where
the leaves have suffered no injury, the transcripts,
which seem to have been all made by one person,
(they are at least all in the same kind of hand,)
are sometimes extremely incorrect and faulty,
being in such instances probably made from de-
fective copies, or the imperfect recitation of illite-
rate singers; so that a considerable portion of the
sung or narrative is sometimes omitted; and mi-
serable trash or nonsense not unfrequently intro-
duced into pieces of considerable merit. And often
the copyist grew so weary of his labour as to write
on without the least attention to the sense or mean-
ing; so that the word which should form the
rhyme is found misplaced in the middle of the line ;
and we have such blunders as these, want and will
for wanton will*; even pan and wale for wan and
palet, &c. &c.
Hence the Public may judge how much they
are indebted to the composer of this collection;
who, at an early period of life, with such mate-
rials and such subjects, formed a work which hath
been admitted into the most elegant libraries; and
with which the judicious antiquary hath just reason
to be satisfied, while refined entertainment hath been
provided for every reader of taste and genius.
THOMAS PERCY,
FELLOW OF ST. JOHN'S COLLEge, Oxford.
* Page 130. Ver. 117.-This must have been copied froin
a reciter.
† Page 139. Ver. 164, viz.
"His visage waxed
7
PREFACE.
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 contribuuted to soften the roughness
of a martial and unlettered people by their songs
and by their music.
The greater part of them are extracted from an
ancient folio manuscript, in the Editor's possession,
which contains near two hundred Poems, Songs, and
Metrical Romances. This MS. was written abcut
the middle of the last century; but contains compo-
sitions 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 select some of them, and give them
to the press. As most of them are of great simpli-
city, and seem to have been merely written for the
people, he was long in doubt, whether, in the present
state of improved literature, they could be deemed
worthy the attention of the public. At length the
importunity of his friends prevailed, and he could
refuse nothing to such judges as the Author of the
Rambler and the late Mr. Shenstone.
Accordingly such specimens of ancient poetry
have been selected, as either show the gradation of
our language, exhibit the progress of popular opi-
nions, display the peculiar manners and customs of
former ages, or throw light on our earlier classical
poets.
They are here distributed into volumes, each of
which contains an independent series of poems,
arranged chiefly according to the order of time, and
showing the gradual improvements of the English
language and poetry from the earliest ages down to
the present. Each volume, or series, is divided into
three books, to afford so many pauses, or resting-
places to the reader, and to assist him in distinguish-
ing betwen the productions of the earlier, the middle,
and the latter times.
In a polished age, like the present, I am sensible
that many of these reliques of antiquity will require
great allowances to be made for them. Yet have
they, for the most part, a pleasing simplicity, and
many artless graces, which in the opinion of no mean
* Chaucer quotes the old 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 cen-
but not one that alludes to the Restoration.
critics have been thought to compensate for the
want of higher beauties, and, if they do not dazzle
the imagination, are frequently found to interest the
heart.
To atone for the rudeness of the more obsolete
poems, each volume concludes with a few modern
attempts in the same kind of writing and, to take
off from the tediousness of the longer narratives, they
are every where intermingled with little elegant
pieces of the lyric kind. Select ballads in the old
Scottish dialect, most of them of the first rate merit,
are also interspersed among those of our ancient
English Minstrels; and the artless productions of
these old rhapsodists are occasionally confronted
with specimens of the composition 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 rhimes
to be sung to their harps, and who looked no further
than for present applause, and present subsistence.
The reader will find this class of men occasionally
described in the following volumes, and some par-
ticulars relating to their history in an Essay sub-
joined to this preface.
G
Ir will be proper here to give a short account
of the other collections that were consulted, and
to make my acknowledgements to those gentle-
men who were so kind as to impart extracts from
them; for, while this selection was making, a great
number of ingenious friends took a share in the work,
and explored many large repositories in its favour.
The first of these that deserved notice was the
Pepysian library at Magdalen College, Cambridge.
Its founder, Sam. Pepys +, Esq., Secretary of the Ad-
miralty 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 collec-
tion, he tells us, was "begun by Mr. Selden; im-
* 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.
+ A Life of our curious collector, Mr. Pepys, may be seen
in "The Continuation of Mr. Collier's Supplement to his
Great Dictionary, 1715, at the end of vol. iii. folio. Art.
PEP.
PREFACE.
proved 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 cheapness
sake) wholly laid aside for that of the white letter
without pictures."
In the Ashmole Library at Oxford is a small col-
lection of Ballads made by Anthony Wood in the
year 1676, containing somewhat more than two hun-
dred. Many ancient popular poems are also pre-
served in the Bodleyan Library.
The archives of the Antiquarian Society at London
contain a multitude of curious political poems in
large folio volumes, digested under the several reigns
of Henry VIII., Edward VI., Mary, Elizabeth, James
I., &c.
In the British Museum is preserved a large trea-
sure 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 infor-
mation 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 re-
ceived from several. Where
Where any thing was altered
that deserved particular notice, the passage is gene-
rally distinguished by two inverted 'commas.' And
the Editor has endeavoured to be as faithful as the
imperfect state of his materials would admit. For
these old popular rhimes being many of them copied
only from illiterate transcripts, or the imperfect recita-
tion of itinerant ballad-singers, have, as might be ex-
pected, 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 defective or
corrupted, that a scrupulous adherence to their
wretched readings would only have exhibited unin-
telligible nonsense, or such poor meagre stuff as
neither came from the Bard nor was worthy the
press; when, by a few slight corrections or additions,
a most beautiful or interesting sense hath started
forth, and this so naturally and easily, that the
Editor could seldom prevail on himself to indulge
the vanity of making a formal claim to the improve-
ment; but must plead guilty to the charge of con-
cealing his own share in the amendments under
some such general title as a Modern Copy," or the
like. Yet it has been his design to give sufficient
intimation where any considerable liberties* were
taken with the old copies, and to have retained either
in the text or margin any word or phrase which was
antique, absolete, unusual, or peculiar, so that these
might be safely quoted as of genuine and undoubted
antiquity. His object was to please both the judi-
cious antiquary and the reader of taste; and he hath
endeavoured to gratify both without offending either.
* Such liberties have been taken with all those pieces
which have three astericks subjoined, thus
ና.
XI
THE plan of the work was settled in concert with
the late elegant Mr. Shenstone, who was to have
borne a joint share in it had not death unhappily
prevented him.* Most of the modern pieces were of
his selection and arrangement, and the Editor hopes
to be pardoned if he has retained some things out of
partiality to the judgement of his friend. The old
folio MS. above mentioned was a present from
Humphrey Pitt, Esq. of Prior's-Lee, in Shropshiret,
to whom this public acknowledgement is due for
that, and many other obliging favours. To Sir
David Dalrymple, Bart. of Hales, near Edinburgh,
the editor is indebted for most of the beautiful
Scottish poems with which this little miscellany is
enriched, and for many curious and elegant remarks
with which they are illustrated. Some obliging
communications of the same kind were received from
John Mac Gowan, Esq. of Edinburgh; and many
curious explanations of Scottish words in the glos-
saries 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
learned friends at Cambridge deserve the Editor's
warmest acknowledgements: to Mr. Blakeway, late
fellow of Magdalen College, he owes all the assist-
ance 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 distin-
guished. Many extracts from ancient MSS. in the
That the Editor hath not here underrated the assistance
he received from his friend, will appear from Mr. Shen-
stone'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 prepared for
the press.
+ 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 enumerated in
Wood's Athenæ, ii. 73; the earliest of which is "The Art
of Making Devises, 1646," 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 seein, from the errors and defects with which
the MS. abounds, that he had employed his clerk in writing
the transcripts, who was often weary of his task.
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 edi-
tions; as also to the Rev. Mr. Bowle, 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 Nore-
ham, in Northumberland, author of a learned "History of
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 him-
self, are under the greatest obligations; to the Honourable
Daines Barrington, for his very learned and curious “ ()b-
servations 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 corrections from the Rev. Geo. Ashby, late fellow of
St. John's College, in Cambridge, which are not particu-
larly pointed out because they occur so often. He was no
less obliged to Thomas Butler, Esq. F. A. S. agent to the
Duke of Northumberland, and Cl rk of the Peace for the
county of Middlesex; whose extensive knowledge of ancient
writings, records, and history, has been of great use to the
xii
PREFACE.
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 Antiquaries, Mr.
Norris, deserves acknowledgement for the obliging
manner in which he gave the Editor access to the
volumes under his care. In Mr. Garrick's curious
collection of old plays are many scarce pieces of
ancient poetry, with the free use of which he indulged
the Editor in the politest manner. To the Rev. Dr.
Birch he is indebted for the use of several ancient
and valuable tracts. To the friendship of Dr.
Samuel Johnson he owes many 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
supervisal of a friend, who stands at this tune the
first in the world for Northern literature, and whose
learning is better known and respected in foreign
nations than in his own country. It is perhaps
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 "Curi-
alia," 4to.; but this impression was too far advanced to
profit by them all; which hath also been the case with a
series of learned and ingenious annotations inserted in the
Gentleman's Magazine for August, 1793, April, June, July,
and October, 1794, and which, it is hoped, will be continued.
* Since Keeper of the Records in the Tower.
needless to name the Rev. Mr. Lye, Editor of Ju-
nius's Etymologicum, and of the Gothic Gospels.
THE names of so many men of learning and cha-
racter the Editor hopes will serve as an amulet, to
guard him from every unfavourable censure for having
bestowed any attention on a parcel of OLD BALLADS.
It was at the request of many of these gentlemen,
and of others eminent for their genius and taste, tha
this little work was undertaken. To prepare it for
the press has been the amusement of now and then
a vacant hour amid the leisure and retirement of
rural life, and hath only served as a relaxation from
graver studies. It has been taken up at different
times, and often thrown aside for many months,
during an interval of four or five years. This has
occasioned some inconsistencies and repetitions,
which the candid reader will pardon. As great care
has been taken to admit nothing immoral and inde-
cent, the Editor hopes he need not be ashamed of
having bestowed some of his idle hours on the an-
cient literature of our own country, or in rescuing
from oblivion some pieces (though but the amuse-
ments 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 sub-
joined, this Preface is given with little variation
from the first edition in MDCCLXV.
:
AN
ESSAY
ON THE
ANCIENT MINSTRELS IN ENGLAND.
I. 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 com-
posed by themselves, or others*. They also appear
to have accompanied their songs with mimicry and
action; and to have practised such various means of
diverting as were much admired in those rude times,
and supplied the want of more refined entertain-
ment (B). These arts rendered them extremely po-
pular and acceptable in this and all the neighbouring
countries; where no high scene of festivity was
esteemed complete, that was not set off with the
exercise of their talents; and where, so long as the
spirit of chivalry subsisted, they were protected and
caressed, because their songs tended to do honour
to the ruling passion of the times, and to encourage
and foment a martial spirit.
The Minstrels seem to have been the genuine suc-
cessors of the ancient Bards (C), who under different
names were admired and revered, from the earliest
ages, among the people of Gaul, Britain, Ireland,
and the North; and indeed, by almost all the first
inhabitants of Europe, whether of Celtic or Gothic
racet; but by none more than by our own Teutonic
ancestors‡, particularly by all the Danish tribes.§
Among these, they were distinguished by the name
of Scalds, a word which denotes "smoothers and
(A) The larger Notes and Illustrations referred to by the
capital letters (A) (B) &c. are thrown together to the end
of this Essay
Wedded to no hypothesis, the Author hath readily cor-
rected any mistakes which have been proved to be in this
Essay; and, considering the novelty of the subject, and the
time, and place, when and where he first took it up, many
such had been excusable. That the term Minstrel was not
confined, as some contend, to a mere Musician, in this coun-
try, any more than on the Continent, will be considered
more fully in the last note (G g) at the end of this Essay.
+ Vid. Pelloutier Hist. des Celtes, tom. 1, 1. 2, c. 6, 10.
Tacit. de Mor. Germ. cap. 2.
Vid. Bartholin. de Causis contemptæ a Danis Mortis,
lib. 1, cap. 10.-Wormij Literatura Runic. ad finem.-See
also "Northern Autiquities, 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.
polishers of language." The origin of their art was
attributed to Odin or Woden, the father of their
gods; and the professors of it were held in the
highest estimation. Their skill was considered as
something divine; their persons were deemed sacred;
their attendance was solicited by kings; and they
were every where loaded with honours and rewards.
In short, Poets and their art were held among them
in that rude admiration which is ever shown by an
ignorant people to such as excel them in intellectual
accomplishments.
As these honours were paid to Poetry and Song,
from the earliest times, in those countries which our
Anglo-Saxon ancestors inhabited before their removal
into Britain, we may reasonably conclude, that they
would not lay aside all their regard for men of
this sort immediately on quitting their German
forests. At least so long as they retained their
ancient manners and opinions, they would still hold
them in high estimation. But as the Saxons, soon
after their establishment in this island, were con-
verted to Christianity; in proportion as literature
prevailed among them, this rude admiration would
begin to abate; and Poetry would be no longer a
peculiar profession. Thus the Poet and the Min-
strel early with us became two persons (D). Poetry
was cultivated by men of letters indiscriminately;
and many of the most popular rhimes were composed
amidst the leisure and retirement of monasteries.
But the Minstrels continued a distinct order of men
for many ages after the Norman conquest; and got
their livelihood by singing verses to the harp at the
houses of the great (E). There they were still hos-
pitably and respectfully 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 composi-
tions of others, some of them still composed songs
themselves, and all of them could probably invent a
few stanzas on occasion. I have no doubt but
most of the old heroic Ballads in this collection
* Torfæi Præfat. ad Orcad. Hist.--Pref. to " Five Pieces
of Runic Poetry," &c.
xiv
AN ESSAY ON THE ANCIENT MINSTRELS.
were composed by this order of men. For although
some of the larger metrical romances might come
from the pen of the monks or others, yet the smaller
narratives were probably composed by the minstrels
who sang them. From the amazing variations which
occur in different copies of the old pieces, it is evi-
dent they made no scruple to alter each others pro-
ductions; and the reciter added or omitted whole
stanzas, according to his own fancy or conve-
nience.
In the early ages, as was hinted above, the pro-
fession of oral itinerant Poet was held in the utmost
reverence among all the Danish tribes; and, there-
fore, we might have concluded, that it was not un-
known or unrespected among their Saxon brethren
in Britain, 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 composed two-thirds of the conquerors of
Britain, were a Danish people, and their country at
this day belongs to the crown of Denmarkt; so
that when the Danes again infested England, three
or four hundred years after, they made war on the
descendants of their own ancestors. From this
near affinity, we might expect to discover a strong
resemblance between both nations in their customs,
manners, and even language; and, in fact, we find
them to differ no more than would naturally happen
between a parent country and its own colonies, that
had been severed in a rude uncivilized state, and had
dropt all intercourse for three or four centuries:
especially if we reflect that the colony here settled
had adopted a new religion, extremely opposite in
all respects to the ancient Paganism of the mother
country; and that even at first, along with the ori-
ginal Angli, had been incorporated 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 different dialects of the same
Gothic language.§
From this sameness of original and similarity of
manners, we might justly have wondered, if a
character, so dignified and distinguished among the
ancient Danes, as the Scald or Bard, had been
totally unknown or unregarded in this sister nation.
And, indeed, 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 sufficient 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
* Vid. Chronic. Saxon. à Gibson, p. 12, 13, 4to.-Bed.
Hist. Eccles. à Smith, lib. 1, c. 15.-" Ealdsexe [Regio antiq.
Saxonum] in cervice Cimbrica Chersonesi, Holsatiam pro-
prie dictam Dithmarsiam, Stormariam, et Wagriam, com-
plectens." Annot. in Bed. à Smith, p. 52. Et vid. Cam-
deni Britan.
+ "Anglia Vetus, hodie etiam Anglen, sita est inter Sax-
ones et Giotes [Jutos], habens oppidum capitale...Sleswick.”
Ethelwerd. lib. 1.
See Northern Antiquities, &c. vol. i. pag. 7, 8, 185, 259,
260, 261.
Ibid. Preface, p. 26.
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 sub-
sisted here, though, perhaps, with less splendour
than in the North; and that there never was wanting
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 his-
turian, genealogist, poet, and musician, were all
united, than appear to have been paid to the Min-
strels and Harpers (H) of the Anglo-Saxons, whose
talents were chiefly calculated to entertain and di-
vert; while the Scalds professed to inform and in-
struct, and were at once the moralists and theologues
of their Pagan countrymen; yet the Anglo-Saxon
Minstrels continued to possess no small portion of
public favour; and the arts they professed were
so extremely acceptable to our ancestors, that the
word GLEE, which peculiarly denoted their art, con-
tinues still in our own language to be of all others
the most expressive of that popular mirth and jol-
lity, that strong sensation of delight, which is felt
by unpolished and simple minds (I).
II. Having premised these general considerations,
I shall now proceed to collect from history such par-
ticular incidents as occur on this subject; and, whe-
ther the facts themselves are true or not, they are
related by authors who lived too near the Saxon times,
and had before them too many recent monuinents of
the Anglo-Saxon nation, not to know what was con-
formable to the genius and manners of that people ;
and therefore we may presume, that their relations
prove at least the existence of the customs and habits
they attribute to our forefathers before the conquest,
whatever becomes of the particular incidents and
events themselves. If this be admitted, we shall
not want sufficient proofs to show that Minstrelsy
and Song were not extinct among the Anglo-Saxons;
and that the professor of them here, if not quite so
respectable a personage as the Danish Scald, was yet
highly favoured and protected, and continued still to
enjoy considerable privileges.
Even so early as the first invasion of Britain by
the Saxons, an incident is recorded to have happened,
which, if true, shows that the Minstrel or Bard was
not unknown among this people; and that their
princes themselves could, upon occasion, assume
that character. Colgrin, son of that Ella who was
elected king or leader of the Saxons in the room of
Hengist*, was shut up in York, and closely besieged
by Arthur and his Britons. Baldulph, brother of
Colgrin, wanted to gain access to him, and to apprize
him of a reinforcement which was coming from Ger-
many. He had no other way to accomplish his
design, but to assume the character of a Minstrel.
He therefore shaved his head and beard, and, dressing
himself in the habit of that profession, took his harp
in his hand. In this disguise, he walked up and
down the trenches without suspicion, playing all the
while upon his instrument as a Harper. By little
and little he advanced near to the walls of the city,
and, making himself known to the sentinels, was in
the night drawn up by a rope.
See Rapin's Hist. by Tindal, fol. 1732, vol. i. p. 36,
who places the incident here related under the year 495,
AN ESSAY ON THE ANCIENT MINSTRELS.
Although the above fact comes only from the su-
spicious pen of Geoffry of Monmouth(K),thejudicious
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
fables, is allowed to have recorded many true events,
that have escaped other annalists.
We do not however want instances of a less
fabulous æra, and more indubitable authority: for
later history affords us two remarkable facts (L),
which I think clearly show that the same arts of
poetry and song, which were so much admired among
the Danes, were by no means unknown or neglected
in this sister nation: and that the privileges and
honours which were so lavishly bestowed upon the
Northern Scalds, were not wholly withheld from
the Anglo-Saxon Minstrels.
Our great King Alfred, who is expressly said to
have excelled in music*, being desirous to learn the
true situation of the Danish army, which had invaded
his realm, assumed the dress and character of a Min-
strel (M): when, taking his harp, and one of the
most trusty of his friends disguised as a servant†,
(for in the early times it was not unusual for a
minstrel to have a servant to carry his harp,) he
went with the utmost security into the Danish 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 reception. He was ad-
mitted to entertain the king at table, and staid among
them long enough to contrive that assault which
afterwards 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§, king of the Danes, went
among the Saxon tents; and, taking his stand near
the king's pavilion, began to play, and was imme-
diately 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 accustomed 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 battle (P). From the
uniform procedure then of both these kings, we may
fairly conclude that the same mode of entertainment
prevailed among both people, and that the Minstrel
was a privileged character with each.
By Bale and Spelman. See note (M). + Ibid.
Anno 938. Vid. Rapin, &c.
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 evidently the
genuine northern name Olaff, or Olave, Lat. Olaus. In the
old romance of "Horn-Childe" (see vol. iii. p. xxxiii.) the
name of the king his father is Allof, which is evidently Ullaf,
with the vowels only transposed.
AP
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, Jocu-
lator Regis, the King's Minstrel, is expressly men-
tioned in Gloucestershire; in which county it should
seem that he had lands assigned him for his main-
tenance (Q).
III. We have now brought the inquiry down to
the Norman Conquest; and as the Normans had
been a late colony from Norway and Denmark,
where the Scalds had arrived to the highest pitch of
credit before Rollo's expedition into France, we can-
not doubt but this adventurer, like the other northern
princes, had many of these men in his train, who
settled with him in his new duchy of Normandy,
and left behind them successors in their art: so that,
when his descendant, William the Bastard, invaded
this kingdom in the following century*, that mode of
entertainment 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 Normans 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 soldiers. In William's
army was a valiant warrior, named Taillefer, who
was distinguished no less for the Minstrel-arts (R)
than for his courage and intrepidity. This man
asked leave of his commander to begin the onset,
and obtained it. He accordingly advanced before
the army, and with a loud voice animated his coun-
trymen 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 distinguished
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
Spaint.
We see then that the Norman conquest was rather
likely to favour the establishment of the Minstrel
profession in this kingdom, than to suppress it; and
although the favour of the Norman conquerors would
be probably confined to such of their own country-
men 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 ex-
tirpated, 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).
G
*Rollo was invested in his new duchy of Normandy,
A.D. 912. William invaded England, A. D. 1066.
+ Vid. "Hist. des Troubadours, 3 tom." passim ; et vid.
"Fableaux ou Contes du XII. et du XIII. Siecle, tradnits,
&c. avec des Notes historiques et critiques, &c. par M. LË
Grand. Paris, 1781." 5 tom. 12mo.
!
XVI
AN ESSAY ON THE ANCIENT MINSTRELS.
:
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 shown 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 degree, enjoy the
same kind of honours, and be received with similar
respect among the inferior English gentry and popu-
lace. I must be allowed therefore to consider them
as belonging 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 historians, whether
the artists were Norman or English. For it need
not be remarked that subjects of this trivial nature
are but incidentally mentioned by our ancient anna-
lists, and were fastidiously rejected by other grave
and serious writers; so that, unless they were acci-
dentally connected with such events as became
recorded in history, they would pass unnoticed
through the lapse of ages, and be as unknown to pos-
terity as other topics relating 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 Har-
per composed himself, or only repeated, the songs
he chanted. Some probably did the one, and some
the other and it would have been wonderful indeed
if men whose peculiar profession 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 rhimes which were the usual sub-
jects of their recitation. Whoever examines any
considerable quantity of these, finds them in style
and colouring as different from the elaborate produc-
tion of the sedentary 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 com-
munity, and were even all included under the com-
mon name of Minstrels*. Imust 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
occasionally exercised by some or other of this
fraternity.
IV. After the Norman Conquest, the first occur-
rence 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
* See note (B) and (A a).
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 Winchester; and, as in the early times
every harper was expected to sing, we cannot doubt
ut this reward was given to him for his music and
his songs; which, if they were for the solace of the
monks there, we may conclude would be in the
English language (U).
Under his romantic son, King Richard I., the
Minstrel profession seems to have acquired additional
splendour. Richard, who was the great hero of
chivalry, was also the distinguised patron of Poets
and Minstrels. He was himself of their number,
and some of his poems are still extant*. They were
no less patronized by his favourites and chief officers.
His chancellor, William Bishop of Ely, is expressly
mentioned to have invited Singers and Minstrels
from France, whom he loaded with reward; and
they in return celebrated him as the most accom-
plished person in the world (U 2). This high dis-
tinction 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 mon-
arch, or his great courtiers to the Provençal Trouba-
dour, or Norman Rymour, would naturally be imitated
by their inferior vassals to the English Gleeman or
Minstrel. At more than a century after the conquest,
the national distinctions must have begun to decline,
and both the Norman and English languages would
be heard in the houses of the great (U 3); so that
probably about this æra, or soon after, we are to
date that remarkable intercommunity and exchange
of each other's compositions, which we discover to
have taken place at some early period between the
French and English Minstrels; the same set of
phrases, the same species of characters, incidents,
and adventures, and often the same identical stories,
being found in the old metrical romances of both
nations (V).
The distinguished service which Richard received
from one of his own minstrels in rescuing him from
his cruel and tedious captivity, is a remarkable fact,
which ought to be recorded for the honour of poets
and their art. This fact I shall relate in the follow-
ing words of an ancient writert.
"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
* See a pathetic song of his in Mr. Walpole's Catalogue
of Royal Authors, vol. i. p. 5. The reader will find a trans-
lation of it into modern French, in Hist. Literaire des Trou-
badours, 1774, 3 tom. 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.
+ 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 be seen in "Miscella-
nies in prose and verse, by Anna Williams, Lond. 1766,"
4to. p. 46. It will excite the reader's admiration to be
informed, that most of the pieces of that collection were
composed under the disadvantage of a total deprivation of
sight.
AN ESSAY ON THE ANCIENT MINSTRELS.
his court a Rimer or Minstrill*, called Blondell de
Nesle who (so saith the manuscript of old Poesiest,
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 arrived. 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 then the space of a yeare. When Blondel
heard this, he wrought such meanes, that he became
acquainted with them of the castell, as Minstrels doe
easily win acquaintance any wheres: 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 together. 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 com-
pleted it.' Thus Blondel won knowledge of the
king his maister, and returning home into England,
made the barons of the countrie acquainted where
the king was." This happened about the
year 1193.
"
The following old Provençal lines are given as
the very original song¶; which I shall accompany
with an imitation offered by Dr. Burney, ii. 237.
* Favine's words are, "Jongleur appellé 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 appellé Blondel," &c. liv. 2. p. 92.
"Des anciens Poëtes François," 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.
+ 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 "Re-
cueil de l'Origine de la Langue et Poesie Françoise. Ryme,
et Romans," &c. Par. 1581.
Tribales." Retrudi eum præcepit in Triballis: a quo
earcere nullus ante dies istos exivit." Lat. Chron. of Otho
of Austria: apud Favin.
Ø "C. mme Menestrels s'accointent legerement." Favine.
Fauchet expresses it in the same manner.
I give this passage corrected; as the English translator
of Favine'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 l'autre moitie et
l'acheva." Favine, p. 1106. Fauchet has also expressed it
in nearly the same words. Recueil, p. 93.
¶ In a little romance or novel, entitled, "La Tour Tene-
breuses, et les Jours Lumineux, Contes Angloises, accompag-
nez d'historiettes, et tirez d'une ancienne chronique composee
par Richard, surnomme 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, and published
by Mr. Walpole, mentioned above, yet the two last are not
in Provençal like the sonnet printed here; but in the old
French, called Language Roman.
BLONDEL.
Domna vostra beutas
Elas bellas faissos
Els bels oils amoros
Els gens cors ben taillats
Don sieu empresenats
De vostra amo qui mi lia.
Si bel trop affansia
Ja de vos non portrai
Que major honorai
Sol en votra deman
Que sautra des beisan
Tot can de vos volria
xvii :
Your beauty, lady fair,
None views without delight ;
But still so cold an air
No passion can excite :
Yet this 1 patient see
While all are shun'd like me.
RICHARD.
No nymph my heart can wound
If favour she divide
And smiles on all around
Unwilling to decide:
I'd rather hatred bear
Than love with others share.
The access which Blondel so readily obtained in
the privileged character of a Minstrel, 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'Evereux, Earl of Salisbury, had been
carried abroad and secreted by her French relations
in Normandy. To discover the place of her con-
cealment, a knight of the Talbot family spent two
years in exploring that province, at first under the
disguise of a pilgrim; till having found where she
was confined, in order to gain admittance he assumed
the dress and character of a harper, and being a
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
natural brother William Longespee, (son of fair
Rosamond), who became in her right Earl of Salis-
bury (V 3).
The next memorable event which I find in history
reflects credit on the English Minstrels 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 t.
<<
Hugh, the first Earl of Chester, in his charter
of foundation of St. Werburg's Abbey in that city,
had granted such a privilege to those who should
come to Chester fair, that they should not be then
apprehended for theft or any other misdemeanour,
except the crime were committed during the fair.
This special 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 for help to the Lord de Lacy, constable of
Chester: 'Who, making use of the Minstrells of all
sorts, then met at Chester fair: by the allurement
of their musick, got together a vast number of such
loose people as, by reason of the before specified privi-
ledge, were then in that city; whom he forthwith
sent under the conduct of Dutton, (his steward,) a
gallant youth, who was also his son-in-law. The
Welsh, alarmed at the approach of this rabble, sup-
* The words of the original, viz. "Citharisator homo joco-
sus in Gestis antiquorum valde peritus," I conceive to give
the precise idea of the ancient Minstrel. See note (V 2.)
That Gesta was appropriated to romantic stories, see note
(I) Part IV (1.)
+ See Dugdale, Bar. i. 42, 101. who places it after 13
John, A. D. 1212. See also Plot's Staffordsh. Camden's
Britann. (Cheshire,)

xviii
AN ESSAY ON THE ANCIENT MINSTRELS.
posing them to be a regular body of armed and
disciplined veterans, instantly raised the siege and
retired."
For this good service Ranulph is said to have
granted to De Lacy, by charter, the patronage and
authority over the Minstrels and the loose and
inferior people: who, retaining to himself that of the
lower artificers, conferred on Dutton the jurisdic-
tion of the Minstrels and Harlots*: and under the
descendants of this family the Minstrels enjoyed
certain privileges, and protection for many ages.
even so late as the reign of Elizabeth, when this pro-
fession had fallen into such discredit that it was con-
sidered in law as a nuisance, the Minstrels under the
jurisdiction of the family of Dutton, are expressly
excepted out of all acts of parliament made for their
suppression; and have continued to be so excepted
ever since (W).
For
The ceremonies attending the exercise of this ju-
risdiction are thus described by Dugdalet, as handed
down to his time, viz. "That at midsummer fair
there, all the Minstrels of that country resorting to
Chester do attend the heir of Dutton, from his
lodging to St. John's Church, (he being then 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 pro-
ceeding (two and two) and playing on their several
sorts of musical instruments. And after divine
service ended, give the like attendance on him back
to his lodging; where a court being kept by his
[Mr. Dutton's] steward, and all the Minstrels formally
called, certain orders and laws are usually made for
the better government of that society, with penalties
on those who transgress."
In the same reign of King John we have a remark-
able instance of a Minstrel, who to his other talents
superadded the character of soothsayer, and by his
skill in drugs and medicated potions was able to
rescue a knight from imprisonment. This occurs in
Leland's Narrative of the Gestes of Guarine (or
Warren) and his sons, which he "excerptid owte 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 turnament by the ancestor of the
Guariness, had in the reign of King John been seized
by the Prince of Wales, and was afterwards possessed
by Morice, a retainer of that prince, to whom the
king, out of hatred to the true heir Fulco Guarine,
(with whom he had formerly had a quarrel at chess||,)
not only confirmed the possession, but also made him
governor of the marches, of which Fulco himself had
the custody in the time of King Richard. The
Guarines demanded justice of the king, but obtaining
* See the ancient record in Blount's Law Dictionary. (Art.
Minstrel.)
+ Bar. i. p. 101.
Leland's Collectanea, vol. i. pages 261, 266, 267.
This old feudal custom of marrying an heiress to the knight
who should vanquish all his opponents in solemn contest, &c.
appears to be burlesqued in the Turnament of Totenham,
as is well observed by the learned author.
of Remarks, &c. in Gent. Mag. for July, 1794, p. 613.
11 "John, sun to King Henry, and Fulco felle at variance
at Chestes [r. Chesse]; and John brake Fulco ['s] hed with
the chest borde; and then Fulco gave him such a blow, that
he had almost killid hym." (Lel. Coll. i. p. 264.) A curious
picture of courtly manners in that age! Notwithstanding
this fray, we read in the next paragraph, that " King Henry
dubbid Fulco & 3 of his bretherne Knightes at Winchester."
Ibid.
no gracious answer, 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 Minstrelle,
and made hym his spy to Morice at Whitington.'
The privileges of this character we have already
seen, and John so well availed himself of them, that
in consequence of the intelligence which he doubtless
procured, "Fulco and his brethrene laide waite for
Morice, as he went toward Salesbyri, 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 Whit-
ington," which on the death of Morice had been
restored to him by the Prince of Wales. As no fur-
ther mention occurs of the Minstrel, I might h re
conclude this narrative; but I shall just add that
Fulco was obliged to flee into France, where, assum-
ing the name of Sir Amice, he distinguished himself
in justs and tournaments; and, after various roman-
tic adventures by sea and land; having in the true
style of chivalry rescued "certayne ladies owt of
prison;" he finally obtained the king's pardon, and
the quiet possession of Whitington Castle.
""
In the reign of King Henry III., we have mention
of Master Ricard the King's Harper, to whom in his
thirty-sixth year (1252) that monarch gave not only
forty shillings and a pipe of wine, but also a pipe of
wine to Beatrice his wife*. The title of Magister, or
Master given to this Minstrel deserves notice, and
shows his respectable situation.
V. The Harper, or Minstrel, was so necessary 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 historiant, that, in
the attempt to assassinate that heroic prince, when
he had wrested the poisoned knife out of the Sara-
zen's hand, and killed him with his own weapon;
the attendants, who had stood apart while he was
whispering 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 striking the man after he was
dead, yet his near access shows the respectable situa-
tion of this officer; and his affectionate zeal should
have induced Edward to entreat his brethren the
Welsh Bards afterwards with more lenity.
* Burney's Hist. ii. p. 355.-Rot. Pip. An. 36, H. III.
"Et in uno dolio vini empto & dato Magistro Ricardo Ci-
tharistæ Regis, xl. sol. per br. Reg. Et in uno dolio empto
& dato Beatrici uxori ejusdem Ricardi."
+ Walter Hemmingford, (vixit temp. Edw. I.) in Chronic.
cap. 35, inter V. Hist. Ang. Scriptores, vol. ii. Oxon. 1687
fol. pag. 591.
CC
Accurrentes ad hæc Minis'ri ejus, qui a longe steterunt,
invenerunt eum [scil. Nuntium] in terra mortuum, et appre-
hendit unus eorum tripodem, scilicet Cithareda suus, & per-
cussit eum in capite, et effundit cerebrum ejus. Increpavitque
eum Edwardus quod hominem mortuum percussisse." Ibid.
These Ministri must have been upon a very confidential foot-
ing, as it appears above in the same chapter, that they had
been made acquainted with the contents of the letters which
the assassin had delivered to the prince from his master.
..
AN ESSAY ON THE ANCIENT MINSTRELS.
Whatever was the extent of this great monarch's
severity towards the professors of music and of song
in Wales; whether the executing by martial law
such of them as fell into his hands was only during
the heat of conflict, or was continued afterwards with
more systematic rigour*; yet in his own court the
Minstrels appear to have been highly favoured:
for when, in 1306, he conferred the order of
knighthood on his son and many others of the young
nobility, a multitude of Minstrels were introduced to
invite and induce the new knights to make some mi-
litary vow (X). And
Under the succeeding reign of King Edward II.,
such extensive privileges were claimed by these men,
and by dissolute persons 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 inci-
dent is recorded in the ensuing year, which shows
that Minstrels still retained the liberty of entering at
will into the royal presence, and had something pe-
culiarly splendid in their dress. It is thus related by
Stow (Z).
"In the year 1316, Edward the Second did solem-
nize his feast of Pentecost at Westminster, 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
tables, 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 remon-
strance to the king on the favours heaped by him on
his minions, to the neglect of his knights and faithful
servants.
The privileged character of a Minstrel was em-
ployed on this occasion, as sure of gaining an easy
admittance; and a female the rather deputed to as-
sume it, that, in case of detection, her sex might
disarm the king's resentment. This is offered on a
supposition that she was not a real Minstrel ; for
there should seem to have been women of this pro-
fession (A a), as well as of the other sex; and no
accomplishment is so constantly attributed to females,
by our ancient bards, as their singing to, and playing
on, the harp (A a 2).
In the fourth year of King Richard II., John of
Gaunt erected at Tutbury in Staffordshire, a court
of Minstrels, similar to that annually kept at Ches-
ter and which, like a court-leet or court baron,
had a legal jurisdiction, with full power to re-
ceive suit and service from the men of this profession
within five neighbouring counties, to enact laws, and
determine their controversies; and to apprehend 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 em-
powered to appoint a King of the Minstrels with
four officers to preside over them (Bb). 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
* See Gray's Ode; and the Hist. of the Gwedir Family in
"Miscellanies by the Hon. Daines Barrington," 1781, 4to.
p. 286; who in the Laws, &c. of this monarch could find no
instances of severity against the Welsh. See his observations
on the Statutes, 4to. 4th, edit. p. 358.
+ Hist. of Staffordshire, ch 10, 369-76, p. 433 et seqq. of
xix
appear to have lost their singing 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 heralds and the King
of the Minstrels, like the king at arms, was both here
and on the Continent an usual officer in the courts of
princes. Thus we have in the reign of King Ed-
ward 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 Northt," of
houses which had belonged to another king, John le
Boteler (B b 2). Rymer hath also printed a licence
granted by King Richard II. in 1387, to John Caumz,
the King of his Minstrels, to pass the seas, recom-
mending him to the protection and kind treatment of
all his subjects and alliest.
In the subsequent reign of King Henry IV. we
meet with no particulars relating to the Minstrels in
England, but we find in the Statute Book a severe
law passed against their brethren the Welsh Bards;
whom our ancestors could not distinguish from their
own Rimours Ministralx; for by these names they
describe them (B b 5). This act plainly shews,
that far from being extirpated by the rigorous policy
of King Edward I., this order of men were still able
to alarm the English 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 pre-
paring his great voyage for France, in 1415, an
express order was given for his Minstrels, fifteen in
number to attend him: and eighteen are afterwards
mentioned, to each of whom he allowed xii d. a day,
when that sum must have been of more than ten times
the value it is at present. Yet when he entered
London in triumph after the battle of Agincourt, he,
from a principle of humility, slighted the pageants
and verses which were prepared to hail his return;
and, as we are told by Holingshed, would not suffer
"any dities to be made and song by Minstrels, of his
glorious victorie; for that he would whollie have the
praise and thankes altogether given to God" (Bb4).
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
which see Extracts in Sir J. Hawkins's Hist. of Music, vol.
ii. p. 64; and Dr. Burney's Hist. vol. ii. p. 360 et seqq.
N. B. The barbarous diversion of bull-running was no
part of the original institution, &c. as is fully proved by the
Rev. Dr. Pegge, in Archæologia, vol. ii. no. xiii. page 86.
* See the charge given by the Steward, at the time of
the election, in Flot's Hist, ubi supra; and in Hawkins, p.
67. Burney, p. 363–4.
+ So among the Heralds Norrey was anciently styled Roy
d'Armes de North. (Anstis, ii. 300.) And the Kings at Armes
in general were originally called Reges Heraldorum, (Ibid.
p. 302,) as these were Reges Minstrallorum.
Rymer's Fœdera, tom. vii. p. 555.
Rymer, ix. 255.
|| Ibid. p. 260.
¶ See nis 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 dintes 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 pro-
bably not include that inserted in Series the Second Book I.
No. V., which would be considered as a hymn. The origina.
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.
XX
AN ESSAY ON THE ANCIENT MINSTRELS.
Emperor and the Duke of Holland for his guests, he
ordered rich gowns for sixteen of his Minstrels, of
which the particulars are preserved by Rymer*.
And having before his death orally granted an an-
nuity 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 Exchequert.
The unfortunate reign of King Henry VI., affords
no occurrences respecting our subject; but in his
34th year, A.D. 1456, we have in Rymert a com-
mission for impressing boys or youths, to supply
vacancies by death among the King's Minstrels: in
which it is expressly directed that they shall be
elegant in their limbs, as well as instructed in the
Minstrel art, wherever they can be found, for the
solace of his majesty.
In the following reign, King Edward IV., (in his
9th year, 1469,) upon a complaint that certain rude
husbandmen and artificers of various trades had
assumed the title and livery of the King's Minstrels
and under that colour and pretence had collected
money in diverse parts of the kingdom, and committed
other disorders, the king grants to Walter Haliday,
Marshal, and to seven others his own Minstrels
whom he names, a charters, by which he creates, or
rather restores, a fraternity or perpetual gild (such
as, he understands, the brothers and sisters of the
fraternity of Minstrels had in times past) to be
governed by a Marshall appointed for life, and by
two Wardens to be chosen annually; who are im-
powered to admit brothers and sisters into the said
gild, and are authorized to examine the pretensions
of all such as affected to exercise the Minstrel pro-
fession; and to regulate, govern, and punish them
throughout the realm (those of Chester excepted).-
This seems to have some resemblance to the Earl
Marshal's court among the heralds, and is another
proof of the great affidity and resemblance which
the Minstrels bore to the members of the College of
Arms.
It is remarkable that Walter Haliday, whose name
occurs as marshal in the foregoing charter, had been
retained in the service of the two preceding monarchs
King Henry V. and VI¶. Nor is this the first
time he is mentioned as Marshal of the King's 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**.
But besides their Marshal we have also in this
reign mention of a Sergeant of the Minstrels, who
upon a particular occasion was able to do his royal
master a singular service, wherein his confidential
situation and ready access to the king at all hours is
very apparent for "as he [King Edward IV.] was
in the north contray in the monneth of Septembre,
as he lay in his bedde, one namid Alexander Carlile,
that was Sariaunt of the Mynstrellis, cam to him in
grete hast, and badde hym aryse for he hadde ene-
* Tom. ix. 336.
+ Rymer, tom. x. 287. They are mentioned by name,
being ten in number: one of them was named Thomas
Chatterton.
i Tom. xi. 375.
See it in Rymer, tom. xi. 642, and in Sir J. Hawkins,
vol. iv. p. 366. Note. The above Charter is recited in letters
patent of King Charles I. 15 July, (11 Anno Regni,) for a
Corporation of Musicians, &c. in Westminster, which may
be seen ibid.
Rymer, ix. 255.
Ibid. xi. 375 ** Ibid xi. 12.
myes cummyng for to take him, the which were
within vi. or vii. mylis, of the which tydinges the
king gretely marveylid, &c.*" This happened in
the same year, 1469, wherein the king granted or
confirmed the charter for the fraternity or gild above
mentioned; yet this Alexander Carlile is not one of
the eight Minstrels to whom that charter is directed†.
The same charter was renewed by King Henry
VIII. in 1520, to John Gilman, his then marshal,
and to seven others his Minstrelst: and on the
death of Gilman, he granted in 1529 this office of
Marshal of his Minstrels to Hugh Wodehouses,
whom I take to have borne the office of his serjeant
over them]].
VI. In all the establishments of royal and noble
households, we find an ample provision made for the
Minstrels; and their situation to have been both ho-
nourable and lucrative. In proof of this it is suffi-
cient to refer to the household book of the Earl of
Northumberland, 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 have been
gradually appropriated to the musician only, espe-
cially in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries; yet
we occasionally meet with applications of the term in
its more enlarged meaning, as including the Singer,
if not the composer, of heroic or popular rhymes¶.
In the time of Kimg Henry VIII., we find it to
have been a common entertainment to hear verses
recited, or moral speeches learned for that purposes
by a set of men who got their livelihood by repeating
them, and who intruded without ceremony into all
companies; not only in taverns, but in the houses
of the nobility themselves. This we learn from
Erasmus, whose argument led him only to describe
a species of these men who did not sing their com-
positions; but the others that did, enjoyed, without
doubt, the same privileges (D d).
For even long after, in the reign of Queen Eliza-
beth, it was usual "in places of assembly" for the
company to be "desirous to heare of old adventures
and valiaunces of noble knights in times past, as
those of King Arthur, and his knights of the round
table, Sir Bevys of Southampton, Guy of Warwicke
and others like" in "short and long meetres, and by
breaches or divisions, [sc. Fits**] to be more commo-
diously sung to the harpe" as the reader may be
informed by a courtly writer, in 1589††. Who him-
self had "written for pleasure a little briefe romance
*Here unfortunately ends a curious fragment, (an. 9 E
IV.) ad calcem Sprotti Chron. Ed. Hearne. Oxon. 17 19, 8vo.
Vid. T. Warton's Hist. ii. p. 134. Note (c).
Ibid, xiii. 705.
† Rymer, xi. 642.
g Rymer, tom. xiv. 2, 93.
So I am inclined to understand the term Serviens noster
Hugo Wodehous, in the original grant. (See Rymer ubi
supra.) It is needless to observe that Serviens expressed a
serjeant as well as a servant. If this interpretation of Ser-
viens be allowed, it will account for his placing Wodehouse
at the head of his gild, although he had not been one of the
eight minstrels who had had the general direction. The
Serjeant of his Minstrels, we may presume, was next in dig
nity to the Marshal, although he had no share in the gover...
ment of the gild.
See below, and note (G g).
** See vol. ii. page 174.
+ Puttenham in his "Arte of English Poesie," 1583, 4to
p. 33.
AN ESSAY ON THE ANCIENT MINSTRELS.
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 pre-
monition 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 romance, or short historicall ditty, for that
they be not written in long meeters or verses Alex-
andrins," which constituted the prevailing versifi-
cation 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 men-
tions that "common rimers," were fond of using
rimes at short distances, "in small and popular
musickes song by these Cantabanqui" [the said com-
mon rimers]" upon benches and barrels heads," &c.
"or else by blind Harpers or such like Taverne
Minstrels that give a fit of mirth for a groat; and
their matter being for the most part stories of old
time, as the tale of Sir Topas, the reportes of Bevis
of Southampton, Guy of Warwicke, Adam Bell,
and Clymme of the Clough, and such other old
romances, or historicall rimes," &c. "also they be
used in carols and rounds, and such light or lasci-
vious poemes, which are commonly more commo-
diously 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 Minstrels had
lost much of their dignity, and were sinking into
contempt and neglect: yet that they still sustained
a character far superior to any thing 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 Kil-
lingworth 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§: 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 and
glistering like a pair of new shoes, marshalled 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,
* Puttenham, &c. p. 69.
+ Puttenham, &c. p. 69.
See a very curious "Letter: whearin, part of the enter-
tainment untoo the Queenz Maiesty, at Killingwoorth Castl,
in Warwick Sheer, in this soomerz progress 1575, iz signi-
fied," &c. bl. l. 4to. vid. p. 46 & seqq. (Printed in Nichols's
Collection of Queen Elizabeth's Progresses. &c. 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.
I suppose "tonsure-wise" after the manner of the Monks.
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 bat-
chelor yet.
XXI
"His gown had side [i. e, long] sleeves down to
mid-leg, slit from the shoulder to the hand, and
lined with white cotton. His doublet-sleeves of
black worsted: upon them a pair of poynets† of
tawny 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
wrest‡ tyed to a green lace and hanging by. Under
the gorget of his gown a fair flaggon chain (pewters,
for) silver, as a Squire Minstrel of Middlesex, that
travelled the country this summer season, unto fairs
and worshipful mens houses. From his chain hung
a scutcheon, with metal and colour, resplendant upon
his breast, of the ancient arms of Islington.
"}
This Minstrel is described as belonging to that
village. I suppose such as were retained by noble
families wore the arms of their patrons hanging
down by a silver chain as a kind of badge. From
the expression of Squire Minstrel above, we may
conclude there were other inferior orders, as 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 pu-
* i. e. hankerchief. So in Shakspear's Othello, passim.
+ Perhaps, points.
The key, or screw, with which he tuned his harp.
The reader will remember that this was not a real Min-
strel, but only one personating that character; his ornaments
therefore were only such as outwardly represented those of a
real Minstrel.
As the House of Northumberland had anciently three
Minstrels attending on them in their castles in Yorkshire, so
they still retain three in their service in Northumberland,
who wear the badge of the family, (a silver crescent on the
right arm,) and are thus distributed, viz. One for the barony
of Prudhoe, and two for the barony of Rothbury. These
attend the court leets and fairs held for the lord, and pay
their annual suit and service at Alnwick Castle; their instru-
ment being the ancient Northumberland bagpipe (very
different in form and execution from that of the Scots; being
smaller, and blown, not with the breath, but with a small
pair of bellows).
This with many other venerable customs of the ancient
Lord Percys, was revived by their illustrious representatives
the late Duke and Duchess of Northumberland.
¶ Anno Dom. 1597. Vid Pult. Stat. p. 1110, 39° Eliz.
xxii
AN ESSAY ON THE ANCIENT MINSTRELS.
nished as such. This act seems to have put an end
to the profession (E e 2).
į
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 pre-
valence of the northern dialect in such compositions,
shews that this representation is real*. On the other
hand the scene of the 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 subjects for their songs, so it inspired the
inhabitants of the adjacent counties on both sides
with the powres of poetry. Besides, as our southern
(C
* Giraldus Cambrensis, writing in the reign of King Henry
II, mentions a very extraordinary habit or propensity, which
then prevailed in the North of England, beyond the Humber,
for symphonious harmony" or singing "in two parts, the
one murmuring in the base, and the other warbling in the
acute or treble." (I use Dr. Burney's Version, vol. ii. p.
108.) This he describes, as practised by their very children
from the cradle; and he derives it from the Danes [So Daci
signifies in our old writers] and Norwegians, who long over-
ran and in effect new-peopled the Northern parts of England,
where alone this manner of singing prevailed. (Vide Cam-
briæ Descriptio, cap. 13. and in Burney ubi supra.)-Giral-
dus is probably 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 also help to account for the superior skill and fame of
our northern Minstrels and Harpers afterwards: who had
preserved and transmitted the arts of their Scaldic ances-
tors. See Northern Antiquities, vol. i. c. 13, p. 386, and
Five Pieces of Runic Poetry, 1763, 8vo.--Compare the
original passage in Giraldus, as given by Sir John Hawkins,
i. 408, and by Dr. Burney, ii. 108, who are both at a loss to
account for this peculiarity, and therefore doubt the fact.
The credit of Giraldus, which hath been attacked by some
partial and bigoted antiquaries, the reader will find defended
in that learned and curious work," Antiquities of Ireland, by
Edward Ledwich, LL.D. &c. Dublin,1790," 4to, p. 207 & seqq.
This line being quoted from memory, and given as old
Scottish Poetry is now usully 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. cx.) to
"Ye live upo' the Border."
he better to favour a position, that many of the pipers
"might live upon the border, for the conveniency of attend-
ing fairs, &c. in both kingdoms." But whoever is acquainted
with that part of England, knows that on the English
frontier, rude mountains and barren wastes reach almost
across the island, scarcely inhabited by any but solitary
shepherds; many of whom durst not venture into the oppo
site border on account of the ancient feuds and subsequent
disputes concerning the Debatable Lands, which separated
the boundaries of the two kingdoms, as well as the estates
of the two great families of Percy and Douglas; till these
disputes were settled, not many years since, by arbitration
between the present Lord Douglas and the late Duke and
Duchess of Northumberland.
metropolis must have been ever the scene of novelty
and refinement, the northern countries, as being
most distant, would preserve their ancient manners
longest, and of course the old poetry, in which those
manners are peculiarly described.
The reader will observe in the more ancient bal-
lads of this collection, a cast of style and measure
very different from that of contemporary poets of a
higher class; many phrases and idioms, which the
Minstrels seem to have appropriated to themselves,
and a very remarkable licence of varying the accent
of words at pleasure, in order to humour the flow of
the verse, particularly in the rhimes; as
Countrie harpèr battèl morning
Ladie singèr damsèl loving,
instead of country, làdy, hàrper, singer, &c.-This
liberty is but sparingly assumed by the classical
poets of the same age; or even by the latter com-
posers of heroical ballads; I mean, by such as
professedly wrote for the press. For it is to be ob-
served, that so long as the Minstrels subsisted, they
seem never to have designed their rhimes for lite-
rary publication, and probably never committed them
to writing themselves: what copies are preserved of
them were doubtless taken down from their mouths.
But as the old Minstrels gradually wore out, a new
race of ballad-writers succeeded, an inferior sort of
minor poets, who wrote narrative songs merely for
the press. Instances of both may be found in the
reign of Elizabeth. The two latest pieces in the
genuine strain of the old minstrelsy that I can
discover, are No. III. and IV. of Book III.
Series the First. Lower than these I cannot trace
the old mode of writing.
The old Minstrel ballads are in the northern dia-
lect, 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 exacter measure, have a low or sub-
ordinate correctness, sometimes bordering on the
insipid, yet often well adapted to the pathetic: these
are generally in the southern dialect, exhibit a more
modern phraseology, and are commonly descriptive
of more modern manners.-To be sensible of the
difference between them, let the reader compare in
Series the First, No. III. of Book III, with No. XI.
of Book II.
Towards the end of Queen Elizabeth's reign (as
is mentioned above) the genuine old minstrelsy
seems to have been extinct, and thenceforth the
ballads that were produced were wholly of the
latter kind, and these came forth in such abundance,
that in the reign of James I, they began to be col-
lected into little miscellanies, under the name of
garlands, and at length to be written purposely for
such collections (F f 2).
P.S. By way of Postscript, should follow here the
discussion of the question whether the term Minstrels
was applied in English to Singers, and Composers of
Songs, &c., or confined to Musicians only. But it is re-
served for the concluding note (G g).
NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS
REFERRED TO IN THE
FOREGOING ESSAY.
(A) The MINSTRELS, &c. The word Minstrel
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 Charlemagne ;
and afterwards to the Coryphæus, or leader of any
band of musicians. [Vid. Burney's Hist. of Music,
ii. 268.] This term menestrel, menestrier, was thus
expressed in Latin, ministellus, ministrellus, minis-
trallus, menesterellus, &c. [Vid. Gloss. Du Cange
et Supplem.]
Menage derives the French words above men-
tioned from ministerialis, or ministeriarius, barbarous
Latin terms, used in the middle ages to express a
workman or artificer, (still called in Languedoc
ministral,) as if these men were styled ARTIFICERS Or
PERFORMERS by way of excellence. [Vid. Diction.
Etym.] But the origin of the name is given, per-
haps more truly, by Du Cange: "MINISTELLI,.
quos vulgo menestreux vel menestriers appellamus,
quod minoribus aulæ 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.
Minstrels sometimes assisted at divine service, 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 perpetual 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 joculatorf.-Vetus Ceremoniale MS. B.M.
•
*The Anglo-Saxon and primary English name for this
character was Gleman [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 con-
fusion, we have chicfly used the more general word Min-
strel which (as the author of the Observ. on the Statutes
hath suggested to the Editor) might have been originally
derived from a diminutive of the Lat. Minister, scil. Minis-
terellus, Ministrellus.
† Ministers seems to be used for Minstrels in the Account
of the Inthronization of Abp. Neville. (An. 6. Edw. IV.)
"Then all the Chaplyns must say grace, and the Ministers
do sing." Vid. Lelandi Collectanea, by Hearne, vol. vi.
P. 13.
deauratæ Tolos. “Item, etiam congregabuntur
piscatores, qui debent interesse isto die in proces-
sione cum ministris seu joculatoribus: quia ipsi
piscatores tenentur habere isto die joculatores, seu
mimos ob honorem Crucis-et vadunt primi ante
processionem cum ministris seu joculatoribus semper
pulsantibus usque ad ecclesium S. Stephani."
[Gloss.773]. This may, perhaps, account for the cle-
cal 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
Jeffery of 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. xxi.
It must, however be observed, that notwithstand-
ing such clerical appearance of the minstrels, and
though they might be sometimes countenanced by
such of the clergy as were of more relaxed morals,
their sportive talents rendered them generally ob-
noxious to the more rigid ecclesiastics, and to such
of the religious orders as were of more severe dis-
cipline; whose writings commonly abound with
heavy complaints of the great encouragement shown
to those men by the princes and nobles, and who
can seldom afford them a better name than that of
scurræ, fumelici, nebulones, &c. of which innumer-
able instances may be seen in Du Cange. It was
even an established order in some of the monasteries,
that no minstrel should ever be suffered to enter the
gatest.
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.
* It has however been suggested to the Editor by the
learned and ingenious author of "Irish Antiquities," 4to.
that the ancient Mimi among the Romans had their heads
and beards shaven, as is shown by Salmasius in Notis ad
Hist. August. Scriptores VI. Paris. 1620, fol. p. 385. So
that this peculiarity had a classical origin, though it after-
wards might make the Minstrels sometimes pass for Eccle-
siastics, as appears from the instance given below. Dr.
Burney tells us that Histriones, and Mimi, abounded in
France in 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 their arts
of pleasing, which latterly were most confined to singing
and music.
+ Yet in St. Mary's church at Beverley, one of the
columns hath this inscription: "Thys Pillar made the Myn-
strylls;" having its capital decorated with figures of five
men in short coats; one of whom holds an instrument re-
sembling a lute. See Sir J. Hawkins, Hist. 11. 299.
a
xxiv
NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY.
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 indi-
gent Ecclesiastics, who could only administer spi-
ritual consolation, and were consequently disap-
pointed of their mirth, beat them and turned them
out of the monastery. (Ibid. p. 92.) This passage
furnishes an additional proof that a Minstrel might
by his dress or appearance be mistaken for an Eccle-
siastic.
(B)" The Minstrels use mimicry and action, and
other means of diverting, &c."] It is observable,
that our old monkish historians do not use the words
Cantator, Citharædus, Musicus, or the like, to express
à Minstrel in Latin, so frequently as Mimus, Histrio,
Joculator, or some other word that implies gesture.
Hence it might be inferred, that the Minstrels set off
their songs with all the arts of gesticulation, &c. or,
according to the ingenious hypothesis of Dr. Brown,
united the powers of melody, poem, and dance. [See
his History of the Rise of Poetry, &c.]
But indeed all the old writers describe them as
exercising various arts of this kind. Joinville, in
his Life of St. Lewis, speaks of some Armenian Min-
strels, who were very dextrous Tumblers and Pos
ture-masters. "Avec le Prince vinrent trois Menes
triers de la Grande Hyermenie (Armenia).... et
avoient trois cors-Quand ils encommenceoient a
corner, vous dissiez que ce sont les voix de cygnes,
..et fesoient les plus douces melodies. Ils
fesoient trois merveilleus 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. Barrington's
Observations on the Anc. Statutes, 4to, 2d. Edit. p.
273, omitted in the last impression.]
This may also account for that remarkable clause
in the press warrant of Henry VI. "De Ministrallis
propter solatium Regis providendis," by which it is
required, that the boys, to be provided "in arte
Ministrallatûs instructos," should also be "membris
naturalibus elegantes." See above pag. 19. (Observ.
on the Anc. Stat. 4th Edit. p. 337).
Although by Minstrel was properly understood,
in English, one who sung to the harp, or some other
instrument of music, verses composed by himself or
others; yet the term was also applied by our old
writers to such as professed either music or singing
seperately, and perhaps to such as practised any of
the sportive arts connected with these* Music
however being the leading idea, was at length pecu-
liarly called Minstrelsy, and the name of Minstrel
at last confined to the Musician only.
In the French language all these Arts were in-
cluded under the general name of Menestraudie,
Menestraudise, Jonglerie, &c. [Med. Lat. Menestellorum
Ars, Ars Joculatoria, &c.]" On peut comprendre
sous le nom de Jonglerie tout ce qui appartient aux
anciens chansonniers Provençaux, Normands,
Picards, &c. Le corps de la Jonglerie etoit formé des
Trouveres, ou Troubadours, qui composoient les chan-
sons, et parmi lesquels il y avoit des Improvisateurs,
* Vid. infra, Not. (A a.)
comme on en trouve en Italie; des Chanteurs ou
Chanteres qui executoient ou chantoient ces compo-
sitions; des Conteurs qui faisoient en vers ou en
prose les contes, les recits, les histoires; des Jon-
gleurs ou Menestrels qui accompagnoient de leurs
instruments. -L'art de ces Chantres ou Chanson-
niers, etoit nommé la Science Gaie, Gay Saber."
(Pref. Anthologie Franç. 1765, 8vo, p. 17.)- See
also the curious Fauchet, (De'l Orig. de la Lang. Fr.
p. 72, &c.) "Bien tost apres la division de ce grand
empire François en tant de petits royaumes, duchez,
et comtez, au lieu des Poetes commencerent a se
faire cognoistre les Troverres, et Chanterres, Contours,
et Jugleours: qui sont Trouveurs, Chantres, Conteurs,
Jongleurs, ou Jugleurs, c'est à dire, Menestriers
chantans avec la viole."
We see then that Jongleur, Jugleur, (Lat. Joculatın
Juglator) was a peculiar name appropriated to the
Minstrels. "Les Jongleurs 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 countrymen the Patron Deity of
the Bards, uses the phrase Deus Joculatorum; which
is the peculiar name given to the English and French
Minstrels*. In like manner, William Malmsbury,
speaking of a Danish king's assuming the profession
of a Scald, expresses it by Professus Mimum; which
was another name given to the Minstrels in Middle
Latinity+. 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 Minstrels
whom, after the Monks, he stigmatizes by the name
of Scurre; though he acknowledges their songs
often tended to inspire virtue.
;
64
Ministelli, dicti præsertim Scurræ, Mimi, Jocu-
latores.". "Ejusmodi Scurrarum munus erat
principes non suis duntaxat ludicris oblectare, sed et
eorum aures variis, avorum, adeoque ipsorum prin-
cipum laudibus, non sine Assentatione, cum canti-
lenis et musicis instrumentis demulcere....
...
"
..
"Interdum etiam virorum insignium et heroum
gesta, aut explicata et jocunda narratione commemo-
rabant, aut suavi vocis inflexione, fidibusque decan-
tabant, quo sic dominorum, cæterorumque qui his
intererant ludicris, nobilium animos ad virtutem
capessendam, et summorum virorum imitationem
accenderent: quod fuit olim apud Callos Bardorum
ministerium, ut auctor est Tacitus. Neque enim
alios à Ministellis, veterum Gallorum Bardos fuisse
pluribus probat Henricus Valesius ad 15 Ammiani
Chronicon Bertrandi Guesclini.
Qui veut avoir renom des bons et des vaillans
Il doit aler souvent a la pluie et au champs
Et estre en la bataille, ainsy que fu Rollans,
Les Quatre Fils Haimon, et Charlon li plus grans,
* Vid. note (B) (K) (Q.)
+ Vid. note (N.)
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 convivium,
quo post inaugurationem suam proceres excepit Lud.
VIII. rex Francorum, ait inter ipsius convivii appa-
ratum, in medium prodiisse Mimum, qui regis laudes
ad cytharum decantavit."
NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY.
Our author then gives the lines at length, which
begin thus,
?
Dumque fovent genium geniali munere Bacchi,
Nectare commixto curas removente Lyæo
Principis a facie, citharæ celeberrimus arte
Assurgit Mimus, ars musica quem decoravit.
Hic ergo chorda resonante subintulit ista :
Inclyte rex regum, probitatis stemmate vernang,
Quem vigor et virtus extollit in æthera famæ," &c.
The rest may be seen in Du Cange, who thus pro-
ceeds, "Mitto reliqua similia, ex quibus omnino
patet ejusmodi Mimorum et Ministellorum cantilenas
ad virtutem principes excitasse.... Id præsertim in
pugnæ præcinctu, dominis suis occinebant, ut mar-
tium ardorem in eorem animis concitarent; cujusmodi
cantum Cantilenam Rollandi appellat 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 for-
titer gestas et priorum bella præcineret, quatenus his
acrius incitarentur, &c."" As the writer was a
monk, we shall not wonder at his calllng the Min-
strel, Scurram.
This word Scurra, or some one similar, is repre-
sented in the Glossaries as the proper meaning of
Leccator (Fr. Leccour) the ancient term by which
the Minstrel appears to be expressed 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.
Menestellus et ad verb. Lecator.) Phillippus
Mouskes in Philip. Aug. fingit Carolum M. Provin-
cie comitatum Scurris et Mimis suis olim donasse,
indeque postea tantum in hac regione poetarum
numerum excrevisse.
<<
ト
​SA (
"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 compre-
hended both characters among the Danes, nor do I
know that they had any peculiar name for either of
them separate. But it was not so with the Anglo-
Saxons. They called a poet Sceop, and Leo pyhta:
the last of these comes from Leod, a song; and the
former answers to our old word Maker (Gr.IIoints)
being derived from Scippan or Sceopan, formare,
facere, fingere, creare (Ang. to shape). As for the
Minstrel, they distinguished him by the peculiar
appellation of Gligman, and perhaps by the more
simple title of Heappene, Harper: [See below,
Notes (H), (I)] This last title, at least, is often
given to a Minstrel by our most ancient English
rhymnists, See in this work series i. p. 18, &c. series
ini. D.
&c.
XXV
(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 main-
taining and rewarding them, that they often drained
the royal treasuries: especially, he adds, of such as
were delighted with their flatteries (" præsertim qui
ejusmodi Ministellorum assentationibus delecta-
bantur.") He then confirms his assertion by several
passages out of monastic writers, who sharply inveigh
against this extravagance. Of these I shall here
select only one or two, which show what kind of
rewards were bestowed on these old Songsters.
""
Rigordus de Gestis Philippi Aug. an. 1185.
"Cum in curiis regum seu aliorum principum, fre-
quens turba Histrionum convenire soleat, ut ab eis
Aurum, Argentum, Equos, seu vestes*, quos persæpe
mutare consueverunt principes, ab eis extorqueant,
verba joculatoria variis adulationibus plena proferre
nituntur. Et ut magis placeant, quicquid de ipsis
principibus probabiliter fingi potest, videlicit omnes
delitias et lepores, et visu dignas urbanitates et
cæteras ineptias, trutinantibus buccis in medium
eructare non erubescunt. Vidimus quondam quos-
dam principes, qui vestes diu excogitatas, et variis
florum picturationibus artificiosé elaboratas, pro
quibus forsan 20 vel. 30 marcas argenti consumpse-
rant, vix revolutis septem diebus, Histrionibus,
ministris diaboli, ad primam vocem dedisse, &c."
The curious reader may find a similar, though at
the same time a more can lid account, in that most
excellent writer, Presid. Fauchet: (Recueil de la
Lang. Fr. p. 73.) who says that, like the ancient
Greek Aoidot, "Nos Trouverres, ainsi que ceux la,
prenans leur subject sur les faits des vaillans (qu'ils
appelloyent Geste, venant de Gesta Latin) alloyent
Αοιδοι,
•
..par les cours rejouir les Princes.... Remportans
des grandes recompences des seigneurs, qui bien
souvent leur donnoyent jusques aux robes qu'ils
avoyent vestues : et lesquelles ces Jugleours ne
failloyent de porter aux autres cours, à fin d'inviter
les seigneurs a pareille liberalité. Ce qui a duré si
longuement, qu'il me souvient avoir veu Marten
Baraton (ja viel Menestrier d'Orleans) lequel aux
festes et nopees batoit un tabourín d'argent, semé
des plaques aussi d'argent, gravees des armoiries de
ceux a qui il avoit appris a danser."-Here we see
that a Minstrell sometimes performed the function of
a Dancing-master.
Fontenelle even gives us to understand, that these
men were often rewarded with favours of a still
Elles
higher kind. "Les princesses et les plus grandes
dames y joignoient souvent leurs faveurs.
etoient fort foibles contre les beaux esprits." (Hist.
du Théat.) We are not to wonder then that this
profession should be followed by men of the first
quality, particularly the younger sons and brothers
of great houses. "Tel qui par les partages de fa
famille n'avoit que la moitié ou le quart d'une vieux
chateaux bien seigneurial, alloit quelque temps courir
le monde en rimant, et revenoit acquerir le reste de
• 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 were many Mynstrels, as well of hys own
as of strangers, and eache of them dyd their devoyre in
their faculties. The same day the Earle of Foix gave to
Hauralds and Minstrelles the som of fyve hundred frankes:
and gave to the Duke of Tonrayns Mynstreles gownes of
clothe of gold furred with ermyne valued at two hundred
frankes." B. iii. c. 31. Eng. Trans. Lond. 1525 (Mr. C.)
xxvi
NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY.
Chateau." (Fontenelle Hist. du Théat.)
We see
then, that there was no improbable fiction in those
ancient songs and romances, which are founded on
the story of Minstrels being beloved by kings
daughters, &c. and discovering themselves to be the
sons of some foreign prince, &c.
kings
(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.) declaims no less than the Monks
abroad, against the extravagant favour shewn to
these men. 66
Non enim more nugatorum ejus seculi
in Histriones et Mimos, et hujusmodi monstra hom-
inum, ob famæ redemptionem et dilatationem nominis
effunditis opes vestras," &c. [Epist. 247*.]
The Monks seem to grudge every act of munificence
that was not applied to the benefit of themselves, and
their convents. They therefore bestow great applauses
upon the Emperor Henry, who at his marriage with
Agnes of Poictou, in 1044, disappointed the poor min-
strels, and sent them away empty. "Infinitam His-
trionem et Joculatorum multitudinem sine cibo et
muneribus vacuam et mærentem abire permisit."
(Chronic. Virtziburg.) For which I doubt not but
he was sufficiently stigmatized in the Songs and
Ballads of those times. Vid. Du Cange, Gloss. tom.
iv. p. 771, &c.
(G) "The annals of the Anglo-Saxons are scanty
and defective."] Of the few histories now remaining
that were written before the Norman Conquest,
almost all are such short and naked sketches and
abridgements, 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
to a description of the customs, manners, or domestic
economy of their countrymen. The Saxon Chron-
icle, for instance, which is the best of them, and
upon some accounts 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 transla-
tion of the Saxon Chroniclet; and the Pseudo-Asser,
or Chronicle of St. Neot, is a poor defective perform-
How absurd would it be then to argue against
the existence of customs or facts, from the silence of
such scanty records as these! Whoever would carry
his researches deep into that period of history, might
safely plead the excuse of a learned writer, who had
particularly studied the Ante-Norman historians.
"Conjecturis (licet nusquam verisimili fundamento)
aliquoties indulgemus... utpote ab Historicis jejune
nimis et indiligenter res nostras tractantibus coacti
Nostri ... nudà factorum commemoratione ple-
rumque contenti, reliqua omnia, sive ob ipsarum
rerum, sive meliorum literarum, sive Historicorum
officii ignorantiam, fere intacta prætereunt." Vide
plura in Præfat. ad Ælfr. Vitam à Spelman. Ox.
1678. fol.
ance.
...
(H) "Minstrels and Harpers:"] That the Harp
(Cithara) was the common musical instrument of the
Anglo-Saxons, might be inferred from the
very word
itself, which is not derived from the British, or any
other Celtic language, but of genuine Gothic original,
* Et vid. Policraticon, cap. 8, &c.
+ Vid. Nicolson's Eng. Hist. Lib. &c.
and current among every branch of that people: viz
Ang. Sax. Heappe, Heappa. Iceland. Harpa,
Haurpa. Dan. and Belg. Harpe. Germ. Harpffe,
Harpffa. Gal. Harpe. Span. Harpa. Ital. Arpa,
[Vid. Jun. Etym.-Monage Etym. &c.] As also
from this, that the word Heappe is constantly used
in the Anglo-Saxon versions, to express the Latin
words Cithara, Lyra, and even Cymbalum: the word
Psalmus itself being sometimes translated Heapp
rang, Harp Song. [Gloss. Jun. R. apud Lye Anglo-
Sax. Lexic.]
But the fact itself is positively proved by the ex-
press 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 Cædmon,
who lived in the times of the Heptarchy (ob. circ.
680) he says:—
Nihil unquam frivoli et supervacui poematis
facere potuit; sed ea tanummodo, quæ ad religionem
pertinent, religiosam ejus linguam decebant. Siqui-
dem in habitu sæculari, usque ad tempore provectioris
ætatis constitutus, nil Carminum aliquando didicerat.
Unde nonnunquam in convivio, cùm esset lætitiæ
causa decretum ut omnes per ordinem cantare debe-
rent, ille ubi appropinquare sibi citharam cernebat,
surgebat à medià cænâ, et egressus, ad suam domum
repedabat."
I shall now subjoin King Alfred's own Anglo-
Saxon translation of this passage, with a literal inter-
lineary English version.
he
never
"He..nærɲe noht leafunga. ne ideles leoder
He
по
.. never
idle songs
leasings, nor
pyncean ne mihte. ac erne da an da de ro
compose ne might; but lo! only those things which to
æfertnerse belumpon. y hir da ærerran tungan
religion [piety] belong, and his then pious tongue
gedafenode ringan: Wær he re man in peoɲold
became to sing: He was the [a] man in worldly
hade zerered oð ða ride de he þær of
[secular] state set to the time in which he was of
gelyfedre ÿldo. 7 he nefɲe ænig leop
an advanced age; and
any song
zeleonnode. he ronbon oft in gebeonscipe
1 forþon
learned. And he therefore oft in an entertainment
Sonne dær pær blirre intinza gedemed
when there was for merriment-sake adjudged [or de-
hi ealle rceoldan duph endebyndnesse
creed] that they all should through their turns by
be heappan ringan. donne he gereah da heaɲpan
[to the] harp sing; when he
the harp
him nealacean. Sonne apar le fon rceome fram
him approach, then arose he for shame from
Sam rymle. ham eode
7
to his hure."
the supper, and home yode [went] to his house.
Bed. Hist. Eccl. a Smith. Cantab. 1722. fol. p. 597.
saw
In this version of Alfred's it is observable, (1)
that he has expressed the Latin word cantare, by the
Anglo-Saxon words "be heappan ringan," sing to
the harp as if they were synonymous, or as if his
countrymen had no idea of singing unaccompanied
with the Harp (2) That when Bede simply says,
surgebat a media cand; he assigns a motive, "anar
For rceome," arose for shame: that is, either from
an austerity of manners, or from his being deficient
in an accomplishment, which so generally prevailed
among his countrymen.
··
(1) "The word Glee, which peculiarly denoted
their art, &c." This word Glee is derived from the
NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY.
Anglo-Saxon Gligg, [Gligg] Musica, Music, Min-
strelsy (Somn). This is the common radix, whence
arises such a variety of terms and phrases relating to
the Minstrel Art, as affords the strongest internal
proof, that this profession was extremly common
and popular here before the Norman Conquest.
Thus we have
I.
(1) Glip, [Gliw] Mimus a Minstrel.
:
Gligman, gligmon, gliman, [Gleeman*] Histrio
Mimus, Pantomimus; all common names in Middle
Latinity for a Minstrel and Somner accordingly
renders the original by a Minstrel; a Player on a
Timbrel or Taber. He adds, a Fidler; but although
the Fythell or Fiddle was an ancient instrument, by
which the Jogelar or Minstrel sometimes accompanied
his
song, (see Warton, i. 17) it is probable that Som-
ner annexes here only a modern sense to the word,
not having at all investigated the subject.
Glumen, gliigmen. [Glee-men.] Histriones Min-
strels. Hence
The
Gligmanna уppe. Orchestra vel Pulpitus
place where the Minstrels exhibited their perform-
ances.
(2) But their most proper and expressive name
was
Gliphleopriend. Musicus a Minstrel; and
Gliphleoppienolica. Musicus, Musical.
These two words include the full idea of the Min-
strel character, expressing at once their music and
singing, being compounded of Glıp, Musicus, Mimus,
a Musician, Minstrel, and Leoð, Carmen, a Song.
(3) From the above word ligg, the profession
itself was called
Gligenæft. [Glig or Glee-craft.] Musica, Histrio-
nia, Mimica, Gesticulatio: which Somner rightly gives
in English, Minstrelsy, Mimical Gesticulation, Mum-
mery. 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 gesti-
culation 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
Gliopian, Cantus musicos edere; and
Gligbeam, glipbeam. [Glig- or Glee-beam].
Tympanam; a Timbrel or Taber. (So Somn.)
Hence
Glypan. Tympanum pulsare; and
* Gleman continued to be the name given to a Minstrel
both in England and Scotland almost as long as this order
of men continued.
In De Brunne's metrical version of Bishop Grosthead's
Manuel de Peche, A. D. 1303. (See Warton, i. 61), we
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
Note (K) renders Deus JOCULATORUM, by God of
Gleinen. (Warton's Hist. Eng. Poet. Diss. I.) Fabyan
died in 1592.
28.
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 Gle-men thaire wer haldin, out,
Be day and eke by nicht."
See Poems from Bannatyne's MS. Edinb. 1770, 12mo. page
30 Maitland's MS. at Cambridge reads here, Glewe mnen.
¿xxvij
Glip-meden; Gliypiende-maden; [Glee-maiden]
Tympanistria: which Somner renders a She-Minstrel ;
for it should seem that they had Females of this pro-
fession; one name for which was also Clypbyde-
nertɲa.
(5) Of congenial derivation to the foregoing, is
Glypc. [Glywc]. Tibia, a Pipe or Flute.
Both this and the common radix Gligg, 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. Etym. Ang.
V. Glee.
II.
But the Minstrels, as is hinted above, did not
confine themselves to the mere exercise of their pri-
mary arts of Music and Song, but occasionally used
many other modes of diverting. Hence, from the
above root was derived, in a secondary sense,
Facetie.
(1) Lleo, and pinrum glip.
Gleopian, jocari; to jest, or be merry; (Somn.)
and
Cleopiend, jocans; jesting, speaking merrily;
(Somn.)
Gligman also signified Jocista, a Jester.
Gliz-gamen. [Glee-games.] joci. Which Somner
renders Merriments, or merry Jests, or trick, or Sports ;
Gamboles.
(2) Hence, again, by a common metonymy of the
cause for the effect.
Glie, gaudium, alacritas, lætitia, facetiæ; Joy,
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 Nor-
man Conquest at least, they were not much favoured
by the clergy; particularly by those of monastic pro-
fession. 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 Harpers and Gleemen were the imme-
diate successors 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
derived from Gligg, Minstrelsy, in a very unfavour-
able sense, and this chiefly prevails in books of reli-
gion and ecclesiastic discipline. Thus
Ang
(1) Glig is Ludibrium, laughing to scorn* So in
S. Basil. Regul. 11. Hi hærodon him to glige hal-
pende minegunze. Ludribrio habebant salutarem
ejus admonitionem. (10). This sense of the word
was perhaps not ill-founded; for as the sport of
rude uncultivated minds often arises from ridicule,
it is not improbable but the old Minstrels often in-
dulged a vein of this sort, and that of no very delicate
kind. So again,
* To gleek, is used in Shakespeare, for "to make sport,
to jest," &c.
xxviii
NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY.
<<
Glig-man was also used to signify Scurra, a
Saucy Jester." (Somn.)
Gliz-geonn. Dicax, Scurriles jocos supra quàm par
est amans. Officium Episcopale, 3.
Glipian. Scurrilibus oblectamentis indulgere; Scur-
ram agere.
Canon. Edgar, 58.
(2) Again, as the various attempts to please,
practised, by an order of men who owed their sup-
port to the public favour, might be considered by
those grave censors as mean and debasing: Hence
came from the same root,
Glipen. Parasitus, Assentator ; "A Fawner, a
Togger, a Parasite, a Flatterer (Somn.)
*
•
IV.
To return to the Anglo-Saxon word ligg; not-
withstanding 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 o string, or aie o 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 Instrumenta, in
the following passages of Chaucer's Third Boke of
Fame.
"C 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;
"And small Harpers with her Glees
Sat under them in divers sees.
Again, a little below, the poet having enumerated
the performers on all the different sorts of instru-
ments, adds,
* The preceding list of Anglo-Saxon works, so full and
copious beyond any thing that ever yet appeared in print on
this subject, was extracted 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 publish it himself.
It should also be observed, for the sake of future re-
searches, that without the assistance of the old English In-
terpretations given by Somner, in his Anglo-Saxon Dic-
tionary, the Editor of this book never could have discovered
that Glee signified "Minstrelsy," or Gligman a "Minstrel."
*
"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 :
are to
(1) That by Jestours, I suppose we
understand Gestours; scil. the relaters of Gests,
(Lat. Gesta) or stories of adventures both comic
and tragical; whether true or feinged; I am in-
clined to add, whether in prose or verse. (Compare
the record below, in marginal note subjoined to (V)
2. Of the stories in prose, I conceive we have
specimens in that singular book the Gesta Ro-
manorum, and this will account for its seemingly
improper title. These were evidently what the
French called Conteours, 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," whoever 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
horsebank, and is admitted to the embraces of a
king's daughter.”
The Minstrels lost no opportunity of doing honour
to their art.
(3) As for the word Glees, it is to this day used
in a musical sense, and applied to a peculiar piece of
composition. Who has not seen the advertisements
proposing a reward to him who should produce the
best Catch, Canon, or Glee?
(K) "Comes from the pen of Goffrey of Mon-
mouth."] Geoffrey's own words are "Cum ergo
alterius modi aditum [Boldulphus] non haberet,
rasit capillos suos et barbamt, cultumque Jocu-
latoris cum Cythara fecit. Deinde intra castra
deambulans, modulis quos in Lyra componebat,
sese Cytharistam exhibebat." Galf. Monum. Hist.
4to, 1508, lih. 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
* Neven, i. e. name.
+ Geoffrey of Monmouth is probably here describing the
appearance of the Joculatores or Minstrels, as it was in his
own time. For they apparently derived this part of their
dress, &c. from the Mimi of the ancient Romans, who had
their heads and beards shaven: (see above, p. xxi. note †,)
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 nor-
thern 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 Longobardorum gente ad Carolum venire,
et CANTIUNCULAM A SE COMPOSITAM, rotando in conspectu
suorum cantare.” 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.)
NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY.
to Citharista or Harper, (which was the old English
word for Minstrel,) but also from another passage
of the same author, where it is applied as equivalent
to Cantor. See lib. i. cap. 22, where, speaking of
an ancient (perhaps fabulous) British King, he says,
Hic omnes Cantores quos præcedens ætas ha-
buerat et in modulis et in omnibus musicis instru-
mentis excedebat: ita ut Deus Joculatorum vide-
retur."---Whatever credit is due to Geoffrey as a
relater of Facts, he is certainly as good authority as
any for the signification of Words.
(L)" Two remakable facts."] Both of these
facts are recorded by William of Malmesbury; and
the first of them, relating to Alfred, by Ingulphus
also. Now Ingulphus (afterwards abbot of Croyland)
was near forty years of age at the time of the Con-
quest*, and consequently was as proper a judge of
the Saxon manners, as if he had actually written his
history before that event; he is therefore to be con-
sidered as an Ante-Norman writer: so that whether
the fact concerning Alfred be true or not, we are
assured from his testimony, that the Joculator or
Minstrel was a common character among the Anglo-
Saxons. The same also may be inferred from the
relation of William of Malmesbury, who outlived
Ingulphus but thirty-three years †. Both these
writers had doubtless recourse to innumerable
records and authentic memorials of the Anglo-
Saxon times which never descended down to us;
their testimony therefore is too positive and full to
be overturned by the mere silence of the two or
three slight Anglo-Saxon epitomes that are now
remaining. Vid. note (G).
As for Asser Menevensis, who has given a some-
what more particular detail of Alfred's actions, and
yet takes no notice of the following story, it will not
be difficult to account for his silence, if we consider
that he was a rigid Monk, and that the Minstrels,
however acceptable to the laity, were never much
respected by men of the more strict monastic pro-
fession, especially before the Norman Conquest,
when they would be considered as brethren of the
Pagan Salds. Asser therefore might not regard
Alfred's skill in Minstrelsy in a very favourable
light; and might be induced to drop the circum-
stance related below, as reflecting in his opinion no
great honour on his patron.
The learned Editor of Alfred's Life, in Latin,
after having examined the scene of action in person,
and weighed all the circumstances of the event,
determines, from the whole collective evidence, that
Alfred could never have gained the victory he did
if he had not with his own eyes previously seen the
disposition of the enemy by such a stratagem as is
here described. Vid. Annot. in Ælfr. Mag. Vitam,
p. 33. Oxon. 1678, fol.
(M) "Alfred
"Alfred... assumed the dress and character
of a
"Minstrel."] Fingens se JocULATOREM, as-
sumpta cithara," &c. Ingulphi Hist. p. 869.-" Sub
specie MIMI... ut JOCULATORIE professor artis."
Gul. Malmesb. l. ii. c. 4. p. 43. That both Joculator
and Mimus signify literally, a Minstrel, see proved
""
* Natus 1030, scripsit 1091, obiit 1109. Tanner.
† Obiit anno 1142. Tanner.
‡ (See above, p. xxviii) 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
XXIX
in notes (B) (K) (N) (Q) &c. See also Note
(G g).
Malmesbury adds, " Unius tantum fidelissimi frue-
batur conscientiâ." As this confidant does not
appear to have assumed the disguise of a Minstrel
himself, I conclude that he only appeared as the
Minstrel's attendant. Now that the Minstrel had
sometimes his servant or attendant to carry his
harp, and even to sing to his music, we have many
instances in the old Metrical Romances, and even
some in this present collection: See Series the First,
Song vi.; Series the third, Song vii. &c. Among
the French and Provençal Bards, the Trouverre,
or Inventor, was generally attended with his singer,
who sometimes also played on the harp, or other
musical instrument. Quelque fois durant le repas
d'un prince on voyoit arriver un Trouverre inconnu
avec ses Menestrels ou Jongleours, et il leur faisoit
chanter sur leurs harpes ou vielles les vers qu'il
avoit composés. Ceux qui faisoient les Sons aussi
bien que les Mots etoient les plus estimés." Fon-
tenelle Hist. du Theatr.
CC
That Alfred excelled in Music is positively asserted
by Bale, who doubtless had it from some ancient
MS. many of which subsisted in his time that are
now lost as also by Sir J. Spelman, who, we may
conclude, had good authority for this anecdote, as
he is known to have compiled his life of Alfred from
authentic materials collected by his learned father:
this writer informs us that Alfred "provided him-
self of musitians, not common, or such as knew
but the practick part, but men skilful in the art
itself, whose skill and service he yet further im-
proved with his own instruction." p 199.
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 con-
sequence 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 worldly vanity.
He has however particularly recorded Alfred's
fondness for the oral Anglo-Saxon poems and songs
["Saxonica poemata die nocteque... audiens ...
memorita retinebat." p. 16. " Carmina Saxonica me-
moriter discere," &c. p. 43, et ib.] Now the poems
learnt by rote, among all ancient unpolished nations,
are ever songs chanted by the reciter, and accom-
panied with instrumental melody *.
CC
(N)" With his harp in his hand, and dressed
like a Minstrel."] Assumptâ manu citharâ ...
professus Mimum, qui hujusmodi arte stipem quoti-
dianam 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 Mid-
dle Latinity signifies a Minstrel, and Mimia, Min-
* Thus Leod, the Saxon word for a Poem, is properly a
song, and its derivative Lied signifies a ballad to this day in
the German tongue: and Cantare, we have seen above, is
by Alfred himself rendered Be heaɲpan ringan.
XXX
NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY.
strelsy, 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 musicis
canit. Leges Palatina Jacobi II. Reg. Majoric. In
domibus principum, ut tradit antiquitas, Mimi seu
Joculatores licitè possunt esse.
Nam illorum offi-
cium tribuit lætitiam.... Quapropter volumus et
ordinamus, quod in nostra curia Mimi debeant esse
quinque, quorum duo sint tubicinatores, et tertius
sit tabelerius: [i. e. a player on the tabor *.] Lit.
remiss. ann. 1374. Ad Mimos cornicitantes, seu
bucinantes accesserunt."
Mimia, Ludus Mimicus, Instrumentum. [potius,
Ars Joculatoria.] Ann. 1482....“ mimia et cantu
victum acquiro.
Du Cange, Gloss. tom. iv. 1762. Supp. c. 1225.
"}
(0) "To have been 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, (notwithstanding they were of so
hateful a nation) that if a similar order of men had
not existed here before, we cannot doubt but the
profession would have been taken up by such of the
natives as had a genius for poetry and music.
"Extant Rhythmi hoc ipso [Islandico] idiomate
Angliæ, Hyberniæque 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 prin-
cipum peregrina idiomata in deliciis haberi cernimus.
Imprimis Vita Egilli Skallagrimii id invicto argu-
mento adstruit. Quippe qui interrogatus ab Adal-
steino, Angliæ rege, quomodo manus Eirici Blo-
doxii, Northumbria regis, postquam in ejus potes-
tatem venerat, evasisset, cujus filium propinquosque
occiderat.... rei statim ordinem metro, nunc satis
obscuro, exposuit nequaquam ita narraturus non
intelligenti." [Vid plura apud Torfæii Præfat. ad
Orcad. 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 fa-
vourite with our king Athelstan, that he at one time
presented him with "duobus annulis et scriniis,
duobus bene magnis argento repletis. . . . Quinetiam
hoc addidit, ut Egillus quidvis præterea a se petens.
obtineret; bona mobilia, sive immobilia, præben-
dam vel præfecturas. Egillus porro regiam munifi-
The Tahour 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 horseback and bearing his Tabour.
"Entour son col porta son Tabour,
Depeynt de Or, e riche Agour."
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. Burney's account of the Vielle, vol. ii. p. 263,
who thinks it the same with the Rote, or wheel. See page
270 in the note.
"Il ot un Jougleor a sens,
Qui navoit pas sovent robe entiere ;
Sovent estoit sans sa Viele."
Fabliaux et Cont. ii. 184, 5.
centiam gratus excipiens, Carmen Encomiasticon, à
se linguâ Norvegicà (quæ tum his regnis communis)
compositum, regi dicat; ac pro eo, duas marcas
auri puri (pondus marcæ.. 8 uncias æquabat) hono-
rarii 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 rime, that is, I conceive,
now to be found in any European language, except
Latin. See Egil's Islandic original, printed at the
end of the English Version in the said Five
Pieces, &c.
(P) "If the Saxons had not been accustomed to
bave Minstrels of their own.... . and to show fa-
vour 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 Ingulphus, who,
though they might be deceived as to particular facts,
could not be so as to the general manners and cus-
toms which prevailed 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 habet iii
villas. et ibi v. car. nil redd.
That Joculator is properly a Minstrel, might be
inferred from the two foregoing passages of Geoffrey
of Monmouth, (v. note K) where the word is used
as equivalent to Citharista in one place, and to Can-
tor in the other: this union forms the precise idea of
the character.
But more positive proofs have already offered, vid.
supra. p. xxiv. xxix. xxx. note. See also Du
Cange's Gloss. vol. iii. c. 1543.
Jogulator pro
Joculator.-Consilium Masil. an. 1381. Nullus
Ministreys, Jogulator, audeat pinsare vel sonare
instrumentum cujuscumque generis," &c. &c.
As the Minstrel was termed in French Jongleur
and Jugleur; so he was called in Spanish Jutglar
and Juglar. "Tenemos canciones y versos para
recitar muy antiguos y memorias ciertas de los Jug-
lares, que assistian en los banquetes, como los que
pinta Homero." Prolog. a las Comed. de Cervantes,
1749, 4to.
68
"El anno 1328, en las siestas de la Coronacion
del Rey, Don Alonso el IV. de Aragon,... * el
Juglar Ramaset cantò una Villanesca de la Compo-
sicion del... infante [Don Pedro:
infante [Don Pedro: y otro Juglar,
llamado Novellet, recitò y representò en voz y sin
cantar mas de 600 versos, que hizo el Infante en el
metro que llamaban Rima Vulgar." Ibid.
"Los Trobadores inventaron la Gaya Ciencia
estos Trobadores eran casi todos de la primera No-
bleza. Es verdad, que ya entonces se havian en-
trometida entre las diversiones Cortesanos, los Con-
tadores, los Cantores, los Juglares, los Truanez.
y los
Bufones." Ibid.
In England the King's Juglar continued to have
an establishment in the royal household down to the
reign of Henry VIII. [vid. Note (Cc).] But in
* “ ROMANSET JUTGLAR canta alt veux...devant lo senyor
Rey." Chron. d'Aragon, apud Du Cange, iv. 771.
NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY.
what sense the title was there applied does not ap-
pear. 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 præstabant
milites probatissimi. Le Roman De Vacce, MS.
"6
"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 pri-
inus in hostes irrueret, inter quos fortiter dimicando
occubuit." Gloss. tom. iv. 769, 770. 771.
Les anciennes chroniques nous apprennent,
qu'en premier rang de l'Armée Normande, un
écuyer nommé Taillefer, monté sur un cheval armé,
chanta la Chanson de Roland, qui fut si long tems
dans les bouches des François, sans qu'il soit resté
le moindre fragment, Le Taillefer après avoir en-
tonné la chanson que les soldats répétoient, se jetta
le premier parmi les Anglois, et fut tué." [Voltaire
Add. Hist. Univ. p. 69.
The reader will see an attempt to restore the
Chanson de Roland, with musical notes, in Dr.
Burney's Hist. ii. p. 276.—See more concerning the
Song of Roland, Series the Third, p. 189. Note (m.)
(S)" An eminent French writer," &c.]
. M.
l'Evêque de la Ravaliere, qui avoit fait beaucoup de
recherches sur nos anciennes Chansons, prétend
que c'est à la Normandie que nous devons nos pre-
miers Chansonniers, non à la Provence, et qu'il y
avoit parmi nous des Chansons en langue vulgaire
avant celles de Provençaus, mais postérieurement
au Regne Philippe I, ou à l'an 1100." [v. Révolu-
tions de la Langue Françoise, à la suite des Poesies
du Roi de Navarre.] "Ce seroit une antériorité de
plus d'une demi siecle à l'époque des premiers
Troubadours, que leur historien Jean de Nostre-
dame fixe à l'an 1162," &c. Pref. à l'Anthologie
Franç. 8vo. 1765.
This subject hath since been taken up and prose-
cuted at length in the Prefaces, &c. to M. Le
Grand's, "Fabliaux ou Contes du xie et du xe
Siecle, Paris, 1788," 5 tom. 12mo. who seems
pretty clearly to have established the priority and
superior excellence of the old Rimeurs of the North
of France over the Troubadours of Provence, &c.
(S 2) "Their own native Gleemen or Minstrels
must be allowed to exist."] Of this we have proof
positive in the old metrical Romance of Horn-Ĉhild
(Series the Third, No. 1, p. 192.) which although
from the mention of Sarazens, &c. it must have been
written at least after the first crusade in 1096, yet,from
its Anglo-Saxon language or idiom, can scarce be
dated later than within a century after the Conquest.
This, as appears from its very exordium, was in-
tended 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 ge-
-
xxxi
nuine English growth; for, after a careful examina-
tion, I cannot discover any allusion to French or
Norman customs, manners, composition, or phrase-
clogy: 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 sup-
pose Sweden) by his Queen Godylde or Godylt.
Athulf and Fykenyld are the names of subjects.
Eylmer or Aylmere is king of Westnesse, (a part of
Ireland), Rymenyld is his daughter; as Erminyld is
of another king Thurstan; whose sons are Athyld
and Beryld. Athelbrus is steward of K. 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 in-
correct.
Compare the style of Child-Horn with the Anglo-
Saxon specimens in short verses and rime, which
are assigned to the century succeeding the Con-
quest, in Hickes's Thesaurus, tom. i. cap. 24, p. 224
and 231.
(T) "The different production of the sedentary
composer and the rambling Minstrel."] Among the
old metrical romances, a very few are addressed to
readers, or mention reading: these appear to have
been composed by writers at their desk, and exhibit
marks of more elaborate structure and invention.
Such is Fglamour of Artas (Series the third, No. 20,
p. 194,) of which I find in a MS. copy in the Cotton
Library, A 2, folio 3, the II Fitte thus concludes,
thus ferr have I red.
Such is Ipomydon (Series the third, No. 23, p. 195,)
of which one of the divisions (Sign. E. ii. b. in pr.
copy) ends thus,
Let hym go, God him 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,
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
It ought to have been observed in it proper place in
Series the third, No. 31, p. 195, that Amys and Amylion were
no otherwise "Brothers" than as being fast friends as was
suggested by the learned Dr. Samuel Pegge, who was so
obliging as to favor the Essayist formerly with acurious trans-
cript of this poem accompanied with valuable illustrations,
&c.; and that it was his opinion that both the fragment of
the "Lady Beellesnt" mentioned in the same No. 31, and
also the mutilated Tale, No. 37, (p. 31,, were only imperfect
copies of the above romance of "Amy ud Amvlion,"
which contains the two lines quoted in No. 31.
xxxli
NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY.
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. 195.) 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 Robyn Hode, &c. in
8 Fyttes, of which are extant two editions, 4to, in
black-letter, described more fully in page 21 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. 192), 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.
(T 2) "Royer or Raherus the King's Minstrel."]
He is recorded by Leland under both these names,
in his Collectanea, scil. vol. 1, p. 61.
66
Hospitale S. Bartholomæi in West Smithfelde in
London.
Royer Mimus Regis fundator."
"C
Hosp. Sti. Barthol. Londini.
"C
"Raherus Mimus Regis H. 1, primus fundator, an.
1102, 3 H. 1, qui fundavit etiam Priorat. Sti. Bar-
thol." 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 Max-
tock, near Coventry, in 1441, will sufficiently show.
-Scil. "Dat. Sex. Mimus Dni. Clynton cantanti-
bus, citharisantibus, ludentibus, &c. iiiis. (T. War-
ton, ii. 106, note q.) The same year, the prior gave
to a doctor prædicans, 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 manufac-
tured 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
* 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 Clerke 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 altered or cor-
rupted the old "Syr Eglamour" in the manner that the
copy was printed.
to King Edward the Confessor, and predicted by
three Grecians, &c. Even his minstrel profession
is not mentioned, whether from ignorance or design,
as the profession was, perhaps, falling into discredit
when this legend was written. There is only a
general indistinct account that he frequented royal
and noble houses, where he ingratiated himself sua-
vitate joculari. (This last is the only word that
seems to have any appropriated meeting.) This
will account for the indistinct incoherent account
given by Stow. "Rahere, a pleasant witted gentle-
man, and therefore, in his time, called the King's
Minstrel.”—Survey of Loud. Ed. 1598, p. 308.
(U)"In the early times, every harper was ex-
pected to sing."] See on this subject King Alfred's
version of Cadmon, above in note (H) page xxvi.
So in Horn-Child, King Allof 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 harping as inseparable
from singing (i, p. 11, ver. 268.)
-in his harping, whan that he hadde songe.
(U 2) "As the most accomplished," &c.] See
Hoveden, p. 103, in the following passage, which
had erroneously been applied to King Richard him-
self, till Mr. Tyrwhitt (Chaucer, iv. p. 62,) showed
it to belong to his Chancelor.
"Hic ad augmen-
tum et famam sui nominis, emendicata carmina, et
rhythmos adulatorios comparabat; et de regno Fran-
corum Cantores et Joculatores muneribus allexerat,
ut de illo canerent in plateis et jam dicebatur ubi-
que, quod non erat talis in orbe." For other par-
ticulars relating to this Chancelor, see T. Warton's
Hist. vol. ii. Addit. to p. 113 of vol. i.
(U 3) "Both the Norman,and English languages
would be heard at the houses of the great."] A
remarkable proof of this is, that the most diligent
inquirers after ancient English rimes find the earliest
they can discover in the mouths of the Norman
nobles. Such as that of Robert, Earl of Leicester,
and his Flemings in 1173, temp, Hen. II. (little
more than a century after the Conquest) recorded
by Lambarde in his dictionary of England, p. 36.
Hoppe Wyliken, hoppe Wyliken
Ingland is thine and myne, &c.
And that noted boast of Hugh Bigot, Earl of Nor-
folk, in the same reign of King Henry II. vid. Cam-
deni Britania, (art. Suffolk) 1607, folio.
Were I in my castle of Bungey
Vpon the riner 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 ad
dressed to persons of high rank, as appears from
* The Harp (Lat. Cithara) differed from the Sautry, or
Psaltry (Lat. Psalterium) in that the former was a stringed
instrument, and the latter was mounted with wire: there
was also some difference in the construction of the bellies,
&c. See "Bartholomæus de proprietatibus rerum,"
Englished by Trevisa and Eatman, ed. 1584, in Sir J. Haw
kins' Hist. 12. 5. 285.
ae
NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY.
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 victors brought
with them all their original opinions and fables;
which could not fail to be adopted by the English
minstrels and others, who solicited their favour.
This interchange, &c. between the minstrels of the
two nations would be afterwards promoted by the
great intercourse produced among all the nations of
Christendom in the general crusades, and by that
spirit of chivalry which led knights and their at-
tendants, the heralds, and minstrels, &c. to ramble
about continually from one court to another, in order
to be present at solemn turnaments, and other feats
of arms.
(V 2) "Is not the only instance," &c.] The
constant admission granted to minstrels was so es-
tablished a privilege, that it became a ready expe-
dient to writers of fiction. Thus, in the old ro-
mance of Horn-Child, the Princess Rymenyld being
confined in an inaccessible castle, the prince, her
lover, and some assistant knights, with concealed
arms, assume the minstrel character, and approach-
ing the castle with their " Gleyinge" or Minstrelsy,
are heard by the lord of it, who being informed they
were harpeirs, jogelers, aud fythelers*," has them
admitted, when
<<
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 advances to "the
borde," or table, kills the ravisher, and releases the
lady.
..
(V 3) "assumed the dress and character of a
harper, &c."] We have this curious historiette in the
records of Lacock Nunnery, in Wiltshire, which
had been founded by this Countess of Salisbury.
See Vincent's Discovery of Errors in Brooke's
Catalogue of Nobility, &c. folio, page 445-6, &c.
Take the following extract (and see Dugdale's
Baron. i. p. 175.)
"Ela uxor Gullielmi Longespee primi, nata fuit
apud Ambresbiriam, patre et matre Normannis.
"Pater itaque ejus defectus senio migravit ad
Christum, A.D. 1196. Mater ejus ante biennium
Interea Domina charissima clam per
obiit..
..
* Jogeler (Lat. Jaculator) was a very ancient name for
a Minstrel. Of what nature the performance of the Jocu-
lator was, we may learn from the Register of St. Swithin's
Priory at Winchester (T. Wartou, i. 69.) "Et cantabat
JOCULATOR quidam nomine Herebertus Canticum Colbrondi,
necuon Gestum Emme regine a judicio ignis liberate, in
aula Prioris.” His instrument was sometimes the Fy thele,
or Fiddle, Lat. Fidicula: which occurs in the Auglo-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 aad of songe:
So that his Jugeler on a day beforen him gon to pleye faste,
And in a tyme he nemped in his song the devil at laste.
cognatos adducta fuit in Normanniam, et ibidem
sub tutâ et arctâ custodiâ nutrita. Eodem tempore
in Anglia fuit quidam miles nomine Gulielmus Tal-
bot, qui induit se habitum Peregrini [Anglice, a
pilgrim] in Normanniam transfretavit et moratus per
duos annos, huc atque illuc vagans, ad exploran-
dam dominam Elam Sarum, Et illà inventâ exuit
habitum Peregrini, et induit se quasi Cytharisator
et curiam ubi morabatur intravit. Et ut erat homo
Jocosus, in Gestis Antiquorum valde peritus, ibidem
gratanter fuit acceptus quasi familiaris. Et quando
tempus aptum invenit, in Angliam repatriavit, habens
secum istam venerabilem dominam Elam et hære-
dam comitatus Sarum; et eam Regi Richardo præ-
sentavit. Ac ille lætissime eam suscepit, et Fratri
suo Guilellmo Longespee maritavit....
“A.D. 1226, Dominus Guill. Longespee primus
nonas Martii obiit. Ela vero uxor ejus 7 annis
supervixit.. Una die duo monasteria fundavit
primo mane xvi Kal. Maii, A.D. 1232, apud Lacock,
in quo sanctæ degunt Canonissæ....Et Henton
post nonam, anno vero ætatis suæ xlv. &c."
XXX111
..
<<
(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 Sutoribus Cestriæ et Histrionibus,
festinanter cum exercitu suo venit domino suo facere
succursum. Walenses vero videntes multitudinem
magnam venientem, relictâ obsidione fugerunt .. .
Et propter hoc dedit comes antedictus .... Con-
stabulario dominationem Sutorum et Histrionum.
Constabularius vero retinuit sibi et hæredibus suis
dominationem Sutorum: et histrionum dedit vero
Seneschallo." (So the passage should apparently
be pointed; but either et or vero 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 Con-
stable De Lacy to Dutton, but "Magisterium om-
nium Leccatorum et Meretricium totius Cestreshire,
sicut liberius illum [sic] Magisterium teneo de Co-
mite." (vid. Blount's Ancient Tenures, p. 156.)
Now, as under this grant the heirs of Dutton confes-
sedly held for many ages a magisterial jurisdiction over
all the Minstrels and Musicians of that County, and
as it could not be conveyed by the word Meretricis,
the natural inference is that the Minstrels were ex-
pressed by the term Leccatores. It is true, Du Cange,
compiling his Glossary, could only find in the wri-
ters he consulted this word used in the abusive
sense, often applied to every synonyme of the spor-
tive and dissolute Minstrel, viz. Scurra, vaniloquus,
parasitus, epulo, &c. (This I conceive to be the
proper arrangement of these explanations, which
only express the character given to the Minstrel
elsewhere: see Du Cange passim and notes, (C)
(E) (F) (I). But he quotes an ancient MS. in
French metre, wherein the Leccour (Lat. Lec-
cator) and the Minstrel are joined together, as
receiving from Charlemagne a grant of the territory
of Provence, and from whom the Provençal Trouba-
dours were derived, &c. See the passage above in
note (C) pag. xxv.
The exception in favour of the family of Dutton
is thus expressed in the Statute, Anno 39 Eliz. chap.
iv. entitled, "An Act for punishment of Rogues,
Vagabonds, and Sturdy Beggars."
xxxiv
NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY
"§ II.
All Fencers, Bearwards, Common
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 Baron or
Personage:) all Juglers, Tinkers, Pedlers, &c....
shall be adjudged and deemed Rogues, Vagabonds,
and Sturdy Beggars, &c.
"§ X. Provided always that this Act, or any
thing therein contained, or any authority thereby
given, shall not in any wise extend to disinherit,
prejudice, or hinder John Dutton of Dutton, in the
county of Chester, Esquire, his heirs or assigns, for,
touching or concerning any liberty, preheminence,
authority, jurisdiction, or inheritance, which the said
John Dutton now lawfully useth, or hath, or law-
fully 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 pre-
scription, usage, or title whatsoever."
The same clauses are renewed in the last Act on
this subject, passed in the present Reign of Geo.
III.
• •
(X) "Edward I. .. at the knighting of his
son," &c.] See Nic. Triveti Annales, Oxon. 1719,
8vo. p. 342.
•
"In festo Pentecostes Rex filium suum armis mi-
litaribus cinxit, et cum eo Comites Warenniæ et
Arundeliæ, aliosque, quorum numerus ducentos et
quadraginta dicitur excessisse. Eodem die cum se-
disset Rex in mensa, novis militibus circumdatus,
ingressa Ministrellorum Multitudo, portantium mul-
tiplici ornatu amictum, ut milites præcipue novos
invitarent, et inducerent, ad vovendum factum ar-
morum 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 Ordi-
nance of Earles and Barons, Anno Dom. 1315."
"Edward by the grace of God, &c. to Sheriffes,
&c. greetying. Forasmuch as..... many idle per-
sons, under colour of Mynstrelsie, 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, un-
lesse 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 de-
sired 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 cur-
tesie as the Maister of the House wyl shewe unto
them of his owne good wyll, without their askyng
of any thyng. And yf any one do agaynst this Or-
dinaunce, at the firste time he to lose his Minstrel-
sie, and at the second tyme to forsweare his craft,
and never to be receaved for a Minstrel in any
house..... Yeven at Langley the vi. day of August
in the ix yere of our reigne."
I
These abuses arose again to as great a height as
ever in little more than a century after, in conse-
quence, I suppose, of the licentiousness that
crept in during the civil wars of York and Lan-
caster. This appears from the Charter 9 E. IV,
referred to in p. xlv. "Ex querulosâ insinuatione...
Ministrallorum nostrorum accepimus qualiter non-
nulli rudes agricolæ et artifices diversarum miste-
rarum regni nostri Angliæ, finxerunt se fore Min-
istrallos, quorum aliqui Liberatam nostram eis
minime datam portarent, seipsos etiam fingentes esse
Minstrallos nostros proprios, cujus quidem Liberatæ
ac dictæ artis sive occupationis Ministrallorum
colore, in diversis partibus regni nostri prædicti
grandes pecuniarum exactiones de ligeis nostris de-
ceptive colligunt, &c."
Abuses of this kind prevailed much later in Wales,
as appears from the famous Commission issued out
in 9 Eliz. (1567), for bestowing the Silver Harp on
the best Minstrel, Rythmer, or Bard, in the princi-
pality of 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 Sur-
vey of London, &c. fol. 1633, p. 521. [Acc. of
Westm. Hall.] Stow had this passage from Walsing-
ham's Hist. Ang.. "Intravit quædam mulier
ornata Histrionali habitu, equum bonum insidens
Histrionaliter phaleratum, quæ mensas more Histri-
onum circuivit ; et tandem ad Regis mensam per
gradus ascendit, et quandam literam coram rege po-
suit, et retracto fræno (salutatis ubique discumben-
tibus) prout venerat ita recessit," &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 18.
The answer of the Porters (when they were after-
wards blamed for admitting her) also deserves atten-
tion. "Non esse moris domus regia Histriones ab
ingressu quomodolibet prohibere," &c. Walsingh.
That Stow rightly translated the Latin word His-
trio here by Minstrel, meaning a musician that sung,
whose subjects were stories of chivalry, admits of
easy proof: for in the Gesta Romanorum, chap. cxi.
Mercury is represented as coming to Argus in the
character of a Minstrel; when he incipit, more His.
trionico, fabulas dicere, et plerumque cantare. (T.
Warton, iii. p. li.) And Muratori cites a passage in
an old Italian chronicle, wherein mention is made of
a stage erected at Milan—_—__66 Super quo Histriones
cantabant, sicut modo cantatur de Rolando et Oli-
verio." Antich. Ital. ii. p. 6. (Observ. on the
Statutes, 4th. edit. p. 362.)
See also (E) pag. xxv. &c. (F) p. xxvi. &c.
(A a) "There should seem to have been women
of this profession."] This may be inferred from the
variety of names appropriated to them in the middle
ages, viz: Anglo-Sax. Clipmeden, [Glee-maiden]
&c. glypiendemaden, glypbydenerτna. vid. supra
p. xxvi.) Fr. Jengleresse, Med. Lat. Joculatrix, Mi-
nistralissa, Famina Ministerialis, &c. (vid. Du Cange
Gloss. and Suppl.)
See what is said in page xlv. concerning the
"sisters of the fraternity of Minstrels;" see also a
passage quoted by Dr. Burney (ii. 315), from Mu-
ratori, of the Chorus of women singing through the
streets accompanied with musical instruments in
1268.

NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY.
Had the female described by Walsingham been a
Tombestere, or dancing-woman (see Tyrwhitt's
Chaucer, iv. 307, and v. Gloss.), that historian would
probably have used the word Saltatrix. (See T.
Warton, i. 240, note m.)
These Saltatrices were prohibited from exhibiting
in churches and church-yards along with Joculatores,
Histriones, with whom they were sometimes classed,
especially by the rigid ecclesiastics, who censured,
in the severest terms, all these sportive characters.
(Vid. T. Warton, in loco citato, et vide supra not.
(E) (F) &c.)
And here I would observe, that although Fauchet
and other subsequent writers affect to arrange the
several members of the minstrel profession, under
the different classes of Troverres (or Troubadours)
Chanterres, Conteours, and Jugleurs,&c. (vid. page lx.),
as if they were distinct and separate orders of men,
clearly distinguished from each other by these ap-
propriate terms, we find no sufficient grounds for
this in the oldest writers; but the general names in
Latin, Histrio, Mimus, Joculator, Ministrallus, &c.;
in French, Menestrier, Menestrel, Jongleur, Jugleur,
&c.; and in English, Jogeleur, Jugler, Minstrel, and
the like, seem to be given them indiscriminately.
And one or other of these names seems to have been
sometimes applied to every species of men whose
business it was to entertain or divert (joculari)
whether with poesy, singing, music, or gesticula-
tion, singly, or with a mixture of all these. Yet as
all men of this sort were considered as belonging to
one class, order, or community (many of the above
arts being sometimes exercised by the same person),
they had all of them doubtless the same privileges,
and it equally throws light upon the general history
of the profession, to show what favour or encourage-
ment 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 pas-
sages 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 MINSTRELS, &c.´
appears from a variety of authorities. Thus we
have Menestrels de Trompes, and Menestrels de Bouche,
in the Suppl. to Du Cange, c. 1227, and it appears
still more evident from an old French Rhymer,
whom 1 shall quote at large.
+
"Le Quens manda les Menestrels; *Le Compte.
Et si a fett crier entre els,
+ fait.
Qui la meillor truffet sauroit Sornette, [a gibe,
Dire, ne faire, qu'il auroit (a jest, or flouting.]
Sa robe d'escarlate neuve.
L'uns Menestrels à l'autre reuve
Fere son mestier, tel qu'il sot,
Li uns fet l'yvre, l' autre sot;
Li uns chante, li autre note;
Et li autres dit la riote
Et li autres la jenglerie §;
Cil qui sevent de jonglerie
Vielent par devant le Conte;
Acuns ja qui fahliaus conte
Il i ot dit mainte risée," &c.
;
§ Janglerie, babillage,
[raillerie.
Fabliaux et Contes, 12mo, tom. ii. p. 161.
And what species of entertainment was afforded
by the ancient Juggleurs, we learn from the following
citation from an old romance, written in 1230.
66
Quand les tables ostees furent
·C'il juggleurs in pies esturent
S'ont vielles, et harpes prisees
Chansons, sons, vers, et reprisas
Et gestes, chanté nos ont.”
Sir J. Hawkins, ii. 44, from Andr. Du Chene.
See also Tyrwhitt's Chaucer, iv. p. 299.
All the before mentioned sports went by the
general name of Ministralcia, Ministellorum Ludicra,
&c.-" Charta an. 1377, apud Rymer, vii. p. 160.
'Peracto autem prandio, ascendebat D. Rex in came-
ram suam cum Prælatis, Magnatibus, et Proceribus
prædictis: et deinceps Magnates Milites, et Domini,
aliique Generosi diem illum, usque ad tempus cœnæ,
in Tripediis coreis et solempnibus Ministralciis, præ
gaudio solempnitatis illius continuarunt.'” (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. lxiv.)
Thus, in the old romance of Tirante el Blanco; Val.
1511, the 14th cap. lib. ii. begins thus, "Despues
que las mesas fueron alçadas vinieron los minis-
triles; y delante del Rey, y de la Reyna dançaron
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 Jogelours plaien at thise festes grete.
See also the Frere's Tale, p. 279. v. 7049.
XXXV
(A a 2)" Females playing on the Harp."] Thus
in the old Romance of " Syr Degore (or Degree,"
Series the third, No. 22. p. 194.) we have [Sign. D. i.]
The lady, that was so faire and bright,
Upon her bed she sate down ryght;
She harped notes swete and fine.
[Her mayds filled a piece of wine.]
And Syr Degore sate him downe,
For to hear the harpes sowne.
The 4th line being omitted in the pr. copy is sup-
plied from the folio MS.
In the "Squyr of lowe Degree"(Series the third, No.
24, p. 195.) the king says to his daughter [Sign. D. i.]
Ye were wont to harpe and syng,
And be the meryest in chamber comyng.
In the "Carle of Carlisle," (Series the third, No.
193, p. 29.) we have the following passage. [Folio
MS. p. 451, v. 217.]
Downe came a lady faire and free,
And sett her on the Carles knee:
One whiles shee harped another whiles song,
Both of paramours and louinge amonge.
And in the Romance of <s
Eger and Grime"
(Series the third, No. 12, p. 194.) we have [Ibid.
p. 127. col. 2.] in Part I. v. 263.
The ladye fayre of hew and hyde
Shee sate downe by the bed side
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 sufficient.
xxxvi
NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY.
·
(B b) "A charter...
to appoint a king of the
Minstrels."] Intitled 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 therefore it could only
have been in modern times, when the proper mean-
ing 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 Ministel-
los: de cujus munere, potestate in cæteros Ministellos
agit Charta Henrici IV. Regis Angliæ in Monast.
Anglicano, tom. i. pag. 355. Charta originalis
an. 1338. Je Robert Caveron Roy des Menestreuls
du Royaume de France. Aliæ 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 Tiphaine au Roy
des Menestrels.
"Regestum Magnorum Dierum Trecensium an.
1296. Super quod Joannes dictus Charmillons
Juglator, cui Dominus Rex per suas literas tanquam
Regem Juglatorum in civitate Trecensi Magisterium
Juglatorum, quemadmodum suæ placeret voluntati,
concesserat. Gloss. c. 1587.
There is a very curious passage in Pasquier's
"Recherches de la France," Paris, 1633, folio,
liv. 7. ch. 5. p. 611, wherein he appears to be at a
loss how to account for the title of Le Roy assumed
by the old composers of metrical Romances; in one
of which the author expressly declares himself to
have been a Minstrel. The solution of the difficulty,
that he had been Le Roy des Menestrels, will be
esteemed more probable than what Pasquier here
advances; for I have never seen the title of Prince
given to a Minstrel, &c. scil." A nos vieux
Poetes. comme fust qu'ils eussent certain jeux
de prix en leurs Poesies, ils.... honoroient du
nome, tantot de Roy, tantot de Prince, celuy qui
avoit le mieux faict comme nous voyons entre les
Archers, Arbalestiers, et Harquebusiers estre fait le
semblable. Ainsi l'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 il' est rimez.
"Et en celuy de Cleomades,
"Ce Livre de Cleomades
Rimé je le Roy Adenes
Menestre au bon Duc Henry.
"Mot de Roy, qui seroit très-mal approprié à un
Menestrier, si d'ailleurs on ne le rapportoit à 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 Jouingleur s'estant par succession
de temps tourné en batelage, nous avons veu en
nostre jeunesse les Jouingleurs se trouver à certain
jour tous les ans en la ville de Chauny en Picardie,
pour
faire monstre de leur mestrier devant le monde,
à 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'anéantisse avec le
temps.'
""
We see here that in the time of Pasquier the poor
Minstrel was sunk into as low estimation in France,
as he was then or afterwards 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 rhime.
As for King Adenes, or Adenez, (whose name in
the first passage above is corruptly printed Adams,)
he is recorded in the Bibliothèques des Romans,
Amst. 1734," 12mo. vol. i. p. 232, to have composed
the two Romances in verses above mentioned, and a
third entitled Le Roman de Bertin: all three being
preserved in a MS. written about 1270. His Bon
Duc Henry I conceive to have been IIenry Duke of
Brabant.
(B b 2) King of the Minstrels," &c.] See
Antis's Register of the Order of the Garter, ii. p. 303,
who tells us "The President or Governour of the
Minstrels had the like denomination of Roy in France
and Burgundy and in England, John of Gaunt
constituted 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 vadia
Regis anno 5to. [Bihl. Cotton. Vespas. c. 16. f. 3.]
as likewise [Libro Garderob. 25 E. I.] Ministrallis
in die nuptiarum Comitissæ Holland filiæ Regis,
Regi Pago, Johanni Vidulatori, &c. Morello Regi,
&c. Druetto Monthant, 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 Willielmo de Morlee dicto Roy de North,
Ministrallo Regis, domos quæ fuerunt Johannis le
Botoler dicti Roy Brunhaud. [Pat. de terr. foris-
fact. 16 E. III.]" He adds below (p. 304) a similar
instance of a Rex Juglatorum, 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, ordeig-
nez est et establiz qe nul Westour, Rymour, Min
stral ne Vacabond soit aucunement sustenuz en la
terre de Gales pur faire kymorthas ou coillage sur la
commune poeple illoeques." This is among the se-
vere laws against the Welsh, passed during the
resentment occasioned by the outrages committed
under Owen Glendour; and as the Welsh Bards
had excited their countrymen to rebellion against
the English Government, it is not to be wondered,
that the Act is conceived in terms of the utmost
indignation 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 exu-
berance of our Acts of Parliament: for if their Mi-
nistrula had been mere musicians, they would not
have required the vigilance of the English legisla-
NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY.
ture to suppress them. It was their songs exciting
their countrymen to insurrection 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
setting forth
"that vagrant and idle persons, naming
themselves Minstrels, Rythmers, and Burds, had lately
grown into such intolerable multitude within the
Principality in North Wales, that not only gentle-
men and others by their shameless disorders are
oftentimes disquieted in their habitations, but also
expert Minstrels and Musicians 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 living 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 degrees
heretofore in use, so that they may use, exercise,
and follow the sciences and faculties of their pro-
fessions in such decent order as shall appertain to
each of their degrees." And the rest are to return
to some honest labour, &c. upon pain to be taken as
sturdy and idle vagabonds, &c.
"C
(B b 4) Holingshed translated this passage from
Tho. de Elmham's "Vita et Gesta Henrici V." scil.
Soli Omnipotenti Deo se velle victoriam imputari
.in tantum, quod cantus de suo triumpho fieri,
seu per Citharistas vel alios quoscunque cantari
penitus prohibebat." [Edit. Hearnii, 1727, p. 72.]
As in his version Holingshed attributes the making
as well as singing dities to Minstrels, it is plain he
knew that men of this profession had been accus-
tomed to do both.
(C c) "The Household Book," &c.] See Sec-
tion V.
Of the Nombre of all my lords Servaunts."
Item, Mynstrals in Houshold iii. viz. A Taberet,
a Luyte, and a Rebecc." [The Rebeck 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 Min-
strallis that be daily in his household, as his Tabret,
Lute, ande 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
Heire's chamber doure, the lord Percy, ii. s. And
for playinge at the chamber doures of my lords
Yonger Sonnes, my yonge masters, after viii. d. the
pece for every of them.xxiii. s. 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
XXXVII
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.
"C
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 observing,
that in this enumeration the family Minstrels seem
to have been Musicians only, and yet both the Earl's
Trumpets and the King's Shawmes are evidently
distinguished from the Earl's Minstrels, and the
King's Jugler: Now we find Jugglers still coupled
with Pipers in Barklay's Egloges, circ. 1514. (War-
ton, ii. 254.)
(C c 2) The honours and rewards conferred on
Minstrels, &c. in the middle ages were excessive,
as will be seen by many instances in these volumes ;
v. notes (E) (F) &c. But more particularly with
regard to English Minstrels, &c. see T. War-
ton's Hist. of Eng. Poetry, i. p. 89-92, 116, &c.
ii. 105, 106, 254, &c. Dr. Burney's Hist of Music,
ii. P.
p. 316-319, 397-399, 427, 428.
On this head, it may be sufficient to add the fol-
lowing passage from the Fleta, lib. ii. c. 23.
"OF-
FICIUM ELEMOSINARIJ est.. Equos relictos, Robas,
Pecuniam, et alia ad Elemosinam largiter recipere et
fideliter distribuere; debet etiam Regem super Ele-
mosinæ largitione crebris summonitionibus stimulare
et præcipue diebus Sanctorum, et rogare ne Robas
suas quæ magni sunt precij HISTRIONIBUS, Blandito-
ribus, Adulatoribus, Accusatoribus, vel MENESTRAL-
LIS, sed ad Elemosinæ suæ incrementum jubeat
largiri." Et in c. 72. Ministralli, vel Adulatoris."
C
(Dd) "A species of men who did not sing,
&c."] It appears from the passage of Erasmus here
referred to, that there still existed in England of that
species of Jongleurs or Minstrels, whom the French
called by the peculiar name of Conteours, or Reciters
in prose. It is in his Ecclesiastes, where he is speak-
ing of such preachers as imitated the tone of Beggars
or Mountebanks :-"Apud Anglos est simile genus
hominum, quales apud Italos sunt Circulatores
[Mountebanks] de quibus modo dictum est; qui
irrumpunt in convivia MAGNATUM, aut in CAUPONAS
VINARIAS; et argumentum aliquod, quod edidicerunt,
recitant; puta mortem omnibus dominari, aut lauder
matrimonii. Sed quoniam ea lingua monosyllabis
Xxxviii
NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY.
fere constat, quemadmodum Germanica; atque illi
[sc. this peculiar species of Reciters] studio vitant
cantum, nobis (sc. Erasmus, who did not understand
a word of English) latrare videntur verius quam
loqui." Opera, tom. v. c. 958. (Jortin, vol. ii.
p. 193.) As Erasmus was correcting the vice of
Preachers, it was more to his point to bring an in-
stance from the Moral Reciters of Prose than from
Chanters of Rime; though the latter would proba-
bly be more popular, and therefore more common.
(Ee) This character is supposed to have been
suggested by descriptions of Minstrels in the ro-
mance of "Morte Arthur;" but none, it seems,
have been found, which come nearer to it than the
following, which I shall produce, not only that the
reader may judge of the resemblance, but to 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 threaten-
ing 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 e 2) "This Act seems to have put an end to
the profession," &c.] Although I conceive that the
character ceased to exist, yet the appellation might
be continued, and applied to Fidlers, or other com-
mon 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 commonly called Fidlers
or Minstrels shall at any time be taken playing,
fidling, and making music in any Inn, Ale-louse, or
Tavern, or shall be taken proffering themselves, or
desiring, or intreating any....to hear them lay or
make music in any of the places aforesaid ;" they
are to be "adjudged and declared to be rogues, vaga-
bonds, and sturdy beggars."
}
"6
This will also account why John of Gaunt's" King
of the Minstrels" at length came to be called, like
Le Roy des Violons in France, v. 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 together 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. Steevens's and
Mr. Malone's Editions of Shakespeare by whom
she is mentioned, 1 Hen. IV, act iii, sc. 3. (See also
Warton, i. 245. ii. 237.) Whereas, from this ballad's
concluding with an exhortation to "
pray for the
King," and "that he may get children," &c. it is evi-
dently posterior to the reign of Queen Elizabeth, and
can scarce be older than the reign of King Charles 1;
for King James I had no issue after his accession to
the throne of England. It may even have been
written since the Restoration, and only express the
wishes of the nation for issue on the marriage of
their favourite King Charles II, on his marriage
with the Infanta of Portugal. I think it is not found
in the Pepys collection.
(F f) "Historical Song, or Ballad."] The English
word Ballad is evidently from the French Bulade, as
the latter is from the Italian Ballata; which the
Crusca Dictionary defines, Canzone, che si canta Bal-
lando, "A Song, which is sung during a Dance."
So Dr. Burney, [ii. 342] who refers to a collection
of Ballette published by Gastaldi and printed at
Antwerp in 1596. [iii. 226.]
But the word appears to have had an earlier
origin for in the decline of the Roman Empire
these trivial songs were called Ballistea and Salta-
tiuncula, Ballisteum, Salmasius says, is properly
Ballistium. Gr. Βαλλιςεῖον. “ ἀπὸ τῷ Βαλλίζω
4
·· •
•Ballıcía Saltatio.... Ballistium igitur est quod
vulgo vocamus Ballet; nam inde deducta vox nostra.'
Salmas. Not. in Hist. Ang. Scriptores VI. p. 349.
In the Life of the Emperor Aurelian by Fl. Vopis-
cus 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,
"C
Mille, mille, mille decollavimus,
Unus homo mille decollavimus,
Mille vivat, qui mille occidit.
Tantum vini habet nemo
Quantum fudit sanguinis."
* 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. xiii.) are ancient 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 Beggars, and "Robine
Hoode his death." This last, which is very curious, has no
resemblance to any that have been published; and the others
are extremely different from the printed copies; but they
unfortunately are in the beginning of the MS. where half of
every leaf hath been torn away.
The other was
NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY.
"Mille Sarmatas, mille Francos
Semel et semel occidimus.
Mille Persas quærimus."
Salmasius (in loc.) shows that the trivial Poets of
that time were wont to form their metre of Trochaic
Tetrametre Catalectics, divided into Distichs. [Ibid
p. 350.] This becoming the Metre of the Hymns in
the Church Service, to which the Monks at length
superadded riming 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 Garlands,"
&c.] In the Pepysian and other libraries are pre-
served a great number of these in black letter, 12mo.
under the following quaint and affected titles, viz.
1. A Crowne Garland of Goulden Roses gathered
out of England's Royal Garden, &c. by Richard
Johnson, 1612. [In the Bodleian Library.] 2. The
Golden Garland of Princely Delight. 3. The Gar-
land 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 Par-
ker, 1656. 9. The Shepherd's Garland of Love,
Loyalty, &c. 10. The Country Garland. 11. The
Golden Garland of Mirth and Merriment. 12. The
Lover's Garland. 13. Neptune's fair Garland. 14.
England's fair Garland. 15. Robin Hood's Garland.
16. The Maiden's Garland. 17. A Loyal Garland
of Mirth and Pastime. 18. A Royal Garland of New
Songs. 19. The Jovial Garland, 8th Edit. 1691.
&c. &c. &c.
This sort of petty publications had anciently the
name of "Penny-Merriments:" as little religious
tracts of the same size were called "Penny Godli-
nesses." In the Pepysian Library, are multitudes
of both kinds.
(G g) "The term Minstrel was not confined to a
mere Musician in this country any more than on the
Continent."] The discussion of the question, Whe-
ther the term Minstrel was applied in England to
Singers and Composers of Songs, &c. or confined to
the performers on musical instruments, was properly
reserved for this place, because much light hath
already been thrown upon the subject in the pre-
ceding 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 also a maker of them is evident
from the passage in (C) p. xxiv. where the most noted
Romances are said to be of the composition of these
men. And in (B b) p. xxxvi. we have the Titles of
That the French Minstrel was a singer and composer,
&c. appears from many passages translated by M. Le Grand,
in "Fabliaux ou Contes," &c. see tom. i. p. 37, 47.-ii. 306,
313 et 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, Menetrier, Menestrel, and Jongleur
(tom. i. pref. p. xcviii.), whereas his own Tales confute all
these nice distinctions, or prove at least that the title of
Menetrier or Minstrel was applied to them all.
xxxix
some of which a Minstrel was the author, who has
himself left his name upon record.
The old English names for one of this profession
was Gleeman*, Jogelert, and latterly Minstrel ; not
to mention Harper, &c. In French he was called
Jongleur or Jugleur, Menestrel or Menestriert. 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 men-
tioned as if they were distinct, I cannot find after a
very strict research to have had any settled appro-
priate difference, but they appear to have been used
indiscriminately by the oldest writers, especially
in England; where the most general and com-
prehensive name was latterly Minstrel, Lat. Minis-
trellas, &c.
Thus Joculator (Eng. Jogeler, or Juglar) is used
as synonymous to Citharista Note (K. p. xxviii.) and
to Cantor (p. xxix.) and to Minstrel (vid. infra p.
x1.) We have also positive proof that the sub-
jects of his songs were Gestes and Romantic Tales.
(V 2) note.
So Mimus is used as synonymous to Joculator, (M)
p. xxix. He was rewarded for his singing, (N) p.
xxx. 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. xxxiv. and to have gained rewards by his Verba
Joculatoria, (E) p. xxiv. And Histriones is the term
by which the French word Ministraulx is most fre-
quently rendered into Latin, (W) p. xxxiii. (Bb)
p. xxxvi. &c.
The fact therefore is sufficiently established that
this order of men were in England, as well as on the
Continent, Singers; so that it only becomes a dis-
pute about words, whether here, under the more
general name of Minstrels, they are described as
having sung.
But in proof of this we have only to turn to so
common a book as T. Warton's History of English
Poetry; where we shall find extracted from Records
the following instances.
Ex Registr. Priorat. S. Swithin Winton. (sub anno
1374.) "In festo Alwyni Epi.... Et durante pie-
tancia in Aula Conventus sex Ministralli, cum qua-
tuor Citharisatoribus, faciebant Ministralcias suas.
Et post cenam, in magna camera arcuata Dom. Prioris
cantabant idem Gestem in qua Camera suspendebatur,
ut moris est, magnum dorsale Prioris habens pictu-
ras trium Regum Colein. Veniebant autem dicti
Joculatores a Castello Domini Regis et ex familia
Epi." (vol. ii. p. 174.) Here the Minstrels and Harp-
are expressly called Joculatores; and as the
Harpers had Musical Instruments, the Singing must
have been by the Minstrels, or by both conjointly.
ers
For that Minstrels sang we have undeniable proof
in the following entry in the Accompt Roll of the
Priory of Bicester, in Oxfordshire (under the year
1432). "Dat Sex Ministrallis de Bokyngham can-
tantibus in refectorio Martyrium Septem Dormien-
tium 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:

See page xxvii.
+ See page xxxiii.
See page xxxiii. Note.
x1
NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY.
S
In the old Romance of Emaré (Series the third,
No. 15. p. 194) which from the obsoleteness of the
style, the nakedness of the story, the barrenness of
incidents, and some other particulars, I should
judge to be next in point of time to Hornchild, we
have
"I have herd Menstrelles syng yn sawe."
Stanza 27.
In a poem of Adam Davie (who flourished about
1312) we have this Distich,
"C
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.)
"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
composition 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 composers?
Thus in the oldest of all, Horn-Child, having as-
sumed the character of a Harper or Jogeler, is in
consequence said (fo. 92.) to have
"made Rymenild [his mistress] a lay."
In the old Romance of Emaré, we have this exhor-
tation to Minstrels, as composers, otherwise they
could not have been at liberty to choose their sub-
jects. (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 Col-
bronde (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 still wil be
And sitt and solace lythe
Then itt is time for mee to speake
Of keene knights and kempes great
Such carping for to kythe."
We have seen already that the Welsh Bards, who
were undoubtedly composers of the songs they
* The fondness of the English (even the most illiterate) to
hear tales and rimes, is much dwelt on by Rob. de Brunne,
in 1330. (Warton, i. p. 59, 65, 75.) All rimes were then
sung to the harp even Troilus and Cresseide, though almost
as long as the Æneid, was to be "redde....or else songe.
1. ult. (Warton i. 388.)
""
•
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 Provençal Troubadour of our King
Richard, who 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. xxxiii.)
And lastly, that Holinshed, translating the prohi-
bition of King Henry V. forbidding any songs to be
composed on his Victory, or to be sung by Harpers
or others, roundly gives it, he would not permit
any ditties to be made and sung by Minstrels
on his glorious Victory," &c. Vid. p. xliv. 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 Lan-
guage, is proved by the existence of the very com-
positions 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 no-
bility, who are so often addressed therein by the
title of Lordings: and sometimes more positively
"Lords and Ladies."
2
And though many of these were translated from
the French, others are evidently of English origin†,
which appear in their turns to have afforded versions
into that language; a sufficient proof of that inter-
community between the French and English Min-
strels, which hath been mentioned in a preceding
page. Even the abundance of such translations
into English, being all adapted for popular recitation,
sufficiently establishes the fact, that the English
Minstrels had a great demand for such compositions,
which they were glad to supply whether from their
own native stores, or from other languages.
We have seen above that the Joculator, Mimus,
Histrio, whether these characters were the same, or
had any real difference, were all called Minstrels ;
as was also the Harpert, when the term implied a
singer, if not a composer, of songs, &c. By degrees
the name of Minstrel was extended to vocal and in-
strumental 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
:
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.'
""
†The romance of " Richard Cœur de Lion,” (No. 25,) I
should judge to be of English origin from the names War-
drewe and Eldrede, &c. vol. iii. p. 194, 195. As is also Eger
and Grime (No. 12), wherein a knight is named Sir Gray
Steel, and a lady who excels in surgery is called Loospaine
or Lose-pain: these surely are not derived from France.
I See the romance of "Sir Isenbras" (vol. iii. No. 14,
p. 194) sign. a.
Harpers loved him in Hall
With other Minstrels all.
!
NOTES ON THE FOREGOING ESSAY.
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 " Min-
strels of Music* :" so at other times we hear of
expert Minstrels and Musicians of Tongue and
Cunning," (B b 3) p. xxxviit, meaning doubtless by
the former, singers, and probably by the latter
phrase, composers, of songs. Even "Minstrels
Music" seems to be applied to the species of verse
used by Minstrels in the passage quoted below‡.
But although, from the predominancy of instru-
mental Music, Minstralsy was at length chiefly to
be understood in this sense, yet it was still applied
(6
* 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
à 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 crwth, 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 effusions to the harp; and as
for the term Minstrel, it was 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 upon
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.
xli
to the Poetry of Minstrels so late as the time of
Queen Elizabeth, as appears in the following extract
from Puttenham's "Arte of Eng. Poesie," p. 9,
who, speaking of the first composers of Latin verses
in ryme, says, "all that they wrote to the favor or
prayse of Princes, they did it in such manner of
Minstralsie; and thought themselves no small fooles,
when they could make their verses go all in ryme."
I shall conclude this subject with the following
description of Minstrelcy given by John Lidgate at
the beginning of the 15th century, as it shows what
a variety of entertainments were then comprehended
under this term, together with every kind of 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*.
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 (*).
By this phrase I understand, New Tales or Narrative
Rymes composed by the Minstrels on the subject of true
and faithful Lovers, &c.
THE END OF THE ESSAY.
* The foregoing Essay on the Ancient Minstrels has been very much enlarged and improved since the
first edition, with respect to the Anglo-Saxon Minstrels, in consequence of some objections proposed by
the reverend and learned Mr. Pegge, which the reader may find in the second volume of the Archæologia,
printed by the Antiquarian Society; but which that gentleman has since retracted in the most liberal and
candid manner in the third volume of the Archæologia, No. xxxiv. p. 310.
And in consequence of similar objections respecting the English Minstrels after the Conquest, the sub-
sequent 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.
RELIQUES
ANCIENT POETRY, &c.
Co
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 gor-
geous eloquence of Pindare!"
SIR PHILIP SYDNEY'S DEFENCE OF POETRY.
OF
SERIES THE FIRST.
BOOK I.
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 recom-
mended it to the most refined; and it has equally
been the anusement of our childhood, and the
favorite of our riper years.
Mr. Addison has given an excellent critique* on
this very popular ballad, but is mistaken with regard
to the antiquity of the common-received copy; for
this, if one may judge from the style, cannot be older
than the time of Elizabeth, and was probably written
after the eulogium of Sir Philip Sydney: perhaps in
consequence of it. I flatter myself, I have here
recovered the genuine antique poem; the true origi-
nal song, which appeared rude even in the time of
Sir Philip, and caused him to lament that it was so
evil apparelled in the rugged garb of antiquity.
This curiosity is printed, from an old manuscript,
at the end of Hearne's preface to Gul. Newbrigien-
sis Hist. 1719, 8vo. vol i. To the MS. copy is sub-
joined the name of the author, Rychard Sheale† ;
whom Hearne had so little judgement as to suppose
to be the same with a R. Sheale, who was living in
1588. But whoever examines the gradation of lan-
guage and idiom in the folowing volumes, will be
convinced that this is the production of an earlier
poet. It is indeed expressly mentioned among some
very ancient songs in an old book intituled, The
Complaint of Scotland‡, (fol. 42), under the title of
THE ANCIENT BALLAD OF CIEVY-CHASE.
* Spectator, No. 70, 74.
+ Subscribed, after the usual manner of our old poets,
EXPLICETH [explicit] QUOтH RYCHARD SHEALE.
One of the earliest productions of the Scottish press, now
to be found. The title page was wanting in the copy here
quoted; but it is supposed to have been printed in 1540.
See Ames.
I
the Huntis of Chevet, where the two following lines
are also quoted :
The Perssee and the Mongumrye mette*,
That day, that day, that gentil day † :
which, though not quite the same as they stand in
the ballad, yet differ not more than might be owing
to the author's quoting from memory. Indeed, who-
ever 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 ana-
chronisms, forbids us to assign it an earlier date.
King James I, who was prisoner in this kingdom at
the death of his fathers, did not wear the crown of
Scotland till the second year of our Henry VI.||,
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 men-
t on.
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
* See Pt. 2. v. 25. See Pt. 1. v. 104. Į Pt. 2. v 36, 140.
Who died Aug. 5, 1406, in the 7th. year of our Hen. IV.
James I. was crowned May 22, 1424; murdered Feb 21.
1496-7.
¶ In 1430.-Hen. VI. was deposed 1461: restored and
slain, 1471.
R
2
THE ANCIENT BALLAD OF CHEVY CHASE.
deputies*. There had long been a rivalship between
the two martial families of Percy and Douglas,
which, heightened by the national quarrel, must have
produced frequent challenges and struggles for supe-
riority, petty invasions of their respective domains,
and sharp contests for the point of honour; which
would not always be recorded in history. Some-
thing of this kind, we may suppose, gave rise to the
ancient ballad of the Hunting a' the Cheviatt. Percy
Earl of Northumberland had vowed to hunt for three
days in the Scottish 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: this would naturally
produce a sharp conflict between the two parties;
something of which, it is probable, did really happen,
though not attended with the tragical circumstances
recorded in the ballad: for these are evidently bor-
rowed 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
evidently jumbled the two subjects together: if
indeed the lines, in which this mistake is made, are
not rather spurious, and the after-insertion of some
person, who did not distinguish between 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
Harleian Catalog. No. 2253. s. 29, 34, 61, 70, et
passim.
THE FIRST FIT||.
THE Persè owt of Northombarlande,
And a vowe to God mayd he,
That he wolde hunte in the mountayns
Off Chyviat within dayes thre,
In the mauger of doughtè Dogles,
And all that ever with him be.
The fattiste hartes in all Cheviat
away:
He sayd he wold kill, and cary them
Be my feth, sayd the dougheti Doglas agayn,
I wyll let that hontyng yf that I may.
Then the Persè owt of Banborowe cam,
With him a myghtye meany;
With fifteen hondrith archares bold;
The wear chosen out of shyars thre*.
5
Fit, see ver. 100,
10
V. 5. magger in Hearne's PC. [Printed Copy]. V. 11,
The the Perse, PC. V. 13, archardes bolde off blood and
bone, PC.
* Item....Concordatum est, quod....nullus unius partis
vel alterius ingrediatur terras, boschas, forrestas, warrenas,
loca, dominia quæcunque alicujus partis alterius subditi,
causa venandi, piscandi, aucupandi, disportum aut solatium
in eisdem, aliave quæcunque "de caasa, absque licentia ejus
....ad quem...loca....pertinent, aut de deputatis suis prius
capt. & obtent. Vid. Вp. Nicolson's Leges Marchiarum,
1705, 8vo, pp. 27, 51.
+ This was the original title. See the ballad, Pt. 1. v. 106
Pt. 2, v. 165.
I See the next ballad.
Vid. Pt. 2. v. 167.
This begane on a Monday at morn
In Cheviat the hillys so he;
The chyld may rue that ys un-born,
It was the mor pitté.
The dryvars tho owe the woodes went
For to reas the dear ;
Bomen bickarte uppone the bent
With ther browd aras cleare.
Then the wyld thorowe the woodes went
On every syde shear :
Grea-hondes thorowe the greves glent
For to kyll thear dear.
The begane in Chyviat the hyls above
Yerly on a monnyn day ;
Be that it drewe to the oware off none
A hondrith fat hartes ded ther lay.
The blewe a mort uppone the bent,
The semblyd on sydis shear;
To the quyrry then the Persè went
To se the bryttlynge off 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 Persè swear.
Both with spear, 'byll,' and brande :
Yt was a myghti sight to se,
Hardyar men both off hart nar hande
Were not in Christiantè.
The wear twenty hondrith spear-men good
Withouten any fayle;
The wear borne a-long be the watter a Twyde,
Yth bowndes of Tividale.
Leave off the brytlyng of the dear, he sayde,
And to your bowys look ye tayk good heed;
For never sithe ye wear on your mothars borne
Had ye never so mickle need.
The dougheti Dogglas on a stede
He rode att his men beforne;
His armor glytteryde as dyd a glede ;
A bolder barne was never born.
15
At the laste a squyar of Northombelonde
Lokyde at his hand full ny,
He was war ath the doughetie Doglas comynge:
With him a mightè meany,
Tell me 'what' men ye ar, he says,
Or whos men that ye be :
Who gave youe leave to hunte in this
Chyviat chays in the spyt of me?
20
25
30
35
40
45
30
55
60.
V. 19,throrowe, P.C V. 31, blwe a mot, PC. V. 42, myghtte,
PC. passim. V. 43, brylly, PC. V. 48, withowte....feale,
PC. V. 52, boys, PC. V. 54, ned. PC. V. 59. whos. PC.
* By these "shyars thre" is probably meant three dis-
tricts in Northumberland, which still go by the name of
shires, and are all in the neighbourhood of Cheviot. These
are Islandshire, being the district so named from Holy-
Island: Norehamshire, so called from the town and castle
of Noreham (or Norham): and Bamboroughshire, the ward
or hundred belonging to Bamborough-castle and town.

THE ANCIENT BALLAD OF CHEVY CHASE.
The first mane that ever him an answear mayd,
Yt was the good lord Persé :
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 doughtè Dogglas agayn,
Ther-for the ton of us shall de this day.
Then sayd the doughtè Doglas
Unto the lord Persè :
To kyll all thes giltless men,
A-las! it wear great pittè
But, Persè, thowe art a lord of lande,
I am a yerle callyd within my contre ;
Let all our men uppone a parti stande ;
And do the battell off the and of me.
Be my troth, doughtè Doglas, he says,
Thow shalt never se that day;
Now Cristes cors on his crowne, sayd the lord Persè,
Who-soever ther-to says nay.
75
Nethar in Ynglonde, Skottlonde, nar France, 85
Nor for no man of a woman born,
But and fortune be my chance,
I dar met him on man for on.
I wat youe byn great lordes twaw,
I am a poor squyar of lande ;
80
Then bespayke a squyar off Northombarlonde,
Ric. Wytharynton* was him nam;
90
It shall never be told in Sothe-Ynglonde, he says,
To kyng Herry the fourth for sham.
I will never se my captayne fyght on a fylde, 95
And stande my-selffe, and looke on,
But whyll I may my weppone welde,
I wyll not' fayl' both harte and hande.
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.
100
That day, that day, that dredfull day :
The first fit+ here I fynde.
And youe wyll here any mor athe hountyng athe
Yet ys ther mor behynde.
[Chyviat,
Yet bydys the yerle Doglas uppon the bent,
A captayne good yenoughe,
And that was sene verament,
For he wrought hom both woo and wouche.
5
V. 65, whoys, PC. V. 71, agay, PC. V. 81, sayd the
the. PC. V. 88, on, i. e. one. V. 3, first, i. e. flight. V.
5, byddys, PC.
* This is probably corrupted in the MS. for Rog Wid-
rington, who was at the head of the family in the reign of
K. Edw. III. There were several successively of the
kames of Roger and Ralph, but none of the name of Richard,
as appears from the genealogies in the Heralds office.
+ Fit, vid. Gloss.
The Dogglas pertyd his ost in thre,
Lyk a cheffe cheften off pryde,
With suar speares off myghttè tre
The cum in on every syde.
Thrughe our Yngglishe archery
Gave many a wounde full wyde;
Many a doughete the garde to dy,
Which ganyde them no pryde.
The Yngglyshe men let thear bowys be,
And pulde owt brandes that wer bright;
It was a hevy syght to se
Bryght swordes on basnites lyght.
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 Persè met,
Lyk to captayns of myght and mayne;
The swapte togethar tyll the both swat
With swordes, that wear of fyn myllàn.
Thes worthè freckys for to fyght
Ther-to the wear full fayne,
Tyll the bloode owte off their basnetes sprente,
As ever dyd heal or rayne.
Holde the, Persè, sayd the Doglas,
And i' feth I shall the brynge
Wher thowe shalte have a yerls wagis
Of Jamy our Scottish kynge.
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.
Nay 'then' sayd the lord Persè,
I tolde it the beforne,
That I wolde never yeldyde be
To no man of a woman born.
With that ther cam an arrowe hastely
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,
That never after in all his lyffe days,
may,
For my lyff days ben gan.
The Persè leanyde on his brande,
And sawe the Duglas de;
He tooke the dede man be the hande,
And sayd, Wo ys me for the!
10
15
n 2
20
25
30
35
He spayke mo wordes but ane,
That was t, Fyghte ye, my merry men, whyllys ye
40.
45
3
50
55
V. 17, boys, P. C. V. 18, briggt, PC. V. 21, thorowe,
PC. V. 22, done, PC. V. 26, to, i. e. two. Ibid, and of,
PC. V. 32, ran, PC. V. 33, helde, PC. V. 49, thorowe,
PC.
Wane, i. e. ane, one, sc. man, an arrow came from a
mighty one from a mighty man.
This seems to have been a Gloss added.
4
THE ANCIENT BALLAD OF CHEVY CHASE.
To have sayvde thy lyffe I wold have pertyd with
My landes for years thre,
60
For a better man of hart, nare of hande
Was not in all the north countrè.
Off all that se a Skottishe knyght,
Was callyd Sir Hewe the Mongon-byrry,
He sawe the Duglas to the deth was dyght;
He spendyd a spear a trusti tre :
He rod uppon a corsiare
Throughe a hondrith archery;
He never styntyde, nar never blane,
Tyll he cam to the good lord Persè.
He set uppone the lord Persè
A dynte, that was full soare;
With a suar spear of a myghtè tre
Clean thorow the body he the Persè bore,
Athe tothar syde, that a man myght se,
A large cloth yard and mare :
Towe bettar captayns wear nat in Christiantè,
Then that day slain wear ther.
An archar off Northomberlonde
Say slean was the lord Persè,
He bar a bende-bow in his hande,
Was made off trusti tre:
An arow, that a cloth yarde was lang,
To th' hard stele haylde he;
A dynt, that was both sad and sore,
He sat on Sir Hewe the Mongon-byrry.
The dynt yt was both sad and sar,
That he of Mongon-byrry sete;
The swane-fethars, that his arrowe bar,
With his hart blood the wear wete*.
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
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;
Many hade no strenght for to stande,
In Chyviat the hyllys aboun.
65
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 pittè.
70
75
80
85
90
95
100
Of fifteen hondrith archars of Ynglonde
Went away but fifti and thre;
Of twenty hondrith spear-men of Skotlonde, 105
But even five and fifti:
110
V. 74, ber, PC. V. 80, Say, i. e. Sawe, V. 84, haylde,
PC. V. 87, sar, PC. V. 102, abou, PC. V. 108, strenge.
by, PC.
This incident is taken from the battle of Otterbourn ;
In which Sir Hugh Montgomery, knt. (son of John Lord Mont-
omery) was slain with an arrow. Vid. Crawford's Peerage.
Thear was slayne with the lord Persè
Sir John of Agerstone,
Sir Roge the hinde Hartly,
Sir Wyllyam the bolde Hearone.
Sir Jorg the worthè Lovele
A knyght of great renowen,
Sir Raff the rych Rugbè
With dyntes wear beaten dowene.
For Wetharryngton my harte was wo,
That ever he slayne shulde be;
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 worthè was,
His sistars son was he:
Sir Charles a Murrè, in that place,
That never a foot wolde fle;
Sir Hewe Maxwell, a lorde he was,
With the Duglas dyd he dey.
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,
Northombarlond may mayk grat mone,
For towe such captayns, as slayne wear thear,
On the march perti shall never be none.
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.
115
120
125
130
Word ys commen to Edden burrowe,
To Jamy the Skottishe kyng,
140
That dougheti Duglas, lyff-tenant of the Merches,
He lay slean Chyviot with-in.
135
145
Worde ys commyn to lovly Londone
Till the fourth Harry our kyng,
That lord Persè, leyff-tennante of the Merchis,
He lay slayne Chyviat within.
• •
150
God have merci on his soll, sayd kyng Harry,
Good lord, yf thy will it be!
I have a hondrith captayns in Ynglonde, he sayd,
As good as ever was hee:
155
But Persè, and I brook my lyffe,
Thy deth well quyte shall be.
V. 122,
V. 115, Icule, PC. V. 121, in to, i. e. in two.
kny, PC. V. 132, gay, PC. V. 136, mon, PC. V. 138,
non, PC. V. 146, ye seth, PC. V. 149, cheyff tennante,
PC.
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.
155. So Harding, in his Chronicle, chap. 140, fol. 148,
describing the death of Richard I. says,
He shrove him then unto Abbots thre
With great sobbyng. and wepyng teares.
So likewise Cavendish in his Life of Cardinal Wolsey,
chap. 12, p. 31, 4to. "When the duke heard this, he re-
plied with weeping teares,” &c
THE ANCIENT BALLAD OF THE BATTLE OF OTTERBOURNE.
Jhesue Christ our balys bete,
And to the blys us brynge!
Thus was the hountynge of the Chevyat:
God send us all good ending!
As our noble kyng made his a-vowe,
Lyke a noble prince of renowen,
For the deth of the lord Persè,
He dyd the battel of Hombyll-down :
Wher syx and thritte Skottish knyghtes
On a day wear beaten down :
Glendale glytteryde on ther armor bryght,
Over castill, towar, and town.
160
This was the hontynge off the Cheviat;
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 dougghte Doglas slean,
The Persè never went away.
165
170
Ther was never a tym on the march partes
Sen the Doglas and the Persè met,
But yt was marvele, and the redde blude ronne not,
As the reane doys in the stret.
176
THE only battle, wherein an Earl of Douglas was
slain fighting with a Percy, was that of Otterbourn,
which is the subject of this ballad. It is here re-
lated with the allowable partiality of an English poet,
and much in the same manner as it is recorded in the
English Chronicles. The Scottish writers have,
with a partiality at least as excusable, related it no
less in their own favour. Luckily we have a very
circumstantial narrative of the whole affair from
Froissart, a French historian, who appears to be un-
biassed. 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 autho-
rities, 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 West-
marches, ravaged the country about Carlisle, and
carried off three hundred prisoners. It was with a
much greater force, headed by some of the principal
nobility, that, in the beginning of August*, they
invaded Northumberland; and, having wasted part
of the county of Durham+, advanced to the gates of
Newcastle; where, in a skirmish, they took a 'penon'
or colours belonging to Henry Lord Percy, sur-
named Hotspur, son to the Earl of Northumberland.
In their retreat home, they attacked a castle near
Otterbourn and, in the evening of Aug. 9, (as the
English writers say; or rather, according to Frois-
sart, Aug. 15,) after an unsuccessful assault, were
* Frossart 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.
+ And, according to the ballad, that part of Northumber-
land called Bamboroughshire; a large tract of land so
named from the town and castle of Bamborough, formerly the
residence of the Northumbrian Kings.
THE BATTLE OF OTTERBOURNE.
This circumstance is omitted in the ballad. Hotspur and
Douglas were two young warriors much of the same age.
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.
*
II.
5
180
The battle of Hombyll-down, or Humbledon, was
fought Sept. 14, 1402 (anno 3 Hen. IV.), wherein
the English, under the command of the E. of Nor-
thumberland, and his son Hotspur, gained a com-
plete victory over the Scots. The village of Hum-
bledon is one mile north-west from Wooler, in Nor-
thumberland. The battle was fought in the field below
the village, near the present turnpike road, in a spot
called ever since Red-Riggs.-Humbledon is in Glen-
dale Ward, a district so named in this county, and
mentioned above in ver. 163.
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 spott; 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 remained masters of the field: and the
English writers insinuating the contrary. These
last maintain that the English had the better of the
day but night coming on, some of the northern
lords, coming with the Bishop of Durham to their
assistance, killed many of them by mistake, sup-
posing them to be Scots; and the Earl of Dunbar,
at the same time falling on another side upon Hot-
spur, 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:
* Froissart says the English exceeded the Scots in number
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.
† By Henry L. Percy, according to this ballad, and our
old English historians, as Stow, Speed, &c. but borne down
by numbers, if we may believe Froissart.
Hotspur (after a very sharp conflict) was taken prisoner
by John Lord Montgomery, whose eldest son, Sir Hugh, was
slain in the same action with an arrow, according to Craw-
ford's Peerage (and seems also to be alluded to in the fore-
going 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.
6
THE ANCIENT BALLAD OF THE BATTLE OF OTTERBOURNE.
The yerlle of Fyffe*, withowghten stryffe,
He bowynd hym over Sulway+:
The grete wolde ever together ryde;
That race they may rue for aye.
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 preju-
dice must own that Froissart's circumstantial ac-
count carries a great appearance of truth, and he
He however does
gives the victory to the Scots.
justice to the courage of both parties; and repre-
sents their mutual generosity in such a light, that
"The
the present age might edify by the example.
Englysshmen on the one partye, and Scottes on the
other party, 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 victory, 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 feldet; so that shortely eche of them is
so contente with other, that at their departynge curtoysly
they will saye, God thanke you. But in fyghtynge one
with another there is no playe, nor sparynge." Frois-
sart'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 Cotton Library‡
(Cleopatra, c. iv.) and contains many stanzas more
than were in the former copy, which was transcribed
from a MS. in the Harleian Collection [No. 293. fol.
52.] In the Cotton MS. this poem has no title, but
in the Harleian copy it is thus inscribed, "A songe
made in R. 2. his tyme of the battele of Otterburne,
betweene Lord Henry Percye, Earle of Northom-
berlande, and the Earle Douglas of Scotlande,
Anno 1388."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 Hotspur, (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 Percy in
the last stanza as dead. It was however written in
all likelihood as early as the foregoing song, if not
earlier. This perhaps may be inferred from the
minute circumstances 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 prio-
rity; and this the sagacity of the reader must determine.
(C
Yr felle abowght the Lamasse tyde,
When husbonds wynn ther haye,
The dowhtye Dowglass bowynd hym to ryde,
In Ynglond to take a praye:
V. 2, winn their heaye, Harl. MS. This is the Northum-
berland phrase to this day: by which they always express
getting in their hay."
So in Langham's letter concerning Q. Elizabeth's enter-
tainment at Killingworth Castle, 1575, 12mo. p. 61. "Heer
was no ho in devout drynkyng."
+ i. e. They scorn to take the advantage, or to keep them
lingering in long captivity.
The notice of this MS. I must acknowledge with many
other obligations, owinh to the friendship of Thomas Tyr-
whitt, Esq. late Clerk of the House of Commons.
Over 'Ottercap' hyll they‡ came in,
And so dowyn by Rodelyffecragge,
Upon Grene Leyton' they lighted dowyn,
Styrande many a stagge;
(
And boldely brente Northomberlonde,
And haryed many a towyn;
They dyd owr Ynglyssh men grete wrange,
To battell that were not bowyn.
Than spake a berne upon the bent,
Of comforte that was not colde,
And sayd, We have brent Northomberlond,
We have all welth in holde.
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,
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;
He had byn a march-mang 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,
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,
The Skottyssh oste for to se;
"And thow hast brente Northomberlond,
Full sore it rewyth me.
5
10
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
15
― M
20
25
30
55
(
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. V. 39, syne seems here to mean since.
40
* Robert Stewart, second son of King Robert II.
+ i. e. "over Solway frith." This evidently refers to the
other division of the Scottish army, which came in by way
of Carlisle.
Bowynd, or Bounde him: i. e. hied him.
Vid. Gloss.
They sc. the Earl of Douglas and his party. --The
several stations here mentioned are well-known places in
Northumberland. Ottercap-hill is in the parish of Kirk-
Whelpington, in Tynedale-ward. Rodeliffe- (or as it is more
usually pronounced Rodeley-) Cragge is a noted cliff near
Rodeley, a small village in the parish of Hartburn, in Mor-
peth ward it lies south-east of Ottercap, and has, within
these few years, been distinguished by a sinall tower erected
by Sir Walter Blacket, Bart., which, in Armstrong's map
of Northumberland, is pompously called Rodeley-castle.
Green Leyton is another sinall village in the same parish of
Hartburn, and is south-east of Rodeley.- Both the original
MSS, read here corruptly, Hoppertop and Lynton.
Marche-man. i. e. a scowrer of the marches.>
THE ANCIENT BALLAD OF THE BATTLE OF OTTERBOURNE.
Yf thou hast haryed all Bambarowe shyre,
Thow hast done me grete envye;
For the trespasse thow hast me done,
The tone of us schall dye."
Where schall I byde the? sayd the Dowglas,
Or where wylte thow come to me?
"At Otterborne in the hygh way*,
Ther maist thow well logeed be.
The roo full rekeles ther sche rinnes,
To make the game and glee :
The fawkon and the fesaunt both,
Amonge on the holtes on 'hee.'
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 Percye.
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.
Ther he mayd the Douglas drynke,
And all hys oste that daye.
The Dowglas turnyd hym homewarde agayne,
For soth withowghten naye,
He tooke his logeyng at Oterborne
Uppon a Wedyns-day:
A pype of wyne
wyne he gave them over the walles, 65
For soth, as I yow saye:
And there he pyght hys standerd dowyn,
Hys gettyng more and lesse,
And syne he warned hys men to goo
To chose ther geldyngs gresse.
A Skottysshe knyght hoved upon the bent,
A wache I dare well saye:
So was he ware on the noble Percy
In the dawnynge of the daye.
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,
For thow maiste waken wyth wynne:
Yender have I spyed the prowde Percy,
And seven standardes wyth hym.
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.
45
Was I not yesterdaye at the Newe Castell,
That stonds so fayre on Tyne ?
For all the men the Percy hade,
He cowde not garre me ones to dyne.
50
55
60
70
75
80
85
90
95
V. 53, Roe-bucks were to be found upon the wastes not
far from Hexham in the reign of Geo. I. Whitfield,
Esq., of Whitfield, is said to have destroyed the last of them.
V. 56, hye, MSS. V. 77, upon the best bent, MS.
* Otterbourn is near the old Watling-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 Riggs.
He stepped owt at hys pavelyon dore,
To loke and it were lesse ;
Araye yow, lordyngs, one and all,
For here bygynnes no peysse
The yerle of Mentayne*, thow arte my eme,
The forwarde I gyve to the :
The yerlle of Huntlay cawte and kene,
He schall wyth the be.
The lorde of Bowghant in armure bryght
On the other hand he schall be ;
Lord Jhonstone and lorde Maxwell,
They to schall be with me.
Swynton fayre fylde upon your pryde
To batell make yow bowen :
Syr Davy Scotte, Syr Walter Stewarde,
Syr Jhon of Agurstone.
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,
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,'
And sayd, I have twenty agaynst 'thy' one‡
Byholde and thow maiste see.
Wyth that the Percye was grevyd sore,
For sothe as I yow saye:
[§ He lyghted dowyn upon his fote,
And schoote his horsse clene away.
Every man sawe that he dyd soo,
That ryall was ever in rowght;
Every man schoote hys horsse him froo,
And lyght hym rowynde abowght.
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;
The cronykle wyll not layne :
Forty thowsande Skottes and fowre
That day fowght them agayne.
But when the batell byganne to joyne,
In hast ther came a knyght,
'Then' letters fayre furth hath he tayne,
And thus he sayd full ryght:
My lorde, your father he gretes yow well,
Wyth many a noble knyght;
He desyres yow to byde
That he may see thys fyght.
T
7
100
105
11C
5
10
15
20
25
30
35
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 Menteith.
+ The Lord Buchan.
strength to induce him to
He probably magnifies his
surrender.
All that follows, included in brackets. was not in the
I first edition.
8
THE ANCIENT BALLAD OF THE BATTLE OF OTTERBOURNE.
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 battel fayne wold they see.
For Jesu's love, sayd Syr Harye Percy,
That dyed for yow and me,
Wende to my lorde father agayne,
my
And saye thou saw me not with yee:
My trowth 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,
He wolde me call but a kowarde knyght
In hys londe another daye.
Wherfore schote, archars, for my sake,
And let scharpe arowes flee:
Mynstrells, play up for your waryson,
And well quyt it schall be.
Yet bad I lever to be rynde and rente,
By Mary that mykel maye;
Then ever my manhood schulde be reprovyd 53
Wyth a Skotte another daye.
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,
Hys standerde stode on hye;
That every man myght full well knowe:
By syde stode Starres thre:
The whyte Lyon on the Ynglysh parte,
Forsoth as I yow sayne ;
The Lucetts and the Cressawnts both :
The Skotts faught them agayne*.]
40
Sent George the bryght owr ladies knyght,
To name they were full fayne,
Owr Ynglysshe men they cryde on hyght,
And thrysse the schowtte agayne.
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.
50
The Percy and the Dowglas mette,
That ether of other was fayne;
They schapped together, whyll that the swette,
With swords of fyne Collayne;
60
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.
65
70
80
85
* The ancient Arms of Douglas are pretty accurately embla-
zoned 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 family, one
of their ancient Badges or Cognizances was a white Lyon
Statant, and the Silver Crescent continues to be used by
them to this day: they also give three Luces Argent for one
of their quarters.
i. e. The English.
Tyll the bloode from ther bassonnetts ranne,
As the roke doth in the rayne.
Yelde the to me, sayd the Dowglàs,
Or els thow schalt be slayne:
For I see, by thy bryght bassonet,
Thow arte sum man of myght,
And so I do by thy burnysshed brande,
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.
The Percy was a man of strenghth,
I tell yow in thys stounde,
He smote the Dowglas at the swordes length,
That he felle to the growynde.
The sworde was scharpe and sore can byte,
I tell yow in sertayne;
To the harte, he cowde hym smyte,
Thus was the Dowglas slayne.
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.
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 Agurstonnet.
90
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.'
Syr Charlles Morrey in that place,
That never a fote wold flye;
Sir Hughe Maxwelle, a lord he was,
With the Dowglas dyd he dye.
95
Ther was no freke, that ther wolde fiye,
But styffly in stowre can stond,
Ychone hewyng on other whyll they myght drye,
Wyth many a bayllefull bronde.
120
Ther was slayne upon the Skottes syde,
For soth as I yow saye,
Of fowre and forty thowsande Scotts
Went but eyghtene awaye.
100
Ther was slayne upon the Ynglysshe syde,
For soth and sertenlye,
A gentell knyght, Sir John Fitz-hughe,
Yt was the more petye.
103
116
125
130
136
140
V. 116, slayne, MSS. V. 124, i. e. He died that day.
V. 143, Covelle, M.S.-For the names in this page see
the Remarks at the end of this ballad.
* Being all in armour he could not know him.
Our old minstrel repeats these names, as Homer and
Virgil do those of their heroes:
"fortemque Gyam, fortemque Cloanthum, &c. &c.
Both the MSS. read here, "Sir James," but see above,
pt. I. ver. 112.
THE ANCIENT BALLAD OF THE BATTLE OF OTTERBOURNE.
Syr James Harebotell ther was slayne,
For hym ther hartes were sore,
<
The gentyll Lovelle' ther was slayne,
That the Percyes standerd bore.
Ther was slayne uppon the Ynglyssh perte, 145
For soth as 1 yow saye :
Of nyne thowsand Ynglyssh men
Fyve hondert cam awaye :
The other were slayne in the fylde,
Cryste kepe their sowles from wo,
Seyng ther was so few fryndes
Agaynst so many a foo.
Then one the morne they mayd them beeres
Of byrch, and haysell graye;
Many a wydowe with wepyng teyres
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*.
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 †.
Now let us all for the Percy praye
To Jesu most of myght,
To bryng his sowle to the blysse of heven,
For he was a gentyll knight.
150
155
160
165
**Most of the names in the two preceding bal-
lads, are found to have belonged to families of dis-
tinction 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 HAGGER-
STON of Haggerston, near Berwick, has been seated
there for many centuries, and still remains. Thomas
Haggerston was among the commissioners returned
for Northumberland in 12 Hen. VI., 1433. (Fuller's
Worthies, p. 310.) The head of this family, at
present is, Sir Thomas Haggerston, Bart. of Hag-
gerston above mention.
p.
54.
N.B. The name is spelt Agerstone, as in the text,
in Leland's Itinerary, vol. vii.
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 consideration, in Nor-
thumberland. Haddeston, the Caput Baroniæ of
Heron, was their ancient residence. It descended,
25 Edw. I. to the heir general Emiline Heron, after-
wards Baroness Darcy.-Ford, &c. and Bockenfield
(in. com. eodum) went at the same time to Roger
V. 453, one, i. e. on.
V. 165, Percyes, Harl. MS.
* sc. Captive.
+ In the Cotton M.S. is the following note on ver. 164, in
an ancient hand:
"Syr Hewe Mongomery takyn prizonar, was delyvered
for the restorynge of Perssy.”
9
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 (mentioned 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 Thomas Heron Middle
ton, 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
Lavele, mil. in the 1 Edw. VI. and afterwards.
(Fuller, 313.) In Nicholson this name is spelt Da
Lovel, p. 304. This seems to be the ancient family
of Delaval, of Seaton Delaval, in Northumberland,
whose ancestor was one of the twenty-five barons
appointed to be guardians of Magna Charta.
Ver. 117, Rugbè.] The ancient family of Rokeby,
in Yorkshire, seems to be here intended. In Tho-
resby'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 time when this ballad was written,
was Sir Ralph Rokeby, Knt. Ralph being a com-
mon name of the Rokebys.
Ver. 119. Wetharrington.] Rog. de Widrington
was sheriff of Northumberland in 36 of Edw. III.
(Fuller, p. 311.) Joh. de Widrington in 11 of Hen.
ÌV., 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 Eglinton.
Ver. 125, Lwdale.] The ancient family of the
Liddels were originally from Scotland, where they
were Lords of Liddel Castle, and of the barony of
Buff. (Vid. Collins's Peerage. The head of this
family is the present Lord Ravensworth, of Ravens-
worth 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 possessed by Robert
Stewart, Earl of Fife, third son of King Robert II.,
who, according to Buchanan, commanded the Scots
that entered by Carlisle. But our minstrel had pro-
bably an eye to the family of Graham, who had this
earldom when the ballad was written. See Doug-
las's Peerage of Scotland, 1764, fol.
Ver. 103, Huntleye.] This shows this ballad was
not composed before 1449; for in that year Alexan-
der 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, Jhonstone-Maxwell.] These two fami-
lies of Johnstone, Lord of Johnston, and Maxwell,
Lord of Maxwell, were always very powerful on the
borders. Of the former family was Johnston Mar-
quis 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
Maxwell was about this time much distinguished.
(See Doug.) This might have been originally
written Sir H. Maxwell, and by transcribers converted
10
THE JEW'S DAUGHTER.
into Sir Hugh. So above, in No I. v. 90, Richard
is contracted into Ric.
Ver. 109, Swynton,] i. e. The Laird of Swintone;
a small village within the Scottish border, 3 miles
from Norham. This family still subsists, and is very
ancient.
Ver. 111, Scotte.] The illustrious family of Scot,
ancestors of the Duke of Buccleugh, always made a
great figure on the borders. Sir Walter Scot was at
the head of this family when the battle was fought;
but his 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 Dalswinton
and Gairlies, who was eminent at that time. (See
Doug.) From him is descended the present Earl of
Galloway.
Ver. 112, Agurstone.] The seat of this family
was sometimes subject to the Kings of Scotland.
Thus Richardus Hagerstoun, miles, is one of the
Scottish knights who signed a treaty with the Eng-
lish in 1249, temp. Hen. III. (Nicholson, p. 2,
THE JEW'S DAUGHTER,
III.
Is founded upon the supposed practice of the
Jews in crucifying or otherwise murthering Christian
children, out of hatred to the religion of their parents:
a practice which hath been always alleged in excuse
for the cruelties exercised upon that wretched people,
but which probably never happened in a single
instance. For, if we consider, on the one hand, the
ignorance and superstition of the times when such
stories took their rise, the virulent prejudices of the
monks who record them, and the eagerness with
which they would be catched up by the barbarous
populace as a pretence for plunder; on the other
hand, the great danger incurred by the perpetrators,
and the inadequate motives they could have to excite
them to a crime of so much horror; we may reason-
ably conclude the whole charge to be groundless and
malicious.
note.) It was the fate of many parts of Northum-
berland often to change their masters, according as
the Scottish or English arms prevailed.
Ver. 129, Morrey.] The person here meant
was probably Sir Charles Murray of Cockpoole,
who flourished at that time, and was ancestor of the
Murrays some time Earls of Annandale. See Doug.
Peerage.
Ver. 139, Fitz-hughe.] Dugdale (in his Baron,
vol. i. p. 403) informs us that John, son of Henry
Lord Fitzhugh, was killed at the battle of Otter-
bourne. This was a Northumberland family. Vid.
Dugd. p. 403, col. 1, and Nicholson, pp. 33, 60.
Ver. 141, Harebotell.] Harbottle is a village
upon the river Coquet, about 10 miles west of Roth-
bury. The family of Harbottle was once consider-
able 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.
A SCOTTISH BALLAD
The following ballad is probably built upon some
Italian Legend, and bears a great resemblance to the
Prioresse's Tale in Chaucer: the poet seems also to
have had an eye to the known story of Hugh of Lin-
coln, a child said to have been there murthered by
the Jews in the reign of Henry III. The conclusion
of this ballad appears to be wanting: what it proba-
bly contained may be seen in Chaucer. As for
Mirryland Toun, it is probably a corruption of
Milan (called by the Dutch Meylandt) Town: the
Pa is evidently the river Po, although the Adige,
not the Po, runs through Milan.
Printed from a MS. copy sent from Scotland.
THE rain rins doun through Mirry-land toune,
Sae dois it doune the Pa:
Sae dois the lads of Mirry-land toune,
Quhan they play at the ba'.
Than out and cam the Jewis dochtèr,
Said, Will ye cum in and dine?
"I winnae 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.
And scho has taine out a little pen-knife,
And low down by her gair,
Scho has twin'd the zong thing and his life;
A word he nevir spak mair.
And out and cam the thick thick bluid,
And out and cam the thin;
:
And out and cam the bonny herts bluid
Thair was nae life left in.
Scho laid him on a dressing borde,
And drest him like a swine,
And laughing said, Gae nou and pley
With zour sweit play-feres nine.
Scho rowd him in a cake of lead,
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:
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 castèl,
Quhan they wer all asleip.
10
5
10
15
20
25
30
35
i
My bonny Sir Hew, my pretty Sir Hew,
pray thee to me speik.
"O lady, rinn to the deip draw-well,
Gin ze zour sonne wad seik."
Lady Helen ran to the deip draw-well,
And knelt upon her kne:
My bonny Sir Hew, an ze be here,
I pray thee speik to me.
SIR CAULINE.
40
IV.
THIS old romantic tale was preserved in the Editor's
folio MS. but in so very defective and mutilated a
condition (not from any chasm in the MS. but from
great omission in the transcript, probably copied
from the faulty recitation of some illiterate minstrel),
and the whole appeared so far short of the perfection
it seemed to deserve, that the Editor was tempted to
add several stanzas in the first part, and still more
in the second, to connect and complete the story in
the manner which appeared to him most interesting
and affecting.
There is something peculiar in the metre of this
old ballad it is not unusual to meet with redundant
stanzas of six lines; but the occasional insertion of
a double third or fourth line, as ver. 31, &c. is an
irregularity I do not remember to have seen else-
where.
SIR CAULINE.
(
It may be proper to inform the reader before he
comes to Pt. 2, v. 110, 111, that the Round Table
was not peculiar to the reign of K. Arthur, but was
common in all the ages of Chivalry. The proclaim-
ing a great tournament (probably with some peculiar
solemnities) was called "holding a Round Table."
Dugdale tells us that the great baron Roger de Mor-
timer "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
Kenilworth; where he sumptuously entertained an
hundred knights, and as many ladies, for three days;
the like whereof was never before in England; and
there began the Round Table, (so called by reason
that the place wherein they practised those feats was
environed with a strong wall made in a round form :)
And upon the fourth day, the golden lion, in sign of
triumph, being yielded to him; he carried it (with
all the company) to Warwick."-It may further be
added, that Matthew Paris frequently calls justs and
tournaments Hastiludia Mensa Rotunda.
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 ro-
mances, and was conformable to real manners: it
being a practice derived from the earliest times
among all the Gothic and Celtic nations, for women
even of the highest rank, to exercise the art of sur-
gery. In the Northern Chronicles we always find
the young damsels stanching the wounds of their
lovers, and the wives those of their husbands* And
"The lead is wondrous heavy, mither,
The well is wondrous deip,
* See Northern Antiquities, &c. vol. i. p. 318, vol. ii. p.
100. Mémoires de la Chevalerie, tom. i. p. 44.
A keen pen-knife sticks in my hert,
A word I dounae speik.
Gae hame, gae hame, my mither deir,
Fetch me my windling sheet,
And at the back o' Mirry-land toun
Its thair we twa sall meet."
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 Caulìne.
even so late as the time of Q. Elizabeth, it is men-
tioned among the accomplishments of the ladies of
her court, that the "eldest of them are skilful in
surgery." See Harrison's Description of England,
prefixed to Hollingshed's Chronicle, &c.
The kinge had a ladye to his daughter
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;
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,
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 dye.
And whan our parish-masse was done,
Our kinge was bowne to dyne :
He sayes, Where is Syr Cauline,
That is wont to serve the wyne ?
Then aunswerde him a courteous knighte,
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:
11
Goe take him doughe, and the baken bread,
And serve him with the wyne soe red;
Lothe I were him to tine.
45
50
5
10
15
20
25
30
12
SIR CAULINE.
Fair Christabelle to his chaumber goes,
Her maydens followyng nye :
O well, she sayth, how doth my lord?
O sicke, thou fayr ladyè.
Nowe ryse up wightlye, man for shame,
Never lye soe cowardlee;
For it is told in my fathers halle,
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,
No lenger wold I lye.
Sir knighte, my father is a kinge,
I am his onlye heire;
Alas! and well you knowe, syr knighte,
I never can be youre fere.
O ladye, thou art a kinges daughtèr,
And I am not thy peere,
But let me doe some deedes of armes
To be your bacheleere.
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 brodìnge;
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 awaye,
But he did him scath and scorne
That knighte he is a fond paynìm,
And large of limb and bone;
And but if heaven may be thy speede,
Thy life it is but gone.
Nowe on the Eldridge hilles Ile walke*,
For thy sake, faire ladìe;
And Ile either bring you a ready tokèn,
Or Ile never more you see.
The lady is gone to her own chambère,
Her maydens following 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.
And soone he spyde on the mores so broad,
A furyous wight and fell;
A ladye bright his brydle led,
Clad in a fayre kyrtèll;
* Perbaps wake, as in ver. 61.
35
40
45
50
55
60
65
70
75
80
85
And soe fast he called on Syr Caulìne,
O man, I rede thee flye,
For 'but' if cryance comes till my heart,
I weene but thou mun dye.
He sayth, 'No' cryance comes till my heart,
Nor in fayth, I wyll not flee;
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,
And the timber these 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.
The Eldridge knight was mickle of might,
And stiffe in stower did stande,
But Syr Cauline with a 'backward' stroke
He smote off his right hand;
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.
Then up and came that ladye brighte,
Fast wringing of her hande:
For the maydens love, that most you love,
Withold that deadlye brande:
For the maydens love, that most you love,
Now smyte no more I praye;
And aye whatever thou wilt, my lord,
He shall thy hests obaye.
And that thou never on Eldridge come.
To sporte, gamon, or playe:
And that thou here give up thy armes
Until thy dying daye.
The Eldridge knighte gave up his armes
With many a sorrowfulle sighe;
And sware to obey Syr Caulines hest,
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.
9C
* i. c. Knights. See the Preface to Child Waters.
V. 109, aukeward, MS.
95
100
105
Now sweare to mee, thou Eldridge knighte, 125
And here on this lay-land,
That thou wilt believe on Christ his laye,
And thereto plight thy hand:
110
115
120
130
135
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,
As hard as any flint:
And he tooke off those ringès five,
As bright as fyre and brent.
Home then pricked Syr Cauline
As light as leafe on tree :
I-wys he neither stint ne blanne,
Till he his lady see.
Then downe he knelt upon his knee
Before that lady gay :
O ladye, I have bin on the Eldridge hills:
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.
O ladye, I am thy own true knighte,
Thy hests for to obaye :
And mought I hope to winne thy love!
Ne more his tonge colde say.
The ladye blushed scarlette redde,
And fette a gentill sighe
Alas! syr knight, how may this bee,
For my degree's soe highe?
But sith thou hast hight, thou comely youth,
To be my batchilere,
Ile promise if thee I may not wedde
I will have none other fere.
SIR CAULINE.
Then shee held forthe her lilly-white hand
Towards that knighte so free;
He gave to it one gentill kisse,
His heart was brought from bale to blisse,
The teares sterte from his ee.
But keep my counsayl, Syr Caulìne,
Ne let no man it knowe;
For and ever my father sholde it ken,
I wot he wolde us sloe.
From that day forthe that ladye fayre
Lovde Syr Caulìne, the knighte:
From that day forthe he only joyde
Whan shee was in his sight.
Yea, and oftentimes they mette
Within a fayre arbòure,
Where they in love and sweet daliaunce
Past manye a pleasaunt houre.
145
150
155
160
165
170
175
180
185
+++ In this conclusion of the First Part, and at
the beginning of the Second, the reader will ob-
serve 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,"
ve. 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 joy,
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 Caulìne
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.
Then forthe Syr Caulìne he was ledde,
And throwne in dungeon deepe :
And the layde into a towre so hye
There left to wayle and weepe.
The queene she was Syr Caulines friend,
And to the kinge sayd shee:
The kinge hee sterted forthe, i-wys,
And an angrye man was hee :
Nowe, traytoure, thou shalt hange or drawe, 15
And rewe shall thy ladìe.
I praye you save Syr Caulines life,
And let him banisht bee.
Now, dame, that traitor shall be sent
Across the salt sea fome :
But here I will make thee a band,
If ever he come within this land,
A foule deathe is his doome.
All woe-begone was that gentil knight
To parte from his ladyè;
And many a time be sighed sore,
And cast a wistfulle eye:
Faire Christabelle, from thee to parte,
Farre lever had I dye.
Faire Christabelle, that ladye bright,
Was had forthe of the towre;
But ever shee droopeth in her minde,
As nipt by an ungentle winde
Doth some faire lillye flowre.
And ever shee doth lament and weepe
To tint her lover soe:
Syr Cauline, thou little think'st on mee,
But I will still be true.
13
Many a kinge, and manye a duke,
And lorde of high degree,
Did sue to that fayre ladye of love;
But never shee wolde them nee.
When manye a daye was past and gone,
Ne comforte she colde finde,
The kynge proclaimed a tourneament,
To cheere his daughters mind:
5
10
20
25
30
35
40
45
50
14
SIR CAULINE.
And there came lords, and there came knights,
Fro manye a farre countryè,
To break a spere for theyr ladyes love
Before that faire ladye.
And many a ladye there was sette
In purple and in palle:
But faire Christabelle soe woe-begone
Was the fayrest of them all.
Then manye a knight was mickle of might
Before his ladye gaye;
But a stranger wight, whom no man knewe,
He wan the prize eche daye.
His acton it was all of blacke,
His hewberke, and his sheelde,
Ne noe man wist whence he did come,
Ne noe man knewe where he did gone,
When they came from the feelde.
And now three days were prestlye past
In feates of chivalrye,
When lo upon the fourth morninge
A sorrowfulle sight they see.
A hugye giaunt stiffe and starke,
All foule of limbe and lere ;
Two goggling eyen like fire farden,
A mouthe from eare to eare.
Before him came a dwarffe full lowe,
That waited on his knee,
And at his backe five heads he bare,
All wan and pale of blee..
Sir, quoth the dwarffe, and louted lowe,
Behold that hend Soldàin!
Behold these heads I beare with me!
They are kings which he hath slain.
The Eldridge knight is his own cousine,
Whom a knight of thine hath shent:
And hee is come to avenge his wrong,
And to thee, all thy knightes among,
Defiance here hath sent.
But yette he will appease his wrath
Thy daughters love to winne;
And but thou yeelde him that fayre mayd,
Thy halls and towers must brenne.
Thy head, syr king, must goe with mee;
Ör else thy daughter deere;
Or else within these lists soe broad
Thou must finde him a peere.
The king he turned him round aboute,
And in his heart was woe:
Is there never a knighte of my round table,
This matter will undergoe?
Is there never a knighte amongst yee all
Will fight for my daughter and mee?
Whoever will fight yon grimme soldàn,
Right fair his meede shall bee.
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
55
60
65
d
70
75
80
85
90
95
100
105
110
But every knighte of his round tablè
Did stand both still and pale :
For whenever they lookt on the grim soldàn,
It made their hearts to quail.
All woe-begone was that fayre ladyè,
When she sawe no helpe was nye
She cast her thought on her owne true-love,
And the teares gusht from her eye.
Up then sterte the stranger knighte,
Sayd, ladye, be not affrayd :
Ile fight for thee with his grimme soldàn,
Thoughe he be unmacklye made.
Goe fetch him downe the Eldridge sworde,
The king he cryde, with speede :
Nowe heaven assist thee, courteous knighte;
My daughter is thy meede.
And if thou wilt land me the Eldridge sworde,
That lyeth within thy bowre,
I trust in Christe for to slay this fiende
Thoughe he be stiffe in stowre.
The gyaunt he stepped into the lists,
And sayd, Awaye, awaye :
I sweare, as I am the hend soldàn,
Thou lettest me here all daye.
Then forthe the stranger knight he came
In his blacke armoure dight :
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;
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 ladyè
And thrice she 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.
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,
All recklesse of the pain:
Quoth hee, But heaven be now my speede,
Or else I shall be slaine.
115
120
Then all the people gave a shoute,
Whan they sawe the soldan falle :
The ladye wept, and thanked Christ,
That had reskewed her from thrall.
125
130
13.
140
14:
150
153
160
He grasped his sworde with mayne and mighte,
And spying a secrette part,
He drave it into the soldan's syde,
And pierced him to the heart.
165-
And nowe the kinge with all his barons
Rose uppe from offe his seate,
And downe he stepped into the listes,
That curteous knighte to greete.
But he for payne and lack of bloude
Was fallen intò a swounde,
And there all walteringe in his gore,
Lay lifelesse on the grounde.
Come downe, come downe, my daughter deare, 175
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 ladyè
To helpe him if she maye;
But when she did his beavere raise,
It is my life, my lord, she sayes,
And shriekte and swound awaye.
EDWARD, EDWARD
K
QUHY dois zour brand sae drop wi' bluid,
Edward, Edward?
Quhy dois zour brand sae drop wi' bluid?
And quby sae sad gang zee, O ?
O, I hae killed my hauke sae guid,
Mither, mither:
O, I hae killed my hauke sae guid:
And I had nae mair bot hee, O.
O, I hae killed my fadir deir,
Alas! and wae is mee, O!
170
[le set my feit in zonder boat,
And Ile fare ovir the sea, 0.
180
And quhatten penance wul ze drie for that,
Edward, Edward?
And quhatten penance will ze drie for that?
My deir son, now tell me, O.
Ile set my feit in zonder boat,
Mither, mither:
Zour haukis bluid was nevir sae reid,
Edward, Edward. 10
Zour haukis bluid was nevir sae reid,
My deir son I tell thee, O.
O, I hae killed my reid-roan steid,
Mither, mither:
O, I hae killed my reid-roan steid,
That erst was sae fair and free, O.
Zour steid was auld, and ze hae gat mair,
Edward, Edward:
Zour steid was auld, and ze hae gat mair,
Sum other dule ze drie, O.
O, I hae killed my fadir deir,
Mither, mither:
A SCOTTISH BALLAD,
From a MS. copy transmitted from Scotland.
10
EDWARD, EDWARD,
5
15
20
V.
25
Sir Cauline juste lifte up his eyes
When he heard his ladye crye,
O ladye, I am thine owne true love;
For thee I wisht to dye.
30
Then giving her one partinge looke,
He closed his eyes in death,
Ere Christabelle, that ladye milde,
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:
O`staye, my deare and onlye lord,
For mee thy faithfulle feere;
'Tis meet that I shold followe thee,
Who hast bought my love soe deare.
Then fayntinge in a deadlye swoune,
And with a deepe-fette sighe,
That burst her gentle hearte in twayne
Fayre Christabelle did dye.
15
185
190
Quhan ze gang ovir the sea, O?
The warldis room, let thame beg throw life,
Mither, mither:
The warldis room, let thame beg throw life,
For thame nevir mair wul I see, O.
195
200
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, O?
Ile let thame stand til they doun fa',
Mither, mither:
Ile let thame stand til they doun fa',
For here nevir mair maun I bee, O.
And quhat wul ze leive to zour bairns and zour
wife,
Edward, Edward?
And quhat wul ze leive to zour bairns and zour
wife,
40
45
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, O.
The curse of hell frae me sall ze beir,
Mither, mither:
The curse of hell frae me sall ze beir,
Sic counseils ze gave to me, O.
55
This curious Song was transmitted to the Editor
by Sir David Dalrymple, Bart. late Lord Hailes.
16
KING ESTMERE.
This old Romantic Legend (which is given from
two copies, one of them in the Editor's folio MS,
but which contained very great variations,) bears
marks of considerable antiquity, and perhaps ought
to have taken place of any in this volume. It should
seem to have been written while part of Spain was
in the hands of the Saracens or Moors; whose em-
pire there was not fully extinguished before the year
1491. The Mahometans are spoken of in ver. 49, &c.
just in the same terms as in all other old Romances.
The author of the ancient Legend of Sir Bevis repre-
sents his hero, upon all occasions, breathing out
defiance against
""
“Mahound and Termagaunte*
and so full of zeal for his religion, as to return
the following polite message to a Paynim king's
fair daughter, who had fallen in love with him, and
sent two Saracen knights to invite him to her
bower:
KING ESTMERE.
"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 set."
Indeed they return the compliment by calling him
elsewhere "A Christen hounde‡.”
&c.
VI.
This was conformable to the real manners of the
barbarous ages: perhaps the same excuse will hardly
serve our bard; for that the Adland should be found
lolling or leaning at his gate (ver. 35.) may be
thought perchance a little out of character. And yet
the great painter of manners, Homer, did not think it
inconsistent with decorum to represent a king of the
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 traffics. So little ought we to judge of ancient
manners by our own.
Before I conclude this article, I cannot help ob-
serving that the reader will see, in this ballad, the
character of the old Minstrels (those successors of
the Bards) placed in a very respectable light||: here
he will see one of them represented mounted on a
fine horse, accompanied with an attendant to bear
his harp after him, and to sing the poems of his com-
posing. Here he will see him mixing in the com-
pany of kings without ceremony: no mean proof of
the great antiquity of this poem. The further we
carry our inquiries back, the greater respect we find
paid to the professors of poetry and music among all
the Celtic and Gothic nations. Their character was
deemed so sacred, that under its sanction our famous
King Alfred (as we have already seen¶) made no
scruple to enter the Danish camp, and was at once
admitted to the king's head-quarters.** Our poet has
* See a short Memoir at the end of this Ballad, Note ††
Sign. C. ii. b.
‡ Sign C. i. b.
§ Odyss, A. 105.
See Note subjoined to 1st. Pt. of Beggar of Bednal,
See the Essay on the ancient Minstrels prefixed to this
work.
** Even so late as the time of Froisssart, we find Min-
strels and Heralds mentioued together, as those who might
securely go into an enemy's country. Cap. cxl.
suggested the same expedient to the heroes of this
ballad. All the histories of the North are full of the
great reverence paid to this order of men. Harold
Harfagre, a celebrated king of Norway, was wont t›
seat them at his table above all the officers of his court ·
and we find another Norwegian king placing five
of them by his side in a day of battle, that they might
be eye-witnesses of the great exploits they were to
celebrate*. As to Estmere's riding into the hall
while the kings were at table, this was usual in the
ages of chivalry; and even to this day we see a relic
of this custom still kept up, in the champion's riding
into Westminster-hall during the coronation dinner†.
Some liberties have been taken with this tale by
the Editor, but none without notice to the reader, in
that part which relates to the subject of the Harper
and his attendant.
HEARKEN to me, gentlemen,
Come and you shall heare;
Ile tell you of two of the boldest brethren
That ever borne y-were.
The tone of them was Adler younge,
The tother was Kyng Estmere ;
The were as bolde men in their deeds,
As any were farr and neare.
As they were drinking ale and wine
Within Kyng Estmeres halle:
When will ye marry a wyfe, brothèr,
A wyfe to glad us all ?
Then bespake him Kyng Estmere,
And answered him hastilee :
I know not that ladye in any land
That's able to marrye with mee.
Kyng Adland hath a daughter, brother,
Men call her bright and sheene;
If I were kyng here in your stead,
That ladye shold be my queene.
Saies, Reade me, reade me, deare brother,
Throughout merry England,
Where we might find a messenger
Betwixt us towe to sende.
Saies, You shal ryde yourselfe, brother,
Ile beare you companye;
Many throughe fals messengers are deceived,
And I feare lest soe shold wee.
Thus the renisht them to ryde
Of twoe good renisht steeds,
And when the came to King Adlands halle,
Of redd gold shone their weeds.
5
1C
15
20
25
30
V. 3, brether, fol. MS. V. 10, his brother's hall, fol. MS.
V. 14, hartilye, fol. MS.-V. 27, Many a man.. is. fol. MS.
*Bartholini Antiq. Dan. p. 173.- Northern Antiquities
&c. vol. i. pp. 386, 389, &c.
!
See also the account of Edw. II., in the Essay on the
Minstrels, and Note (X.)
He means fit, suitable.
And when the came to Kyng Adlands hall
Before the goodlye gate,
There they found good Kyng Adlànd
Rearing himselfe theratt.
Now Christ thee save, good Kyng Adlànd;
Now Christ you save and see,
Sayd, You be welcome, King Estmere,
Right hartilye to mee.
You have a daughter, said Adler younge,
Men call her bright and sheene,
My brother wold marrye her to his wiffe,
Of Englande to be queene.
Yesterday was att my deere daughtèr
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 paynìm,
And 'leeveth on Mahound;
And pitye it were that fayre ladyè
Shold marrye a heathen hound.
But grant to me, sayes Kyng Estmere,
For my love I you praye;
That I may see your daughter deere
Before I goe hence awaye.
Although itt is seven yeers and more
Since my daughter was in halle,
She shall come once downe for your sake
To glad my guestès alle.
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,
To tend upon them all.
KING ESTMERE.
The talents of golde were on her head sette,
Hanged low downe to her knee;
And everye ring on her small fingèr
Shone of the chrystall free.
Saies, God you save, my deere madàm ;
Saies, God you save and see.
Said, You be welcome, Kyng Estmere,
Right welcome unto mee.
And if you love me, as you saye,
Soe well and hartilèe,
All that ever you are comen about
Soone sped now itt shal bee.
Then bespake her father deare :
My daughter, I saye naye;
Remember well the Kyng of Spayne;
What he sayd yesterdaye.
He wold pull downe my halles and castles,
And reave me of my lyfe,
I cannot blame him if he doe,
If I reave him of his wyfe.
V 46. The king his sonne of Spayn, fol. MS.
35
40
45
50
55
60
65
70
75
80
85
Your castles and your towres, father,
Are stronglye built aboute;
And therefore of the King of Spaine
Wee neede not stande in doubt.
Plight me your troth, nowe, Kyng Estmère,
By heaven and your righte hand,
That you will marrye me to your wyfe,
And make me queene of your land.
Then King Estmere he plight his troth
By heaven and his righte hand,
That he wolde marrye her to his wyfe,
And make her queene of his land.
And he tooke leave of that ladye fayre,
To goe to his owne countree,
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,
But in did come the Kyng of Spayne,
With kempès many one.
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.
Shee sent one after Kyng Estmère
In all the spede might bee,
That he must either turne againe and fighte,
Or goe home and loose his ladyè.
One whyle then the page he went,
Another while he ranne;
Till he had oretaken King Estmere,
I wis, he never blanne.
Tydings, tydings, Kyng Estmere!
What tydinges nowe, my boye?
O tydinges I can tell to you,
That will you sore annoye.
You had not ridden scant a mile,
A mile out of the towne,
But in did come the Kyng of Spayne
With kempès many a one :
But in did come the Kyng of Spayne
With manye a bolde barone,
Tone daye to marrye King Adlands daughter,
Tother daye to carry her home.
My ladye fayre she greetes you well,
And ever-more well by mee:
You must either turne againe and fighte,
Or goe home and loose your ladyè.
Saies, Reade me, reade me, deere brothèr,
My reade shall ryde* at thee,
Whether it is better to turne and fighte,
Or go home and loose my ladye.
17
90
95
100
105
110
115
120
125
130
135
V. 89, of the king his sonne of Spaine. fel US,
* Sic MS. It should probably be ryse, i ens coruse
shall arise from thee. See ver. 140.
18
KING ESTMERE.
Now hearken to me sayes Adler yonge,
And your reade must rise* at me,
I quicklye will devise a waye
To sette thy ladye free.
My mother was a westerne woman,
And learned in gramaryèt,
And when I learned at the schole,
Something shee taught itt mee.
There growes an hearbe within this field,
And iff it were but knowne,
His color, which is whyte and redd,
It will make blacke and browne:
His color, which is browne and blacke,
Itt will make redd and whyte;
That sworde is not in all Englande,
Upon his coate will byte.
And
you shal be a harper, brother
Out of the north countrye ;
And Ile be your boy, soe faine of fighte,
And beare your harpe by your knee.
And you shal be the best harpèr,
That ever tooke harpe in hand;
And I wil be the best singer,
That ever sung in this lande.
Itt shal be written in our forheads
All and in grammaryè,
That we towe are the boldest men,
That are in all Christentyè.
And thus they renisht them to ryde,
On tow good renish steedes ;
And when they came to King Adlands hall,
Of redd gold shone their weedes.
And whan the came to Kyng Adlands hall,
Untill the fayre hall yate,
There tney found a proud portèr
Rearing himselfe thereatt.
Wee beene harpers, sayd Adler younge,
Come out of the northe countrye;
Wee beene come hither untill this place,
This proud weddinge for to see.
Sayd, And your color were white and redd,
As it is blacke and browne,
I wold saye King Estmere and his brother
Were comen untill this towne.
Then they pulled out a ryng of gold,
Layd itt on the porters arme:
And ever we will thee, proud portèr,
Thow wilt saye us no harme.
140
Sore he looked on Kyng Estmère,
And sore he handled the ryng,
Then opened to them the fayre hall yates,
He lett for no kind of thyng.
• Sic MS. † See at the end of this ballad, note
145
150
Sayes, Christ thee save, thou proud portèr; 175
Sayes, Christ thee save and see.
Nowe you be welcome, sayd the portèr,
Of what land soever ye bee.
155
160
165
170
180
185
190
Kyng Estmere he stabled his steede
Soe fayre att the hall bord;
The froth, that came from his brydle bitte,
Light in King Bremors beard.
Saies, Stable thy steed, thou proud harpèr,
Saies, stable him in the stalle:
It doth not beseeme a proud harpèr
To stable 'him' in a kyngs halle
My ladde he is so lither, he said,
He will doe nought that's meete;
And is there any man in this hall
Were able him to beate ?
O 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
And looked him in the eare;
For all the gold, that was under heaven,
He durst not neigh him neare.
[Spaine,
Thou speakst proud words, sayes the King of
Thou harper, here to mee:
There is a man within this halle
Will beate thy ladd and thee.
He saies, It is writt in his forhead
All and in gramaryè,
That for all the gold that is under heaven
I dare not neigh him nye.
Then Kyng Estmere pulld forth his harpe,
And plaid a pretty thinge:
The ladye upstart from the borde,
And wold have gone from the king.
Stay thy harpe, thou proud harpèr,
For Gods love I pray thee,
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,
As shee sate by the king.
And how nowe, kempe, said the Kyng of Spaine,
And how what aileth thee?
220
Saies, Sell me thy harpe, thou proud harper,
And thy stringès all,
For as many gold nobles 'thou shalt have'
As heere bee ringes in the hall.
What wold ye doe with my harpe, 'he sayd,'
If I did sell it yee?
"To playe my wiffe and me a Fitt*,
When abed together wee bee."
195
200
V. 202; To stable his steede, fol. MS.
205
* i. e. entice. Vid. Gloss.
† 1. e. a tune, or strain of musis. See Gloss.
210
215
225
230
235
Now sell me, quoth hee, thy bryde soe gay, 245
As shee sitts by thy knee,
And as many gold nobles I will give,
As leaves been on a tree.
240
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.
Hee played agayne both loud and shrille,
And Adler he did syng,
"O ladye, this is thy owne true love;
Noe harper, but a kyng.
"O ladye, this is thy owne true love,
As playnlye thou mayest see;
And Ile rid thee of that foule paynìm,
Who partes thy love and thee."
The ladye looked, the ladye blushte,
And blushte and lookt agayne,
While Adler he hath drawne his brande,
And hath the Sowdan slayne.
Up then rose the kemperye men,
And loud they gan to crye:
Ah! traytors, yee have slayne our kyng,
And therefore vee shall dye.
Kyng Estmere threwe the harpe asyde,
And swith he drew his brand;
And Estmere he, and Adler yonge
Right stiffe in stour can stand.
KING ESTMERE.
Kyng Estmere tooke that fayre ladyè,
And marryed her to his wiffe,
And brought her home to merry Englànd
With her to leade his life.
255
260
265
And aye their swordes soe sore can byte,
Throughe help of Gramaryè,
That soone they have slayne the kempery men, 275
Or forst them forth to flee.
"So helpe me Mahowne of might,
And Termagaunt my God so bright."
Sign. p. iij. b.
270
280
**The word Gramarye, which occurs several
mes in the foregoing poem, is probably a corrup-
ion of the French word Grimoire, which signifies a
conjuring book in the old French romances, if not
he art of necromancy itself.
+++ Termagaunt (mentioned above), is the name
given in the old romances to the god of the Sara-
ens in which he is constantly linked with Ma-
hound, or Mahomet. Thus in the legend of Syr
Guy, the Soudan (Sultan) swears,
This word is derived by the very learned editor
of Junius, from the Anglo-Saxon Tyn very, and
Magan mighty.-As this word had so sublime a
derivation, and was so applicable to the true God,
how shall we account for its being so degraded ?
Perhaps Tyn-mazan or Termagant had been a name
originally given to some Saxon idol, before our an-
cestors were converted to Christianity; or had been
he peculiar attribute of one of their false deities
and therefore the first Christian missionaries rejected
t as profane and improper to be applied to the true
Ver. 253, Some liberties have been taken in the follow-
ng stanzas; but wherever this Edition differs from the
preceding, it hath been brought nearer to the folio MS,
God. Afterwards, when the irruptions of the Sa
racens into Europe, and the Crusades into the East,
had brought them acquainted with a new species of
unbelievers, our ignorant ancestors, who thought all
that did not receive the Christian law were neces-
sarily pagans and idolaters, supposed the Maho-
metan 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 manner
as they afterwards used the name of Sarazen to ex-
press 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 Mabound and Termagaunt
made their frequent appearance in the pageants and
religious enterludes 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.'
19
"
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.]
CC
Accordingly, in a letter of Edward Alleyn, the
founder of Dulwich College, to his wife or sister*
who, it seems, with all her fellows (the players), had
been "by my Lorde Maiors officer [s] mad to rid in
a cart," he expresses his concern that she should
fall into the 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 Ham-
let's expression in Shakspeare, where, condemning
a ranting player, he says, "I could have such a fel-
low whipt for ore-doing Termagant: it out-herods
Herod." A. iii. sc. 3.-By degrees, the word came
to be applied to an outrageous turbulent person, and
especially to a violent brawling woman; to whom
alone it is now confined, and this the rather as, I
suppose, the character of Termagant was anciently
represented on the stage after the eastern mode, with
long robes or petticoats.
Another frequent character in the old pageants or
enterludes of our ancestors, was the soudan, or sol-
dan, representing a grim eastern tyrant: this ap-
pears from a curious passage 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 standeth in his majestie,
one of his tormentors might hap to break his head."
The soudain or soldan, was a name given to the Sa-
razen 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 generally represented as accompanied with
grim Sarazens, whose business it was to punish and
torment Christians. I cannot conclude this short
memoir, without observing that the French roman-
* See Lysons's "Environs of London, 4to, vol. i.
c 2
20
SIR PATRICK SPENCE.
cers, who had borrowed the word termagant from
us, and applied it as we in their old romances, cor-
rupted it into Tervagaunte: and from them La
Fontaine took it up, and has used it more than ɔnce
in his tales.-This may be added to the other proofs
SIR PATRICK SPENCE,
THE king sits in Dumferling toune,
Drinking the blude-reid wine:
O qubar will I get guid sailòr,
To sail this schip of mine?
-is given from two MS. copies, transmitted from
Scotland. In what age the hero of this ballad lived,
or when this fatal expedition happened that proved
so destructive to the Scots nobles, I have not been
able to discover; yet am of opinion, that their ca-
tastrophe is not altogether without foundation in
history, though it has escaped my own researches.
In the infancy of navigation, such as used the nor-
thern seas were very liable to shipwreck in the
wintry months: hence a law was enacted in the
reign of James III., (a law which was frequently
repeated afterwards,) "That there be na schip
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 Candel-
mess. Jam. III. Parlt. 2, ch. 15.
""
Up and spak an eldern knicht,
Sat at the kings richt kne :
Sir Patrick Spence is the best sailòr,
That sails upon the se.
VII.
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
probable that, like the Theban Hercules, he hath
engrossed the renown of other heroes.
The king has written a braid letter*,
And signd it wi' his hand;
And sent it to Sir Patrick Spence,
Was walking on the sand.
A SCOTTISH BALLAD,
5
adduced in this volume, of the great intercourse
that formerly subsisted between the old minstrels
and legendary writers of both nations, and that they
mutually borrowed each others romances.
10
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
* A braid letter, i. e. open, or patent; in opposition to
close Rolls.
The first line that Sir Patrick red,
A loud lauch lauched he:
The next line that Sir Patrick red,
The teir blinded his ee.
O quha is this has don this deid,
This ill deid don to me;
To send me out this time o' the zeir,
To sail upon the se?
Mak hast, mak haste, my mirry men all,
Our guid schip sails the morne.
O say na sae, my master deir,
For I feir a deadlie storme.
Late late yestreen I saw the new moone
Wi' the auld moone in hir arme ;
And I feir, I feir, my deir mastèr,
That we will com to harme.
O our Scots nobles wer richt laith
To weet their cork-heild schoone;
Bot lang owre a' the play wer playd,
Thair hats they swam aboone.
O lang, lang, may thair ladies sit
Wi' thair fans into their hand,
Or eir they se Sir Patrick Spence
Cum sailing to the land.
O lang, lang, may the ladies stand
Wi' thair gold kems in their hair,
Waiting for thair ain deir lords,
For they'll se thame na mair.
VIII.
ROBIN HOOD AND GUY OF GISBORNE.
Have owre, have owre to Aberdour*,
It's fiftie fadom deip:
And thair lies guid Sir Patrick Spence,
Wi' the Scots lords at his feitt.
15
20
25
30
35
40
the royal forests, at a time when the yeomanry of
this kingdom were every where trained up to the
long-bow, and excelled all other nations in the art of
shooting, must constantly have occasioned great
* A village lying upon the river Forth, the entrance to
which is sometimes denominated De mortuo mari.
+ An ingenious friend thinks the Author of Hardyknute
has borrowed several expressions and sentiments from the
foregoing, and other old Scottish songs in this colection.
|
ROBIN HOOD AND GUY OF GISBORNE.
numbers of outlaws, and especially of such as were
the best marksmen. These naturally fled to the
woods for shelter; and, forming into troops, endea-
voured by their numbers 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 know-
ledge 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 famous than
the hero of this ballad, whose chief residence was in
Shirewood forest, in Nottinghamshire; 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 hundred (were they ever so
strong) durst not give the onset. He suffered no
woman to be oppressed, violated, or otherwise
molested poore mens goods he spared, abundantlie
relieving them with that which by theft he got from
abbeys and the houses of rich carles: whom Maior
(the historian) blameth for his rapine and theft, but
of all 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 favou-
rite of the common people, who, not content to cele-
brate 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 profession, may have given rise
to such a report themselves: for we find it recorded
in an epitaph, which, if genuine, must have been
inscribed 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 :
* Hear undernead dis laitl stean
Ïaiz robert earl of huntingtun
neà arcir ver az hie sae geud
an pipl kauld im Robin Heud
sick ûtlawz as hi an is men
vil England nibir si agen.
obiit 24 kal, dekembris, 1247.
This Epitaph appears to me suspicious: however,
late Antiquary has given a pedigree of Robin Hood,
which, if genuine, shows that he had real pretensions
to the Earldom of Huntington, and that his true
hame was Robert Fitz-ootht. Yet the most ancient
boems on Robin Hood make no mention of this Earl-
Hom. He is expressly asserted to have been a yeo-
* See Thoresby's Ducat. Leod. p. 576. Biog. Brit. vi. 3933.
Stukelev, in his Palæographia Britannica, No. II. 1746.
man* in a very old legend in verse preserved in the
archives of the public library at Cambridget, in eight
fyttes or parts, printed in black letter, quarto, thus
inscribed: "Here begynneth a lytell geste of
Robyn hode and his meyne, and of the proude
sheryfe of Notyngham." The first lines are,
<<
<<
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 Ed-
warde and Robin Hode and Lyttel Johan. Enprented
at London in Fletestrete at the sygne of the sone by
Wynkin de Worde. -In Mr. Garrick's Collec-
tion is a different edition of the same poem “C
Imprinted at London upon the thre Crane wharfe by
Wyllyam Copland," containing at the end a little dra-
matic 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. C (··.) H.”
I shall conclude these preliminary remarks with ob-
serving, 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,
در
21
G
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 Sermons a very curious
and characteristical story, which shows what respect
was shown to the memory 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 Armour and Weapons of the Irish,"
p. 129, annexed to his "Historical Essay on the
Dress of the Ancient and Modern Irish." Dublin,
1788, 4to.
Some liberties were, by the Editor, taken 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 forrèst
To heare the small birdes songe.
The woodweele sang, and wold not cease,
Sitting upon the spraye,
Soe lowde, he awakened Robin Hood,
In the greenwood where he lay.
5
* See also the following ballad, v. 147. + Num. D. 5, 2.
Old Plays, 4to. K. vol. x.
Ver. 1. For shaws the MS. has shales: and shradds should
perhaps be swards: i. e. the surface of the ground: viz.
"when the fields were in their beauty:" or perhaps shades.
§ Ser. 6th before K. Ed. Apr. 12. fol. 75, Gilpin's Life of
Lat. p. 122.
22
ROBIN HOOD AND GUY OF GISBORNE.
L
Now by my faye, sayd jollye Robìn,
A sweaven I had this night;
I dreamt me of two wighty yemen,
That fast with me can fight.
Methought they did mee beate and binde,
And tooke my bow mee froe;
If I be Robin alive in this lande,
Ile be wroken on them towe.
Sweavens are swift, master, quoth John,
As the wind that blowes ore a hill;
For if itt be never so loude this night,
To-morrow itt may be still.
Buske yee, bowne yee, my merry men all,
And John shall goe with mee,
For Ile goe seeke yond wight yeomen,
In greenwood where the bee.
Then the cast on their gownes of grene,
And tooke theyr bowes each one;
And they away to the greene forrèst
A shooting forth are gone.
Until they came to the merry greenwood,
Where they had gladdest bee,
There were the ware of a wight yeoman,
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 capull hyde
Topp and tayll and mayne.
Stand you still, master, quoth Little John,
Under this tree so grene;
And I will go to yond wight yeoman
To know what he doth meane.
Ah! John, by 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,
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;
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 fellowès
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.
10
15
20
25
30
35
40
45
50
55
60
* i. e. ways, passes, paths, ridings. Gate is a common
word in the North for way.
One shoote now I will shoote, quoth John,
With Christ his might and mayne;
Ile make yond fellow that flyes soe fast,
To stopp he shall be fayne.
Then John bent up his long bende-bow,
And 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;
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,
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.
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.
Let us leave talking of Litle John,
And thinke of Robin Hood,
How he is gone to the wight yeoman,
Where under the leaves he stood.
I am wilfull of my waye, quo' the yeman,
And of my morning tyde.
Thou shalt be drawen by dale and downe,
And hanged hye on a hill.
But thou mayst fayle of thy purpose, quoth John,
If itt be Christ his will.
Ile lead thee through the wood, sayd Robin;
Good fellow, Ile be thy guide.
I seeke an outlawe, the straunger sayd,
Men call him Robin Hood;
Rather Ild meet with that proud outlawe
Than fortye pound soe good.
Now come with me thou wighty yeman,
And Robin thou soone shalt see:
But first let us some pastime find
Under the greenwood tree.
65
First let us some masterye make
Among the woods so even,
Wee may chance to meet with Robin Hood
Here att some unsett steven.
70
Good morrowe, good fellowe, 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.
They cutt them downe two summer shroggs,
That grew both under a breere,
And sett them threescore rood in twaine
To shoot the prickes y-fere.
75
80
85
90
100
105
110
115
ROBIN HOOD AND GUY OF GISBORNE.
Leade on, good fellowe, quoth Robin Hood,
I doe bidd thee.
Leade on,
Nay by my faith, good fellowe, hee sayd,
My leader thou shalt bee.
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 garlànde :
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;
For an thy hart be as good as thy hand,
Thou wert better then Robin Hoode.
Now tell me thy name, good fellowe, sayd he,
Under the leaves of lyne.
Nay by my faith, quoth bolde Robìn,
Till thou have told me thine.
I dwell by dale and downe, quoth hee,
And Robin to take Ime sworne ;
And when I am called by my right name
I am Guye of good Gisborne.
My dwelling is in this wood, sayes Robin,
By thee I set right nought:
I am Robin Hood of Barnèsdale,
Whom thou so long hast sought.
He that had neither beene kithe nor kin,
Might have seene a full fayre sight,
To see how together these yeomen went
With blades both browne * and bright.
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.
120
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.
125
130
135
140
To see how these yeomen together they fought
Two howres of a summers day :
Yett neither Robin Hood nor Sir Guy
150
Them fettled to flye away.
145
155
160
*The common epithet for a sword or other offensive
weapon, in 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 rustie in the same sense; thus he describes the
reve :-
"And by his side he bare a rusty blade."
Prol. ver. 620.
And even thus the god Mars :-
"And in his hand he had a rousty sword.”
Test of Cressid. 188.
Spenser has sometimes used the same epithet. See War-
ton's Observ. vol. ii. p. 62. It should seem, from this par-
ticularity, that our ancesters 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.
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,
And sticked itt on his bowes end:
Though hast beene a traytor all thy liffe,
Which thing must have an ende.
Robin pulled forth an Irish kniffe,
And nicked Sir Guy in the face,
That he was never on woman born,
Cold tell whose head it was.
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.
The bowe, the arrowes, and litle horne,
Now with me I will beare
Saies, 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.
For I will away to Barnèsdale,
To see how my men doe fare.
That beheard the sheriffe of Nottingham,
As he leaned under a lowe.
Hearken, hearken, sayd the sheriffe,
I heare nowe tydings good,
For yonder I heare Sir Guye's horne blowe,
And he hath slaine Robin Hoode.
Yonder I heare Sir Guye's horne blowe,
Itt blowes soe well in tyde,
And yonder comes that wightye yeoman,
Cladd in his capull hyde.
Robin Hood sett Guyes horne to his mouth, 185
And a loud blast in it did blow.
O, I will none of thy gold, sayd Robin,
Nor I will none of thy fee:
But now I've slaine the master, he sayes,
Let me goe strike the knave
;
This is all the rewarde I aske;
Nor noe other will I have.
Thou art a madman, said the sheriffe,
Thou sholdest have had a knight's fee:
But seeing thy asking bath beene soe bad,
Well granted it shale be.
When Litle John heard his master speake,
Well knewe he it was his steven :
Now shall I be looset, quoth Litle John,
With Christ his might in heaven.
23
165
Come hyther, come hyther, thou good Sir Guy,
Aske what thou wilt of mee.
Fast Robin hee hyed him to Little John,
He thought to loose him belive;
The sheriffe and all his companye
Fast after him did drive.
170
Ver. 163, awkwarde, MS.
180
190
195
200
205
210
215
24
AN ELEGY ON HENRY FOURTH EARL OF NORTHUMBERLAND.
Stand abacke, stand abacke, sayd Robin ;
Why draw you mee soe neere?
Itt was never the use in our countryè,
One's shrift another shold heere.
But Robin pulled forth an Irysh kniffe,
And loosed John hand and foote,
And gave him Sir Guyes bow into his hand
And bade it be his boote.
220
Then John he took Guye's bow in his hand, 225
His boltes and arrowes eche one:
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;
And soe did all his companye:
Not one behind wold stay.
230
The subject of this poem which was written 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 subsidy for carrying on the war in Bre-
tagne. 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 pray-
ing an abatement. But nothing is so unrelenting as
avarice the king wrote back that not a penny
should be abated. This message being delivered by
the earl with too little caution, the populace rose,
and, supposing him to be the promoter of their
calamity, broke into his house, and murdered him,
with several of his attendants, who yet are charged
by Skelton with being backward in their duty on
this occasion. This melancholy event happened at
the earl's seat at Cocklodge, near Thirske, in York-
shire, 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 mag-
nificence kept up by our ancient nobility during the
feudal times. This great earl is described here as
having, among his menial servants, knights, squires,
and even barons: see ver 32, 183, &c. which,
however different from modern manners,
formerly not unusual with our greater Barons, whose
castles had all the splendour and offices of a royal
court, before the laws against retainers abridged
and limited the number of their attendants.
was
John Skelton, who commonly styled himself 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 pre-
served 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 prefaced
&c. in the following manner:
But he cold neither runne soe fast,
Nor away soe fast cold ryde,
Bat Litle John with an arrowe so broad
He shott him into the 'backe'-syde.
The title of Sir was not formerly peculiar to
Knights, it was given to Priests, and sometimes to
very inferior personages.
IX.
AN ELEGY ON HENRY FOURTH EARL OF NORTHUMBERLAND.
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 Undergraduates, who have no prefix,
and from Masters of Arts, who are styled Magistri,
"Masters."
235
Poeta Skelton Laureatus libellum suum metrice
alloquitur.
Ad dominum properato meum mea pagina Percy,
Qui Northumbrorum jura paterna gerit,
Ad nutum celebris tu prona repone leonis,
Quæque suo patri tristia justa cano.
Ast ubi perlegit, dubiam sub mente volutet
Fortunam, cuncta quæ 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 NORTHUMBERLande.
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 doutles was slayne lamentably 5
Thorow tresun ageyn hym compassyd and wrought;
Trew to his prince, in word, in dede, and thought.
Of hevenly poems, O 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. II., Vid. Camden Britan. Edmondson, &c.
AN ELEGY ON HENRY FOURTH EARL OF NORTHUMBERLAND.
Of noble actes auncyently enrolde,
Of famous princis and lordes of astate,
By thy report ar wonte to be extold,
Regestringe trewly every formare date:
Of thy bountie after the usuall rate,
Kyndle in me suche plenty of thy noblès,
Thes sorrowfulle dities that I may shew expres. 20
In sesons past who hathe harde or sene
Of formar writinge by any presidente
That vilane bastarddis in ther furious tene,
Fulfyld with malice of froward entente,
Confeterd togeder of commoun concente
Falsly to slo ther moste singular goode lorde?
It may be registerde of shamefull recorde.
15
25
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
Knyghtis and squyers, at every season when [night
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 discust. 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;
45
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 be-
55
hynd;
Well may you be called comones most unkynd.
He was your chyfteyne, your shelde, your chef de-
fence,
Redy to assyst you in every tyme of nede:
Your worship depended of his excellence :
60
Alas! ye mad men, to far ye did excede :
Your hap was unhappy, to ill was your spede :
What movyd 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 sovereyn lord,
The welle concernyng of all the hole lande, 65
Demaundyng soche dutyes as nedis most acord
To the right of his prince which shold not be
withstand;
But had his nobill men done wel that day,
Ye had not been hable to have saide him nay.
For whos cause ye slew hym with your awne
hande :
70
But ther was fals packinge, or els I am begylde :
How-be-it the matter was evident and playne,
For yf they had occupied ther spere and ther shelde,
This noble man doutles had not be slayne.
Bot men say they wer lynked with a double
chayn,
75
And held with the commouns under a cloke,
Whiche kindeled the wyld fyre that made all this
smoke.
25
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 :
A
Agayne the king's plesure to wrastle or to wringe,
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 fault 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,
95
Togeder with servaunts of his famuly,
Turnd their backis, and let ther master fall,
Of whos [life] they counted not a flye;
Take up whos wolde for them, they let hym ly
Alas! his golde, his fee, his annuall rente
Upon suche a sort was ille bestowde and spent.
He was envyronde aboute on every syde
Withe his enemys, that were stark mad and
wode;
100
Yet whils he stode he gave them 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.
105
Alas for pite! that Percy thus was spylt,
The famous erle of Northumberlande :
Of knightly prowès the sworde pomel and hylt,
The mighty lyoun* doutted by se and lande!
O dolorous chaunce of fortuns fruward hande! 110
What man remembring how shamfully he was
slayne,
From bitter weepinge himself kan restrayne!
O cruell Mars, thou dedly god of war!
O dolorous Teusday, dedicate to thy name,
When thou shoke thy swordé so noble a man to
115
mar!
Alluding to his crest and supporters.
tracted for redoubted.
O grounde ungracious, unhappy be thy fame,
Whiche wert endyed with rede blode of the same!
Moste noble erle! O fowle mysuryd grounde
Whereon he gat his fynal dedely wounde!
Doutted is con
26
AN ELEGY ON HENRY FOURTH EARL OF NORTHUMBERLAND.
O Atropos, of the fatall systers thre,
Goddes mooste cruell unto the lyf of man,
All merciles, in the ys no pitè !
O 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
130
Of this lordis dethe and of his murdrynge.
Which whils he lyvyd had fuyson of every thing,
Of knights, of squyers, chef lord of toure and toune,
Tyl fykkill fortune began on hym to frowne.
120
Paregall to dukis, with kings he myght compare,
Surmountinge in honor all erls he did excede, 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 agyne him of fortune's duble
139
dyse.
What nedethe me for to extoll his fame
With my rude pen enkankerd all with rust?
Whos noble actis shew worsheply his name,
Transcendyng far myne homely muse, that must
Yet sumwhat wright supprisid with hartly lust,
Truly reportinge his right noble astate,
146
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,
With trowth to medle was all his hole delyght,
As all his kuntrey kan testefy the same :
To slo such a lord, alas, it was grete shame.
O yonge lyon, bot tender yet of age,
Grow and encrese, remembre thyn astate,
God the assyst unto thyn herytage,
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.
I pray God sende the prosperous lyf and long,
Stabille thy mynde constant to be and fast,
Right to mayntein, and to resist all wronge:
150
If the hole quere of the musis nyne
In me all onely wer sett and comprisyde,
Enbrethed with the blast of influence dyvyne,
As perfightly as could be thought or devysyd;
To me also allthouche it were promysyde
Of laureat Phebus holy the eloquence,
All were too litill for his magnyficence.
155
160
165
170
All flattringe faytors abhor and from the cast,
Of foule detraction God kepe the from the blast:
Let double delinge in the have no place,
And be not light of credence in no case.
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 complayne
This noble man, that crewelly was slayne.
More specially barons, and those knygtes bold,
And all other gentilmen with hym enterteynd
In fee, as menyall men of his housold,
Whom he as lord worsheply manteynd :
To sorow full weping they ought to be constreynd,
As oft as thei call to ther remembraunce,
Of ther good lord the fate and dedely chaunce.
185
O perlese prince of hevyn emperyalle,
190
That with one worde formed al thing of noughte;
Hevyn, hell, and erth obey unto thi kall;
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 well,
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 dwell
In thy palace above the orient,
Where thou art lorde, and God omnipotent.
O
quene of mercy, O lady full of grace,
Maiden moste pure, and goddis moder dere, 205.
To sorowfull harts chef comfort and solace,
Of all women O floure withouten pere,
Pray to thy son above the starris clere,
He to vouchesaf by thy mediatioun
To pardon thy servant, and bringe to salvacion. 210
In joy tryumphaunt the hevenly yerarchy,
With all the hole sorte of that glorious place,
His soule mot receyve into ther company
Thorowe bounte of hym that formed all solace :
215
Well of pite, of mercy, and of grace,
The father, the son, and the holy goste
In Trinitate one God of myghts moste.
+++ I have placed the foregoing poem of Skelton's
before the following extract from Hawes, not only
because it was written first, but because I think
Skelton is in general to be considered as the earlier
poet; many of his poems being written long before
Hawes's Graunde Amour.
P
THE TOWER OF DOCTRINE.
X.
THE TOWER OF DOCTRINE.
THE reader has here a specimen of the descriptive
powers of Stephen Hawes, a celebrated poet in the
reign of Hen. VII., though now little known. It is
extracted from an allegorical poem of his (written
in 1505,) intitled, "The Hist. of Graunde Amoure
& 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, intitled, "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 mentioned.
"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
5
The royal tower of Morall Document,
Made of fine copper wtih turrettes fayre and hye,
Which against Phebus shone soe marveylously.
That for the very perfect bryghtnes
What of the tower, and of the cleare sunne
I could nothyng 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,
And often mused of the great hyghnes
Of the craggy rocke which quadrant did appeare:
But 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 dragons*.
15
The little turrets with ymages of golde
About was set, whiche with the wynde 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 pyped a daunce
Iclipped Amour de la hault plesaunce.
V. 25, towers, PC.
* Greyhounds, Lions, Dragons, were at that time the royal
supporters.
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 company*: 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 busynesse, 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,
Where was a fountayne depured of plesance,
A noble sprynge, a ryall conduyte-hede,
Made of fyne golde enameled with reed;
And on the toppe four dragons blewe and stoute
Thys dulcet water in four partes dyd spoute.
27
Of whyche there flowed foure ryvers ryght clere, 50
Sweter than Nylust 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 floure;
And in my mouthe it had a marveylous scent
Of divers spyces, I knewe not what it ment.
Of golde was made a ryght crafty vyne;
Instede of grapes the rubies there did shyne.
The flore was paved with berall clarified,
With pillers made of stones precious,
Like a place of pleasure so gayely glorified,
It myght be called a palaice glorious,
So muche delectable and solacious;
The ball was hanged hye and circuler
With cloth of arras in the rychest maner,
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 crystall, 60
And in the roufe on bye over all
That treated well of a ful noble story,
Of the doubty waye to the Tower Perillous‡ ;
Howe a noble knyght should wynne the victory
Of many a serpente foule and odious.
* *
45
V. 44, besy courte, PC.
V. 49, partyes, PC.
* This alludes to a former part of the Poem.
+ Nysus, PC.
The story of the poem.
55
65
70
28
THE CHILD OF ELLE.
THE CHILD OF ELLE,
ON yonder hill a castle standes
With walles and towres bedight,
And yonder lives the Child of Elle,
A younge and comely knighte.
is given from a fragment in the Editor's folio
MS.: which, though extremely defective and muti-
lated, appeared to have so much merit, that it excited
a strong desire to attempt a completion of the story.
The reader will easily discover the supplemental
stanzas by their inferiority, and at the same time he
inclined to pardon it, when he considers how diffi-
cult it must be to imitate the affecting simplicity
and artless beauties of the original.
Child was a title sometimes given to a knight. See
Gloss.
The Child of Elle to his garden went,
And stood at his garden pale,
Whan, lo! he beheld fair Emmelines page
Come trippinge downe the dale.
The Child of Elle he hyed him thence,
Y-wis he stoode not stille,
And soone he mette faire 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,
And what may thy tydinges bee?
My lady she is all woe-begone,
And the teares they falle from her eyne;
And aye she laments the deadlye feude
Betweene her house and thine.
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
The last boone thou mayst have,
And biddes thee weare it for her sake,
When she is layd in grave.
XI.
Her father hath brought her a carlish knight,
Sir John of the north countràye,
10
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.
5
10
15
20
30
For, ah! her gentle heart is broke,
And in grave soone must shee bee,
Sith her father hath chose her a new new love,
And forbidde her to think of thee.
25
And within three dayes shee must him wedde, 35
Or he vowes he will her slaye.
40
Nowe hye thee backe, thou little foot-page,
And let thy fair ladye know
This knight will I bee at her bowre windowe,
Betide me weale or woe.
The boye he tripped, the boye he ranne,
He neither stint ne stayd
Untill he came to fair Emmelines bowre
Whan kneeling downe he sayd,
O ladye, I've been with thy own true love,
And he greets thee well by mee;
This night will he be at thy bowre-winde we,
And dye or sette thee free.
Nowe daye was gone and night was come,
And all were fast asleepe,
All save the ladye Emmeline,
Who sate in her bowre to weepe:
And soone she heard her true loves voice
Lowe whispering at the walle,
Awake, awake, my deare ladyè,
Tis I thy true love call.
Awake, awake, my ladye deare,
Come, mount this faire palfràye
This ladder of ropes will lette thee downe,
Ile carrye thee hence awaye.
Nowe nay, nowe nay, thou gentle knight,
Nowe nay,
this
not bee;
may
For aye shold I tint my maiden fame,
If alone I should wend with thee.
O ladye, thou with a knighte so true
Mayst safely wend alone,
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 daughtèr
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."
O ladye wert thou in thy saddle sette,
And a little space him fro,
I would not care for thy cruel fathèr,
Nor the worst that he could doe.
O ladye, wert thou in thy saddle sette,
And once without this walle,
I would not care for thy cruel fathèr,
Nor the worst that might befalle.
Faire Emmeline sighed, fair Emmeline wept,
And aye her heart was woe:
At length he seized he lilly-white hand,
And downe the ladder he drewe :
45
50
55
60
65
70
75
80
85.
90

And thrice he clasped her to his breste,
And kist her tenderlie :
The teares that fell from her fair eyes
Ranne like the fountayne free.
THE CHILD OF ELLE.
Hee mounted himselfe on his steede so talle,
And her on a fair palfràye,
And slung his bugle about his necke,
And roundlye they rode awaye.
All this beheard her owne damsèlle,
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 !
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 :
"And come thou forth, Sir John the knighte,
Thy ladye is carried to thrall."
Faire Emmeline scant had ridden a mile,
A mile forth of the towne,
When she was aware of her fathers men
Come galloping over the downe :
And formost came the carlish knight,
Sir John of the north countràye :
"Nowe stop, nowe stop, thou false traitòure,
Nor carry that ladye awaye.
For she is come of hye lineage,
And was of a ladye borne,
And ill it beseems thee a false churl's sonne
To carrye her hence to scorne."
But light nowe downe, my ladye faire,
Light downe, and hold my steed,
While I and this discourteous knighte
Doe trye this arduous deede.
But light nowe downe, my deare ladyè,
Light downe, and hold my horse ;
While I and this discourteous knight
Doe trye our valour's force.
Fair Emmeline sighed, fair Emmeline wept,
And aye her heart was woe,
While twixt her love and the carlish knight
Past many a baleful blowe.
The Child of Elle 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
Full fast approached nye :
Ah! what may ladye Emmeline doe;
Twere nowe no boote to flye.
95
100
Nowe loud thou lyest, Sir John the knight, 125
Nowe thou doest lye of mee;
A knight mee gott, and a ladye me bore,
Soe never did none by thee.
105
110
115
120
130
135
140
145
Her lover he put his horne to his mouth,
And blew both loud and shrill,
And soone he saw his owne merry men
Come ryding over the hill.
"Nowe hold thy hand, thou bold baròn,
I
pray thee hold thy hand,
Nor ruthless rend two gentle bearts
Fast knit in true love's band.
Thy daughter I have dearly loved
Full long and many a day;
But with such love as holy kirke
Hath freelye said wee may.
O give consent, shee may be mine,
And bless a faithfull paire :
My lands and livings are not small,
My house and lineage faire :
My mother she was an earl's daughtèr,
And a noble knyght my sire
The baron he frowned and turn'd away
With mickle dole and ire.
C
Fair Emmeline sighed, faire Emmeline wept,
And did all tremblinge stand:
At lengthe she sprang upon her knee,
And held his lifted hand.
Pardon, my lorde and father deare,
This faire yong knyght and mee:
Trust me, but for the carlish knyght,
I never had fled from thee.
Oft have
you called your Emmeline
Your darling and your joye;
O let not then your harsh resolves
Your Emmeline destroye.
The baron he stroakt his dark-brown cheeke,
And turned his heade asyde
To whipe awaye the starting teare
He proudly strave to hyde.
In deepe revolving thought he stoode,
And mused a little space :
Here take her, Child of Elle, he sayd,
And gave her lillye white hand;
Here take my deare and only child,
And with her half my land:
Thy father once mine honour wrongde
In dayes of youthful pride;
Do thou the injurye repayre
In fondnesse for thy bride.
And as thou love her, and hold her deare,
Heaven prosper thee and thine :
And nowe my blessing wend wi' thee,
My lovelye Emmeline.
29
150
155
160
165
Then raised faire Emmeline from the grounde,
With many a fond embrace.
170
175
180
185
196
195
200
+++ From the word kirke in ver. 159, this hato
been thought to be a Scottish Ballad, but it must be
acknowledged that the line referred to is among the
additions supplied by the Editor: besides, in the
Northern counties of England, kirk is used in the
common dialect for church, as well as beyond the
Tweed.
0
EDOM O' GORDON.
XII.
EDOM O' GORDON,
A SCOTTISH BALLAD,
was printed at Glasgow, by Robert and An-
drew Foulis, mdcclv. 8vo, 12 pages, We are
indebted for its publication (with many other valu-
able things in these volumes) to Sir David Dalrym-
ple, 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, recovored from a fragment
of the same ballad, in the Editor's folio MS. It is
remarkable that the latter is entitled Captain Adam
Carre, and is in the English idiom. But whether the
author was English or Scotch, the difference origi-
nally was not great. The English Ballads are gene-
rally 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
frequently to neither. Most of the finest old Scotch
songs have the scene laid within twenty miles of
England, which is indeed all poetic ground, green
hills, remains of woods, clear brooks. The pastoral
scenes remain: of the rude chivalry of former ages
happily nothing remains but the ruins of the castles,
where the more daring and successful robbers re-
sided. The House or Castle of the Rodes stood
about a measured mile south from Duns, in Ber-
wickshire: 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 Gor-
don 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 vio-
lences practised in the feudal times in every part
of this Ísland, and indeed all over Europe.
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 in-
stance, 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
verså.-The foregoing observation, which I owed to
Sir David Dalrymple, will appear the more perfectly
well founded, if, as I have since been informed
(from Crawford's Memoirs), the principal Com-
mander 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
* 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.
Morris, wherein the principal character introduced
had different names given him, perhaps from the
same cause.
It may be proper to mention, that in the folio MS.
instead of the "Castle of the Rodes," it is the
"Castle of Britton's-borrow," and also "Diactors" or
"Draitours-borrow," (for it is very obscurely written,)
and "Capt. Adam Carre" is called the "Lord of
Westerton-town." Uniformity required that the ad-
ditional stanzas supplied from that copy should be
clothed in the Scottish orthography and idiom this
has therefore been attempted, though perhaps imper-
fectly.
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.
And quhat a hauld sall we draw till,
My mirry men and me?
We wul gae to the house o' the Rodes,
To see that fair ladìe.
The lady stude on hir castle wa'
Beheld baith dale and down:
There she was ware of a host of men
Cum ryding towards the toun.
O see ze nat, my mirry men a'?
O see ze nat quhat I see?
Methinks I see a host of men :
I marveil quha they be.
She weend it had been hir luvely lord,
As he cam ryding hame;
It was the traitor Edom o' Gordon,
Quha reckt nae sin nor shame.
She had nae sooner buskit hirsel,
And putten on hir goun,
But Edom o' Gordon and his men
Were round about the toun.
They had nae sooner supper sett,
Nae sooner said the grace,
But Edom o' Gorden and his men
Were light about the place.
The lady ran up to hir towir head,
Sa fast as she could bie,
To see if by hir faire speechès
She could wi' him agree.
But quhan he see this lady saif,
And hir yates all locked fast,
He fell into a rage of wrath,
And his look was all aghast.
•
5
10
15
20
25
30
35
I
Cum doun to me, ze lady gay,
Cum doun, cum doun to me:
This night sall ye lig within mine armes,
To-morrow my bride sall be.
I winnae cum doun, ze fals Gordon,
I winnae cum doun to thee;
I winnae forsake my ain dear lord,
That is sae far frae me.
Give owre zour house, ze lady fair,
Give owre zour house to me,
Or I sall brenn yoursel therein,
Bot and zour babies three.
I winnae give owre, ze false Gordòn,
To nae sik traitor as zee :
And if ze brenn my ain dear babes,
My lord shall make ze drie.
But reach my pistoll, Glaud, my man *
And charge ze weil my gun
*:
For, but an I pierce that bluidy butcher,
My babes we been undone.
She stude upon hir castle wa',
And let twa bullets flee* :
She mist that bluidy butchers hart,
And only raz'd his knee.
Set fire to the house, quo' fals Gordon,
All wood wi' dule and ire:
Fals lady, ze sall rue this deid,
As ze bren in the fire.
Wae worth, wae worth ze, Jock my man,
I paid ze weil zour fee;
Quhy pu' ze out the ground-wa' stane,
Lets in the reek to me?
And ein wae worth ze, Jock my man,
I paid ze weil zour hire;
Quhy pu' ze out the ground-wa' stane,
To me lets in the fire?
EDOM O' GORDON.
Ze paid me weil my hire, lady;
Ze paid me weil my fee:
But now I'm Edom o'Gordons man,
Maun either doe or die.
O than bespaik bir little son,
Sate on the nurses knee :
Sayes, Mither deare, gi' owre this house,
For the reek it smithers me.
I wad gie a' my gowd, my childe,
Sae wald I a' my fee,
For ane blast o' the western wind,
To blaw the reek frae thee.
O then bespaik hir dochter dear,
She was baith jimp and sma :
O row me in a pair o' sheits,
And tow me owre the wa.
40
45
50
55
60
65
70
75
80
85
*These three lines are restored from Foulis's edition, and
the fol. MS., which last reads "the bullets" in ver. 58
They rowd hir in a pair o' sheits,
And towd hir owre the wa:
But on the point of Gordon's spear
She gat a deadly fa.
O bonnie bonnie was hir mouth,
And cherry were her cheiks,
And clear clear was hir zellow hair,
Whereon the reid bluid dreips.
Then wi' his spear he turnd hir owre,
O gin hir face was wan!
He sayd, Ze are the first that eir
I wisht alive again.
He turnd hir owre and owre againe,
O gin bir skin was whyte!
I might ha spared that bonnie face
To hae been sum mans delyte.
Busk and boun, my merry men a’,
For ill dooms I doe guess:
I cannae luik in that bonnie face,
As it lyes on the grass.
Thame, luiks to freits, my master deir,
Then freits wil follow thame:
Let it neir be said brave Edom o' Gordon
Was daunted by a dame.
But quhen the lady see the fire
Cum flaming owre hir head,
She wept and kist her children twain,
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,
I hauld it time to ga.'
O then bespyed hir ain dear lord,
As hee cam owr the lee ;
He sied his castle all in blaze
Sa far as he could see.
Then sair, O sair, his mind misgave,
And all his hart was wae ;
Put on, put on, my wighty men,
So fast as ze can gae.
Put on, put on, my wighty men,
Sa fast as ze can drie ;
For he that is hindmost of the thrang
Sall neir get guid o' me.
Than sum they rade, and some they rin,
Fou fast out-owr the bent;
But eir the foremost could get up,
Baith lady and babes were brent.
He wrang his hands, he rent his hair,
And wept in teenefu' muid:
O traitors, for this cruel deid
Ze sall weep teirs o'bluid.
$1
90
95
100
105
110
115
120
125
130
135
140
V. 98, 102, O 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.
32
BALLADS THAT ILLUSTRATE SHAKSPEAKE
And after the Gordon he is gane,
Sa fast as he might drie ;
And soon i' the Gordon's foul hartis bluid
He's wroken his dear ladie.
+++ Since the foregoing ballad was first printed,
the subject of it has been found recorded in Abp.
Spotswood's History of the Church of Scotland,
p. 259; who informs us, that
"Anno 1571. In the north parts of Scotland,
Adam Gordon (who was deputy for his brother the
Earl of Huntley) did keep a great stir; and, under
colour of the queen's authority, committed divers
oppressions, especially upon the Forbes...
Having killed Arthur Forbes, brother to the Lord
THE END OF THE FIRST BOOK.
SERIES THE FIRST.
BOOK II.
Forbes.... Not long after, he sent to summon the
house of Tavoy, pertaining to Alexander Forbes.
The lady refusing to yield without direction from
her husband, he put fire unto it, and burnt her
therein, with children and servaunts, being twenty-
seven persons in all.
OUR great dramatic poet having occasionally quoted
many ancient ballads, and even taken the plot of
one, if not more, of his plays from among them, it
was judged proper to preserve as many of these as
could be recovered, and, that they might be the
more easily found, to exhibit them in one collective
view. This second book is therefore set apart for
the reception of such ballads as are quoted by
Shakespeare, or contribute in any degree to illus-
trate 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 ten-
dency, it may not be improperly introduced 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.
"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 Maga
zine for May, 1775, p. 219.
I
BALLADS THAT ILLUSTRATE SHAKSPEARE.
ON THE ORIGIN OF THE ENGLISH STAGE, &e.
Ir is well known that dramatic poetry in this and
most other nations of Europe owes its origin, or at
least its revival, to those religious shows, which in
the dark ages were usually exhibited on the more
solemn festivals. At those times they were wont
to represent in the churches the lives and miracles
* Ba. Warburton's Shakespeare, vol. v. p. 338.-Pref. to
Dergie (la Flaƒ- Riccoboni's Acct. of Theat. of Eu-
rope, &c. &c. These were all the author had seen when he
first drew up this Essay.
of the saints, or some of the more important stories
of Scripture. And as the most mysterious subjects
were frequently chosen, such as the Incarnation,
Passion, and Resurrection of Christ, &c. these ex-
hibitions acquired the general name of Mysteries.
At first they were probably a kind of dumb shows,
intermingled, it may be, with a few short speeches;
at length they grew into a regular series of con-
nected 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 exhi-
bited in their most simple form, we may learn from
an ancient novel, often quoted by our old dramatic
Poets,* entitled "a Merye Jest of a Man that
was called Howleglas," + &c., being a translation
from the Dutch language, in which he is named
Ulenspiegle. 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
his
Howleglass owed a grudge for revealing
rogueries to his master. The story thus proceeds:
"And than in the meane season, while Howleglas,
was parysh clarke, at Easter they should play the
See Ben Johnson's Poetaster, act iii. sec. 4, and his
Masque of The Fortunate Isles. Whalley's edit. vol. ii.
p. 49, vol. vi. p. 190.
+ Howleglass is said in the preface to have died in м,cccc,L.
At the end of the book, in M,CCC,L.
ON THE ORIGIN OF THE ENGLISH STAGE.
Resurrection 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 Aun-
gell: and this seing Howleglas, toke to him iij of the
symplest persons that were in the towne, that played
the ij Maries; and the Person [i. e. Parson or Rec-
tor] played Christe, with a baner in his hand. Than
saide Howleglas to the symple persons, Whan 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 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 Ilowleglas
upon the cheke, but she missed him and smote one
of the simple persons that played one of the thre
Maries; and he gave her another; and than toke
she him by the heare [hair]; and that seing his
wyfe, came running hastely to smite the priestes
leman; and than the priest seeing this, caste down
hys baner and went to helpe his woman, so that the
one gave the other sore strokes, and made great
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 (c)."
As the old Mysteries frequently required the re-
presentation of some allegorical personage, 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 reason I shall give a short analysis of them
both.
One of them is entitled "Every Man" (d). The
subject of this piece is the summoning of Man out
of the world by Death; and its moral, that nothing
will then avail him but a well-spent life and the
comforts of religion. This subject and moral are
opened in a monologue spoken by the Messenger (for
that was the name generally given by our ancestors
to the Prologue on their rude stage :) then God (e)
is represented; who, after some general com-
plaints on the degeneracy of mankind, calls for Deth,
and orders him to bring before his tribunal Every-
man, for so is called the personage who represents
the Human Race. Every-man appears, and receives
the summons with all the marks of confusion and
terror. When Death is withdrawn, Every-Man ap-
plies for relief in this distress to Fellowship, Kin-
dred, Goods, or Riches, but they successively
(c) T. IMPRYNTED..BY WYLLYAM COPLAND: without
date, 4to. bl. let. among Mr. Garrick's Old Plays, K. vol. X.
(d) 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.
(e) The second person of the Trinity seems to be meant.
33
renounce and forsake him. In this disconsolate
state he betakes himself to Good Dedes, who, after
upbraiding him with his long neglect of her (ƒ),
introduces him to her sister Knowledge, and she
leads him to the "holy man Confession," who ap-
points 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, Discre-
tion, and Five Wits (g) have all taken their final
leave of him, gradually expires on the stage; Good
Dedes still accompanying him to the last. Then an
Aungell descends to sing his Requiem; and the Epi-
logue is spoken by a person, called Doctour, who
recapitulates the whole, and delivers the moral :
¶. 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 Beautè, Five Witts, Strength and
They all at last do Every Man forsake; [Discretion,
Save his Good Dedes there dothe he take;
But beware, for and they be small,
Before God he hath no helpe at all," &c.
From this short analysis it may be observed, that
"Every Man" is a grave solemn piece, not without
some rude attempts to excite terror and pity, and
therefore may not improperly be referred to the class
of Tragedy It is remarkable that in this old simple
drama the fable is conducted upon the strictest model
of the Greek tragedy. The action is simply one, the
time of action is that of the performance, the scene
is never changed, nor the stage ever empty. Every-
Man, the hero of the piece, after his first appear-
ance never withdraws, except when he goes out to
receive the sacraments, which could not well be ex-
hibited in public; and during his absence Know-
ledge 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
Agonistes of Milton is hardly formed on a severer
plan (h).
The other play is entitled "Hick-Scorner" (i), 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 Prologue 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 degeneracy 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 resort.
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 extremely vicious, who
(f) The before-mentioned are male characters.
(g) 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.
(h) See more of Every-Man, in Serics the Second, Pref.
to B, ii. Note.
(i) "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.
D
34
ON THE ORIGIN OF THE ENGLISH STAGE.
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 impri-
soned, descants, 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 delin-
quents. As soon as he is gone, Frewill appears
again; and, after relating 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 com-
panion Imaginacioun from their vicious course of
life and then the play ends with a few verses from
Perseverance by way of epilogue. 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 absurdities
in the plan and conduct of the foregoing 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 humo-
rous display of some of the vices of the age. Indeed
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 moralities
were upon the very threshold of real tragedy and
comedy; and therefore we are not to wonder that
tragedies and comedies in form soon after took place,
especially as the revival of learning about this time
brought them acquainted with the Roman and Gre-
cian models.
II. Ar 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, afterwards 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 scholars) a mira-
cle play of St. Catharine, composed by himself. (a).
This was long before the year 1119, and probably
within the 11th century. The above play of St.
Catharine was, for aught that appears, the first spec-
tacle of this sort that was exhibited in these king-
doms and an eminent French writer thinks it was
even the first attempt towards the revival of Dra-
matic Entertainments in all Europe; being long
before the Representations of Mysteries in France;
for these did not begin till the year 1398 (b).
But whether they derived their origin from the
above exhibition or not, it is certain that Holy Plays,
(a) Apud Dunestapliam.... quendum ludum de sancta
Katerina (quem miracula vulgariter appellamus) fecit.
Ad quæ decoranda, petiit a sacrista sancti Albani, ut sibi
Capa Chorales accommodarentur, et obtinuit. Et fuit
ludus ille de sancta Katerina. Vitæ 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 early writings of Fitz-Stephens: quoted
below.
(b) Vid. Abregé Chron. de l'Hist. de France par M
Henault, à l'ann, 1179.
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 (c). In the subsequent age of Chau-
"Plays of Miracles" in Lent were the common
resort of idle gossips (d).
cer,
They do not appear to have been so prevalent on
the continent, for the learned historian of the council
of Constance(e) ascribes to the English the introduc-
tion of plays into Germany. He tells us that the
Emperor, having been absent from the council for
some time, was at his return received with great
rejoicings, and that the English fathers in particular
did, upon that occasion, cause a sacred comedy to be
acted before him on Sunday Jan. 31, 1417; the sub-
jects 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 in-
vention of this sort of spectacles, unknown to them
before that period.
The fondness of our ancestors for dramatic ex-
hibitions of this kind, and some curious particulars
relating to this subject, will appear from the Hous-
hold Book of the fifth Earl of Northumberland, A.
D. 1512(f) whence I shall select a few extracts,
which show that the exhibiting scripture dramas on
the great festivals entered into the regular establish-
ment, and formed part of the domestic regulations
of our ancient nobility; and, what is more remark-
able, that it was as much the business of the chap-
lain in those days to compose Plays for the family,
as it is now for him to make sermons.
"C
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.
CC
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 chappell and
other his lordshipis servaunts that doith play the
play befor his lordship uppon Shrof-Tewsday a
night yerely in reward-xs." Ibid. p. 345.
to them.... that playth the play o
""
66
Item,
•

• • · •
(c) 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 spectaculis theatralibus
pro ludis scenicis, ludos habet sanctiores, representatione
miraculorum, &c. He is thought to have written in the
reign of Hen. II., and to have died in that of Richard I. I
is true, at the end of this book we find mentioned Henricun
regem tertium; but this is doubtless Henry the Second's son
who was crowned during the life of his father, in 1170, an
is generally distinguished as Rex juvenis, Rex filius, and
sometimes they were jointly named Reges Angliæ. From
passage in his Chap. De Religione, it should seem that th
body of St. Thomas Becket was just then a new acquisitio
to the Church of Canterbury.
(d) See Prologue to Wife of Bath's Tale, v. 6137. Tyr
whitt's Ed.
(e) M. L'Enfant. Vid. Hist. du Conc. de Constance, vo
ii. p. 440.
(f)" The regulations and establishments of the houshold c
Hen. Alg. Percy, fifth Earl of Northumb. Lond. 1770." 8vc
Whereof a small impression was printed by order of the
late Duke and Duchess of Northumberland to bestow i
presents to their friends.-Although begun in 1512, some ‹
the Regulations were composed so late as 1525.
(C
Resurrection upon estur day in the mornnynge in
by 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 yerly in my lordis hous in cristmas for the
overseyinge and orderinge of his lordschips playes,
interludes and dresinge that is plaid befor his lord-
ship in his hous in the xijth dayes of Cristenmas and
they to have in rewarde for that caus yerly-xxs.”
Ibid. p. 346.
(C
Item, My lorde useth and accustomyth to gyf
every of the iiij. Parsones that his lordschip admyted
as his Players to com to his lordship yerly at Cris-
tynmes ande at all other such tymes as his lordship
shall comande them for playing of playe and inter-
ludes 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 Players for
slayes playd at Christynmas by stranegeres in my
house after xxd.(g) every play, by estimacion somme
-xxxiijs. iiij''(h). Sect. I. p. 22.
(C
...
(C
Item, My Lorde usith, and accustometh to gif
yerely when his lordshipp is at home, to every erlis
Players that comes to his lordshipe betwixt Cristyn-
mas ande Candelmas, if he be his special lorde &
frende & Kynsman-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 lordshipe betwixt Cry-
stynmas and Candilmas-xs." Ibid.
ON THE ORIGIN OF THE ENGLISH STAGE.
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 suppose, only strolers.
The profession of a common player was about this
time held by some in low estimation. In an old
satire, entitled "Cock Lorreles Bote"(i) the author
enumerating the most common trades or callings, as
carpenters, coopers, joyners," &c. mentions
tt
<<
-
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 Moralites, which
prevailed so early, and became so common, that,
towards the latter end of King Henry VIIth's reign,
John Rastel, brother-in-law to Sir Thomas More,
conceived 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 Elements declarynge many proper
points of Philosophy Naturall, and of Dyvers
Straunge Landys, (a) &c. It is observable that the
(g) This was not so small a sum then as it may now appear;
for in another part of this MS. the price ordered to be given.
for a fat ox is but 13s. 4d. and for a lean one 8s.
(h) At this rate the number of plays acted must have been
wenty.
(i) Pr. at the Sun in Fleet-st. by W. de Worde, no date,
b. 1. 4to.
(a) Mr. Garrick has an imperfect copy, (Old Plays, i. vol.
ii.) The dramatis personæ are, ". The Messenger [or
Prologue]. Nature naturate; Humanytè; Studyous Desire;
Sensuall Appetyte; The Taverner; Experyence; Ygno-
raunce (Also yf ye lyste ye may brynge in a dysgy-
ynge.") Afterwards follows a table of the matters handled
n the interlude; among which are, ". Of certeyn con-
clusions prouvynge the yerthe must nedes be rounde, and
hat yt is in circumference above xxi M. myle."--"¶. Of
35
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 West Indies were discovered by Columbus
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 alludes 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 division of acts and scenes. But
in the moral interlude of "Lusty Juventus,"(b)
written under Edward VI., the exits and entrances
began to be noted in the margin :(c) at length in
Queen Elizabeth's reign moralities appeared formally
divided into acts and scenes, with a regular pro-
logue, &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 beginning 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 restrictions. Vid. Sect. V.
:
In the time of Hen. VIII., one or two dramatic
pieces had been published under the classical names
of comedy and tragedy, (d) 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; (e) and Gascoigne, in
1566, exhibited " Jocasta," a translation from Euri-
pides, as also "The Supposes," a regular comedy,
from Ariosto: near thirty years before any of Shake-
speare's were printed.
{{
The people however still retained a relish for their

CC
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 dis-
coveries by our own countrymen.
(b) Described in Serics the Second, preface to book ii.
The Dramatis Persona of this piece are, "T. Messenger,
Lusty Juventus,Good Counsail, Knowledge, Sathan the devyll,
Hypocrisie, Fellowship, Abominable-lyving an harlot], God's
merciful-promises."
(c) I have also discovered some few Exeats and Intrats
in the very old interlude of the "Four Elements."
(d) Bishop Bale had applied the name of Tragedy to his
Mystery of "God's Promises," in 1538. In 1540 John
Palsgrave, B. D. had republished a Latin comedy, called
Acolastus," with an English version. Holingshed tells us
(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," 8vo. p. 31.
e) Šee 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.
D2
36
ON THE ORIGIN OF THE ENGLISH STAGE.
old mysteries and moralities (ƒ), and the popular
dramatic poets seem to have made them their models.
From the graver sort of moralities our modern
Tragedy appears to have derived its origin; as our
Comedy evidently took its rise from the lighter
interludes of that kind. And as most of these pieces
contain an absurd mixture of religion and buf-
foonery, an eminent critic (g) has well deduced from
thence the origin of our unnatural Tragi-comedies.
Even after the people had been accustomed to
tragedies and comedies, moralities still kept their
ground: one of them entitled" The New Custom"(h)
was printed so late as 1573: at length they assumed
the name of masques, (i) and, with some classical
improvements, became in the two following reigns
the favourite entertainments of the court.
IV. The old mysteries, which ceased to be acted
after the reformation, appear to have given birth to a
Third Species of stage exhibition, which, though
now confounded with tragedy and comedy, were by
our first dramatic writers considered as quite dis-
tinct from them both: these were historical plays,
or Histories, a species of dramatic writing, which
resembled the old mysteries in representing a series
of historical events simply in the order of time in
which they happened, without any regard to the
three great unities. These pieces seem to differ
from tragedies, just as much as historical poems do
from Epic: as the Pharsalia does from the Æneid.
What might contribute to make dramatic poetry
take this form was, that soon after the mysteries
ceased to be exhibited, was published a large col-
lection of poetical narratives, called "The Mirrour
for Magistrates, (a) wherein a great number of the
most eminent characters in English history are
drawn relating their own misfortunes. This book
was popular, and of a dramatic cast; and therefore,
as an elegant writer (b) has well observed, might have
its influence in producing historical plays. These
narratives probably furnished the subjects, and the
ancient mysteries suggested the plan.
There appears indeed to have been one instance of
an attempt at an Historical Play itself, which was per-
haps as early as any mystery on a religious subject;
for such, I think, we may pronounce the representa-
tion of a memorable event in English history, that
was expressed in actions and rhimes. This was
the old Coventry play of "Hock Tuesday,"(c) founded
on the story of the massacre of the Danes, as it hap-
pened on St. Brice's night, November 13, 1002.(d)
The play in question was performed by certain men
of Coventry, among the other shows and entertain-
ments at Kenilworth Castle, in July 1575, prepared
(f) 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.
(g) Bp. Warburt. Shakesp. vol. v.
(h) Reprinted among Dodsley's Old Plays, vol. i.
(2) In some of these appeared characters full as extraordinary
as in any of the old Moralities. In Ben Jonson's Masque of
Christmas, 1616, one of the personages is Minced Pye.
(a) The first part of which was printed in 1559.
(b) Catal. of Royal and Noble Authors, vol. p. 1667.
(c) This must not be confounded with the mysteries acted
on Corpus Christi day by the Franciscans at Coventry,
which were also called Coventry Plays, and of which an
account is given from T. Warton's Hist. of Eng. Poetry, &c.
in Malone's Shaks. vol. iì. part ii. pag. 13, 14.
(d) Not 1012, as printed in Laneham's Letter, mentioned
below.
for Queen Elizabeth, and this the rather "because
the matter mentioneth how valiantly our English
women, for the love of their country, behaved them-
selves."
The writer, whose words are here quoted, (e)
hath given a short description of the performance;
which seems on that occasion to have been without
recitation or rimes, and reduced to mere dumb-
show; consisting of violent skirmishes and encoun-
ters, first between Danish and English "lance-
knights on horse back," armed with spear and shield;
and afterwards between "hosts" of footmen: which
at length ended in the Danes being "beaten down,
overcome, and many led captive by our English
women." (f)
This play, it seems, which was wont to be exhi-
bited in their city yearly, and which had been of
great antiquity and long continuance there, (g) had
of late been suppressed, at the instance of some well
meaning but precise preachers, of whose "sourness"
herein the townsmen complain; urging that their
play was "without example of ill manners, papistry,
or any superstition;"(h) which shows it to have
been entirely distinct from a religious mystery.
But having been discontinued, and as appears from
the narrative, taken up of a sudden after the sports
were begun, the players apparently had not been
able to recover the old rhimes, or to procure new
ones, to accompany the action; which if it originally
represented "the outrage and importable insolency
of the Danes, the grievous complaint of Huna, king
Ethelred's chieftain in wars* ;" his counselling and
contriving the pict to dispatch them; concluding
with the conflicts above mentioned, and their final
suppresion" expressed in actions and rhimes
after their manner,"(i) 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.t
Whatever this old play, or "storial show,"(k)
was at the time it was exhibited to Queen Elizabeth
it had probably our young Shakespeare for a spec
tator, who was then in his twelfth year, and doubt
less attended with all the inhabitants of the sur
rounding country at these "princely pleasures o
Kenelworth,"() whence Stratford is only a few
miles distant. And as the Queen was much diverted
with the Coventry play, "whereat her Majest
laught well," and rewarded the performers with
(e) Ro. Laneham, whose Letter, containing a full descrip
ton of the Shows, &c. is reprinted at large in Nicholls
Progresses of Q. Elizabeth, &c. vol. i. 410, 1788.~Tha
writer's orthography, being peculiar and affected, is not her
followed.
Laneham describes this play of HOCK TUESDAY, whic
was "presented in an historical cue by certain good-hearte
men of Coventry" (p. 32), and which was "wont to
play'd in their citie yearly" (p. 33), as if it were peculi
to them, terming it "their old storial show" (p 32).—And
it might be as represented and expressed by them "aft
their manner" (p. 33): although we are also told by Bey
Higgons, that St. Brice's Eve was still celebrated by th
Northern English in commemoration of this massacre
the Danes, the women beating brass instruments, and sin
ing old rhimes, in praise of their cruel ancestors. See
Short View of Eng. History, 8vo, p. 17. (The Preface
dated 1734).
(g) Ibid p. 33.
(f) Laneham, p. 37.
(h) lbid.
* Ibid. p. 32.
(i) Ibid. p. 33.
+ The Rhimes. &c. prove this play to have been in En
lish, whereas Mr. Thos. Warton thinks the Mysteries co
posed before 1328 were in Latin. Malone's Shakesp. v
ii. pt. ii. p. 9.
(k) Laneham, p. 32. (7) See Nichols's Progresses, vol i. p.
ON THE ORIGIN OF THE ENGLISH STAGE.
bucks, and 5 marks in money: who, "what rejoicing
upon their ample reward, and what triumphing upon
the good acceptance, vaunted their play was never
so dignified, nor ever any players before so beatified:"
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 (m)," we may imagine what an impression
was made on his infant mind. Indeed the dramatic
cast of many parts of that superb entertainment,
which continued nineteen days, and was the most
splendid of the kind ever attempted in this kingdom;
the addresses to the Queen in the personated charac-
ters of Sybille, a savage man, and Sylvanus, as she
approached or departed from the castle; and, on the
water, by Arion, a Triton, or the Lady of the Lake,
must have had a very great effect on a young imagi-
nation, whose dramatic powers were hereafter to
astonish the world.
But that the historical play was considered by
our old writers, and by Shakespeare himself, as dis-
tinct from tragedy and comedy, will sufficiently
appear from various passages in their works.
" Of
late days," says Stow," in place of those stage plays(n)
hath been used comedies, tragedies, enterludes and
histories both true and fayned(o)."-Beaumont and
Fletcher, in the prologue to "The Captain," say,
"This is nor Comedy, nor Tragedy,
Nor History."
Polonius in "Hamlet" commends the actors, as the
best in the world, "either for tragedie, comedie,
historie, pastorall,"&c. And Shakespeare's friends,
Heminge and Condell, in the first folio edit. of his
plays, in 1623 (p), have not only entitled their book
"Mr. William Shakespeare's comedies, histories,
and tragedies:" 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. III, and Henry VIII;" to which they might
have added such of his other plays as have their sub-
jects taken from the old Chronicles, or Plutarch's
lives.
;
Although Shakespeare is found not to have been
the first who invented this species of drama(q), yet
he cultivated it with such superior success, and
threw upon this simple inartificial 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 Shakespeare wrote, historical plays do not
appear to have attained this distinction, being not
mentioned in Q. Elizabeth's licence in 1574(r) to
James Burbage and others, who are only impowered
"to use, exercyse, and occupie, the arte and facultye
(m) Laneham, p. 38, 39. This was on Sunday evening.
July 9.
(n) The Creation of the World, acted at Skinners-well in
1409.
(0) 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.
(p) The same distinction is continued in the 2d. and 3d.
folios. &c.
(q) See Malene's Shakesp. vol- i. part ii. p. 31.
(r) See Malone's Shakesp. vol. i. pt. ii. p. 37.
37
of playenge comedies, tragedies, enterludes, stage-
playes, and such other like."-But when Shakes-
peare's histories had become the ornaments of the
stage, they were considered by the public, and by
himself, as a formal and necessary species, and are
thenceforth so distinguished in public instruments.
They are particularly inserted in the licence granted
by K. James I, in 1603 (s), to W. Shakespeare
himself, and the players his fellows; who are
authorized "to use and exercise the arte and faculty
of playing comedies, tragedies, histories, inter-
ludes, morals, pastorals, stage-plaies, and such
like."
The same merited distinction they continued
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 come-
dians of Q. Anne deceased, to bring up children in
the qualitie and exercise of playing comedies, his-
tories, interludes, morals, pastorals, stage-plaies,
and such like*." The same appears in an admoni-
tion issued in 1637 (t) by Philip Earl of Pembroke
and Montgomery, then Lord Chamberlain, to the
master and wardens of the company of printers and
stationers; 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 pub-
lished 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,
Shakespeare's histories appear to have been no longer
relished; at least the distinction respecting them is
dropt in the patents that were immediately granted
after the king's return.
This appears not only from the allowance to Mr.
William Beeston in June 1660(u), to use the house
in Salisbury-court " for a play-house, wherein com-
edies, tragedies, tragi-comedies, pastoralls, and inter-
ludes, may
be acted," but also from the fuller grant
(dated August 21, 1760)(v) to Thomas Killigrew,
Esq. and Sir William Davenant, knt. by which
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 Shakespeare was the favourite dramatic
poet, his histories had such superior merit, that he
might well claim to be the chief, if not the only his-
toric dramatist that kept possession of the English
stage; which gives a strong support to the tradition
mentioned by Gildon(w), 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
(s) Ibid. p. 40.
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: bu so neither are tragedies: they being briefly
directed to "act playes, eomedyes, and interludes, without
any lett," &c.
(t) Ibid, p. 139.
(u) This is believed to be the date by Mr. Malone, vol.
ii. pt. ii. p. 239.
(v) Ibid. p. 244.
(w) See Malone's Shakesp. vol. vi. p. 427. This ingenious
writer will, with his known liberality, excuse the difference
of opinion here entertained concerning the above tradition.
38
ON THE ORIGIN OF THE ENGLISH STAGE.
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
composition; since we cannot doubt but his illite-
rate countrymen would not only want such instruc-
tion when he first began to write, notwithstanding
the obscure dramatic chroniclers who preceded him;
but also that they would highly profit by his admi-
rable lectures on English history so long as he con-
tinued to deliver them to his audience. And, as it
implies no claim to his being the first who intro-
duced our chronicles on the stage, I see not why
the tradition should be rejected.
;
Upon the whole we have had abundant proof, that
both Shakespeare and his contemporaries considered
his histories, or historical plays, as of a legitimate
distinct species, sufficiently separate from tragedy
and comedy; a distinction which deserves the par-
ticular 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 criti-
cism to examine any work by whatever rule the
author prescribed for his own observance, then we
ought not to try Shakespeare's Histories by the ge-
neral laws of tragedy or comedy. Whether the rule
itself be vicious or not, is another inquiry; but cer-
tainly we ought to examine a work only by those
principles according to which it was composed. This
would save a deal of impertinent criticism.
V. We have now brought the inquiry as low as
was intended, but cannot quit it, without entering
into a short description of what may be called the
Economy of the ancient English stage.
Such was the fondness of our forefathers for dra-
matic entertainments, that not fewer than nineteen
play-houses had been opened before the year 1633,
when Prynne published his Histriomastix (a). From
this writer it should seem that "tobacco, wine and
beer(b),"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 (c) re-
(a) He speaks in p. 492, of the Playhouses in Bishopsgate-
street, and on Ludgate-hill, which are not among the seven-
teen enumerated in the Preface to Dodsleys's Old Plays.
Nay, it appears from Rymer's MSS. that twenty-three
Playhouses had been at different periods open in London:
and even six of them at one time. See Malone's Shakesp.
vol. i. pt. ii. p. 48.
(b) 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 sometimes
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 reckoning?"
Prynne's Histriom. 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.
CC
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.
(c) See the extracts above, in p. 139 from the E. of Nor-
thumb. Houshold Book.
tainers, or menial servants to particular noblemen,(d)
who protected them in the exercise of their profes-
sion; and many of them were occasionally Strollers,
that travelled from one gentleman's house to another.
Yet so much were they encouraged, that, notwith-
standing their multitude, some of them acquired
large fortunes. Edward Allen, master of the play-
house called the Globe, who founded Dulwich col-
lege, is a known instance. And an old writer speaks
of the very inferior actors, whom he calls the hire-
lings, as living in a degree of splendour, which was
thought enormous in that frugal age(e).
At the same time the ancient prices of admission
were often very low. Some houses had penny-
benches(f). The "two-penny gallery" is mentioned
in the prologue to Beaumont and Fletcher's Woman-
Hater (g). And seats of three-pence and a groat seem
to be intended in the passage of Prynne above refer-
red 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(h). But
(d) See the Pref. to Dod-ley's Old Plays.-The author of
an old invective against the Stage, called, A third Blast of
Retrait from Plaies, &c. 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 executing their
office!....They [the nobility are thought to be covetous by
permitting their servants...to live at the devotion or almes
of other men, passing from countrie to countrie, from one
gentleman's house to another, offering their service, which
is a kind of beggerie. Who indeede, to speake more truelie,
are become beggers for their servants. For comonlie the
good-wil, men beare to their Lordes, makes them draw the
stringes of their purses to extend their liberalitie." Vid.
pag. 75, 76, &c.
(e) 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 gentlemens noses
in sutis of silke, exercising themselves to prating on the
stage, and common scoffing when they come abrode, where
they look askance over the shoulder at every man, of whom
the Sunday before they begged an almes. I speake not
this, as though 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 a
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.
66
…………
In a subsequent period we have the following satirica
fling at the showy exterior and supposed profits of the actor:
of that time.-Vid. Greene's Groatsworth of Wit, 1625, 4to
"What is your profession?"—"Truly, sir, 1 am a
Player." "A Player?....I took you rather for a Gentle
man of great living; for, if by outward habit men should be
censured, I tell you, you would be taken for a substantia
"So I am where I dwell.....What, though the
world once went hard with me, when I was fayne to carry
my playing-fardle a foot-backe: tempora mutantur....fo
my very share in playing apparrell will not be sold for tw
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.
man."
(f) So a MS. of Oldys, from Tom Nash, an old pamphlet
writer. And this is confirmed by Taylor the Water-poet, i
his Praise of Beggerie, p. 99.
"Yet have I seen a begger with his many, [sc. vermin]
Come at a play-house, all in for one penny.
""
(g) So in the Belman's Night-walks by Decker, 1616, 4to
Pay thy two-pence to a Player, in this gallery thou mayes
sit by a harlot.”
Co
(h) Induct. to Ben Jonson's Bartholomew-fair. An ancien
satirical piece, called "The Blacke Book, Lond. 1604, 4to.
talks of "The six-penny Roomes in Playhouses;"
leaves a legacy to one whom he calls "Arch-tobacco take
of England, in ordinaries, upon stages both common an
private,"
an
ON THE ORIGIN OF THE ENGLISH STAGE.
a shilling seems to have been the usual price(i) of
what is now called the Pit, which probably had its
name from one of the play-houses having been a
Cock-pit(k).
The day originally set apart for theatrical exhibi-
tion appears to have been Sunday; probably because
the first dramatic pieces were of a religious cast.
During a great part of Queen Elizabeth's reign, the
playhouses were only licenced to be opened on that
day(); but before the end of her reign, or soon
after, this abuse was probably removed.
The usual time of acting was early in the after-
noon(m), plays being generally performed by day-
light(n). All female parts were performed by men, no
English actress being ever seen on the public stage(0),
before the Civil Wars.
(i) Shakesp. Prol. to Hen. viij.-Beaum, and Fletch. Prol.
to the Captain, and to the Mad-lover.
(k) This etymology hath been objected to by a very inge-
nious writer (see Malone's Shakesp. 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 name of pit, 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.
(7) So Ste. Gosson, in his Schoole of Abuse, 1579, 12mo,
speaking of the players, says, "These, because they are al-
lowed 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 plaeing on the
Sabboth-daie. . . . To plaie on the Sabboth is but a privi-
lege of sufferance, and might with ease be repelled, were it
thoroughly followed." pag. 61,62. So again, "Is not the
Sabboth of al other daies 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 exclammations of this kind occur in
Frynne, 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."
(m) "He entertaines us" (says Overbury in his character
cf an Actor)" in the best leasure of our life, that is, betweene
meales; the most unfit time either for study, or bodily ex-
ercise."-Even so late as in the reign of Cha. II, Plays
generally began at 3 in the afternoon.
(n) See Biogr. Brit. i. 117, n. D.
""
(0) I 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 b¨'
men or boys on the public stage, yet in masques at couit, a
Lastly, with regard to the playhouse furniture
and ornaments, a writer of King Charles the Second's
time(p), who well remembered the preceding age,
assures us, that in general "they had no other scenes
nor decorations of the stage, but only old tapestry,
and the stage strewed with rushes, with habits ac-
cordingly (q)."
Yet Coryate thought our theatrical exhibitions,
&c. splendid when compared with what he saw
abroad. Speaking of the theatre for comedies at
Venice, he says, "The house is very 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 certaine things that I never saw before:
for I saw women act, a thing that I never saw
before, though I have heard that it hath been 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(r)."
39
It ought, however, to be observed, that, amid such
a multitude of playhouses as subsisted in the Me-
tropolis before the Civil Wars, there must have
been a great difference between their several accom-
modations, ornaments, and prices; and that some
would be much more showy than others, though
probably all were much inferior in splendour to the
two great theatres after the Restoration.
**The preceding Essay, although some of the
materials are new arranged, hath received no alte-
ration deserving notice, from what it was in the
Second edition, 1767, except in Section iv, which in
the present impression hath been much enlarged.
This is mentioned, because, since it was first pub-
lished, 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," (Shakesp. vol. i, pt. ii, 1790,) hath added
greatly to our knowledge of the economy and usages
of our ancient theatres.
66
the queen and her ladies made no scruple to perform the
principal parts, especially in the reigns of James I. and
Charles I.
Sir William Davenant, after the Restoration, introduced
women, scenery, and higher prices. See Cibber's Apology
for his own Life.
(p) See a short Discourse on the English Stage, subjoined to
Flecknor's" Love's Kingdom," 1674, 12mo.
(q) 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 Execration on
Vulcan.
Puttenham tells 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,
(r) Coryate's Crudities, 4to, 1611, p. 247.
S
40
ADAM BELL, CLYM OF THE CLOUGH,
ADAM BELL, CLYM OF THE CLOUGH, AND WILLIAM OF CLOUDESLY,
Lord William Howard to some of the officers of
state, wherein he mentions them.
As for the following stanzas, which will be judged
from the style, orthography, and numbers, to be of
considerable antiquity, they were here given (cor-
rected in some places by a MS. copy in the Editor's
old folio) from a black-letter 4to. Imprinted at London
in Lothburge by William 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 dis-
tinguished by the usual inverted 'comma' have been
assisted 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 Wil-
liam of Cloudesly's son: but greatly inferior to this
both in merit and antiquity.
were three noted outlaws, whose skill in
archery rendered them formerly as famous in the
North of England, as Robin Hood and his fellows
were in the midland counties. Their place of resi-
dence was in the forest of Englewood, not far from
Carlisle, (called corruptly 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 brought Adam Bell, and Clim of the Clough,
And William a Clowdéslee
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 commonly
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 ancient poets. Shaks-
peare, 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 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 London," 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 prin-
cipal 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 Fœdera, a letter from
I.
* 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 dex-
terity in escaping before the contents fall upon them.
ti. e. Each with a canvass bow-case tied round his loins.
PART THE FIRST.
MERY it was in the grene forest
Amonge the levès grene,
Whereas men hunt east and west
Wyth bowes and arrowes kene;
;
To raise the dere out of theyr denne
Suche sightes hath ofte bene sene;
As by thre yemen of the north countrèy,
By them it is I meane.
The one of them hight Adam Bel,
The other Clym of the Clough*
The thyrd was William of Cloudesly,
An archer good ynough.
>
They were outlawed for venyson,
These yemen everychone;
They swore them brethren upon a day
To Englyshe wood for to gone.
Now lith and lysten, gentylmen,
That of myrthes loveth to here:
Two of them were single men,
The third had a wedded fere.
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,
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,
If that the justice may you take,
Your lyfe were at an ende.
5
10
15
26
325
35
V. 24, Caerlel, in PC. passim.
* Clym of the Clough means Clem. Clement] of the
Cliff: for so Clough signifies in the North.
AND WILLIAM OF CLOUDESLY,
If that I come not to-morowe, brother,
By pryme to you agayne,
Truste you then that I am 'taken,'
Or else that I am slayne.
He toke hys leave of hys brethren two,
And to Carlile he is gon:
There he knocked at his owne windowe
Shortlye and anone.
Wher be you, fayre Alyce, he sayd,
My wife and chyldren three?
Lyghtly let in thyne owne husbande,
Wyllyam of Cloudeslee.
Alas! then sayde fayre Alyce,
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.
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,
Whome she loved as her lyfe.
There lay an old wyfe in that place,
A lytle besyde the fyre,
Whych Wyllyam had found of charytyè
More than seven yere.
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,
As fast as she could hye:
Thys night, shee sayd, is come to town
Wyllyam of Cloudeslyè.
Thereof the justice was full fayne,
And so was the shirife also:
They gave to her a ryght good goune,
Of scarlate, and of graine:'
She toke the gyft, and home she wente,
And couched her doune agayne.
They raysed the towne of mery Carleile
In all the haste they can;
And came thronging to Wyllyames house,
As fast as they might gone.
There they besette that good yeman
Round about on every syde:
Wyllyam hearde great noyse of folkes,
That thither-ward fast hyed.
35
V. 35. take, PC. tane. MS.
40
45
70
Thou shalt not trauaile hither, dame, for nought,
Thy meed thou shalt have ere thou go.
50
55
60
65
75
80
Alyce opened a backe wyndòwe,
And loked all aboute,
She was ware of the justice and shirife bothe,
Wyth a full great route.
Alas! treason, cryed Alyce,
Ever wo may thou be!
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,
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.
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,
Thys day thy cote dyd on!
If it had ben no better then myne,
It had gone nere thy bone.
Yelde the Cloudeslè, sayd the justise,
And thy bowe and thy arrowes the fro.
'A' curse on hys hart, sayd fair Alyce,
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.
They fyred the house in many a place,
The fyre flew up on hye;
Alas! then cryed fayre Alice,
I se we here shall dye.
William openyd a backe wyndow,
That was in hys chamber hie,
And there with sheetes he did let downe
His wife and children three.
Wyllyam shot so wonderous well,
Tyll hys arrowes were all agoe,
And the fyre so fast upon hym fell,
That hys bowstryng brent in two.
The sparkles brent and fell upon
Good Wyllyam of Cloudeslè:
Than was he a wofull man, and sayde,
Thys is a cowardes death to me.
41
V. 85, sic. MS. shop window, PC.
R
90
95
100
105
110
Have you here my treasure, sayde William, 125
My wyfe and my chyldren thre:
For Christès love do them no harme,
But wreke you all on me.
115
120
130
135
42
ADAM BELL, CLYM OF THE CLOUGH,
Leever had I, said Wyllyam,
With my sworde in the route to renne,
Then here among myne enemyes wode
Thus cruelly to bren.
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 they hym bounde both hand and fote,
And in a deepe dungeon him cast :
Now, Cloudesle, sayd the justice,
Thou shalt be hanged in hast.
There myght no man abyde hys stroakes,
So fersly on them he ran :
Then they threw wyndowes and dores on him,
And so toke that good yeman.
A payre of new gallowes, sayd the sherife,
Now shal I for thee make;
And the gates of Carleil shal be shutte:
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.
Early in the mornynge the justice uprose,
To the gates first can he gone,
And commaunded to be shut full close
Lightilè everychone.
Then went he to the markett place,
As fast as he coulde hye;
There a payre of new gallowes he set up
Besyde the pyllorye.
A lytle boy' among them asked,'
What meaned that gallow-tre?
They sayde to hange a good yemàn,
Called Wyllyam of Cloudeslè.
That lytle boye was the towne swyne-heard,
And kept fayre Alyces swyne;
Oft he had seene William in the wodde,
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.
Alas! then sayd the lytle boye,
Ye tary here all too longe;
Cloudeslee is taken, and dampned to death,
And readye for to honge.
140
Alas! then sayd good Adam Bell,
That ever we saw thys daye!
He had better have tarryed with us,
So ofte as we dyd him praye.
145
150
155
160
165
170
175
180
185
V. 151, sic. MS. hye Justice, PC.-V. 153, 4, are con-
tracted from the fol. MS. and PC.-V. 179, yonge men, PC.
He myght have dwelt in greene forèste,
Under the shadowes greene,
And have kepte both hym and us att reste,
Out of all trouble and teene.
Adam bent a ryght good bow,
A great hart sone hee had slayne
Take that, chylde, he sayde, to thy dynner,
And bring me myne arrowe agayne.
To Caerleil wente these bold yemen,
All in a mornyng of maye.
Here is a fyt* of Cloudeslye,
And another is for to saye.
Now go we hence, sayed these wightye yeomen,
Tarrye we no longer here;
We shall hym borowe by God his grace,
Though we buy itt full dere.
PART THE SECOND.
And when they came to mery Carleile,
All in the' mornyng tyde,
<
They founde the gates shut them unty'll
About on every syde.
Alas! then sayd good Adam Bell,
That ever we were made men!
These gates be shut so wonderous fast,
We may not come therein.
Then bespake him Clym of the Clough,
Wyth a wyle we wyl us in bryng;
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 wyl saye we have the kynges seale;
I holde the porter no clerke.
Then Adam Bell bete on the gates
With strokes great and stronge:
The porter marveiled, who was therat,
And to the gates he thronge.
We have a letter, sayd Adam Bel,
To the justice we must itt bryng;
Let us in our messsage to do,
That we were agayne to the kyng.
190
Here commeth none in, sayd the porter,
By hym that dyed on a tre,
Tyll a false thefe be hanged,
Called Wyllyam of Cloudeslè.
195
And if that we stande long wythout,
Lyke a thefe hanged shalt thou be.
200
5
10
Who is there now, sayde the porter,
That maketh all thys knockinge?
We be tow messengers, quoth Clym of the Clough,
Be come ryght from our kyng.
15
20
25
30
Then spake the good yeman Clym of the Clough,
And swore by Mary fre,
35
V. 190, sic MS. shadowes sheene, PC.-V. 197, jolly yeo
men, MS. wight yong men, PC.
* See Gloss.
AND WILLIAM OF CLOUDESLY.
Lo! here we have the kynges seale:
What, Lurden, art thou wode?
The porter went* it had been so,
And lyghtly dyd off hys hode.
Welcome is my lordes seale, he saide ¿
For that ye shall come in.
He opened the gate full shortlye :
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.
Had we the keys, said Clim of the Clough,
Ryght wel then shoulde we spede,
Then might we come out wel ynough
When we se tyme and nede.
They called the porter to counsell,
And wrang his necke in two,
And caste hym in a depe dungeon,
And toke hys keys hym fro.
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.
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,
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.
And Cloudeslè lay ready there in a cart,
Fast bound both fote and hand;
And a stronge rop about hys necke,
All readye for to hange.
The justice called to hym a ladde,
Cloudeslees clothes hee shold have,
To take the measure of that yemàn,
Therafter to make hys grave.
I have sene as great mervaile, said Cloudesle,
As betweyne thys and pryme,
He that maketh a grave for mee,
Hymselfe may lye therin.
-
40
45
50
55
60
65
70
75
80
V. Lordeyne, PC.
* i. 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 real, which was all he looked at.
+ So Ascham in his Toxophilus gives a precept;
"The
stringe must be rounde;” (p. 149, ed. 1761.) otherwise, we
may conclude from mechanical principles, the arrow will not
fly true.
Thou speakest proudlye, said the justice,
I will thee hange with my hande.
Full wel herd this his brethren two,
There styll as they dyd stande.
Then Cloudeslè cast his eyen asyde,
And saw hys' brethren twaine
At a corner of the market place,
Redy the justice for to slaine.
I se comfort, sayd Cloudeslè,
Yet hope I well to fare,
If I might have my handes at wyll
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:
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,
Of no man had they 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,
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,
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 to long.
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,
Theyr stringes were 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,
Many a man to the ground they threw
And many a herte made colde.
But when their arrowes were all gon,
Men preced to them full fast,
They drew theyr swordès then anone,
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.
V. 105, lowsed thre, PC.-Ver 108, can bled. MS.
43
85
90
95
100
105
110
115
120
125
130
135
14C
4.1
ADAM BELL, CLYM OF THE CLOUGH,
There was an out-horne* in Carleil blowen,
And the belles backward dyd ryng,
Many a woman sayde, Alas!
And many theyr handes dyd wryng.
The
mayre
of Carleile forth com was,
Wyth hym a ful great route:
These yemen dred hym full sore,
Of theyr lyves they stode in great doute.
The mayre came armed a full great pace,
With a pollaxe in hys hande;
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,
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,
Tyll they all thre, that so manfulli fought,
Were gotten without, abraide.
Have here your keys, sayd Adam Bel,
Myne office I here forsake,
And yf you do by my counsell
A new porter do ye make.
He threw theyr keys at theyr heads,
And bad them well to thryvet,
And all that letteth any good yeman
To come and comfort his wyfe.
Thus be these good yeman gon to the wod,
As lyghtly as lefe on lynde;
The lough and be mery in theyr mode,
Theyr enemyes were ferr behynd.
When they came to Englyshe wode,
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,
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 :
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.
145
150
155
160
165
170
175
180
185
V. 148, For of, MS.—V. 175, merry green wood, MS.—
V. 185. see part i. v. 197.
• Outhorne is an old term signifying the calling forth of
subjects to arms by the sound of a horn. See Cole's Lat.
Dict. Bailey, &c.
+ This is spoken ironically.
Sore then syghed the fayre Alyce.
That ever I sawe thys day!
C
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,
To show them what him befell,
My hart were out of payne.
Cloudeslè walked a lytle beside,
He looked under the grene wood lynde,
Welcome, wyfe, then sayde Wyllyam,
Under 'this' trusti tre:
He was ware of his wife, and chyldren three, 15
Full wo in harte and mynde.
I had wende yesterday, by swete saynt John,
Thou sholdest me never have' se.
C
"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,
I-wis it is no bote:
The meate, that we must supp withall,
It runneth yet fast on fote.
Then went they downe into a launde,
These noble archares all thre;
Eche of them slew a hart of greece,
The best that they coldse.
Have here the best, Alyce, my wyfe,
Sayde Wyllyam of Cloudeslye;
By cause ye so bouldly stode by me
When I was slayne full nye.
Then went they to suppère
Wyth suche meate as they had;
And thanked God of ther fortune:
They were both mery and glad.
And when they had supped well,
Certayne withouten lease,
Cloudeslè sayd, We wyll to our kyng,
To get us a charter of peace.
Alyce shal be at our sojournyng
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:
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 pallàce,
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.
10
20
23
30
35
40
45
50
55
60
V. 20, never had se, PC. and MS.-V. 50, have I no care,PC.
* i. e hie hasten.
AND WILLIAM OF CLOUDESLY.
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? 65
pray you tell to me:
I
You myght thus make offycers shent⚫
Good syrs, of whence be ye?
Syr, we be out-lawes of the forest
Certayne withouten lease;
And hether we be come to the kyng,
To get us a charter of peace.
And whan they came before the kyng,
As it was the lawe of the lande,
The kneled downe without lettyng,
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.
What be your nams, then said our king,
Anone that you tell me?
They sayd, Adam Bell, Clim of the Clough,
And Wyllyam of Cloudeslè
Be ye those theves, then sayd our kyng,
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.
He commanded his officers everichone,
Fast on them to lay hande.
There they toke these good yemen,
And arested them al thre:
So may I thryve, sayd Adam Bell,
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,
With such weapons, as we have here,
Tyll we be out of your place;
And yf we lyve this hundreth yere,
We wyll aske you no grace.
Ye speake proudly, sayd the kynge;
Ye shall be hanged all thre.
That were great pitye, then sayd the quene,
If any grace myght be.
My lorde, whan I came fyrst into this lande
To be your wedded wyfe,
The fyrst boone that I wold aske,
Ye would graunt it me belyfe:
And I asked you never none tyll now;
Therefore, good lorde, graunt it me.
Now aske it, madam, sayd the kynge,
And graunted it shal be.
V. 111, 119, sic MS. bowne. PC.
70
75
80
85
90
90
100
105
110
115
Then, good my lord, I you beseche,
These yemen graunt ye me.
Madame, ye myght have asked a boone,
That shuld have been worth them all thre. 120
Ye myght have asked towres, and townes,
Parkes and forestes plentè.
None soe pleasant to my pay, shee sayd;
Nor none so lefe to me.
Madame, sith it is your desyre,
Your askyng graunted shal be;
But I had lever have given you
Good market townes thre.
The quene was a glad woman,
And sayde, Lord, gramarcy;
I dare undertake for them,
That true men shal they be.
But, good my lord, speke som mery word,
That comfort they may se.
I graunt you grace, then sayd our king;
Washe, 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.
And whan the came before the kynge,
They knelt downe on theyr kne;
And sayd, Lord, your officers grete you well,
Of Carleile in the north cuntrè.
How fareth my justice, sayd the kyng,
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.
"Adam Bell, and Clime of the Clough,
And Wyllyam of Cloudeslè.”
Alas, for rewth! then sayd our kynge :
My hart is wonderous sore;
I had lever than a thousande pounde,
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.
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,
And the mayre of Carleile towne;
Of all the constables and catchipolles
Alyve were 'scant' left one :
45
The baylyes, and the bedyls both,
And the sergeauntes of the law,
And forty fosters of the fe,
These outlawes had yslaw :
125
130
135
140
145
156
155
160
165
170
V. 130, God a mercye, MS-V. 168, left but one, MS.
not one. PC.
46
ADAM BELL, CLYM OF THE CLOUGH,
And broke his parks, and slayne his dere;
Of all they chose he best;
So perelous out-lawes, as they were,
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.
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,
And the quenes archers also;
So dyd these thre wyghte yemen;
With them they thought to go.
There twyse, or thryse they shote about
For to assay theyr hande;
There was no shote these yemen shot,
That any prycke* myght stand.
Then spake Wyllyam of Cloudeslè;
By him that for me dyed,
I hold hymn never no good archar,
That shoteth at buttes so wyde.
'At what a butte now wold ye shote?'
I pray thee tell to me.
At suche a but, syr, he sayd,
As men use in my countree.
Wyllyam wente into a fyeld,
And with him' his two brethren:
There they set up two hasell roddes
Twenty score paces betwene.
I hold him an archar, said Cloudeslè,
That yonder wande cleveth in two.
Here is none suche, sayd the kyng,
Nor no man can so do.
I shall assaye, syr, sayd Cloudeslè,
Or that I farther go.
Cloudesly with a bearyng arowe
Clave the wand in two.
Thou art the best archer, then said the king,
Forsothe that ever I se.
And yet for your love, sayd Wyllyam,
I wyll do more maystery.
I have a sonne is seven yere olde,
He is to me full deare;
I wyll hym tye to a stake;
All shall se, that be here;
And lay an apple upon hys head,
And go syxe score paces hym fro,
And I my selfe with a brode aròw
Shall cleve the apple in two.
175
180
185
190
195
200
205
210
215
220
Ver. 185, bly the, MS.-Ver. 202, 203, 212, to PC.-Ver.
204, i. e. 400 yards.-Ver. 208, sic MS. none that cau, PC.
Ver. 222. i. e. 120 yards.
* i. e. mark.
Now haste the, then sayd the kyng,
By hym that dyed on a tre,
But yf thou do not, as thou hest sayde,
Hanged shalt thou be.
And thou touche his head or gowne,
In syght that men may se,
By all the sayntes that be in heaven,
I shall hange you all thre.
That I have promised, said William,
That I wyll never forsake.
And there even before the kynge
In the earth he drove a stake:
And bound therto his eldest sonne,
Aud bad hym stand styll thereat ;
And turned the childes face him fro,
Because he should not start.
An apple upon his head he set,
And then his bowe he bent:
Syxe score paces they were meaten,
And thether Cloudeslè went.
There he drew out a fayr brode arrowe,
Hys bowe was great and longe,
He set that arrowe in his bowe,
That was both styffe and stronge.
He prayed the people, that wer there,
That they all still wold' stand,
For he that shoteth for such a wager
Behoveth a stedfast hand.
Muche people prayed for Cloudeslè,
That his lyfe saved myght be,
And whan he made hym redy to shote,
There was many weeping ee.
'But' Cloudeslè clefte the apple in two:
'His sonne he did not nee.'
Over Gods forbode, sayde the kinge,
That thou shold shote at me.
I geve thee eightene pence a day,
And my bowe shalt thou bere,
And over all the north countrè
I make the chyfe rydère.
225
230
Your sonne, for he is tendre of age,
Of my wyne-seller he shall be ;
And when he commeth to mans estate,
Better avaunced shall he be.
Wyllyam, I make the a gentleman
Of clothyng, and of fe:
And thy two brethren, yemen of my chambre,
For they are so semely to se.
235
240
245
250
255
And I thyrtene pence a day, said the quene, 265
By God, and by my fay;
Come feche thy payment when thou wylt,
No man shall say the nay.
260
27
275
Ver. 243, sic. MS. out met. PC.-Ver. 252, steedye, MS
Ver. 265, And I geve the xvij pence, PC.
!
THE AGED LOVER RENOUNCETH LOVE.
And, Wyllyam, bring me your wife, said the quene,
Me longeth her sore to se:
She shall be my chefe gentlewoman,
To governe my nurserye.
The yemen thanked them all curteously.
To some byshop wyl we wend,
Of all the synnes, that we have done,
To be assoyld at his hand.
THE AGED LOVER
"
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 cor-
rupted by the ballad-singers of Shakespeare's time :
or perhaps so designed by the poet himself, the bet-
ter to suit the character of an illiterate clown. The
original is preserved among Surrey's Poems, and is
attributed to Lord Vaux, by George Gascoigne, who
tells us, it was thought by some to be made upon
his death-bed;" a popular 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
"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 counterfait action very lively and plea-
santly." Arte of Eng. Poesie, 1589, p. 51. See
another song by this poet in Series the Second,
No. VIII.
writer.
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,
My fansies all are fled;
And tract of time begins to weave
Gray heares upon my hed.
For Age with steling steps
Hath clawde me with his crowch,
And lusty Youthe' awaye he leapes,
As there had bene none such.
•
My muse doth not delight
Me, as she did before:
My hand and pen are not in plight,
As they have bene of yore.
For Reason me denies,
280
'All' youthly idle rime;
And day by day, to me she cries,
Leave off these toyes in tyme.
5
10
15
20
Ver. 282, And sayd to some Bishopp wee will wend, MS.
Ver. 6, be PC. [printed copy in 1557.]—V. 10. Crowch per-
haps should be clouch, clutch, grasp.-V. 11, Life away she
PČ.-V. 18, This P.C.
II.
* 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.
So forth be gone these good yemen,
As fast as they might he*';
C
And after came and dwelled with the kynge,
And dyed good men all thre.
Thus endeth the lives of these good yemen;
God send them eternall blysse;
And all, that with a hand-bowe shoteth:
That of heven may never mysse. Amen.
RENOUNCETH LOVE.
The wrinkles in my brow,
The furrowes in my face
Say, Limping age will 'lodge' him now,
Where youth must geve him place.
The harbenger of death,
To me I se him ride,
The cough, the cold, the gasping breath,
Doth bid me to provide
A pikeax and a spade,
And eke a shrowding shete,
A house of clay for to be made
For such a guest most mete.
Me thinkes I heare the clarke,
That knoles the carefull knell ;
And bids me leave my wearye' warke,
Ere nature me compell.
My kepers+ knit the knot,
That youth doth laugh to scorne,
Of me that shall bee cleane' forgot,
As I had' ne'er' bene borne.
Thus must I youth geve up,
Whose badge I long did weare:
To them I yeld the wanton cup,
That better may it beare.
Lo, here the bared skull;
By whose balde signe I know,
That stouping age away shall pull
• What' youthful yeres did sow.
For Beautie with her band,
These croked cares had wrought,
And shipped me into the land,
From whence I first was brought.
And ye that bide behinde,
Have ye none other trust:
As ye of claye were cast by kinde,
So shall ye 'turne' to dust.
47
* he i. e. hie, hasten. See the Glossary
+ Alluding perhaps to Eccles. xii. 3.
28.5
290
25
3390
35
40
45
50
55
Ver. 23, So Ed. 1583; 'tis hedge in Ed. 1557. hath caught
him MS.-V. 30, wyndynge-sheete. MS.-V. 34, bell. MS.-
V. 35, wofull. PC.-V. 38, did PC.-V. 39, clene shal be.
PC.-V. 40, not PC.-V. 45, bare-hedde. MS. and some
PCC.-V. 48, Which. PC.-That MS. What is conject.
V. 56. wast. PC.
48
A ROBYN JOLLY ROBYN.
IN Shakespeare'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
absurdities of the composition. It was retrieved
from utter oblivion by a lady, who wrote it down
from memory, as she had formerly heard it sung by
her father. I am indebted for it to the friendship of
Mr. Steevens.
III.
JEPHTHAH JUDGE OF ISRAEL.
It has been said, that the original ballad, in black-
letter, is among Anthony à Wood's Collections in
the Ashmolean Museum. But, upon application
lately made, the volume which contained this song
was missing, so that it can only now be given as in
the former edition.
The banter of Hamlet is as follows:
"Hamlet. 'O Jeptha, Judge of Israel,' what a
treasure hadst thou!
Polonius. What a treasure had he, my lord?
"Ham. Why, 'One faire daughter, and no more,
The which he loved passing well.'
“Polon. Still on my daughter.
"Ham. Am not I i' th' right, old Jeptha?
"Polon. If you call me Jeptha, my lord, I have a
daughter, that I love passing well.
(C
"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 like it was.' The
first row of the pious chanson will shew you more.'
Edit. 1793, vol. xv. p. 133.
""
It so came to pass,
As Gods will was,
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,
That great wars there should be,
And none should be chosen chief but he.
And when he was appointed judge,
And chieftain of the company,
A solemn vow to God he made;
If he returned with victory,
5
10
At his return
To burn
The first live thing,
In his "Twelfth Night," Shakespeare introduces
the clown singing part of the two first stanzas of the
following song; which has been recovered from an
ancient MS. of Dr. Harrington's at Bath, preserved
among the many literary treasures transmitted to the
That should meet with him then,
Off his house, when he should return agen.
It came to pass, the wars was oer,
And he returned with victory;
His dear and only daughter first of all
Came to meet her father foremostly :
And all the way,
She did play
On tabret and pipe,
Full many a stripe,
With note so high,
For joy that her father is come so nigh.
But when he saw his daughter dear
Coming on most foremostly,
He wrung his hands, and tore his hair,
And cryed out most piteously;
Oh! it's thou, said he,
That have brought me
Low,
And troubled me so,
That I know not what to do.
For I have made a vow, he sed,
The which must be replenished:
"What thou hast spoke
Do not revoke :
What thou hast said,
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;
And let there be,
Said she,
Some two or three
Young maids with me."
So he sent her away,
For to mourn, for to mourn, till her dying day,
IV.
A ROBYN JOLLY ROBYN.
15
20
25
30
35
40
45
50
5.

ingenious and worthy possessor by a long line of
most respectable ancestors. Of these only a small
part hath been printed in the “ Nuge Antiquæ,"
3 vols, 12mo; a work which the public impatiently
wishes to see continued.
The song
is thus given by Shakespeare, act iv. sc.
2. (Malone's edit. iv. 93.)
Clown. " Hey Robin, jolly Robin." [singing.]
"Tell me how thy lady does."
Malvolio. Fool.-
30NG TO THE LUTE IN MUSICKE.
Clown. "My lady is unkind, perdy.”
Malvolio. Fool.
Clown."
Malvolio. Fool, I say.
Clown." She loves another."-Who calls, ha?
Alas, why is she so ?"
Dr. Farmer has conjectured that the song should
begin thus:
<<
Hey, jolly Robin, tell to me
How does thy lady do?
My lady is unkind perdy-
Alas, why is she so?"
But this ingenious emendation is now superseded by
the proper readings of the old song itself, which is
here printed from what appears the most ancient
of Dr. Harrington's poetical MSS, and which has,
therefore, been marked No. I. (scil. p. 68.) That
volume seems to have been written in the reign of
King Henry VIII, and as it contains many of the
poems of Sir Thomas Wyat, hath had almost all the
contents attributed to him by marginal directions
written with an old but later hand, and not always
rightly, as, I think, might be made appear by other
good authorities. Among the rest, this song is there
attributed to Sir Thomas Wyat also; but the dis-
cerning reader will probably judge it to belong to a
more obsolete writer.
pre-
In the old MS. to the 3d and 5th stanzas is
ixed 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,
"
THIS sonnet (which is ascribed to Richard Ed-
vards,* in the "Paradise of Daintie Devises," fo.
31, b.) is by Shakespeare made the subject of some
leasant ridicule in his " Romeo and Juliet", act iv.
c. 5, where he introduces Peter putting this question
o the musicians.
"Peter....why Silver Sound"? why Musicke
with her silver sound'? what say you, Simon
Catling?
"1. Mus. Marry, sir, because silver hath a sweet
sound.
"
V.
"Pet. Pretty! what say you, Hugh Rebecke?
"2. Mus. I say, silver sound, because musicians
ound for silver.
"Pet. Pretty too! what say you, James Sound-
post?
"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.
* Concerning him, see Wood's Athen. Oxon. and Tanner's
Biblioth.; also Sir John Hawkins's Hist. of Music, &c.
A ROBYN,
and to mark the changes of the dialogue by inverted
commas. In other respects the MS. is strictly fol-
lowed, 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.
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 an other better than me :
And yet she will say no."
"
I fynde no such doublenes:
Í fynde women true.
My lady loveth me dowtles,
And will change for no newe.
"Thou art happy while that doeth last;
But I say, as I fynde,
That women's love is but a blast,
And torneth with the wynde,"
A SONG TO THE LUTE IN MUSICKE.
Suche folkes can take no harme by love,
That can abide their torn.
"But I alas can no way prove
In love but lake and morn."
But if thou wilt avoyde thy harme
Lerne this lessen of me,
At others fieres thy selfe to warme,
And let them warme with the.
A
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,
Swete musicke hathe a salve in store.
49
In joye yt maks our mirthe abounde,
In woe yt cheres our hevy sprites;
Be strawghted heads relyef hath founde,
By musickes pleasaunte swete delightes:
Our senses all, what shall I say more?
Are subjecte unto musicks lore.
Ver. 4, shall, MS.
E
5
This ridicule is not so much levelled at the song
itself (which for the time it was written is not inele-
gant) as at those forced and unnatural explanations
often given by us painful editors and expositors of
ancient authors.
10
This copy is printed from an old quarto MS. in the
Cotton Library (Vesp. A. 25), entitled,
"Divers
things of Hen. viij's time:" with some corrections
from The Paradise of Dainty Devises, 1596.
15
20
5
50
:
KING COPHETUA AND THE BEGGAR-MAID.
The Gods by musicke have theire prayse;
The lyfe, the soul therein doth joye:
For, as the Romayne poet sayes,
In seas, whom pyrats would destroy,
A dolphin saved from death most sharpe
Arion playing on his harpe.
15
VI.
KING COPHETUA AND
-is a story often alluded to by our old dramatic
writers. Shakespeare, 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
Shakespeare 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
expression, seems most likely to have come from the
mouth of Mercutio †.
In the 2d part of Hen. IV. act v, sc. 3, Falstaff is
introduced effectedly saying to Pistoll,
"O base Assyrian knight, what is thy news?
Let King Cophetua know the truth thereof."
These lines, Dr. Warburton thinks, were taken from
an old bombast play of " King Cophetua. No such
play is, I believe, now to be found; but it does not
therefore follow that it never existed. Many dra-
matic pieces are referred to by old writers ‡, which
are not now extant, or even mentioned in any list.
In the infancy of the stage, plays were often ex-
hibited 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,
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 Cophetua's
riches in the present ballad, which is the oldest I
have met with on the subject.
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,
For sure he was not of my mind,
He cared not for women-kinde,
But did them all disdaine.
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.
10
5
* See above, Preface to Song i. Book ii. of this vol. p.
158.
+ Since this conjecture first occurred, it has been disco-
vered that "shot so trim" was the genuine reading. See Shake-
speare ed. 1793, xiv. 393.
See Meres Wits Treas. f. 283. Arte of Eng. Poes.
1589, p. 51, 111, 143. 169.
O heavenly gyft, that rules the mynd,
Even as the sterne dothe rule the shippe!
O musicke, whom the Gods assinde
To comforte manne, whom cares would nippe!
Since thow both man and beste doest move,
What beste ys he, wyll the disprove?
THE BEGGAR-MAID,
But, marke, what hapned on a day,
As he out of his window lay,
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,
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.
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 :
For now he meanes to crave her love,
And now he seekes which way to proove
How he his fancie might remoove,
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,
Or els he would be dead.
And, as he musing thus did lye,
He thought for to devise
How he might have her companye,
That so did 'maze his eyes.
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,
And to his pallace gate he goes ;
Full little then this begger knowes
When she the king espies.
20
The Gods preserve your majesty,
The beggers all gan cry:
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
That after them did hye.
10
15
20
2:
30
3.
4
4
5
5
TAKE THY OLD CLOAK ABOUT THEE.
The king he cal'd her back againe,
And unto her he gave his chaine;
And said, With us you shal remaine
Till such time as we dye:
For thou, quoth he, shalt be my wife,
And honoured for my queene;
With thee I meane to lead my life,
As shortly shall be seene:
Our wedding shall appointed be,
And every thing in its degree:
Come on, quoth he, and follow me,
Thou shalt go shift thee cleane.
What is thy name, faire maid? quoth he.
Penelophon*, O king, quoth she:
With that she made a lowe courtsèy;
A trim one as I weene.
Thus hand in hand along they walke
Unto the king's pallàce :
The king with courteous comly talke
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.
At last she spake with trembling voyce,
And said, O king, I doe rejoyce
That wil take me for your choyce,
you
And my degree's so base.
And when the wedding day was come,
The king commanded strait
The noblemen both all and some
Upon the queene to wait.
60
65
Shee sayd unto me quietlye,
Rise up, and save cow Cumbockes liffe,
Man, put thine old cloake about thee.
70
75
80
85
VII
—is supposed to have been originally a Scotch bal-
ad. The reader here has an ancient copy in the
English idiom, with an additional stanza (the 2d)
ever before printed. This curiosity is preserved
n the Editor's folio MS. but not without corruptions,
vhich are here removed by the assistance of the
Scottish Edit. Shakespeare, in his Othello, act ii.
as quoted one stanza, with some variations, which
re here adopted: the old MS. readings of that
tanza are however given in the margin.
THIS winters weather itt waxeth cold,
And frost doth freese on every hill,
And Boreas blowes his blasts soe bold,
That all our cattell are like to spill;
Bell my wiffe, who loves noe strife,
TAKE THY OLD CLOAK ABOUT THEE.
5
And she behaved herself that day,
As if she had never walkt the way:
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;
He knowth not his estate.
* Shakespeare (who alludes to this ballad in his "Love's
abour lost," act iv. sc. 1.) gives the Beggar's name Zenelo-
hon, according to all the old editions: but this seems to be
corruption; for Penelophon, in the text, sounds more like
e name of a woman.-The story of the King and the
eggar is also alluded to in K. Rich. II. act v. sc. 3
Here you may read, Cophetua,
Though long time fancie-fed,
Compelled by the blinded boy
The begger for to wed:
He that did lovers lookes disdaine,
To do the same was glad and faine,
Or else he would himselfe have slaine,
In storie, as we read.
Disdaine no whit, O lady deere,
But pitty now thy servant heere,
Least that it hap to thee this yeare,
As to that king it did.
And thus they led a quiet life
During their princely raigne;
And in a tombe were buried both,
As writers sheweth plaine.
The lords they tooke it grievously,
The ladies tooke it heavily,
The commons cryed pitiously,
Their death to them was paine,
Their fame did sound so passingly
That it did pierce the starry sky,
And throughout all the world did flye
To every princes realme *.
!
HE.
O Bell, why dost thou flyte' and scorne?'
Thou kenst my cloak is very thin:
Itt is soe bare and overworne
A cricke he theron cannot renn :
Then Ile no longer borrowe nor lend,
For once Ile new appareld bee,
To-morrow Ile to towne and spend,'
For Ile have a new cloake about mee.
51
I
90
95
100
105
110
115
120
10.
15
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;
I wold be loth to see her pine,
20
Good husband, councell take of mee,
It is not for us to go soe fine,
Man, take thine old cloake about thee.
V. 90, i. e. tramped the streets.-V. 105, Here the Poet
addresses himself to his mistress.-V. 112, Sheweth was
anciently the plur. numb.
* An ingenious friend thinks the two last stanzas should
change place.
58
WILLOW WILLOW, WILLOW
HE.
My cloake it was a very good cloake
1tt 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,
It will neither hold out winde nor raine;
And Ile have a new cloake about mee.
SHE.
It is four and fortye yeeres agoe
Since the one of us the other did ken,
And we have had betwixt us towe
O 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.
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.
HE.
25
390
35
It is from the following stanzas that Shakes-
peare has taken his song of the " Willow," in his
Othello, act iv. sc. 3, though somewhat varied and
applied by him to a female character. He makes
Desdemona introduce it in this pathetic and affecting
manner:
<<
My mother had a maid call'd Barbara :
She was in love; and he she lov'd prov'd mad,
And did forsake her. She had a song of- Willow.
An old thing 'twas, but it express'd her fortune,
And she died singing it."
A POORE Soule sat sighing under a sicamore tree;
O willow, willow, willow!
He sigh❜d in his singing, and after each grone,
Come willow, &c.
I am dead to all pleasure, my true-love is gone;
O willow, &c.
Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garland.
40
VIII.
WILLOW, WILLOW WILLOW.
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.
My love she is turned; untrue she doth prove :
O willow, &c.
She renders me nothing but hate for my love.
O willow, &c.
Sing, O the greene willow, &c.
V. 41, flyte, MS.
With his hand on his bosom, his head on his knee :
O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
5
Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garland.
10
They are cladd in blacke, greene, yellowe, or gray,
Soe far above their owne degree:
Once in my life Ile doe as they,'
46
C
For Ile have a new cloake about mee.
SHE.
King Stephen was a worthy peere,
His breeches cost him but a crowne,
He held them sixpence all too deere;
Therefore he 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,
Man, take thine old cloake about thee.
HE.
15
• 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 Ile take mine old cloake about mee.
50
O pitty me, (cried he,) ye lovers, each one;
O willow, &c.
Her heart's hard as marble; she rues not my mone.
O willow, &c.
20
Sing, O the greene willow, &c.
The cold streams ran by him, his eyes wept apace ;
O willow, &c.
The salt tears fell from him, which drowned his face:
O willow, &c.
25
Sing, O the greene willow, &c.
55
The mute birds sate by him, made tame by his mones
O willow, &c.
[stones.
The salt tears fell from him, which softened the
O willow, &c.
30
Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garland!
Let nobody blame me, her scornes I do prove;
O willow, &c.
She was borne to be faire; I, to die for her love.
O willow, &c.
3.
Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garland.
O willow, &c.
Sing, O the greene willow, &c.
O that beauty should harbour a heart that's so hard!
Sing willow, &c.
My true love rejecting without all regard.
Let love no more boast him in palace or bower,
O willow, &c.
For women are trothles, and flote in an houre.
O willow, &c.
Sing, O the greene willow, &c.
40
45
V. 49, King Harry..a very good king, MS. V. 50, I
trow his hose cost but, MS. V. 51, He thought them 12d to
deere, MS. V. 52, clowne, MS. V. 53, He was king and
wore the crowne, MS.
SIR LANCELOT DU LAKE.
But what helps complaining? In vaine I complaine:
O willow, &c.
I must patiently suffer her scorne and disdaine.
O willow, &c.
Sing, O the greene willow, &c.
Come, all you forsaken, and sit down by me,
O willow, &c.
[she.
He that 'plaines of his false love, mine's falser than
O willow, &c.
55
Sing, O the greene willow, &c.
The willow wreath weare I, since my love did fleet;
O willow, &c.
A garland for lovers forsaken most meete.
O willow, &c.
Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garland!
PART THE SECOND.
Lowe lay'd by my sorrow, begot by disdaine;
O willow, willow, willow!
Against her to cruell, still still I complaine,
O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garland!
O love too injurious, to wound my poore heart!
O willow, &c.
To suffer the triumph, and joy in my smart ·
O willow, &c.
Sing, O the greene willow, &c.
O willow, willow, willow! the willow garland,
O willow, &c.
A sign of her falsenesse before me doth stand :
O willow, &c.
Sing, O the greene willow, &c.
50
As here it doth bid to despair and to dye,
O willow, &c.
60
5
10
All this beheard three wighty yeomen,
Twas Robin Hood, Scarlet, and John :
With that they espy'd the jolly Pindàr
As he sate under a throne.
15
So hang it, friends, ore me in grave where I lye :
O willow, &c.
20
šing, O the greene willow shall be my garlànd.
THIS ballad is quoted in Shakespeare's second
part of Henry IV. act ii. The subject of it is taken
From the ancient romance of King Arthur, (com-
monly called Morte Arthur), being a poetical trans-
ation of chap. cviii., cix., cx., in part 1st, as they
stand in ed. 1634, 4to. In the older editions the
chapters are differently numbered.-This song is
given from a printed copy, corrected in part by a
ragment in the editor's folio MS.
In the same play of 2 Henry IV. Silence hums a
scrap of one of the old ballads of Robin Hood. It
s taken from the following stanza of "Robin Hood
nd the Pindar of Wakefield."-
In grave where I rest mee, hang this to the view,
O willow, &c.
Of all that doe knowe her, to blaze her untrue.
O willow, &c.
Sing, O the greene willow, &c.
Though she thus unkindly hath scorned my love,
O willow, &c.
And carelesly smiles at the sorrowes I prove ;
O willow, &c.
Sing, O the greene willow, &c.
With these words engraven, as epitaph meet,
O willow, &c.
[sweet."
"Here lyes one, drank poyson for potion most
O willow, &c.
30
Sing, O the greene willow, &c.
The name of her sounded so sweete in mine eare,
O willow, &c.
It rays'd my heart lightly, the name of my deare;
O willow, &c.
Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garland.
As then 'twas my comfort, it now is my griefe;
O willow, &c.
I cannot against her unkindly exclaim,
O willow, &c.
[name:
Cause once well I loved her, and honoured her
O willow, &c.
40
Sing, O the greene willow, &c.
SIR LANCELOT DU LAKE.
O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garland.
IX.
It now brings me anguish; then brought me reliefe.
O willow, &c.
50
Sing, O the greene willow, &c.
53
Farewell, faire false hearted: plaints end with my
O willow, willow, willow!
[breath!
Thou dost loath me, I love thee, though cause of my
death.
55
25
WHEN Arthur first in court began,
And was approved king,
By force of armes great victorys wanne,
And conquest home did bring.
35
Then into England straight he came
With fifty good and able
Knights, that resorted unto him,
And were of his round table :
That ballad may be found on every stall, and
therefore is not here reprinted.
And he had justs and turnaments,
Wherto were many prest,
Wherein some knights did far excell
And eke surmount the rest.
45
5
10
54
SIR LANCELOT DU LAKE.
But one Sir Lancelot du Lake,
Who was approved well,
He for his deeds and feats of armes
All others did excell.
When he had rested him a while,
In play, and game, and sportt,
He said he wold goe prove himselfe
In some adventurous sort.
He armed rode in a forrest wide,
And met a damsell faire,
Who told him of adventures great,
Wherto he gave great eare.
Such wold I find, quoth Lancelott:
For that cause came I hither.
Thou seemst, quoth shee, a knight full good,
And I will bring thee thither.
Wheras a mighty knight doth dwell,
That now is of great fame :
Therfore tell me what wight thou art,
And what may be thy name.
((
My name is Lancelot du Lake.”
Quoth she, it likes me than :
Here dwelles a knight who never was
Yet matcht with any man:
Who has in prison threescore knights
And four, that he did wound;
Knights of King Arthurs court they be,
And of his table round.
She brought him to a river side,
And also to a tree,
Whereon a copper bason hung,
And many shields to see.
He struck soe hard, the bason broke;
And Tarquin soon he spyed:
Who drove a horse before him fast,
Whereon a knight lay tyed.
Sir knight, then sayd Sir Lancelòtt,
Bring me that horse-load hither,
And lay him downe, and let him rest ;
Weel try our force together:
For, as I understand, thou hast,
Soe far as thou art able,
Done great despite and shame unto
The knights of the Round Table.
If thou be of the Table Round,
Quoth Tarquin speedilye,
Both thee and all thy fellowship
I utterly defye.
That's over much, quoth Lancelott tho,
Defend thee by and by.
They sett their speares unto their steeds,
And eache att other flie.
15
20
25
30
35
40
45
60
55
60
They coucht theire speares, (their horses ran, 65
As though there had beene thunder)
And strucke them each immidst their shields,
Wherewith they broke in sunder.
V. 18, to sporti, MS. V. 29, Where is often read by our
old writers for whereas; here it is just the contrary.
Their horsses backes brake under them,
The knights were both astound:
To avoyd their horsses they made haste
And light upon the ground.
They tooke them to their shields full fast,
They swords they drew out than,
With mighty strokes most eagerlye
Each at the other ran.
They wounded were, and bled full sore,
They both for breath did stand,
And leaning on their swords awhile,
Quoth Tarquine, Hold thy hand,
And tell to me what I shall aske,
Say on, quoth Lancelot tho.
Thou art, quoth Tarquine, the best knight
That ever I did know;
And like a knight that I did hate :
Soe that thou be not hee,
I will deliver all the rest,
And eke accord with thee.
That is well said quoth Lancelott;
But sith it must be soe,
What knight is that thou hatest thus ?
pray thee to me show.
I
His name is Launcelot du Lake,
He slew my brother deere ;
Him I suspect of all the rest:
I would I had him here.
Thy wish thou hast, but yet unknowne,
I am Lancelot du Lake,
Now knight of Arthurs Table Round;
King Hauds son of Schuwake;
And I desire thee do thy worst.
Ho, ho, quoth Tarqin tho,
One of us two shall end our lives
Before that we do go.
If thou be Lancelot du Lake,
Then welcome shalt thou bee.
Wherfore see thou thyself defend,
For now defye I thee.
They buckled then together so,
Like unto wild boares rashing*:
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 wearinesse,
And lowe did beare his shield.
70
75
80
85
90
93
100
105
110
115
* Rashing seems to be the old hunting term to expres
the stroke made by the wild-boar with his fangs. To rase
has apparently a meaning something similar. See Mr. Stee
vens'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. 507, 583.)
"He drearit
To night the Boar had rused off his helm "
GERNUTUS THE JEW OF VENICE.
This soone Sir Lancelot espyde,
He leapt upon him then,
He pull'd him downe upon his knee,
And rushing off his helm.
X.
CORYDON'S FAREWELL TO PHILLIS,
-is an attempt to paint a lover's i rresolution, but|
so poorly executed, that it would not have been
admitted into this collection, if it had not been
quoted in Shakespeare'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.
120
In the same scene of the Twelfth-night, Sir Toby
sings a scrap of an old ballad, which is preserved in
the Pepy's 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 OF CONSTANT SUSANNA.
There dwelt a man in Babylon
Of reputation great by fame;
He took to wife a faire woman,
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
Forthwith he strucke his necke in two,
And, when he had soe done,
From prison threescore knights and four
Delivered everye one,
In the "Life of Pope Sixtus V, translated from
the Italian of Greg. Leti, by the Rev. Mr. Farne-
worth, folio," is a remarkable passage to the follow-
ing effect.
"It was reported in Rome, that Drake had taken
and plundered St. Domingo in Hispaniola, and
carried off an immense booty. This account came
in a private letter to Paul Secchi, a very consider-
able merchant in the city, who had large concerns in
those parts, which 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
There be many mo, though that she doe goe,
There be many mo, I fear not :
Why then let her goe, I care not.
55
XI.
GERNUTUS THE JEW OF VENICE.
5
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?
O no, no, no, I dare not.
10
Ten thousand times farewell;-yet stay a while :-
Sweet, kiss me once; sweet kisses time beguile :
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.
20
Once more adieu, I see loath to depart
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 as fair, as she is cruel-hearted.
She would not be intreated, with prayers oft
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.
25
[repeated,
30
lye. Secchi, who was of a fiery hot temper, replied,
lay you a thousand crowns against a
of your flesh that it is true. The Jew accepted
the wager, and articles were immediately executed
betwixt them, that, if Secchi won, he should him-
self 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 report ofthis
transaction was brought to the Pope, who sent for
the parties, and, being informed of the whole affair,
said, when contracts are made, it is but just they
should be fulfilled, as this shall: take a knife, there-
fore, Secchi, and cut a pound of flesh from any
56
GERNUTUS THE JEW OF VENICE.
part you please of the Jew's body. We advise you
however, to be very carefull; 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
expressly 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 autho-
rity "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 certain that a play of the " Jewe, re-
presenting the greedinesse of worldly chusers, and
bloody minds of usurers," had been exhibited 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 Shakespeare's "Merchant of Venice," 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 Shakesp.
The following is printed from an ancient black-
letter copy in the Pepys collectiont, entitled, "A new
Song, shewing the crueltie of Gernutus, a Jewe,'
who, lending to a merchant 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."
N
THE FIRST PART.
IN Venice towne not long agoe
A cruel Jew did dwell,
Which lived all on usurie
As Italian writers tell.
Gernutus called was the Jew,
Which never thought to dye,
Nor ever yet did any good
To them in streets that lie.
His life was like a barrow hogge,
That liveth many a day,
Yet never once doth any good,
Until men will him slay.
Or like a filthy heap of dung,
That lyeth in a whoard;
Which never can do any good,
Till it be spread abroad.
So fares it with the usurer,
He cannot sleep in rest,
For feare the thiefe will him pursue
To plucke him from his nest.
* Warton, ubi supra.
+ Compared with the Ashmole Copy.
5
10
15
20
His heart doth thinke on many a wile,
How to deceive the poore;
His mouth is almost ful of mucke,
Yet still he gapes for more.
His wife must lend a shilling,
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:
This was the living of the wife,
Her cow she did it call.
Within that citie dwelt that time
A marchant of great fame,
Which being distressed in his need,
Unto Gernutus came:
Desiring him to stand his friend
For twelve month and a day,
To lend to him an hundred crownes:
And he for it would pay
Whatsoever he would demand of him,
And pledges he should have.
No, (quoth the Jew with flearing lookes,)
Sir, aske what you will have.
No penny for the loane of it
For one year you shall pay ;
You may doe me as good a turne,
Before my dying day.
But we will have a merry jeast,
For to be talked long :
You shall make me a bond, quoth he,
That shall be large and strong :
And this shall be the forfeyture;
Of your owne fleshe a pound.
If you agree, make you the bond,
And here is a hundred crownes.
With right good will! the marchant says:
And so the bond was made.
When twelve month and a day drew on
That backe it should be payd.
The marchants ships were all at sea,
And money came not in;
Which way to take, or what to doe
To thinke he doth begin :
And to Gernutus strait he comes
With cap and bended knee,
And sayde to him, Of curtesie
pray you beare with mee.
I
My day is come, and I have not
The money for to pay :
And little good the forfeyture
Will doe you, I dare say,
25
<c
30
35
40
45
50
55
60
65
70
V. 32. Cow, &c. seems to have suggested to Shakespeare
Shylock's argument for usury taken from Jacob's manage-
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.”
GERNUTUS THE JEW OF VENICE.
With all my heart, Gernutus sayd,
Commaund it to your minde:
In thinges of bigger waight then this
You shall me ready finde.
He goes
his
the day once past
way;
Gernutus doth not slacke
To get a sergiant presently;
And clapt him on the backe:
And layd him into prison strong,
And sued his bond withall;
And when the judgement day was come,
For judgement he did call.
The marchants friends came thither fast
With many a weeping eye,
For other means they could not find.
But he that day must dye.
SOME offered for his hundred crownes
Five hundred for to pay;
And some a thousand, two or three,
Yet still he did denay.
And at the last ten thousand crownes
They offered, him to save.
Gernutus sayd, I will no gold:
My forfeite I will have.
THE SECOND PART.
"Of the Jews crueltie; setting foorth the merci-
fulnesse of the Judge towards the Marchant. To
the tune of Blacke and Yellow."
A pound of fleshe is my demand,
And that shall be my hire.
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.
No no: quoth he; no: judgement here :
For this it shall be tride,
For I will have my pound of fleshe
From under his right side.
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
With whetted blade in hand*,
To spoyle the bloud of innocent,
By forfeit of his bond.
75
And as he was about to strike
In him the deadly blow:
Stay (quoth the judge) thy crueltie;
I charge the to do so.
80
85
5
10
15
20
25
30
* The passage in Shakespeare bears so strong a resem-
blance to this, as to render it probable that the one suggested
The other.
act iv. sc. 2.
"Bass. Why dost thou whet thy knife so earnestly ? &c.'
""
Sith needs thou wilt thy forfeit have,
Which is of flesh a pound:
See that thou shed no drop of bloud,
Nor yet the man confound.
For if thou doe, like murderer
Thou here shalt hanged be:
Likewise of flesh see that thou cut
No more than longes to thee :
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,
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;
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,
Thy judgement shall be showne.
Either take your pound of flesh, quoth he,
Or cancell me your bond.
O cruell judge, then quoth the Jew,
That doth against me stand!
And so with griping grieved mind ·
He biddeth them fare-well.
'Then' all the people prays'd tke Lord,
That ever this heard tell.
say,
Good people, that doe heare this song,
For trueth I dare well
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,
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
That meaneth so to do.
57
35
40
45
50
55
60
65
70
75
Since the first edition of this book was printed,
the Editor hath had reason to believe that both
Shakespeare and the Author of this ballad are in-
debted for their story of the Jew (however they
came by it) to an Italian Novel, which was first
printed at Milan in the year 1554, in a book entitled,
Il pecorone, nel quale si contengono Cinquanta Novelle
antiche, &c. re-published at Florence about the year
1748, or 9.-The Author was Ser. Giovanni Fioren-
tino, 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 Shakespeare had his plot from the Novel it-
V. 61. griped, Ashmol. copy.
38
THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD TO HIS LOVE.
self, 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
spirited 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 abridgement
XII.
THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD TO HIS LOVE.
This beautiful sonnet is quoted in the Merry
Wives of Windsor, act iii. sc. 1, and hath been usually
ascribed (together with the reply) to Shakespeare
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 Shakespeare, Lond.
printed for W. Jaggard, 1599." Thus was this
sonnet, &c. published as Shakespeare's in his life-
time.
And yet there is good reason to believe that (not
Shakespeare, but) Christopher Marlow wrote the
song, and Sir Walter Raleigh the "Nymph's Reply:"
for so we are positively 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 miscel-
lany, 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 signature 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.
Upon the whole I am inclined to attribute them to
Marlow, and Raleigh; notwithstanding the au-
thority of Shakespeare's Book of Sonnets. For it is
well known that as he took no care of his own com-
positions, 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 after-
wards rejected by his first editors Heminge and
Condell, who were his intimate friends, (as he men-
tions both in his will,) and therefore no doubt had
good authority for setting them asidet.
* First printed in the year 1653, but probably written
some time before.
of the novel which Mr. Johnson has given us at the
end of his commentary on Shakespeare'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 Shakespeare 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."
+ Since the above was written, Mr. Malone, with his usual
di cernment, hath rejected the stanzas in question from the
other sonnets, &c. of Shakespeare, in his correct edition of
the Passionate Pilgrim, &c. See his Shakesp. vol. x, p. 340
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," beginning 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 repute for
his dramatic writings, he lost his life by a stab re-
ceived in a brothel, before the year 1593. See A.
Wood, i. 138.
COME live with me, and be my love,
And we wil all the pleasures prove
That hils and vallies, dale and field,
And all the craggy mountains yield.
There will we sit upon the rocks,
And see the shepherds feed their flocks,
By shallow rivers, to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.
There will I make thee beds of roses
With a thousand fragrant posies,
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
Imbrodered all with leaves of mirtle;
A gown made of the finest wool,
Which from our pretty lambs we pull;
Slippers lin❜d choicely for the cold
With buckles of the purest gold;
;
A belt of straw, and ivie buds,
With coral clasps, and amber studs:
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Then live with me, and be my love.
The shepherd swains shall dance and sing
For thy delight each May morning;
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me and be my love.
THE NYMPH'S REPLY.
If that the World and Love were young,
And truth in every shepherd's toung,
These pretty pleasures might me move
To live with thee, and be thy love.
But time drives flocks from field to fold,
When rivers rage, and rocks grow cold,
And Philomel becometh dumb,
And all complain of cares to come.
10
20
5
TITUS ANDRONICUS'S COMPLAINT.
The flowers do fade, and wanton fields
To wayward winter reckoning yield:
A honey tongue, a heart of gall,
Is fancies spring, but sorrows fall.
Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses,
Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies,
Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten,
In folly ripe, in reason rotten.
10
15
XIII.
THE reader has here an ancient ballad on the same
subject as the play of "Titus Andronicus," and it
s probable that the one was borrowed from the
other: but which of them was the original, it is not
asy to decide. And yet, if the argument offered
bove in page 227, for the priority of the ballad of
he Jew of Venice may be admitted, somewhat of
he same kind may be urged here; for this ballad
differs from the play in several particulars, which a
imple ballad-writer would be less likely to alter than
n inventive tragedian. Thus, in the ballad, is no
mention of the contest for the empire between the
wo brothers, the composing of which makes the
ingrateful treatment of Titus afterwards the more
agrant: neither is there any notice taken of his
acrificing one of Tamora's sons, which the tragic
poet has assigned as the original cause of all her
ruelties. In the play, Titus loses twenty-one of
his sons in war, and kills another for assisting Bas-
ianus to carry off Lavinia: the reader will find it
ifferent in the ballad. In the latter she is be-
rothed to the emperor's son: in the play to his
brother. In the tragedy, only two of his sons fall
nto the pit, and the third, being banished, returns
o Rome with a victorious army, to avenge the
wrongs of his house in the ballad, all three are
ntrapped and suffer death. In the scene, the em-
peror kills Titus, and is, in return, stabbed by Titus's
surviving son. Here Titus kills the emperor, and
fterwards himself.
TITUS ANDRONICUS'S COMPLAINT.
Let the reader weigh these circumstances, and
ome others, wherein he will find them unlike, and
Then pronounce for himself. After all, there is
eason to conclude that this play was rather improved
by Shakspeare, with a few fine touches of his pen,
han originally written by him; for, not to mention
hat the style is less figurative than his others
generally are, this tragedy is mentioned with dis-
redit in the Induction to Ben Johnson's "Bartho-
omew Fair, in 1614," as one that had then been
exhibited "five-and-twenty or thirty years:" which,
f we take the lowest number, throws it back to the
year 1589, at which time Shakspeare was but 25;
in 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 attemptt.
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.
* Mr. Malone thinks 1591 to be the æra when our author
commenced a writer for the stage. See in his Shak sp. the
ngenious "Attempt to ascer ain the order in which the plays
of Shakespeare were written."
+ Since the above was written, Shakespeare's memory
has
been fully vindicated from the charge of writing the above
play by the best critics. See what has been urged by Stee-
ens and Malone in their excellent editions of Shakespeare,
&c.
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 thy love.
5%
26

The following is given from a copy in “The Gol-
den Garland," entitled as above; compared with
three others, two of them in black letter in the Pepys
collection, entitled "The Lamentable and Tragical
History of Titus Andronicus, &c." "To the Tune
of Fortune," printed for E. Wright. Unluckily,
none of these have any dates.
In Rome I lived in fame fulle threescore yeeres,
My name beloved was of all my peeres;
Fulle five-and-twenty valiant sonnes I had,
Whose forwarde vertues made their father glad.
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.
5
For when Romes foes their warlike forces bent,
Against them stille my sonnes and I were sent; 10
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,
Which did such murders, like was nere before. 20
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 pleas'd this 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,
Consented with the Moore of bloody minde 30
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;
T
60
TAKE THOSE LIPS AWAY.
*
My deare Lavinia was betrothed than
To Cesars sonne, a young and noble man:
Who, in a hunting by the emperours wife,
And her two sonnes, bereaved was of life.
He being slaine, was cast in cruel wise,
Into a darksome den from light of skies:
The cruell Moore did come that way as then
With my three sonnes, who fell into the den,
The Moore then fetcht the emperour with speed, 45
For to accuse them of that murderous deed·
And when my sonnes within the den were found,
In wrongfull prison thy were cast and bound.
50
But nowe, behold? what wounded most my mind,
The empresses two sonnes of savage kind
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.
40
But when I sawe her in that woefull case,
With teares of bloud I wet mine aged face:
For my Lavinia I lamented more
Then for my two-and-twenty sonnes before.
My brother Marcus found her in the wood,
Staining the grassie ground with purple bloud,
That trickled from her stumpes, and bloudlesse armes :
Noe tongue at all she had to tell her harmes.
When as I sawe she could not write nor speake,
With grief mine aged heart began to breake;
We spred an heape of sand upon the ground,
Whereby those bloudy tyrants out we found.
For with a staffe, without the helpe of hand,
She writt these wordes upon the plat of sand :
"The lustfull sonnes of the proud emperèsse
Are doers of this hateful wickednèsse."
I tore the milk-white hairs from off mine head,
I curst the houre, wherein I first was bred,
60
65
70
75
I wisht this hand, that fought for countrie's fame,
In cradle rockt, had first been stroken lame. 80
The Moore delighting still in villainy
Did say, to sett my sonnes from prison free
I should unto the king my right hand give,
And then my three imprisoned sonnes should live.
The first stanza of this little sonnet, which an
eminent critic* justly admires for its extreme sweet-
ness, is found in Shakespeare's "Measure for Mea-
sure," 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 Shakespeare'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 Jag-
• Dr. Warburton in his Shakesp.
The Moore I caus'd to strike it off with speede, 85
Whereat I grieved not to see it bleed,
But for my sonnes would willingly impart,
And for their ransome send my bleeding heart.
But as my life did linger thus in paine,
They sent to me my bootlesse hand againe,
And therewithal the heades of my three sonnes,
Which filld my dying heart with fresher moanes.
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
And for revenge to hell did often crye.
I fed their foolish veines + 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.
The empresse then, thinking that I was mad,
Like Furies she and both her sonnes were clad,
(She nam❜d Revenge, and Rape and Murder they)
To undermine and heare what I would say. 100
Then with their fleshe I made two mighty pyes,
And at a banquet served in stately wise :
Before the empresse set this loathsome meat;
So of her sonnes own flesh she well did eat.
I cut their throates, my daughter held the pan 10
Betwixt her stumpes, wherein the bloud it ran :
And then I ground their bones to powder small,
And made a paste for pyes streight therewithall.
Myselfe bereav'd my daughter then of life,
The empresse then I slewe with bloudy knife,
And stabb'd the emperour immediatelie,
And then myself: even so did Titus die.
90
XIV.
95
TAKE THOSE LIPS AWAY
110
Then this revenge against the Moore was found,
Alive they sett him halfe into the ground,
Whereas he stood untill such time he starv'd.
And soe God send all murderers may be serv'd 12
11:
gard's old eu.tion of Shakespeare's "Passionat
Pilgrim ‡, &c.
* If the ballad was written before the play, I should sup
pose this to be only a metaphorical expression, taken fron
that in the Psalms, "They shoot out their arrows, eve
bitter words." Ps. 64. 3.
+ i. e. encouraged them in their foolish humours, or fan
cies.
Mr. Malone in his improved edition of Shakespeare'
SONNETS, &c. hath substituted this instead of Marlow's Ma
drigal, printed above; for which he hath assigned reasons
which the reader may see in his vol. x. p. 340.
KING LEIR AND HIS THREE DAUGHTERS.
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,
Seales of love, but seal'd in vaine.
5
XV.
KING LEIR AND HIS THREE DAUGHTERS.
The reader has here an ancient ballad on the sub-
ect of King Lear, which (as a sensible female critic
has well observed*) bears so exact an analogy to
he argument of Shakespeare's play, that his having
copied it could not be doubted, if it were certain
hat it was written before the tragedy. Here is
ound the hint of Lear's madness, which the old
chronicles † do not mention, as also the extravagant
+
ruelty exercised on him by his daughters. In the
death of Lear they likewise very exactly coincide.-
The misfortune is, that there is nothing to assist us
n ascertaining the date of the ballad but what little
evidence arises from within; this the reader must
weigh, and judge for himself.
It may be proper to observe, that Shakspeare was
hot the first of our Dramatic Poets who fitted the
story of Leir to the stage. His first 4to edition is
lated 1608; but three years before that had been
printed a play entitled "The true Chronicle History
of Leir and his three daughters Gonorill, Ragan,
nd Cordella, as it hath been divers and sundry
imes lately acted, 1605, 4to."-This is a very poor
nd dull performance, but happily excited Shake-
peare to undertake the subject, which he has given
with different incidents. It is remarkable, that
very
either the circumstances of Leir's madness, nor his
etinue of a select number of knights, nor the affect-
ng deaths of Cordelia and Leir, are found in that
irst dramatic piece; in all which Shakespeare con-
urs with this ballad.
But to form a true judgment of Shakespeare's
merit, the curious reader should cast his eye over
hat previous sketch, which he will find printed at
he end of the twenty plays of Shakespeare, repub-
ished from the quarto impressions by George
Steevens, Esq. with such elegance and exactness as
ed us to expect that fine edition of all the works of
our great Dramatic Poet, which he hath since pub-
ished.
"A
The following ballad is given from an ancient copy
n the "Golden Garland," bl. let. entitled,
amentable Song of the Death of King Lear and his
Three Daughters. To the tune of When flying
Fame."
KING Leir once ruled in this land
With princely power and peace;
And had all things with hearts content,
That might his joys increase.
Amongst those things that nature gave,
Three daughters fair had he,
So princely seeming beautiful,
As fairer could not be.
10
5
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.
* Mrs. Lennox. Shakespeare illustrated, vol. iii. p. 302.
+ See Jeffery of Monmouth, Holingshed, &c. who relate
Leir's history in many respects the same as the ballad.
So on a time it pleas'd the king
A question thus to move,
Which of his daughters to his grace
Could shew the dearest love :
For to my age you bring content,
Quoth he, then let me hear,
Which of you three in plighted troth
The kindest will appear.
To whom the eldest thus began ;
Dear father, mind, quoth she,
Before your face, to do you good,
My blood shall render'd be :
And for your sake my bleeding heart
Shall here be cut in twain,
Ere that I see your reverend age
The smallest grief sustain.
And so will I, the second said;
Dear father, for your sake,
The worst of all extremities
I'll gently undertake :
And serve your highness night and day
With diligence and love;
That sweet content and quietness
Discomforts may remove.
In doing so, you glad my scul,
The aged king reply'd ;
But what sayst thou, my youngest girl,
How is thy love ally'd?
My love (quoth young Cordelia then)
Which t your grace I owe,
Shall be the duty of a child,
And that is all I'll show.
And wilt thou shew no more, quoth he,
Than doth thy duty bind?
I well perceive thy love is small,
When as no more I find.
Henceforth I banish thee my court,
Thou art no child of mine
;
Nor any part of this my 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 maintain'd
Until my dying day.
61
10
10
15
20
25
30
35
40
45
5(
55
62
KING LEIR AND HIS THREE DAUGHTERS.
Thus flattering speeches won renown,
By these two sisters here;
The third had causeless banishment,
Yet was her love more dear:
For poor Cordelia patiently
Went wandring up and down,
Unhelp'd, unpity'd, gentle maid,
Through many an English town:
Untill at last in famous France
She gentler fortunes found;
Though poor and bare, yet she was deem'd
The fairest on the ground:
Where when the king her virtues heard,
And this fair lady seen,
With full consent of all his court
He made his wife and queen.
Her father King Leir this while
With his two daughters staid :
Forgetful of their promis'd loves,
Full soon the same decay'd;
And living in Queen Ragan's court,
The eldest of the twain,
She took from him his chiefest means,
And most of all his train.
For whereas twenty men were wont
To wait with bended knee :
She gave allowance but to ten,
And after scarce to three;
Nay, one she thought too much for him;
So took she all away,
In hope that in her court, good king,
He would no longer stay.
Am I rewarded thus, quoth he,
In giving all I have
Unto my children, and to beg
For what I lately gave?
I'll go unto my Gonorell:
My second child, I know,
Will be more kind and pitiful,
And will relieve my woe.
Full fast he hies then to her court;
Where when she heard his moan
Return'd him answer, That she griev'd,
That all his means were gone:
But no way could relieve his wants;
Yet if that he would stay
Within her kitchen, he should have
What scullions gave away.
When he had heard, with bitter tears,
He made his answer then;
In what I did let me be made
Example to all men.
I will return again, quoth he,
Unto my Ragan's court;
She will not use me thus, I hope,
But in a kinder sort.
Where when he came, she
gave command
To drive him thence away:
When he was well within her court
(She said) he would not stay.
Then back again to Gonorell
The woeful king did hie,
That in her kitchen he might have
What scullion boys set by.
6 ·
65
70
75
80
85
90
95
100
105
110
115
120
But there of that he was deny'd
Which she had promis'd late :
For once refusing, he should not
Come after to her gate.
Thus twixt his daughters, for relief
He wandred up and down;
Being glad to feed on beggars food,
That lately wore a crown.
And calling to remembrance then
His youngest daughters words,
That said the duty of a child
Was all that love affords :
But doubting to repair to her,
Whom he had banish'd so,
Grew frantick mad; for in his mind
He bore the wounds of woe:
Which made him rend his milk-white locks,
And tresses from his head,
And all with blood bestain his cheeks,
With age and honour spread.
To bills and woods and watry founts
He made his hourly moan,
Till hills and woods and sensless things,
Did seem to sigh and groan.
Even thus possest with discontents,
He passed o're to France,
In hopes from fair Cordelia there,
To find some gentler chance;
Most virtuous dame? which when she heard
Of this her father's grief,
As duty bound, she quickly sent
Him comfort and relief:
And by a train of noble peers,
In brave and gallant sort,
She gave in charge he should be brought
To Aganippus' court;
Whose royal king, with noble mind
So freely gave consent,
To muster up his knights at arms,
To fame and courage bent.
And so to England came with speed,
To repossesse King Leir,
And drive his daughters from their thrones
By his Cordelia dear.
Where she, true-heated noble queen,
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;
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;
And being dead, their crowns they left
Unto the next of kin :
Thus have you seen the fall of priae,
And disobedient sin.
A
125
130
135
14(
14.
150
15
16
16
7
17
18
FROLICKSOME DUKE, OR THE TINKER'S GOOD FORTUNE.
XVI.
YOUTH AND AGE
is found in the little collection of Shake-
speare's Sonnets, entitled the "Passionate Pil-
grime," the greatest part of which seems to relate
to the amours of Venus and Adonis, being little
effusions of fancy, probably written while he was
composing his larger Poem on that subject. The
following seems intended for the mouth of Venus,
weighing the comparative merits of youthful Adonis
and aged Vulcan. In the " Garland of Good Will"
it is reprinted, with the addition of four more such
stanzas, but evidently written by a meaner pen.
CRABBED Age and Youth
Cannot live together;
Youth is full of pleasance,
Age is full of care :
Youth like summer morn,
Age like winter weather,
10
The following ballad is upon the same subject, as
the Induction to Shakespeare's Taming of the Shrew :
whether it may be thought to have suggested the
int to the Dramatic poet, or is not rather of later
late, the reader must determine.
"C
The story is toldt of Philip the Good, Duke of
Burgundy; and is thus related by an old English
writer: The said duke, at the marriage of Eleonora,
sister to the king of Portugall, at Bruges in Flanders,
which was solemnised in the deepe of winter; when
s by reason of unseasonable weather he could nei-
her hawke nor hunt, and was now tired with cards,
lice, &c. and such other domestick sports, or to see
adies dance; with some of his courtiers, he would
n the evening walke disguised all about the towne.
t so fortuned, as he was walking late one night, he
bund a countrey fellow dead drunke, snorting on a
ulke;
he caused his followers to bring him to his
alace, and there stripping him of his old clothes, and
ttyring him after the court fashion, when he wakened
e and they were all ready to attend upon his excel-
ency, and persuade him that he was some great
uke. The poor fellow admiring how he came there,
vas served in state all day long after supper he
aw them dance, heard musicke, and all the rest of
hose court-like pleasures: but late at night, when
e was well tipled, and again fast asleepe, they put
n his old robes, and so conveyed him to the place
where they first found him. Now the fellow had
ot made them so good sport the day before, as he
id now,
when he returned to himself: all the jest
as to see how he looked upon it. In conclusion,
fter some little admiration, the poore man told his
riends he had seen a vision; constantly believed
; would not otherwise be persuaded, and so the
:
* Mentioned above, song xi. b. ii.
By Ludov. Vives in Epis. aud by Pont. Heuter. Rerum
Burgund. 1. 4.
Youth like summer brave,
Age like winter bare:
Youth is full of sport,
Ages breath is short;
Youth is nimble, Age is lame :
Youth is hot and bold,
Age is weak and cold;
Youth is wild, and Age is tame.
Age, I do abhor thee,
Youth, I do adore thee
O, my love, my love is young:
Age, I do defie thee;
Oh sweet shepheard, hie thee,
For methinks thou stayst too long.
** See Malone's Shakesp. vol. x, p. 325.
63
10
XVII.
THE FROLICKSOME DUKE, OR THE TINKER'S GOOD FORTUNE.
jest ended." Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy, pt
ii. sec. 2. memb. 4. 2d. ed. 1624, fol.
15
20

This ballad is given from a black-letter copy in
the Pepys collection, which is entitled 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 a 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.
10
O'er a horse he was laid, and with care soon convey'd
To the palace, altho' he was poorly arrai'd:
Then they stript off his cloaths, both his shirt, shoes
and hose,
And they put him to bed for to take his repose.
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, 15
They did lay him to sleep the drink out of his crown.
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.
64
THE FRIAR OF ORDERS GRAY.
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?
Sure she never did see me so fine in her life. 30
From a convenient place, the right duke his good
Did observe his behaviour in every case. [grace
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 aud his guests,
He was plac'd at the table above all the rest,
In a rich chair or bed,' lin'd with fine crimson 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 compleat.
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 [snore,
From his chair to the floor, where he sleeping did
Being seven times drunker than ever before.
Then the duke did ordain, they should strip him
amain,
And restore him his old leather garments again: 50
Dispersed through Shakespeare's plays are innu-
merable little fragments of ancient ballads, the entire
copies of which could not be recovered. Many of
these being of the most beautiful and pathetic sim-
plicity, the Editor was tempted to select some of
them, and with a few supplemental stanzas to con-
nect them together, and form them into a little Tale,
which is here submitted to the reader's candour.
One small fragment was taken from Beaumont and
Fletcher.
It was a friar of orders gray
Walkt forth to tell his beades;
And he met with a lady faire
Clad in a pilgrime's weedes.
Now Christ thee save, thou reverend friar,
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?
O, by his cockle hat, and staff,
And by his sandal shoone*.
XVIII.
THE FRIAR OF ORDERS GRAY.
10
5
10
'Twas a point next the worst, yet perform it they
must,
And they carry'd him strait, where they found him
at first;
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
☛ performance of their devotion. Warb. Shakesp. vol. viii.
224.
Then he slept all the night, as indeed well he might
But when he did waken, his joys took their flight.
55
For his glory to him' so pleasant did seem,
That he thought it to be but a meer golden dream;
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
Such a frolick before I think never was plaid. 60
Then his highness bespoke him a new suit and cloak
Which he gave for the sake of this frolicksome joak
Nay, and five-hundred pound, with ten acres o
ground,
Thou shalt never, said he, range the counteries round
Crying old brass to mend, for I'll be thy good friend,6.
Nay, and Joan thy sweet wife shall my duches
attend.
Then the tinker reply'd, What! must Joan my swee
Be a lady in chariots of pleasure to ride? [brid
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
embrace,
71
I was never before in so happy a case.
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.
O lady, he is dead and gone!
Lady, 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 bedew'd 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!
O weep not, lady, weep not soe:
Some ghostly comfort seek:
Let not vain sorrow rive thy heart,
Ne teares bedew thy cheek.
2
GO
3
3
THE FRIAR OF ORDERS GRAY.
O do not, do not, holy friar,
My sorrow now reprove;
For I have lost the sweetest youth,
That e'er wan ladyes love.
And nowe, alas! for thy sad losse,
I'll evermore weep and sigh:
For thee I only wisht to live,
For thee I wish to dye.
Weep no more, lady, weep no more,
Thy sorrowe is in vaine:
For violets pluckt the sweetest showers
Will ne'er make 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.
O say not soe, thou holy friar ;
I pray thee, say not soe:
For since my true-love dyed for mee,
'Tis meet my tears should flow.
And will he ne'er come again?
Will he ne'er come again?
Ah! no, he is dead and laid in his grave,
For ever to remain.
His cheek was redder than the rose;
The comliest youth was he!
But he is dead and laid in his grave :
Alas, and woe is me!
Sigh no more, lady, sigh no more,
Men were deceivers ever:
One foot on sea and one on land,
To one thing constant never,
Hadst thou been fond, he had been false,
And left thee sad and heavy;
For young men ever were fickle found,
Since summer trees were leafy
Now say not soe, thou holy friar,
I pray thee say not soe;
My love he had the truest heart:
O he was ever true!
40
4.5
50
55
60
65
70
75
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.
But first upon my true-loves grave
My weary limbs I'll lay,
And thrice I'll kiss the green-grass turf,
That wraps his breathless clay
Yet stay, fair lady: rest awhile
Beneath this cloyster wall:
O stay me not, thou holy friar;
O stay me not, I pray ;
Ι
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
Thy owne true-love appears.
See through the hawthorn blows the cold wind,
And drizzly rain doth fall.
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.
But haply for my year of grace
Is not yet past away,
Might I still hope to win thy love,
No longer would I stay.
*
Now farewell grief, and welcome joy
Once more unto my heart;
For since I have found thee, lovely youth,
We never more will part.
65
THE END OF THE SECOND BOOK.
80
85
90
95
100
105
** As the foregoing song has been thought to
have suggested to our late excellent poet Dr.
Goldsmith, the plan of this beautiful ballad of
Edwin and Emma," (first printed in his "Vicar
of Wakefield,") it is but justice to his memory to
declare, that his poem was written first, and that if
there is any imitation in the case, they will be found
both to be indebted to the beautiful old ballad
"Gentle Herdsman," &c. printed in this work,
which the doctor had much admired in manuscript,
and has finely improved. See Series the Second,
book i. song xiv. ver. 37, &c.
The year of probation, or novicia te.
66
THE MORE MODERN BALLAD OF CHEVY CHACE.
SERIES THE FIRST.
THE MORE MODERN BALLAD OF CHEVY CHACE.
At the beginning of this volume we gave the old
original Song of "Chevy Chace." The reader has
here the more improved edition of that fine heroic
ballad. It will afford an agreeable entertainment to
the curious to compare them together, and to see
how far the latter bard has excelled his predecessor,
and where he has fallen short of him. For though
he has every where improved the versification, and
generally the sentiment and diction; yet some few
passages retain more dignity in the ancient copy;
at least the obsoleteness 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 exprest
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:
BOOK III.
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 elevated in the
ancient copy:
"The dint it was both sad and sore,
He on Montgomery set:
The swan-feathers his arrow bore
With his hearts blood were wet."
1.
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 warriours chiefly depended on
the use of the spear: this characteristic difference
never escapes our ancient bard, whose description
of the first onset (p. 3.) is to the following effect:
"The proposal of the two gallant earls to de-
termine the dispute by single combat being over-
ruled; the English, says he, who stood with their
bows ready bent, gave a general discharge of their
arrows, which slew seven score spearmen of the
enemy: but, notwithstanding so severe a loss,
Douglas like a brave captain kept his ground. He
had divided his forces into three columns, who
as soon as the English had discharged the first
volley, bore down upon them with their spears, and
breaking through their ranks reduced them to close
fighting. The archers upon this dropt their bows
and had recourse to their swords, and there followed
so sharp a conflict, that multitudes on both sid
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 cir-
cumstantial 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,” evi-
dently signifies, "Yet the earl Douglas abides in the
Field:" Whereas the more modern bard seems to
have understood by Bent, the inclination of his
mind, and accordingly runs quite off from the sub-
ject*.
"To drive the deer with hound and horn
Earl Douglas had the bent."
v. 109.
One may also observe a generous impartiality in
the old original bard, when in the conclusion of his
tale he represents both nations as quitting the field,
without any reproachful reflection on either: though
he gives to his own countrymen the credit of being,
the smaller number.
"Of fifteen hundred archers of England
Went away but fifty and three;
Of twenty hundred spearmen of Scotland,
But even five and fifty."
He attributes flight to neither party, as hath been
done in the modern copies of this ballad, as well
bard, who makes the Scots to flee, some reviser o
Scotch as English. For, to be even with our latter
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 suppresse
the two stanzas between ver. 240 and ver. 249.
From that edition I have here reformed the Scottis
names, which in the modern English ballad ap
peared to be corrupted.
When I call the present admired ballad modern,
only mean that it is comparatively so; for that
* In the present edition, instead of the unmeaning lin
here censured, an insertion is made of four stanzas moder
ized from the ancient copy.
į
THE MORE MODERN BALLAD OF CHEVY-CHACE.
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 cen-
tury*. Sir Philip Sidney, when he complains of the
antiquated phrase of "Chevy-chace," could never have
seen this improved copy, the language of which is not
more ancient than that he himself used. It is proba-
ble that the encomiums of so admired a writer excited
some bard to revise the ballad, and to free it from
those faults he had objected to it. That it could not
be much later than that time, appears from the phrase
"Doleful Dumps;" which in that age carried no
ill sound with it, but to the next generation became
ridiculous. We have seen it pass uncensured in a
sonnet that was at that time in request, and where
it could not fail to have been taken notice of, had it
been in the least exceptionable: see above, b. ii.
song v. ver. 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 excellent criticism of
Mr. Addisont. With regard to its subject: it has
already been considered in page 1st. The conjec-
tures there offered will receive confirmation from a
passage in the Memoirs of Carey Earl of Monmouth,
vo, 1759, p. 165; whence we learn that it was an
ncient custom with the borderers of the two king-
loms, when they were at peace, to send to the Lord
Wardens of the opposite Marches for leave to hunt
vithin their districts. If leave was granted, then
owards the end of summer they would come and
unt for several days together "with their Grey-
ounds for. Deer:" but if they took this liberty un-
ermitted, then the Lord Warden of the border so
nvaded, would not fail to interrupt their sport and
hastise their boldness. He mentions a remarkable
stance that happened while he was Warden, when
ome Scotch Gentlemen coming to hunt in defiance
f him, there must have ensued such an action as
his of Chevy Chace, if the intruders had been
pro-
ortionably numerous and well-armed: for, upon
heir being attacked by his men at arms, he tells us,
some hurt was done, tho' he had given especiall
rder that they should shed as little blood as pos-
ible." They were in effect overpowered and taken
risoners, and only released on their promise to ab-
tain 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
rinted in black-letter-In the second volume of
Dryden's Miscellanies may be found a translation of
hevy-Chace into Latin Rymes. The translator,
lr. Henry Bold, of New College, undertook it at
le command of Dr. Compton, bishop of London;
I
CC
* A late writer has started a notion that the more modern
'py was written to be sung by a party of English, headed
ya Douglas in the year 1524; which is the true reason
hy, at the same time that it gives the advantage to the
nglish soldiers above the Scotch, it gives yet so lovely and
manifestly superior a character to the Scotch cominander
Dove the English." See Say's Essay on the Numbers of
aradise Lost, 4to, 1745, p. 167.
This appears to me a groundless conjecture; the language
ems too modern for the date above mentioned; and, had it
en printed even so early as Queen Elizabeth's reign, I think
should have met with some copy wherein the first line
ould have beeu,
God prosper long our noble queen,
was the case with the Blind Beggar of Bednal Green; see
eries the Second, No. x. ver. 23.
+ In the Spectator, No. 70. 74.
who thought it no derogation to his episcopal cha-
racter, to avow a fondness for this excellent old
ballad. See the preface to Bold's Latin Songs,
1685, 8vo.
GoD prosper long our noble king,
Our lives and safetyes all;
A woefull hunting once there did
In Chevy-Chace befali;
To drive the deere with hound and horne,
Erle Percy took his way,
The child may rue that is unborne,
The hunting of that day.
The stout Erle of Northumberland
A vow to God did make,
His pleasure in the Scottish woods
Three summers days to take;
The cheefest harts in Chevy-chace
To kill and beare away.
These tydings to Erle Douglas came,
In Scottland where he lay
Who sent Erle Percy present word,
He would prevent his sport.
The English Erle, not fearing that,
Did to the woods resort.
With fifteen hundred bow-men bold;
All chosen men of might,
Who knew full well in time of neede
To ayme their shafts aright.
The gallant greyhounds swiftly ran,
To chase the fallow deere :
On munday they began to hunt,
Ere day-light did appeare ;
And long before high noone they had
An hundred fat buckes slaine;
Then having dined, the drovyers went
To rouze the deare againe.
The bow-men mustered on the hills,
Well able to endure;
Theire backsides all, with speciall care,
That day were guarded sure.
The hounds ran swiftly through the woods,
The nimble deere to take*,
That with their cryes the hills and dales
An eccho shrill did make.
67
Lord Percy to the quarry went,
To view the slaughter'd deere ;
Qouth he, Erle Douglas promised
This day to meet me heere:
10
15
20

25
30
35
40
Ver. 36, That they were, fol. MS.
* The Chiviot Hills and circumjacent Wastes are at pre-
sent void of Deer, and almost stript of their woods; but
formerly they had enough of both to justify the description
attempted here and in the Ancient Ballad of CHEVY 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 Mosse. I have harde say that Chivet Hills stretchetne
xx miles. There is greate Plenté of REDDE-DERE, and
ROO BUKKES." Itin. vol. vii. p. 56.-
This passage,
which did not occur when pages 67, were printed off,
confirm the accounts there given of the STAGGE and the
ROE.
F 2
68
THE MORE MODERN BALLAD OF CHEVY-CHACE.
But if I thought he wold not come,
Noe longer wold I stay.
With that, a brave younge gentleman
Thus to the Erle did say:
Loe, yonder doth Erle Douglas come,
His men in armour bright;
Full twenty hundred Scottish sveres
All marching in our sight;
All men of pleasant Tivydale,
Fast by the river Tweede :
O cease your sports, Erle Percy said,
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,
That ever did on horsebacke come,
But if my hap it were,
I durst encounter man for man,
With him to break a spere.
Erle Douglas on his milke-white steede,
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,
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.
Then Douglas swore a solempne oathe
And thus in rage did say,
Ere thus I will out-braved bee,
One of us two shall dye :
I know thee well, an erle thou art;
Lord Percy, soe am I.
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.
Accurst bee he, Erle 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
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:
45
50
55
›0
65
70
75
30
85
90
95
100
Ile doe the best that doe I may,
While I have power to stand:
While I have power to weeld my sword,
Ile fight with hart and hand.
Our English archers bent their bowes,
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.
As valiant Captain, all unmov'd
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
Bare down on every side.
To drive the deere with hound and horne,
Douglas bade on the bent;
Two captaines moved with mickle might
Their speres to shivers went.
Throughout the English archery
They dealt full many a wound:
But still our valiant Englishmen
All firmly kept their ground:
The four stanzas here inclosed in brackets,
which are borrowed chiefly from the ancient copy,
are offered to the reader instead of the following
lines, which occur in the editor's folio MS.
And throwing strait their bows away,
They grasp'd their swords so bright:
And now sharp blows, a heavy shower,
On shields and helmets light.]
They closed full fast on everye side,
Noe slacknes there was found;
And many a gallant gentleman
Lay gasping on the ground.
O Christ! it was a griefe to see,
And likewise for to heare,
The cries of men lying in their gore,
And scattered here and there.
At last these two stout erles did meet,
Like captaines of great might:
Like lyons wood, they layd on lode,
And made a cruell fight:
They fought untill they both did sweat,
With swords of tempered steele ;
Until the blood, like drops of rain,
They trickling downe did feele.
Yeeld thee, Lord Percy, Douglas sayd;
n faith I will thee bringe,
Where thou shalt high advanced bee
By James our Scottish king:
105
Thy ransome I will freely give,
And this report of thee,
Thou art the most couragious knight,
That ever I did see.
110
115
120
125
130
13:
140
1-19
THE MORE MODERN BALLAD OF CHEVY.CHACE.
Noe, Douglas, quoth Erle Percy then,
Thy proffer I doe scorne
I will not yeelde to any Scott,
That ever yett was borne.
e;
With that, there came an arrow keene
Out of an English bow,
Which struck Erle Douglas to the heart,
A deepe and deadlye blow:
Who never spake more words than these,
Fight on, my merry men all;
For why, my life is at an end;
Lord Percy sees my fall.
Then leaving liffe, Erle Percy tooke
The dead man by the hand;
And said, Erle Douglas, for thy life
Wold I had lost my land.
O Christ! my verry hart doth bleed
With sorrow for thy sake;
For sure, a more redoubted knight
Mischance cold never take.
A knight amongst the Scotts there was,
Which saw Erle Douglas dye,
Who streight in wrath did vow revenge
Upon the Lord Percye :
Sir Hugh Mountgomery was he call'd,
Who, with a spere most bright,
Well-mounted on a gallant steed,
Ran fiercely through the fight;
And past the English archers all,
Without all dread or feare ;
And through Erle Percyes body then
He thrust his hatefull
spere;
With such a vehement force and might
He did his body gore,
The staff ran through the other side
A large cloth-yard, and more.
So thus did both these nobles dye,
Whose courage none could staine :
An English archer then perceiv'd
The noble erle was slaine ;
He had a bow bent in his hand,
Made of a trusty tree;
An arrow of a cloth-yard long
Up to the head drew hee:
Against Sir Hugh Mountgomerye,
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;
For when they rung the evening-bell*,
The battle scarce was done.
150
155
160
165
170
175
180
185
190
195
200
Sc. the Curfew bell, usually rung at eight o'clock; to which
› modernizer apparently alludes, instead of the "Evensong
Il," or bell for vespers of the original author, before the
:formation. Vide suprà pag. 4, v. 97.
With stout Erle Percy, there was slaine
Sir John of Egerton*
Sir Robert Ratcliff, and Sir John,
Sir James that bold barron :
+
And with Sir George and stout Sir James,
Both knights of good account,
Good Sir Ralph Raby there was slaine,
Whose prowesse did surmount
For Witherington needs must I wayle,
As one in doleful dumpest;
For when his leggs were smitten off,
He fought upon his stumpes,
And with Erle Douglas, there was slaine
Sir Hugh Mountgomerye,
Sir Charles Murray, that from the feeld
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.
And the Lord Maxwell in like case
Did with Erle 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
They washt their wounds in brinish teares,
But all wold not prevayle.
Theyr oodyes, bathed in purple gore,
They bare with them away:
They kist them dead a thousand times,
Ere they were cladd in clay.
The newes was brought to Eddenborrow,
Where Scottlands king did raigne,
That brave Erle Douglas suddenlye
Was with an arrow slaine:
O heavy newes, King James did say,
Scottland may witnesse bee,
I have not any captaine more
Of such account as hee.
Like tydings to King Henry came,
Within as short a space,
That Percy of Northumberland
Was slaine in Chevy-Chase:
Now God be with him, said our king,
Sith it will noe better bee;
I trust I have, within my realme,
Five hundred as good as hee:
69
205
210
215
220
225
230
235
240
245
250
* For the surnames, see the Notes at the end of the Bal-
lad.
+ i. e. "I, as one in deep concern, must lament." The con-
struction here has generally been misunderstood. The old
MS. reads wofull dumpes.
70
DEATH'S FINAL CONQUEST.

Yett shall not Scotts nor Scotland say,
But I will vengeance take :
I'll be revenged on them all,
For brave Erle Percyes sake.
This vow full well the king perform'd
After, at Humbledowne;
In one day, fifty knights were slayne,
With lords of great renowne :
And of the rest, of small account,
Did many thousands dye:
Thus endeth the hunting of Chevy-Chase,
Made by the Erle Percy.
God save our king, and bless this land
With plentye, joy, and peace;
And grant henceforth, that foule debate
'Twixt noblemen may cease.
255
260
265
** Since the former impression of these volumes
hath been published, a new edition of Collins's
Peerage, 1779, &c. ix. vols. 8vo. which contains, in
volume ii. p. 334, an historical passage, which may
be thought to throw considerable light on the sub-
ject of the preceding Ballad: viz.
"In this... year, 1436, according to Hector
Boethius, was fought the battle of Pepperden, not
far from the Cheviot Hills, between the Earl of
Northumberland [IId Earl, son of Hotspur,] and
Earl William Douglas, of Angus, with a small army
of about four thousand men each, in which the
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 cele-
brated 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,
Pag, 69.
Ver 202 Egerton.] This name is restored (in-
stead of Ogerton, com. ed.) from the Editor's folio
MS. The pieces in that MS. appear to have been
nese fine moral stanzas were originally intended
for a solemn funeral song, in a play of James Shir-
ley'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
Restoration. His death happened October 29, 1666,
æt. 72.
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 for-
merly great interest in that county: At the fatal
battle of Shrewsbury, all the flower of the Cheshire
gentlemen lost their lives fighting in the cause of
Hotspur.
Ver. 203. Ratcliff.] This was a family much dis
tinguished in Nortumberland. Edw. Radcliffe mil
was sheriff of that county in 17 of Hen. VII, and
others of the same surname afterwards. (See Fuller
p. 313.) Sir George Ratcliff, Knt. was one of the
commissioners of inclosure in 1552. (See Nicholson
p. 330.) Of this family was the late Earl of Der
wentwater, who was beheaded in 1715. The Editor's
folio MS. however, reads here, Sir Robert Harcliffe
and Sir William.
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 Harcleys were am eminent family in Cumber
land. (See Fuller, p. 224.) Whether this may be
thought to be the same name, I do not determine.
Ver. 204. Baron.] This is apparently altered (no
to say corrupted) from Hearone, in p. 4, ver. 114.
Ver. 207. Raby.] This might be intended to cele
brate one of the ancient possessors of Raby Castle
in the county of Durham. Yet it is written Reb
bye, in the fol. MS. and looks like a corruption o
Rugby or Rokeby, an eminent family in Yorkshire
See p. 4, p. 9. It will not be wondered that the
Percies should be thought to bring followers out o
that county, where they themselves were originally
seated, and had always such extensive property and
influence.
Ver. 215. Murray.] So the Scottish copy. I
the com. edit. it is Carrel or Currel; and Morrell in
the fol. MS.
Ver. 217. Murray.]
So the Scot. edit.-The com
mon copies read Murrel. The fol. MS. gives th
line in the following peculiar manner,
II.
DEATH'S FINAL CONQUEST.
"Sir Roger Heuer of Harcliffe too."
Ver. 219. Lamb.] The folio MS. has.
"Sir David Lambwell, well esteemed.”
This seems evidently corrupted from Lwdale o
Liddell, in the old copy, see pages 4-9.
The glories of our birth and state
Are shadows, not substantial things;
There is no armour against fate:
Death lays his icy hands on kings:
Scepter and crown
Must tumble down,
And in the dust be equal made
With the poor crooked scythe and spade.
Some men with swords may reap the field,
And plant fresh laurels where they kill,
1
I
THE RISING IN THE NORTH,
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.
1
The garlands wither on your brow,
Then boast no more your mighty deeds:
15
The subject of this ballad is the great Northern
Insurrection in the 12th year of Elizabeth, 1569;
which proved so fatal to Thomas Percy, the seventh
Earl of Northumberland.
III.
THE RISING IN THE NORTH.
There had not long before been a secret negocia-
tion 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 Pro-
testant religion. This match was proposed to all
the most 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 con-
sented to it, provided it should prove agreeable to
Queen Elizabeth. The Earl of Leicester (Elizabeth's
favourite) undertook to break the matter to her;
but before he could find an opportunity, the affair
had come to her ears by other hands, and she was
thrown into a violent flame. The Duke of Norfolk,
with several of his friends, was committed to the
Tower, and summons were sent to the northern
earls instantly to make their appearance at court.
It is said that the Earl of Northumberland, who was
à man of a mild and gentle nature, was deliberating
with himself whether he should not obey the mes-
sage, and rely upon the queen's candour and cle-
nency, 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 per-
on*.. The earl was then at his house at Topcliffe
n Yorkshire. When rising hastily out of bed, he
withdrew to the Earl of Westmoreland, at Brance-
beth, where the country came in to them, and pressed
hem to take arms in their own defence. They
cordingly set up their standards, declaring their
atent was to restore the ancient religion, to get the
succession of the crown firmly settled, and to pre-
ent the destruction of the ancient nobility, &c.
Their common banner† (on which was displayed
he cross, together with the five wounds of Christ,)
vas borne by an ancient gentleman, Richard Norton,
Esq. of Norton-conyers: who with his sons (among
whom, Christopher, Marmaduke, and Thomas, are
xpressly named by Camden), distinguished himself
n this occasion. Having entered Durham, they
Upon death's purple altar now
See where the victor victim bleeds:
All heads must come
To the cold tomb,
*This circumstance is overlooked in the ballad.
Besides this, the ballad mentions the separate banners of
he two noblemen.
Only the actions of the just
Smell sweet, and blossom in the dust.
71
Listen, lively lordings all,
Lithe and listen unto mee,
And I will sing of a noble earle,
The noblest earle in the north countrìe.
20
:
tore the Bible, &c., and caused mass to be said
there they then marched on to Clifford Moor near
Wetherbye, where they mustered their men. Their
intention was to have proceeded on to York; but,
altering their minds, they fell 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 subsistence of their forces,
they were not able to march to London, as they had
at first intended. In these circumstances, West-
moreland 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, accom-
panied with Lord Hunsden and others, having
marched out of York at the head of a large body of
forces, and being followed by a still larger army
under the command of Ambrose Dudley, Earl of
Warwick, the insurgents retreated northward to-
wards the borders, and their dismissing their fol-
lowers, made their escape into Scotland. Though
this insurrection had been suppressed 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 con-
stables 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 inhabitants. This exceeds
the cruelties practised 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 following ballad, which
was apparently the production of some northern
minstrel, who was well affected to the two noble-
It is here printed from two MS. copies, one
of them in the editor's folio collection. They con-
tained considerable variations, out of which such
readings were chosen as seemed most poetical and
consonant to history.
men.
72
THE RISING IN THE NORTH.
Earle Percy is into his garden gone,
And after him walkes his faire ladìe* :
I heard a bird sing in mine eare,
That I must either fight, or flee.
Now heaven forefend, my dearest lord,
That ever such harm should hap to thee:
But goe to London to the court,
And faire fall truth and honestìe.
Now nay, now nay, my ladye gay,
Alas! thy counsell suits not mee;
Mine enemies prevail so fast,
That at the court I may not bee.
O goe to the court yet, good my lord,
And take thy gallant men with thee :
If any dare to doe you wrong,
Then your warrant they may bee.
Now nay, now nay, thou lady faire,
The court is full of subtiltie;
And if I goe to the court, lady,
Never more I may thee see.
Yet goe to the court, my lord, she sayes,
And I 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,
Than leave among my cruell foes
My love in jeopardy and strife,
But come thou hither my little foot-page,
Come thou hither unto mee,
To maister Norton thou must goe
In all the haste that ever may bee.
Commend me to that gentleman,
And beare this letter here fro mee;
And say that earnestly I praye,
He will ryde in my 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;
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 weeping eye.
He sayd, Come thither, Christopher Norton,
A gallant youth thou seemst to bee;
What doest thou counsell me, my sonne,
Now that good erle's in jeopardy?
Father, my counselle's fair and free;
That erle he is a noble lord,
And whatsoever to him you hight,
I wold not have you breake your word.
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20
25
30
35
40
45
50
55
60
This lady was Anne, daughter of Henry Somerset Earl
of Worcester.
Gramercy, Christopher, my sonne,
Thy counsell well it liketh mee,
And if we speed and scape with life,
Well advanced shalt thou bee.
Come you hither, mine nine good sonnes,
Gallant men I 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,
O father, till the daye we dye
We'll stand by that good erle and thee.
But what sayst thou, O Francis Norton,
That art mine eldest sonn and heire⚫
Somewhat lyes brooding in thy breast;
Whatever it bee, to mee declare.
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.
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,
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;
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 Erle Percy,
And all the flower o' Northumberland.
With them the noble Nevill came,
The erle of Westmorland was hee:
At Wetherbye they mustred their host,
Thirteen thousand faire to see.
Lord Westmorland his ancyent raisde,
The Dun Bull he rays'd on hye,
And three Dogs with golden collars
Were there sett out most royally6 *.
65
70
M
80
85
90
95
100
C
* Ver. 102. Dun Bull &c.) The supporters of the Nevilles
Earls of Westmoreland were Two Bulls Argent, ducally col-
lar'd 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, ainong those
of the Nevilles, Lord Abergavenny, (who were of the same
family,) is a dun cow with a golden collar; and the Ne-
villes 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 mentioned, 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 de-
scribed, more conformable to his known bearings:
"Set me up my faire Dun Bull,
With Gilden Hornes, hee beares all soe hye.”
NORTHUMBERLAND BETRAYED BY DOUGLAS.
Erle Percy there his ancyent spred,
The Halfe-Moone shining all soe faire *:
The Nortons ancyent had the crosse,
And the five wounds our Lord did beare.
Then Sir George Bowes he straitwaye rose,
After them some spoyle to make :
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 bee.
The uttermost walles were eathe to win,
The earles have wonne them presentlìe.
The uttermost walles were lime and bricke;
But though they won them soon anone,
Long e'er they wan the innermost walles,
For they were cut in rocke of stone.
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,
And like a royall queene shee swore †,
I will ordayne them such a breakfast,
As never was in the North before.
105
110
115
120
125
IV.
THIS ballad may be considered as the sequel of
he preceding. After the unfortunate Earl of Nor-
humberland had seen himself forsaken of his fol-
owers, he endeavoured to withdraw into Scotland,
but falling into the hands of the thievisk borderers,
vas stript and otherwise ill-treated by them. At
ength he reached the house of Hector, of Harlaw,
in Armstrong, with whom he hoped to lie concealed:
or Hector had engaged his honour to be true to
him, and was under great obligations to this unhappy
hobleman. But this faithless wretch betrayed his
guest for a sum of money to Murray the Regent of
* Ver. 106. The Halfe-Moone, &c.] The Silver Crescent
s a well-known crest or badge of the Northumberland family.
It was probably brought home from some of the crusades
gainst the Sarazens. In an ancient pedigree in verse, finely
lluminated on a roll of vellum, and written in the reign of
Henry VII, (in possession of the family,) we have this fabu-
ous account given of its original.-The author begins with
ccounting for the name of Gernon or Algernon, often borne
by the Percies; who, he says, were
..
Gernons fyrst named Brutys bloude of Troy :
Which valliantly fyghtynge in the land of Persè [ Persia]
At pointe terrible ayance the miscreants on nyght,
An hevynly mystery was schewyd hym, old bookys re-
herse;
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 Persès [Percies] the Cressant doth
renew.
In the dark ages no family was deemed considerable that
lid not derive its descent from the Trajan Brutus; or that
was not distinguished by prodigies and miracles.
Shee caus'd thirty thousand men berays'd,
With horse and harneis faire to see;
She caused thirty thousand men be raised,
To take the earles i' th' North countrie.
†This is quite in character: her majesty would sometimes
¡wear at her nobles, as well as box their ears.
Wi' them the false Erle Warwick went,
Th' Erle Sussex and the Lord Hunsden;
Untill they to Yorke castle came
I wiss, they never stint ne blan.
NORTHUMBERLAND BETRAYED BY DOUGLAS.
Now spred thy ancyent, Westmorland,
Thy dun bull faine would we spye :
And thou, the Erle o' Northumberland,
Now rayse thy half moone up on hye.
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!
Thy reverend lockes thee could not save,
Nor them their faire and blooming youthe.
Wi' them full many a gallant wight
They cruellye bereav'd of life:
And many a childe made fatherlesse,
And widowed many a tender wife.
73
130
135
140
145
150
Scotland, who sent him to the castle of Loughleven,
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 Hector's cloak, grew into a
proverb to express a man who betrays his friend.
See Camden, Carleton, Holingshed, &c.
Lord Northumberland continued in the castle of
Lough-leven till the year 1572; when James
Douglas Earl of Morton being elected Regent, he
was given up to the Lord Hunsden at Berwick, and
being carried to York suffered death. As Morton's
party depended 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 account, and shared be-
tween Morton and his kinsman Douglas, the former
of whom, during his exile in England, had been
much indebted to Northumberland's friendship, the
abandoning this unhappy nobleman to inevitable
destruction, was deemed an ungrateful and merce-
nary act." Robertson's Hist.
So far History coincides with this ballad, which
was apparently written by some northern bard soon
after the event. The interposal of the "Witch-
Lady" (v. 53,) is probably his own invention: yet.
even this hath some countenance from history; for,
about twenty-five years before, the Lady Jane
Douglas, Lady Glamis, sister of the Earl of Angus,
and nearly related to Douglas of Lough-leven, had
suffered death for the pretended crime of witchcraft,
1
74
NORTHUMBERLAND BETRAYED BY DOUGLAS
who, it is presumed, is the Witch-lady alluded to in
verse 133.
The following is selected (like the former) from
two copies, which contained great variations; one
of them in the Editor's folio MS. In the other copy
some of the stanzas at the beginning of this Ballad
are nearly the same with what in that MS. are made
to begin another Ballad on the escape of the Earl of
Westmoreland, who got safe into Flanders, and is
feigned in the ballad to have undergone a great
variety of adventures.
How long shall fortune faile me nowe,
And harrowe me with fear and dread?
How long shall I in bale abide,
In misery my life to lead?
To fall from my bliss, alas the while!
It was my sore and 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 :
He dwelleth on the border side,
To him I'll go right privilìe.
Thus did the noble Percy 'plaine,
With a heavy heart and wel away,
When he with all his gallant men
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.
False Hector to Earl Murray sent,
To shew him where his guest did hide :
Who sent him to the Lough-levèn,
With William Douglas to abide.
And when he to the Douglas came,
He haiched 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 :
To the regent * the lord warden† 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.
Earle Percy at the supper sate
With many a goodly gentleman:
The wylie Douglas then bespake,
And thus to flyte with him began:
What makes you be so sad, my lord,
And in your mind so sorrowfullyè?
To-morrow a shootinge will bee held
Among the lords of the North countryè.
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20
2.5
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35
40
* James Douglas, Earl of Morton, elected regent of Scot-
land, November 24, 1572.
† of one of the English marches. Lord Hunsden.
The butts are sett, the shooting's made,
And there will be great royaltye :
And I am sworne into my bille,
Thither to bring my Lord Percye.
I'll give thee my hand, thou gentle Douglas,
And here by my true faith, quoth hee,
If thou wilt ryde to the worldes end
I will ryde in thy companye.
And then bespake a lady faire,
Mary à Douglas was her name:
You shall byde here, good English lord,
My brother is a traiterous man.
He is a traitor stout and strong,
As I tell you in privitie:
For he hath tane liverance of the earle *,
Into England nowe to 'liver thee.
Now nay, now nay, thou goodly lady,
The regent is a noble lord:
Ne for the gold in all Englànd
The Douglas wold not break his word.
When the regent was a banisht man,
With me he did faire welcome find,
And whether weal or woe betide,
I still shall find him true and kind.
Alas! alas! my lord, she sayes,
Nowe mickle is their traitorìe;
Then lett my brother ryde his wayes,
And tell those English lords from thee,
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 Ile carry thee.
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.
Much is my woe, Lord Percy sayd,
When I thinke on my own countrìe,
When I thinke on the heavye happe
My friends have suffered there for mee.
[truce,
Betweene England and Scotland it wold breake
And friends againe they wold never bee, 70
If they shold 'liver a banisht erle
Was driven out of his own countrie.
Much is my woe, Lord Percy sayd,
And sore those wars my minde distresse;
Where many a widow lost her mate,
And
many a child was fatherlesse.
4.5
And now that I a banisht man
Shold bring such evil happe with mee,
To cause my faire and noble friends
To be suspect of treacherie :
50
55
60
65
75
80
85
90
9:
* Of the Earl of Morton, the Regent.
ti. e. Lake of Leven, which hath communication with.
the sea.
At that time in the hands of the opposite faction.
NORTHUMBERLAND BETRAYED BY DOUGLAS.
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.
;
If you'll give me no trust, my lord,
Nor unto mee no credence vield
Yet step one moment here aside,
Ile showe you all your foes in field.
Lady, I never loved witchcraft,
Never dealt in privy wyle;
But evermore held the high-waye
Of truth and honour, free from guile.
If you'll not come yourselfe, my lorde,
Yet send your chamberlaine with mee;
Let me but speak three words with him,
And he shall come again to thee.
And who walkes yonder, my good lady,
So royallyè on yonder greene?
O yonder is the Lord Hunsden*:
Alas! he'll doe you drie and teene.
And who beth yonder, thou gay ladye,
That walkes so proudly him beside?
That is Sir William Druryt, shee sayd,
A keene captàine hee is and tryde.
James Swynard with that lady went,
She showed him through the weme of her ring
How many English lords there were
Waiting for his master and him.
115
How many miles is itt, madàme,
Betwixt yond English lords and mee?
Marry it is thrice fifty miles,
To saile to them upon the sea.
I never was on English ground,
Ne never sawe it with mine eye,
But as my book it sheweth mee;
And through my ring I may descrye.
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 citìe.
But who is yond, thou ladye faire,
That looketh with sic an austerne face?
Yonder is Sir John Fostert, quoth shee,
Alas! he'll do ye sore disgrace.
He pulled his hatt downe over his browe;
He wept; in his heart he was full of woe:
And he is gone to his aoble lord,
Those sorrowful tidings him to show.
100
105
* The lord warden of the East marches.
+ Governor of Berwick.
i Warden of the Middle-march.
110
120
125
130
135
140
Now nay, now nay, good James Swynàrd, 145
I may not believe that witch ladìe;
The Douglasses were ever true,
And they can ne'er prove false to mee.
I have now in Lough-leven been
The most part of these years three,
Yett have I never had noe outrake,
Ne no good games that I cold see.
Therefore I'll to yond shooting wend,
As to the Douglas I have hight :
Betide me weale, betide me woe,
He ne'er shall find my promise light.
He writhe a gold ring from his finger,
And gave itt to that gay ladìe :
Sayes, It was all that I cold save,
In Harley woods where I cold bee*.
And wilt thou goe, thou noble lord,
Then farewell truth and honestìe;
And farewell heart and farewell hand;
For never more I shall thee see.
The wind was faire, the boatmen call'd,
And all the saylors were on borde;
Then William Douglas took to his boat,
And with him went that noble lord.
Then he cast up a silver wand,
Says, Gentle lady, fare thee well!
The lady fett a sigh soe deep,
And in a dead swoone down shee fell.
Now let us goe back, Douglas, he sayd,
A sickness hath taken yond faire ladìe;
If ought befall yond lady but good,
Then blamed for ever I shall bee.
Come on, come on, my lord, he sayes;
Come on come on, and let her bee:
There's ladyes enow in Lough-leven
For to cheere that gay ladie.
If you'll not turne yourself, my lord,
Let me goe with my chamberlaine ;
We will but comfort that faire lady,
And wee will return to you againe.
Come on, come on, my lord, he sayes;
Come on, come on, and let her bee:
My sister is. craftye, and wold beguile
A thousand such as you and mee.
When they had sayled+ fifty myle,
Now fifty mile upon the sea;
Hee sent his man to ask the Douglas,
When they shold that shooting see.
Jamye his hatt pulled over his browe,
He thought, his lord then was betray'd;
And he is to Erle Percy againe,
To tell him what the Douglas sayd.
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155
160
165
170
175
180
185
Faire words, quoth he, they make fooles faine,
And that by thee and thy lord is seen :
You may hap to thinke itt soone enough,
Ere you that shooting reach, I ween.
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195
200
* i. e. Where I was. An ancient idiom.
+ There is no navigable stream between Lough-leven and
the sea: but a baHad-maker is not obliged to understand ge-
ography.
76
MY MIND TO ME A KINGDOM IS.
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,
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: 210
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?
205
THIS excellent philosophical song appears to have
been famous in the sixteenth century. It is quoted
by Ben Jonson in his play of "Every Man out of
his Humour," first acted in 1599, act. i. sc. 1. where
an impatient person says,
"I am no such pil'd cynique to believe
That beggery is the onely 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 Musicke 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
"A sweet and pleasant sonet,
intitled, My Minde to me a Kingdom is.' To the
tune of In Crete, &c."
Some of the stanzas in this poem were printed by
Byrd separate from the rest: they are here given in
what seemed the most natural order.
My minde to me a kingdom is;
Such perfect joy therein I finde
As farre exceeds all earthly blisse,
V.
MY MIND TO ME A KINGDOM IS.
That God or Nature hath assignde:
Though much I want, that most would have,
Yet still my mind forbids to crave.
Content I live, this is my stay;
I seek no more than may suffice:
I presse to beare no haughtie sway;
Look what I lack my mind supplies.
Loe! thus I triumph like a king,
Content with that my mind doth bring.
5
For I was counted a horseman good
Before that ever I mett with thee.
10
A false Hector hath my horse,
Who dealt with mee so treacherouslìe :
A false Armstrong hath my spurres,
And all the geere belongs to mee.
When they had sayled other fifty mile,
Other fifty mile upon the sea;
They landed low by Berwicke side,
A deputed 'laird' landed Lord Percye.
Then he at Yorke was doomde to dye,
It was, alas! a sorrowful sight:
Thus they betrayed that noble earle,
Who ever was a gallant wight.
I see how plentie surfets oft,
And hastie clymbers soonest fall:
I see that such as sit aloft
Mishap doth threaten most of all:
These get with toile, and keep with feare:
Such cares my mind could never beare.
No princely pompe, nor welthie store,
No force to winne the victorie,
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,
I little have, yet seek no more :
They are but poore, tho much they have ;
And I am rich with little store :
They poor, I rich; they beg, I give ;
They lacke, I lend; they pine, I live.
I laugh not at anothers losse,
I grudge not at anothers gaine;
No worldly wave my mind can tosse,
I brooke that is anothers bane:
I feare no foe, nor fawne on friend;
I lothe not life, nor dread mine end.
I joy not in no earthly blisse
;
I weigh not 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
dan
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220
225
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Ver. 224, fol. MS. reads land, and has not the following
stanza.
THE PATIENT COUNTESS.
I kisse not where I wish to kill ;
I feigne not love where most I hate
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:
The golden meane betwixt them both
Doth surest sit, and fears no fall:
As did the ladie of an earle,
Of whom I now shall tell.
50
The subject of this tale is taken from that enter-
aining colloquy of Erasmus, entitled " Uxor Mɛμ-
piyaμos, sive Conjugium :" which been agreeably
nodernized by the late Mr. Spence, in his little
niscellaneous publication, entitled "Moralities, &c.,
by Sir Harry Beaumont," 1753, 8vo. pag. 42.
The following stanzas are extracted from an
ancient poem entitled "Albion's England," written
by W. Warner, a celebrated poet in the reign of
Queen Elizabeth, though his name and works are
now equally forgotten. The reader will find some
account of him in Series the Second, book ii. song 24.
IMPATIENCE chaungeth smoke to flame,
But jelousie is hell;
Some wives by patience have reduc'd
Ill husbands to live well:
55
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, entitled, "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.
VI.
THE PATIENT COUNTESS.
It is proper to premise that the following lines
were not written by the author in Stanzas, but in
long Alexandrines of fourteen syllables: which the
narrowness of our page made it here necessary to
subdivide.
An earle 'there was' had wedded, lov'd;
Was lov'd, and lived long
Full true to his fayre countesse; yet
At last he did her wrong.
Once hunted he untill the chace,
Long fasting, and the heat
Did house him in a peakish graunge
Within a forest great.
5
This is my choyce, for why I finde,
No wealth is like a quiet minde.
10
My welth is health, and perfect ease;
My conscience clere my chiefe defence:
I never seeke by brybes to please,
Nor by desert to give offence :
Thus do I live, thus will I die ;
Would all did so as well as 1!
Where knowne and welcom'd (as the place
And persons might afforde)
Browne bread, whig, bacon, curds and milke
Were set him on the borde.
A cushion made of lists, a stoole
Halfe backed with a hoope
Were brought him, and he sitteth down
Besides a sorry coupe.
The poore old couple wisht their bread
Were wheat, their whig were perry,
Their bacon beefe, their milke and curds
Were creame, to make him merry.
Mean while (in russet neatly clad,
With linen white as swanne,
Herselfe more white, save rosie where
The ruddy colour ranne :
Whome naked nature, not the aydes
Of arte made to excell)
The good man's daughter sturres to see
That all were feat and well ;
The earle did marke her, and admire
Such beautie there to dwell.
Yet fals he to their homely fare,
And held him at a feast:
But as his hunger slaked, so
An amorous heat increast.
When this repast was past, and thanks,
And welcome too; he sayd
Unto his host and hostesse, in
The hearing of the mayd:
Yee know, quoth he, that I am lord
Of this, and many townes!
:
I also know that you be poore,
And I can spare you pownes.
Soe will I, so yee will consent,
That yonder lasse and I
May bargaine for her love; at least,
Doe give me leave to trye.
Who needs to know it? nay who dares
Into my doings pry?
77
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45
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78
THE PATIENT COUNTESS.
First they mislike, yet at the length
For lucre were misled;
And then the gamesome earle did wowe
The damsell for his bed.
He took her in his armes, as yet
So coyish to be kist,
As mayds that know themselves belov'd,
And yieldingly resist.
In few, his offers were so large
She lastly did consent;
With whom he lodged all that night,
And early home he went.
He tooke occasion oftentimes
In such a sort to hunt.
Whom when his lady often mist,
Contrary to his wont,
And lastly was informed of
His amorous haunt elsewhere,
It greev'd her not a little, though
She seem'd it well to beare.
And thus she reasons with herselfe,
Some fault perhaps in me;
Somewhat is done, that soe he doth ·
Alas! what may it be?
How may
I winne him to myself?
He is a man, and men
Have imperfections; it behooves
Me pardon nature then.
To checke him were to make him checke*
Although hee now were chaste ·
A man controuled of his wife,
To her makes lesser haste.
If duty then, or daliance may
Prevayle to alter him;
I will be dutifull, and make
My selfe for daliance trim.
So was she, and so lovingly
Did entertaine her lord,
As fairer, or more faultles none
Could be for bed or bord.
Yet still he loves his leiman, and
Did still pursue that game,
Suspecting nothing less, than that
His lady knew the same :
Wherefore to make him know she knew,
She this devise did frame:
When long she had been wrong'd, and sought
The foresayd meanes in vaine,
She rideth to the simple graunge
But with a slender traine.
She lighteth, entreth, greets them well
And then did looke about her:
The guiltie houshold knowing her,
Did wish themselves without her;
Yet, for she looked merily,
The lesse they did misdoubt her.
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33
i
0
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85
90
95
100
.05
110
* To check is a term in falconry, applied when a hawk
stops and turns away from his proper pursuit: to check also
-ignifies to reprove or chide. It is in this verse used in both
tenses.
→
When she had seen the beauteous wench
(Then blushing fairnes fairer)
Such beauty made the countesse hold
Them both excus'd the rather.
Who would not bite at such a bait?
Thought she: and who (though loth)
So poore a wench, but gold might tempt ?
Sweet errors lead them both.
Scarse one in twenty that had bragg'd
Of proffer'd gold denied,
Or of such yeelding beautie baulkt,
But, tenne to one, had lied.
Thus thought she and she thus declares
Her cause of coming thether;
My lord, oft hunting in these partes,
Through travel, night or wether,
Hath often lodged in your house;
I thanke you for the same;
For why? it doth him jolly ease
To lie so neare his game.
But, for you have not furniture
Beseeming such a guest,
I bring his owne, and come myselfe
To see his lodging drest.
With that two sumpters were discharg'd,
In which were hangings brave,
Silke coverings, curtens, carpets, plate,
And al such turn should have.
When all was handsomly dispos'd,
She prayes them to have care
That nothing hap in their default,
That might his health impair :
And, damsell, quoth shee, for it seems
This houshold is but three,
And for thy parents age, that this
Shall chiefely rest on thee;
Do me that good, else would to God
He hither come no more.
So tooke she horse, and ere she went
Bestowed gould good store.
Full little thought the countie that
His countesse had done so ;
Who now return'd from far affaires
Did to his sweet-heart go.
No sooner sat he foote within
The late deformed cote,
But that the formall change of things
His wondering eies did note.
But when he knew those goods to be
His propor goods; though late,
Scarce taking leave, he home returnes
The matter to debate.
The countesse was a-bed, and he
With her his lodging tooke;
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Sir, welcome home (quoth shee); this night 6:
For you I did not looke.
1
Then did he question her of such
His stuffe bestowed soe.
Forsooth, quoth she, because I did
Your love and lodging knowe:
Your love to be a proper wench,
Your lodging nothing lesse ;
I held it for your health, the house
More decently to dresse.
Well wot I, notwithstanding her,
Your lordship loveth me :
And greater hope to hold you such
By quiet, then brawles,' you' see.
DOWSABELL.
THE following stanzas were written by Michael
Drayton, a poet of some eminence in the reigns of
Queen Elizabeth, James I, and Charles I. They
re inserted in one of his pastorals, the first edition
of which bears this whimsical title. "Idea. The
Shepheards Garland, fashioned in nine Eglogs."
Rowland's Sacrifice to the Nine Muses. London,
.593." 4to. They are inscribed with the author's
lame at length "To the noble and valerous gentle-
nan Master Robert Dudley, &c." It is very re-
narkable that when Drayton reprinted them in the
irst folio edit. of his works, 1619, he had given
hose ecologues so thorough a revisal, that there is
ardly a line to be found the same as in the old
dition. This poem had received the fewest cor-
ections, and therefore is chiefly given from the
ncient copy, where it is thus introduced by one of
is shepherds:
Lordynges, lysten, and you shal here, &c.
*
Ye shall well heare of a knight,
That was in warre full wyght
And doughtye of his dede:
His name was Syr Isenbras,
Man nobler then he was
170
Listen to mee, my lovely shepheards joye,
And thou shalt heare, with mirth and mickle glee,
1 pretie tale, which when I was a boy,
My toothles grandame oft hath tolde to me.
175
The author has professedly imitated the style and
netre of some of the old metrical romances, par-
icularly that of Sir Isenbrast (alluded to in v. 3),
is the reader may judge from the following spe-
imen :
That myghtie was to se:
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 golde and fee. &c,
Lyved none with breade.
He was lyvely, large, and longe,
With shoulders broade, and armes stronge,
VII.
DOWSABELL.
* He was born in 1563, and died in 1631, Biog. Brit.
+ As also Chaucer's Rhyme of Sir Topas, v. 6.
10
15
Then for my duty, your delight,
And to retaine your favour
All done I did, and patiently
Expect your wonted 'haviour.
20
Her patience, witte and answer wrought
His gentle teares to fall :
When (kissing her a score of times)
Amend, sweet wife, I shall :
He said, and did it: 'so each wife
Her husband may' recall.
FARRE in the countrey of Arden,
There won'd a knight, hight Cassemen,
As bolde as Isenbras:
Fell was he, and eger bent,
In battell and in tournament,
As was the good Sir Topas.
This ancient legend was printed in black-letter,
4to, by William Copland; no date. In the Cotton
Library (Calig. A. 2.) is a MS. copy of the same
romance, containing the greatest variations. They
are probably two different translations of some French
original.
He had, as antique stories tell,
A daughter cleaped Dowsabel,
A mayden fayre and free:
And for she was her fathers heire,
Full well she was y-cond the leyre
Of mickle courtesie.
The silke well couth she twist and twine,
And make the fine march-pine,
And with the needle werke:
And she couth helpe the priest to say
His mattins on a holy-day,
And sing a psalme in kirke.
She ware a frock of frolicke greene,
Might well beseeme a mayden queene,
Which seemly was to see;
A hood to that so neat and fine,
In colour like the colombine,
Y-wrought full featously.
Her features all as fresh above,
As is the grasse that growes by Dove;
And lyth as lasse of Kent.
Her skin as soft as Lemster wooll,
As white as snow on Peakish Hull,
Or swanne that swims in Trent.
79
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,
To deck her summer hall.
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185
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80
THE FAREWELL TO LOVE.
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.
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 carroll sung,
Untill the fields and medowes rung,
And all the woods did sound,
In favour this same shepheards swayne
Was like the bedlam Tamburlayne*,
Which belde prowd kings in awe :
But meeke he was as a lamb mought be;
An innocent of ill as hef
Whom his lewd brother slaw.
The shepheard ware a sheepe-gray cloke,
Which was of the finest loke,
That could be cut with sheere :
His mittens were of bauzens skinne,
His cockers were of cordiwin,
His hood of meniveere.
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.
And pyping still he spent the day,
So merry as the popingay;
Which liked Dowsabel:
At length she tucked up her frocke,
White as a lilly was her smocke,
She drew the shepheard nye;
But then the shepheard pyp'd a good,
That all his sheepe forsooke their foode,
To heare his melodye.
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45
ADIEU, fond love, farewell you wanton powers;
I am free again.
Thou dull disease of bloud and idle hours,
Bewitching pain,
•
50
55
That would she ought, or would she nought, 70
This lad would never from her thought;
She in love-longing fell.
60
65
75
From Beaumont and Fletcher's play, entitled The
Lover's Progress, act iii. sc. 1.
Thy sheepe, quoth she, cannot be leane,
That have a jolly shepheards swayne,
The which can pipe so well :
Yea but, sayth he, their shepheard may,
If pyping thus he pine away
In love of Dowsabel.
Alluding to "Tamburlaine the Great, or the Scythian
Shepheard," 1590, 8vo, an old ranting play ascribed to Mar-
lowe.
Sc. Abel.
Of love, fond boy, take thou no keepe,
Quoth she; looke thou unto thy sheepe,
Lest they should hap to stray,
Quoth he, So I had done full well,
Had I not seen fayre Dowsabetl
Come forth to gather maye.
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,
And on the ground him layd.
VIII.
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
Shall neither sheepe nor shepheard hould,
Except thou favour mee.
Sayth she, Yet lever were I dead,
Then I should lose my mayden-head,
And all for love of men.
Sayth he, Yet are you too unkind,
If in your heart you cannot finde
To love us now and then.
THE FAREWELL TO LOVE.
And I to thee will be as kinde
As Colin was to Rosalinde,
Of curtesie the flower.
Then will I be as true, quoth she,
As ever mayden yet might be
Unto her paramour.
With that she bent her snow-white knee,
Downe by the shepheard kneeled shee,
And him she sweetely kist:
With that the shepheard whoop'd for joy,
Quoth he, Ther's never shepheards boy
That ever was so blist.
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10:
11.
11:
.2
Fly to fools, that sigh away their time:
My nobler love to heaven doth climb,
And there behold beauty still young,
That time can ne'er corrupt, nor death destroy,
Immortal sweetness by fair angels sung,
And honoured by eternity and joy:
There lies my love, thither my hopes aspire,
Fond love declines, this heavenly love grows highe
1
IX.
ULYSSES AND THE SYREN
-affords a pretty poetical contest between Plea-
ure and Honour. It is found at the end of " "Hy-
en's Triumph: a pastoral tragicomedie," written
y Daniel, and printed among his works, 4to,
623*.- Daniel, who was a contemporary of
Drayton's, and is said to have been poet laureat to
Queen Elizabeth, was born in 1562, and died in
619. Anne Countess of Dorset, Pembroke, and
Iontgomery (to whom Daniel had been Tutor), has
serted a small portrait of him in a full-length pic-
ire of herself, preserved at Appleby Castle, in
lumberland.
This little poem is the rather selected for a speci-
en of Daniel's poetic powers, as it is omitted in
e later edition of his works, 2 vols. 12mo. 1718.
SYREN.
COME, worthy Greeke, Ulysses come,
Possesse these shores with me,
The windes and seas are troublesome,
And here we may be free.
Here may we sit and view their toyle,
That travaile in the deepe,
Enjoy the day in mirth the while,
And spend the night in sleepe.
ULYSSES.
Faire nymph, if fame or honour were
To be attain'd with ease,
CUPID'S PASTIME.
Then would I come and rest with thee,
And leave such toiles as these:
But here it dwels, and here must I
With danger seek it forth;
To spend the time luxuriously
Becomes not men of worth.
SYREN.
Ulysses, O be not deceiv'd
With that unreall name :
This honour is a thing conceiv'd,
And rests on others' fame.
Begotten only to molest
Our peace, and to beguile
(The best thing of our life) our rest,
And give us up to toyle!
ULYSSES.
Delicious nymph, suppose there were
Nor honor, nor report,
Yet manlinesse would scorne to weare
The time in idle sport:
5
10
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25
THIS beautiful poem, which posseses a classical
gance hardly to be expected in the
age of
mes I., is printed from the 4th edition of Davison's
X.
In this edition it is collated with a copy printed at the
}
of his "Tragedie of Cleopatra. London, 1607," 12mo.
For toyle doth give a better touch
To make us feele our joy;
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,
And perish oft the while.
Who may disport them diversly,
Find never tedious day;
And ease may have variety,
As well as action may.
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
Are recreated still:
When pleasure leaves a touch at last
To shew that it was ill.
SYREN.
That doth opinion only cause,
That's out of custom bred;
Which makes us many other laws
Than ever nature did.
No widdowes waile for our delights,
Our sports are without blood;
The world we see by warlike wights
Receives more hurt than good.
ULYSSES.
But yet the state of things require
These motions of unrest,
And these great spirits of high desire
Seem borne to turne them best:
To purge the mischiefes, that increase
And all good order mar:
For oft we see a wicked peace
To be well chang'd for war.
CUPID'S PASTIME.
SYREN.
Well, well, Ulysses, then I see
I shall not have thee here;
And therefore I will come to thee,
And take my fortune there.
I must be wonne that cannot win,
Yet lost were I not wonne :
For beauty hath created bin
T' undoo or be undone.
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35
40
45
50
55
60
65
70
Poems, &c. 1621. It is also found in a later mis-
cellany, 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,
G
82
THE CHARACTER OF A HAPPY LIFE
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 written before he was
born. One edit. of Davison's book was published
in 1608. Godolphin was born in 1610, and died in
1642-3. Ath. Ox. II. 23.
•
Ir 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'erspred her face ;
Her careless arms abroad were cast;
Her quiver had her pillows place;
Her breast lay bare to every blast.
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.
The shepherd stood and gaz'd his fill;
Nought durst he do; nought durst he say; 10
Whilst chance, or else perhaps his will,
Did guide the god of love that way.
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.
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.
10
5
How happy is he born or taught,
That serveth not anothers will;
Whose armour is his honest thought,
And simple truth his highest skill-:
Whose passions not his masters are,
Whose soul is still prepar'd for death;
Not ty'd unto the world with care
Of princes ear, or vulgar breath :
15
20
THIS little moral poem was writ by Sir Henry
Wotton, who died Provost of Eaton in 1639, Æt.
72. It is printed from a little collection of
his pieces, entitled, Reliquiæ Wottonianæ,"
1651, 12mo.; compared with one
compared with one or two other
copies.
66
Forth flew the shaft, and pierc'd his heart,
That to the ground he fell with pain :
Yet up again forthwith he start,
And to the nymph he ran amain.
Im
Amazed to see so strange a sight,
She shot, and shot, but all in vain;
The more his wounds, the more his might,
Love yielded strength amidst his pain.
Her angry eyes were great with tears,
She blames her hand, she blames her skill;
The bluntness of her shafts she fears,
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.
Yet try she will, and pierce some bare;
Her hands were glov'd but next to hand
Was that fair breast, that breast so rare,
That made the shepherd senseless stand.
That breast she pierc'd; and through that breast
Love found an entry to her heart;
At feeling of this new-come guest,
Lord! how this gentle nymph did start?
XI.
THE CHARACTER OF A HAPPY LIFE.
She runs not now; she shoots no more;
Away she throws both shaft and bow :
She seeks for what she shunn'd before,
She thinks the shepherds haste too slow.
Though mountains meet not, lovers may :
What other lovers do, did they :
The god of love sate on a tree,
And laught that pleasant sight to see.
Who hath his life from rumours freed;
Whose conscience is his strong retreat :
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 ;
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.
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.
2
"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."
-was a famous robber, who lived about the
niddle of the last century, if we may credit the
histories and story-books of highwaymen, which
elate many improbable feats of him, as his robbing
Cardinal Richlieu, Oliver Cromwell, &c. But these
tories have probably no other authority, than the
ecords of Grub-street: At least the " Gilderoy,"
vho is the hero of Scottish Songsters, seems to
ave lived in an earlier age; for, in Thomson's
Orpheus Caledonius, vol. ii. 1733, 8vo, is a copy of
his ballad, which, though corrupt and interpolated,
ontains some lines that appear to be of genuine
ntiquity in these he is represented as con-
mporary with Mary Queen of Scots: ex. gr.
These lines perhaps might safely have been
serted among the following stanzas, which are
ven from a written copy, that appears to have
ceived some modern corrections. Indeed the
mmon popular ballad contained some indecent
xuriances that required the pruning-hook.
GILDEROY 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,
To see sae trim a boy;
He was my jo and hearts delight,
My handsome Gilderoy.
|
Oh! sike twa charming een he had,
A breath as sweet as rose,
He never ware a Highland plaid,
But costly silken clothes;
He gain'd the luve of ladies gay,
Nane eir tull him was coy:
Ah! wae is mee! I mourn the day
For my dear Gilderoy.
GILDEROY.
My Gilderoy and I were born,
Baith in one toun together,
We scant were seven years beforn,
We gan to luve each other;
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,
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,
Nae lad nor lassie eir could sing,
Like me and Gilderoy.
XII.
GILDEROY
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Wi' mickle joy we spent our prime,
Till we were baith sixteen,
And aft we past the langsome time,
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.
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,
His courage bauld wad try;
And now this gars mine heart to bleed,
For my dear Gilderoy.
And when of me his leave he tuik,
The tears they wat mine ee,
I
gave tull him a parting luik,
CC
My benison gang wi' thee;
God speed thee weil, mine ain dear heart
For gane is all my joy;
My heart is rent sith we maun part,
My handsome Gilderoy."
My Gilderoy baith far and near,
Was fear'd in every toun,
And bauldly bare away the gear,
Of many a lawland Íoun :
Nane eir durst meet him man to man,
He was sae brave a boy ;
At length wi' numbers he was tane,
My winsome Gilderoy.
Wae worth the loun that made the laws,
To hang a man for gear,
To 'reave of live for ox or ass,
For sheep, or horse, or mare :
Had not their laws been made sae strick,
I neir had lost my joy,
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,
To hang sike handsome men :
To hang the flower o' Scottish land,
Sae sweet and fair a boy;
Nae lady had sae white a hand,
As thee my Gilderoy.
Of Gilderoy sae fraid they were,
They bound him mickle strong,
Tull Edenburrow they led him thair,
And on a gallows hung:
They hung him high aboon the rest,
He was sae trim a boy;
Thair dyed the youth whom I lued best
My handsome Gilderoy.
G 2
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84
THE WITCH OF WOKEY.
Thus having yielded up his breath,
I bare his corpse away,
Wi' tears, that trickled for his death,
I washt his comelye clay ;
This beautiful address to conjugal love, a subject
too much neglected by the libertine muses, was,
believe, first printed in a volume of "Miscellaneous
Poems, by several hands, published by D. [David]
Lewis, 1726, 8vo."
AWAY; let nought to love displeasing
My Winifreda, move your care;
Let nought delay the heavenly blessing,
Nor squeamish pride, nor gloomy fear.
90
It is there said, how truly I know not, to be a
translation "from the ancient British language.”
What tho' no grants of royal donors
With pompous titles grace our blood;
We'll shine in more substantial honors,
And to be noble we'll be good.
XIII.
WINIFREDA
Our name, while virtue thus we tender,
Will sweetly sound where-e'er 'tis spoke :
And all the great ones, they shall wonder
How they respect such little folk.
5
10
XIV.
And siker in a grave sae deep,
I laid the dear-lued boy,
And now for evir maun I weep,
My winsome Gilderoy.
-was published in a small collection of poems,
entitled, "Euthemia, or the Power of Harmony; &c."
1756, written, in 1748, by the ingenious Dr. Har-
rington, of Bath, who never allowed them to be pub-
lished, and withheld his name till it could no longer
be concealed. 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 re-
print the Author's own original copy; but, as that
may be seen correctly given in Pearch's Collection,
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 Somersetshire,
which has given birth to as many wild fanciful sto-
ries as the Sybils Cave, in Italy. Through a very
narrow entrance, it opens into a very large vault, the
roof whereof, either on account of its height, or the
thickness of the gloom, cannot be discovered by the
libf torches. It goes winding a great way under
What though from fortune's lavish bounty
No mighty treasures we possess ;
We'll find within our pittance plenty,
And be content without excess.
Still shall each returning season
Sufficient for our wishes give;
For we will live a life of reason,
And that's the only life to live.
Through youth and age in love excelling,
We'll hand in hand together tread;
Sweet-smiling peace shall crown our dwelling,
And babes, sweet-smiling babes, our bed.
How should I love the pretty creatures,
While round my knees they fondly clung;
To see them look their mothers features,
To hear them lisp their mothers tongue.
THE WITCH OF WOKEY
And when with envy time transported,
Shall think to rob us of our joys,
You'll in your girls again be courted,
And I'll go a wooing in my boys.
mar
ground, is crost by a stream of very cold water,
is all horrid with broken pieces of rock:
these are evident petrifactions: which, on accou
their singular forms, have given rise to the fable
luded 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 Roger 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 trayne,
And kennel near her side.
Here screeching owls oft made their nest,
While wolves its craggy sides possest,
Night-howling thro' the rock:
No wholesome herb could here be found;
She blasted every plant around,
And blister'd every flock.
C
Her haggard face was foull to see;
Her mouth unmeet a mouth to bee;
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,
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.
From Glaston came a lerned wight,
Full bent to marr her fell despight,
BRYAN AND PEREENE.
And well he did, I ween:
Sich mischief never had been known,
And, since his mickle lerninge shown,
Sich mischief ne'er has been.
He chauntede out his godlie booke,
He crost the water, blest the brooke,
Then-pater noster done,—
The ghastly hag he sprinkled o'er:
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,
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XV.
is founded on a real act, шat happened in the
and of St. Christophers about the beginning of the
esent reign. The editor owes the following stanzas
the friendship of Dr. James Grainger*, who was
eminent physician in that island when this tragi-
incident happened, and died there much honoured
d lamented in 1767. To this ingenious gentleman
e public are indebted for the fine Ode on Solitude,
inted in the 4th vol. of Dodsley's Miscellany,
229, in which are assembled some of the sub-
nest images in nature. The reader will pardon the
sertion of the first stanza here, for the sake of
ctifying the two last lines, which were thus given
the author:
O Solitude, romantic maid,
Whether by nodding towers you tread,
Or haunt the desart's trackless gloom,
Or hover o'er the yawning tomb,
Or climb the Andes' clifted side,
Or by the Nile's coy source abide,
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.
uding to the account of Palmyra published by
* Author of a poem on the "Culture of the Sugar-Cane,"
published by Messrs. Wood and Dawkins.
And doubtfull may appear,
I'm bold to say, there's never a one,
That has not seen the witch in stone,
With all her household gear.
But tho' this lernede clerke did well;
With grieved heart, alas! I tell,
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,
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.
Shall then sich maids unpitied moane?
They might as well, like her, be stone,
As thus forsaken dwell.
BRYAN AND PEREENE,
A WEST-INDIAN BALLAD,
Since Glaston now can boast no clerks ;
Come down from Oxenford, ye sparks,
And, oh! revoke the spell.
Yet stay-nor thus despond, ye fair :
Virtue's the gods' 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.
THE north-eas. wina aia priskly blow,
The ship was safely moor'd;
Young Bryan thought the boat's-crew slow,
And so leapt over-board.
F'ereene, the pride of Indian dames,
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 dweft on English land,
Nor once in thought or deed would stray,
Tho' ladies sought his hand.
85
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.
45
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55
e late ingenious travellers, and the manner in
which they were struck at the first sight of those
magnificent ruins by break of day*.
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65
70
❤
10
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
* So in page 235, it should be, Turn'd her magic ay,
86
GENTLE RIVER, GENTLE RIVER.
Her raven hair plays round her neck,
Like tendrils of the vine;
Her cheeks red dewy rose buds deck,
Her eyes like diamonds shine.
Soon as his well-known ship she spied,
She cast her weeds away,
And to the palmy shore she hied,
All in her best array.
In sea-green silk so neatly clad
She there impatient stood;
The crew with wonder saw the lad
Repell the foaming flood.
Her hands a handkerchief display'd,
Which he at parting gave;
Well pleas'd the token he survey'd,
And manlier beat the wave.
Her fair companions one and all,
Rejoicing crowd the strand;
¿
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XVI.
Although the English are remarkable for the num-
ber and variety of their ancient ballads, and retain,
perhaps, a greater fondness for these old simple
rhapsodies of their ancestors than most other nations,
they are not the only people who have distinguished
themselves by compositions of this kind. The Span-
iards have great multitudes of them, many of which
are of the highest merit. They call them in their
language Romances, and have collected them into
volumes under the titles of El Romancero, El Can-
cionero*, &c. Most of them relate to their conflicts
with the Moors, and display a spirit of gallantry
peculiar to that romantic people. But, of all the
Spanish ballads, none exceed in poetical merit those
inserted in a little Spanish "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 romance)
a great number of heroic songs are inserted, and
appealed to as authentic vouchers 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.
For now her lover swam in call,
And almost touch'd the land.
The Spanish editor pretends-how truly I know
not-that they are translations from the Arabic or
Morisco language. Indeed, from the plain un-
adorned nature of the verse, and the native simplicity
of the language and sentiment, which 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 century after. It
should seem, at least, that they were written before
the Castilians had formed themselves so generally,
as they have done since, on the model of the Tuscan
poets, or had imported from Italy that fondness for
conceit and refinement, which has for near two cen-
turies past so much infected the Spanish poetry, and
rendered it so frequently affected and obscure.
* i. e. The ballad-singer.
Then through the white surf did she haste,
To clasp her lovely swain ;
When, ah! a shark bit through his waste :
His heart's blood dy'd the main !
He shriek'd! his half sprang from the wave,
Streaming with purple gore,
And soon it found a living grave,
And ah! was seen no more.
Now haste, now haste, ye maids, I pray,
Fetch water from the spring:
She falls, she swoons, she dies away,
And soon her knell they ring.
Now each May morning round her tomb,
Ye fair, fresh flowerets strew,
So may your lovers scape his doom,
Her hapless fate scape you.
GENTLE RIVER, GENTLE RIVER.
TRANSLATED FROM THE SPANISH.
:
41
casa
cañas
4
As a specimen of the ancient Spanish manne;
which very much resembles that of our old Englis
bards and minstrels, the reader is desired candidly t
accept the two following poems. They are give
from a small collection of pieces of this kind, whic
the Editor some years ago translated for his amuse
ment, when he was studying the Spanish language
As the first is a pretty close translation, to gratif
the curious it is accompanied with the original. Th
metre is the same in all these old Spanish ballads
it is of the most simple construction, and is still use
by the common people in their extemporaneous song:
as we learn from Baretti's Travels. It runs in sho
stanzas of four lines, of which the second and fourt
alone correspond in their terminations; and in thes
it is only required that the vowels should be alike
the consonants may be altogether different, as
Rio verde, rio verde*,
which could not be translated faithfully:
Verdant river, verdant river,
51
arcos
meten
muere
gamo
pone
noble
Yet has this kind of verse a sort of simple ha
monious flow, which atones for the imperfect natuı
of the rhyme, and renders it not unpleasing to tl
ear. The same flow of numbers has been studied i
the following versions. The first of them is give
from two different originals, both of which are printe
in the Hist. de lus Civiles Guerras de Granada. Ma
1694. One of them hath the rhymes ending in a
the other in IA. It is the former of these that is he
reprinted. They both of them begin with the sam
line:
would have given an affected stiffness to the vers
the great merit of which is easy simplicity; ar
therefore a more simple epithet was adopted, thoug
less poetical or expressive.
* Literally, Green river, green river. Rio Verde is s
to be the name of a river in Spain; which ought to ha
been attended to by the translator had he known it.
"Rio verde, rio verde,
Quanto cuerpo en ti se baña
De Christianos y de Moros
Muertos por la dura espada!
"Y tus ondas cristalinas
De roxa sangre se esmaltan :
Entre Moros y Christianos
Muy gran batalla se trava.
"Murieron Duques y Condes,
Grandes señores de salva:
Murio gente de valia
De la nobleza de España.
"En ti murio don Alonso,
Que de Aguilar se llamaba;
El valeroso Urdiales,
Con don Alonso acababa.
"Por un ladera arriba
El buen Sayavedra marcha;
Naturel es de Sevilla,
De la gente mas granada.
“Tras el iba un Renegado,
Desta manera le habla ;
Date, date, Sayavedra,
No huyas de la batalla.
"Yo te conozco muy bien,
Gran tiempo estuve en tu casa;
Y en la Plaça de Sevilla
Bien te vide jugar cañas.
"Conozco a tu padre y madre,
Y a tu muger doña Clara ;
Siete años fui tu cautivo,
Malamente me tratabas.
"Y aora lo seras mio,
Si Mahoma me ayudara ;
Y tambien te tratare,
Como a mi me tratabas.
"Sayavedra que lo oyera,
Al Moro bolvio la cara ;
Tirole el Moro una flecha,
Pero nunca le acertaba.
"Hiriole Sayavedra
De una herida muy mala :
Muerto cayo el Renegado
Sin poder hablar palabra.
"C
Sayavedra fue cercado
De mucha Mora canalla,
Y al cabo cayo alli muerto
De una muy mala lançada.
"Don Alonso en este tiempo
Bravamente peleava,
Y el cavallo le avian muerto,
Y le tiene por muralla.”
"Mas cargaron tantos Moros
Que mal le hieren y tratan:
De la sangre, que perdia,
Don Alonso se desmaya.
RIO VERDE, RIO VERDE.
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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,
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 :
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
Fell a victim by his side.
Lo! where yonder Don Saavedra
Thro' their squadrons slow retires;
Proud Seville, his native city,
Proud Seville his worth admires.
Close behind a renegado
Loudly shouts with taunting cry;
Yield thee, yield thee, Don Saavedra,
Dost thou from the battle fly?
Well I know thee, haughty Christian,
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,
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.
Back the hero full of fury
Sent a deep and mortal wound :
Instant sunk the Renegado,
Mute and lifeless on the ground.
With a thousand Moors surrounded,
Brave Saavedra stands at bay:
Wearied out but never daunted,
Cold at length the warrior lay.
•
Near him fighting great Alonzo
Stout resists the Paynim bands ;
From his slaughter'd steed dismounted
Firm intrench'd behind him stands.
Furious press the hostile squadron,
Furious he repels their rage:
Loss of blood at length enfeebles:
Who can war with thousands wage!
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?
88
Al fin, al fin cayo muerto
Al pie de un pena alta,-
Muerto queda don Alonso,
Eterna fama ganara."
ALCANZOR AND ZAYDA.
*** In the Spanish original of the foregoing ballad, follow a few more stanzas, but being of inferio
merit were not translated,
""
"Por la calle de su dama
Passeando se anda, &c."
Renegado" properly signifies an Apostate; but it is sometimes used to express an Infidel in general; a
it seems to do above in ver. 21, &c.
The image of the "Lion" &c. in ver. 37, is taken from the other Spanish copy, the rhymes of which
end in “ia,” viz.
Softly blow the evening breezes,
Softly fall the dews of night;
Yonder walks the Moor Alcanzor,
Shunning every glare of light.
ALCANZOR AND ZAYDA,
In yon palace lives fair Zaida,
Whom he loves with flame so pure:
Loveliest she of Moorish ladies;
He a young and noble Moor.
Hope and fear alternate teize him,
Öft he sighs with heart-felt care.-
See, fond youth, to yonder window
Softly steps the timorous fair.
60
"
THE foregoing version was rendered as literal as the
nature of the two languages would admit. In the
following a wider compass hath been taken. The
Spanish poem that was chiefly had in view, is pre-
served in the same history of the civil wars of
Granada, f. 22, and begins with these lines:
Waiting for the appointed minute,
Oft he paces to and fro;
Stopping now, now moving forwards,
Sometimes quick, and sometimes slow.
Lovely seems the moon's fair lustre
To the lost benighted swain,
When all silvery bright she rises,
Gilding mountain, grove, and plain.
Lovely seems the sun's full glory
To the fainting seaman's eyes,
When some horrid storm dispersing
O'er the wave his radiance flies.
But a thousand times more lovely
To her longing lover's sight
Steals half seen the beauteous maiden
Thro' the glimmerings of the night,
Sayavedra, que lo oyera,
Como un leon rebolbia."
XVII.
IMITATED FROM THE SPANISH.
A MOORISH TALE,
Where yon rock the plain o'ershadows,
Close beneath its foot retir'd,
Fainting sunk the bleeding hero,
And without a groan expir'd.
*
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Tip-toe stands the anxious lover,
Whispering forth a gentle sigh ·
Alla* keep thee, lovely lady;
Tell me, am I doom'd to die?
Is it true the dreadful story,
Which thy damsel tells my page,
That seduc'd by sordid riches
Thou wilt sell thy bloom to ageˆ
An old lord from Antiquera
Thy stern father brings along;
But canst thou, inconstant Zaida,
Thus consent my love to wrong?
If 'tis true now plainly tell me,
Nor thus trifle with my woes;
Hide not then from me the secret,
Which the world so clearly knows.
Deeply sigh'd the conscious maiden,
While the pearly tears descend:
Ah! my lord, too true the story;
Here our tender loves must end.
Our fond friendship is discover'd,
Well are known our mutual vows:
All my friends are full of fury ;
Storms of passion shake the house.
60
Threats, reproaches, fears surround me;
My stern father breaks my heart:
Alla knows how dear it costs me,
Generous youth, from thee to part.
Ancient wounds of hostile fury
;
Long have rent our house and thine
Why then did thy shining merit
Win this tender heart of mine?
Well thou know'st how dear I lov'd thee
Spite of all their hateful pride,
Tho' I fear'd my haughty father
Ne'er would let me be thy bride.
* Alla is the Mahometan name of God.
3
3
4
4
45)
en
ε
RICHARD OF ALMAIGNE.
Well thou know'st what cruel chidings
Oft I've from my mother borne;
What I've suffer'd here to meet thee
Still at eve and early morn.
I no longer may resist them;
All, to force my hand combine
And to-morrow to thy rival
This weak frame I must resign.
Yet think not thy faithful Zaida
Can survive so great a wrong;
Well my breaking heart assures me
That my woes will not be long.
Farewell then, my dear Alcanzor!
Farewell too my life with thee!
Take this scarf a parting token;
When thou wear'st it think on me.
Soon, lov'd youth, some worthier maiden
Shall reward thy generous truth :
Sometimes tell her how thy Zaida
Died for thee in prime of youth.
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80
-To him all amaz'd, confounded,
Thus she did her woes impart :
Deep he sigh'd, then cry'd,—O Zaida!
Do not, do not break my heart.
G
Canst thou think I thus will lose thee?
Canst thou hold my love so small?
No! a thousand times I'll perish!
My curst rival too shall fall.
Canst thou, wilt thou yield thus to them?
O break forth, and fly to me!
This fond heart shall bleed to save thee,
These fond arms shall shelter thee.
'Tis in vain, in vain, Alcanzor,
Spies surround me, bars secure :
Scarce I steal this last dear moment,
While my damsel keeps the door.
"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 privilege of very long standing.
To render this antique libel intelligible, the
reader is to understand that just before the battle of
Lewes, which proved so fatal to the interests of
Henry III. the barons had offered his brother
Richard King of the Romans 30,000l. to procure a
peace upon such terms as would have divested
Henry of all his regal power, and therefore the
treaty proved abortive. The consequences of that
Hark, I hear my father storming!
Hark, I hear my mother chide!
I must go farewell for ever!
Gracious Alla be thy guide
THE END OF THE THIRD BOOK.
SERIES THE SECOND.
BOOK I.
I.
RICHARD OF ALMAIGNE.
89
85
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95
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
More solid things do not show the complexion of the times so well as Ballads and Libels.
a stone.
SELDEN'S TAble-talk.
100
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 exhorbitant demand of the king's
brother.
With regard to the 2d stanza the reader is to
note that Richard, along with the earldom of Corn
wall, had the honours of Wallingford and Eyre
confirmed to him on his marriage with Sanchia,
90
ON THE DEATH OF KING EDWARD THE FIRST.
daughter of the Count of Provence, 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.
Pag
The 3d stanza alludes to a remarkable circum-
stance which happened on the day of the battle of
Lewes. After the battle was lost, Richard King of
the Romans took refuge in a windmill, which he
barricadoed, and maintained for some time against
the barons, but in the evening was obliged to surren-
der. See a very full account of this in the Chronicle
of Mailros; Oxon. 1684. 229.
p.
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 pos-
session 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 over-run the kingdom: upon which he
was forced to dismiss almost all his followers,
otherwise the barons would have opposed his land-
ing.
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 ascendant. 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 is pointed after the Saxon manner, and the
hath an oblique stroke over it.
SITTETH alle stille, ant herkneth to me;
The Kyng of Alemaigne, bi mi leaute,
Thritti thousent pound askede he
For te make the pees in the countre,
Ant so he dude more.
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,
Let him habbe, ase he brew, bale to dryng,
Maugre Wyndesore.
Richard, thah thou be ever, &c.
5
The kyng of Alemaigne wende do ful wel
He saisede the mulne for a castel,
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,
Makede him a castel of a mulne post,
Wende with is prude, ant is muchele bost,
Brohte from Alemayne moný sori gost
To store Wyndesore.
Richard, thah thou be ever, &c.
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 ap-
pears to have been composed soon after his death.
According to the modes of thinking peculiar to
those times, the writer dwells more upon his devo-
Ver. 2, kyn, MS.
Sire Simond de Mountfort hath suore bi ys chýn,
Ilevede he nou here the Erl of Waryn,
Shuld he never more come to is yn,
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.
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
To helpe Wyndesore.
Richard, thah thou be ever, &c.
Be the luef, be the loht, sire Edward,
Thou shalt ride sporeles o thy lyard
Al the ryhte way to Dovere-ward,
Shalt thou never more breke foreward;
Ant that reweth sore
15
Edward, thou dudest as a shreward,
Forsoke thyn emes lore
Richard, &c.
20
Ne with sheld, ne with spere, ne with other gyn, 35
To help of Wyndesore.
Richard, thah thou be ever, &c.
25
II.
ON THE DEATH OF KING EDWARD THE FIRST.
30
40
45
50
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 Statute Book, viz.
"Against slanderous reports or tales, to cause dis-
cord betwixt king and people." (Westm. Primer,
c. 34, anno 3. Edw. I.) That it had this effect, is
the opinion of an eminent writer: See " Observa-
tions upon the Statutes, &c." 4to, 2d edit. 1766,
p. 71.
10 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.
tion 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 superstition, which be
had in common with all his contemporaries. The
Ver. 40, g'te here MS. i. e. graat their. Vid. Gloss.
Ver. 44, This stauza was omitted in the former editions.
ON THE DEATH OF KING EDWARD THE FIRST.
king had in the decline of life vowed an expedition
to the Holy Land; but finding his end approach, he
dedicated the sum of 32,000l. to the maintenance 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,
attributes 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 honour to the memory of his
hero, our poet puts his eloge in the mouth of the
Pope, with the same poetic licence, 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 probably written not more than fifty or sixty
years after this, exhibits almost a new language.
This seems to countenance the opinion 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,
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 is, that y synge ;
Of Edward kyng, that lich 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 oure hounden wrynge,
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,
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."
Al Ma
5
10
15
20
25
30
* The name of the person who was to preside over this
business.
Kyng of Fraunce, thou hevedest 'sinne,'
That thou the counsail woldest fonde,
To latte the wille of ' Edward kyng'
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.
The messager to the pope com,
And seyde that our kynge was ded :
Ys oune hond the lettre he nom,
Ywis his herte, was full gret :
The Pope him self the lettre redde,
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;
Ant after cardinals he sende,
That muche couthen of Cristes lore,
Bothe the lasse, ant eke the more,
Bed hem bothe rede ant synge :
Gret deol me myhte se thore,
Mony mon is honde wrynge.
w
The Pope of Peyters stod at is masse
With ful gret solempnetè,
Ther me con the soule blesse:
(6
Kyng Edward honoured thou be:
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.
Jerusalem, thou hast i-lore
The flour of al chivalrie
Now kyng Edward liveth na more:
Alas! that he zet shulde deye!
He wolde ha rered up full heyze
Oure banners, that brueth broht to grounde;
Wel! longe we mowe clepe and crie
Er we a such kyng han y-founde."
Nou is Edward of Carnarvan
King of Engelond al 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,
Al Engelong for to wysse ant dyht;
Of gode knyhtes darh him nout fail.
Thah mi tonge were mad of stel,
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;
God bringe thi soule to the honour,
That ever wes, ant ever ys.
01
35
40
That lasteth ay withouten ende,
Bidde we God ant oure Ledy to thilke blisse
Jesus us sende. Amen.
45
50
55
60
65
70
75
80
Here follow in the original three lines more,
which, as seemingly redundant, we chuse to throw
to the bottom of the page, viz.
85
Ver. 33, sunne, MS. Ver. 35, Kyng Edward, MS. Ver.
43, ys is probably a contraction of in hys or yn his. Ver
55, 59, Me, i. e. Men; so in Robert of Gloucester passim.
92
THE TURNAMENT OF TOTTENHAM.
III.
AN ORIGINAL BALLAD BY CHAUCER.
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 au-
thor. The versification is of that species, which the
French call Rondeau, very naturally Englished by
our honest countrymen Round O. Though so
early adopted by them, our ancestors had not the ho-
nour of inventing it: Chaucer picked it up, along
with other better things, among the neighbouring
nations. A fondness for laborious trifles hath al-
ways 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 par-
doned one poor solitary rondeau.-Geofrey Chaucer
died Oct. 25, 1400, aged 72.
I. 1.
YOURE 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 quene,
For with my deth the trouth shal be sene.
Youre two e
IV.
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 humorous bur-
lesque of the former. Without pretending to decide
whether the institution of chivalry was upon the
whole useful or pernicious in the rude ages, a ques-
tion that has lately employed many good writers*,
it evidently encouraged a vindictive spirit, and gave
such force to the custom of duelling, that there is
little hope of its being abolished. This, together
with the fatal consequences which often attended
the diversion of the Turnament, was sufficient to
render it obnoxious to the graver part of mankind.
Accordingly the church early denounced its censures
II. 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.
* See [Mr. Hurd's] Letters on Chivalry, 8vo. 1762. Me-
noirs de la Chevalerie, par M. de la Curne des Palais,
1759, 2 tom. 12mo. &c.
2.
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 ene
Syn I am fre, I counte him not a bene.
THE TURNAMENT OF TOTTENHAM:
""
OR THE WOOEING, WINNING, AND WEDDING OF TIBBE, THE REEV'S DAVGHTER THERE.'
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.
3
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.
"}
against it, and the state was often prevailed on to at-
tempt its suppression. But fashion and opinion
are superior to authority: and the proclamations
against tilting were as little regarded in those times,
as the laws against duelling are in these. This did
not escape the discernment of our poet, who easily
perceived that inveterate opinions must be attacked
by other weapons, besides proclamations and cen-
sures; he accordingly made use of the keen one of
Ridicule. With this view he has here introduced
with admirable humour a parcel of clowns, imitating
all the solemnities of the Tourney. Here we have
the regular challenge-the appointed day-the lady
for the prize the formal preparations-the display
of armour-the scucheons and devices-the oaths
taken on entering the lists-the various accidents of
the encounter-the victor leading off the prize—and
the magnificent feasting-with all the other solemn
fopperies that usually attended the pompous Tur-
nament. And how acutely the sharpness of the
author's humour must have been felt in those days,
* This, MS.
THE TURNAMENT OF TOTTENHAM.
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.
Whilhem Bedwell, rector of Tottenham, who was
one of the translators of the Bible, and afterwards
Bishop of Kilmore in Ireland, where he lived and
died with the highest reputation of sanctity, in 1641
He tells us, it was written by Gilbert Pilkington,
thought to have been some time parson of the same
parish, and author of another piece, intitled Passio
Domini Jesu Christi. Bedwell, who was eminently
skilled in the oriental and other languages, appears
to have been but little conversant with the ancient
writers in his own; and he so little entered into the
spirit of the poem he was publishing, that he contends
for its being a serious narrative of a real event, and
thinks it must have been written before the time of
Edward III, because Turnaments were prohibited in
that reign. "I do verily believe," says he, "that
this Turnament was acted before this proclamation of
King Edward. For how durst any to attempt to do
that, although in sport, which was so straightly
forbidden, both by the civil and ecclesiasticall
power? For although they fought not with lances,
yet, as our author sayth, 'It was no childrens game.'
And what would have become of him, thinke you,
which should have slayne another in this manner of
jeasting? 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 Eliza-
beth.
In the first editions of this work, Bedwell's copy
was reprinted here, with some few conjectural emen-
dations; but as Bedwell seemed to have reduced the
orthography at least, if not the phraseology, to the
standard of his own time, it was with great pleasure
that the Editor was informed of an ancient MS. copy
preserved in the Museum [Harl. MSS. 5396.] which
appeared to have been transcribed in the reign of King
Hen. VI. about 1456. This obliging information
the Editor owed to the friendship of Thomas Tyr-
whit, Esq., and he has chiefly followed that more
authentic transcript, improved however by some
readings from Bedwell's Book.
It were harme sych hardynes were holden byhynde,
In story as we rede
Of Hawkyn, of Herry,
Of Tomkyn, of Terry,
Of them that were dughty
And stalworth in dede.
It befel in Totenham on a dere day,
Ther was mad a shurtyng be the hy-way.
Theder com al the men of the contray,
Of Hyssylton, of Hy-gate, and of Hakenay,
And all the swete swynkers.
Ther hopped Hawkyn,
Ther daunsed Dawkyn,
Ther trumped Tomkyn,
And all were trewe drynkers.
5
10
15
Perkyn the potter into the press past,
And sayd Randol the refe, a dozter thou hast,
Tyb the dere
:
Therfor faine wyt wold I,
Whych of all thys bachelery
Were best worthye
To wed hur to hys fere.
[cast;
Tyl the day was gon and evyn-song past,
That thay schuld reckyn ther scot and ther counts
Upstyrt thos gadelyngys wyth ther lang staves,
And sayd, Randol the refe, lo! thys lad raves;
Boldely amang us thy dozter he craves;
We er rycher men than he, and mor 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 be thys day sevenyzt,
Or elles zet to morn.
Thys day sevenyzt,-
Wyth a flayl for to fyzt:
And he,' that is most of myght
Schal brouke hur wyth wynne.
And my dunnyd kowe
For no spens wyl I spare,
For no cattell wyl I care,
He schall have my gray mare,
And my spottyd sowe.
38888
Thay set on ther nollys,
For to kepe ther pollys,
Gode blake bollys,
For batryng of bats.
93
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
21
Of all thes kene conquerours to carpe it were kynde; Thay sowed tham in schepeskynnes, for thay schuld
Of fele feyztyng folk ferly we fynde,
not brest :
The Turnament of Totenham have we in mynde;
Ilk-on toke a blak hat, insted of a crest :
A basket or a panyer before on ther brest,'
And a flayle in ther hande; for to fyght prest,
25
Furth gon thay fare:
Ther was kyd mekyl fors
Who schuld best fend hys cors :
He that had no gode hors,
He gat hym a mare.
30
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 'coppell' my brode-henne' that' was brozt out
of Kent :
50
35
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;
45
60
65
70
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,
Ver. 20, It is not very clear in the MS. whether it
should be cont or conters. Ver. 48, dozty, MS. V. 49,
coppled. We still use the phrase, "a copple-crowned hen."
Ver. 57, gayed, PC. Ver. 66, is wanting in MS. and sup-
pelld from PC. Ver. 72, He borrowed him, PC. V. 75,
The MS. had once sedys, i. e. seeds, which appears to have
been altered to fedyrs, or feathers Badwell'
Senvy, i. e. Mustard-seed.
❤py ha
:
91
THE TURNAMENT OF TOTTENHAM.
And led 'till the gap.'
For cryeng of the men
Forther wold not Tyb then,
Tyl scho had hur brode hen
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
<
85
nonys;
"
For no spendings' thay had spared.
When joly Gyb saw hur thare,
He gyrd so hys gray mare,
'That scho lete a fowkin' fare
At the rereward.
80
I wot I schall hym greve.
Wele sayd, quoth Hawkyn.
And I wow, quoth Dawkyn,
May I mete wyth Tomkyn,
Hys flayle I schal hym reve.
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 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:
105
I bere a reddyl, and a rake,
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
110
aboute,
Have I twyes or thryes redyn thurgh the route,
In ycha stede ther thay me se, of me thay schal have
When I begyn to play.
[doute.
115
I make avowe that I ne schall,
But yf Tybbe wyl me call,
Or I be thryes don fall,
Ryzt onys com away.
Then sayd Terry, and swore be hys crede ;
Saw thou never yong boy forther hys body bede,
For when thay fyzt fastest and most ar in drede, 120
I schall take Tyb by the hand, and hur away lede :
I am armed at the full;
In myn armys I bere wele
A doz trogh, and a pele,
A sadyll wythout a panell,
Wyth a fles of woll.
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 befor hur schal ga; 130
S
Ver. 77, And led hur to cap, MS. V. 83, Bedwell's PC.
has, Ruel-Bones.' V. 84, safer stones, MS. V. 85, wrotyn,
i. e. wrought, PC. reads, written. V. 86, No catel [perhaps
chatel] they had spared, MS. V. 89. Then...faucon, MS.
V. 101, grant, MS. V. 109, yf he have, MS. V. 110, the
MS. literally has thr. sand here V. 128 merth, MS.
Sche wul ne nozt begyle.
Sche wyl me bere, I dar say,
On a lang somerys day,
Fro Hyssylton to Hakenay,
Nozt other half myle.
I make a vow, quoth Perkyn, thow speks of cold rost,
I schal wyrch wyselyer" without any bost:
Five of the best capulys, that ar in thys ost, [cost,
I wot I schal thaym wynne, and bryng thaym to my
And here I grant thaym Tybbe.
Wele boyes here ys he,
That wyl fyzt, and not fle,
For I am in my jolyte,
Wyth so forth, Gybbe.
140
When thay had ther vowes made, furth can thay
hie,
145
135
Wyth flayles, and hornes, and trumpes mad of tre :
Ther were all the bachelerys of that contre;
Thay were dyzt in aray, as thaymselfes wold be:
Thayr baners were ful bryzt
Of an old rotten fell;
The cheveron of a plow-mell;
And the schadow of a bell,
Poudred wyth the mone lyzt.
[met,
I wot yt' was' ne chylder game, whan thay togedyr
155
When icha 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 were scheldys al to flatred,
Bollys and dysches al to schatred,
And many hedys brokyn.
150
There was clynkyng of cart-sade lys, and clatteryng
of cannes;
Thay were so wery for-foght,
Thay myzt not fyzt mare oloft,
But creped about in the croft,'
As thay were croked crepyls.
"
160
Of fele frekys in the feld brokyn were their fannes;
Of sum were the hedys brokyn, of sum the brayn-
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.
He styrt up as a snale,
And hent à capul be the tayle,
And 'reft' Dawkin hys flayle,
And wan there a mare.
pannes,
And yll were thay besene, or thay went thanns, 166
Wyth swyppyng of swepyls
170
18(
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,
Ver. 137, swyselior, MS. V. 146, flailes, and harnisse
PC. V. 151, The Chiefe, PC. V. 154, yt ys, MS. V. 168
The boyes were, MS. V. 170, creped then about in the croft
MS. V. 179, razt, MS.
FOR THE VICTORY AT AGINCOURT.
But styl gon thay stond.
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.
190
Perkyn turnyd hym about in that ych thrang
Among thos wery boyes he wrest and he wrang;
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,
And gaf hym of hys flayl inogh:
We te he! quoth Tyb, and lugh,
Ye er a dughty man.
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
And sum brozt gret harwos,
[plyzt;
Ther husbandes hom to fetch,
Sum on dores, and sum on hech,
Sum on hyrdyllys, and som on crech,
And sum on whele-barows.
185
Deo gratias Anglia redde pro victoria!
OwRE kynge went forth to Normandy,
With grace and myzt of chivalry;
The God for hym wrouzt marvelously,
Wherefore Englonde may calle, and cry
Deo gratias:
Deo gratias Anglia redde pro victoria.
Thay gaderyd Perkyn about, 'on' everych syde,
And grant hym ther' the gre,' the more was hys
pryde:
[ryde,
Tyb and he, wyth gret mirth' homward con thay
And were al nyzt togedyr, tyl the morn tyde; 211
He sette a sege, the sothe for to say,
To Harflue toune with ryal aray ;
That toune he wan, and made a fray,
That Fraunce shall rywe tyl domes day.
Deo gratias: &c.
195
Then went owre kynge, with alle his oste,
Thorowe Fraunce for all the Frenshe boste ;
He spared 'for' drede of leste, ne most,
Tyl he come to Agincourt coste.
Deo gratias, &c.
205
FOR THE VICTORY
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 immortal victory gained at
Agincourt, Oct. 25, 1415. This song or hymn is
given merely as a curiosity, and is printed from a
MS copy in the Pepys collection, vol. I. folio .
20
V.
5
10
15
Ver. 185, stand, MS. V. 189, sand, MS. V. 199, Thys
MS. V. 204, hom for to fetch, MS. V. 208, about everych
side, MS. V. 209, the gre, is wanting in MS. V. 210,
mothe, MS
C
And thay to church went:"
So wele hys nedys he has sped,
That dere Tyb he' hath' wed;
The prayse-folk, that hur led,
Were of the Turnament.
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.
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
ray:
Mekyl myrth was them among;
In every corner of the hous
Was melody delycyous
For to here precyus
Of six menys songt.
AT AGINCOURT.
Than for sothe that knyzt comely
In Agincourt feld he fauzt manly,
Thorow grace of God most myzty
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
With joye, and merthe, and grete renone.
Deo gratias, &c.
95
F
*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 de-
230
Now gracious God he save owre kynge,
His peple, and all his wel wyllynge,
Gef him gode lyfe, and gode endygne,
That we with merth mowe savely synge
Deo gratias:
Deo gratias Anglia redde pro victoria.
215
225
20
25
30
Ver. 212, And thay ifere assent, MS. V. 214, had wed,
MS. V. 215, The cheetemen, PC. V. 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.
+ Six-men's song, i. e. a song for six voices. So Shakes-
peare 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 men-
tioned below, Book II. Song 9. So again Shakespeare has
Three-men Beetle; i. e. a Beetle or Rammer worked by
three men. 2 Hen. IV. A. I. Sc. 3.

96
THE NOT-BROWNE MAYD.
VI.
(C
THE NOT-BROWNE MAYD.
THE sentimental beauties of this ancient ballad
have always recommended it to readers of taste, not-
withstanding 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 ex-
actness of the accurate Editor of the "Prolusions,”
8vo, 1760; who has formed the text from two copies
found in two different editions of Arnolde's Chroni-
cle, a book supposed to be first printed about 1521.
From the copy in the Prolusions the following is
printed, with a few additional improvements gathered
from another edition of Arnolde's book* preserved in
the Public Library at Cambridge. All the various
readings of this copy will be found here, either re-
ceived into the text, or noted in the margin. The
references to the Prolusions will shew 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" 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 Editor of the Prolu-
sions thinks it cannot be older than the year 1500,
because, in Sir Thomas More's Tale of "The Ser-
jeant," &c. which was written about that time, there
appears a sameness of rythmus and orthography,
and a very near affinity of words and phrases, with
those of this ballad. But this reasoning is not con-
clusive; 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. In-
deed, 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 au-
thor. But to show how little can be inferred from a
resemblance of rhythmus or style, the editor of these
* 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 ex-
tracted thence are denoted thus, Mr. W.
C
+
volumes has in his ancient folio MS. a poem on th
victory of Floddenfield, written in the same numbers
with the same alliterations, and in orthography
phraseology, and style nearly resembling the Vision
of Pierce Plowman, which are yet known to hav
been composed above 160 years before that battle
As this poem is a great curiosity, we shall give a fev
of the introductory 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 wid
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, w
have taken a middle course, neither placed it so hig
as Wanley and Prior, nor quite so low as the edito
of the Prolusions: we should have followed th
latter in dividing every other line into two, but the
the whole would then have taken up more room tha
could be allowed it in this volume,
Be it ryght, or wrong, these men among
On women do complayne* ;
Affyrmynge this, how that it is
Á labour spent in vayne,
To love them wele; for never a dele
They love a man agayne:
For late a man do what he can,
Theyr favour to attayne,
Yet, yf a newe do them persue,
Theyr first true lover than
Laboureth for nought: for from her thought
He is a banyshed man.
I
say
nat nay, but that all day
It is bothe writ and sayd
That womans faith is, as who sayth,
All utterly decayd ;
But, neverthelesse ryght good wytnèsse
In this case might be layd,
That they love true, and continue:
Recorde the Not-browne Mayde:
Which, when her love came, her to prove,
To her to make his more,
Wolde nat depart; for in her hart
She loved but hym alone.
Than betwaine us late us dyscus
What was all the manere
Betwayne them two: we wyll also
Tell all the payne, and fere,
That she was in. Now I begyn,
So that ye me answère;
1
1
UT
P.A
Ver. 2, woman. Prolusions, and Mr. West's copy. V.1
her, i. e. their.
*My friend, Mr. Farmer, proposes to read the first lin
thus, as a Latinism :
Be it right or wrong, 'tis men among,
On women to complayne.
Wherfore, all ye, that present be
I pray you, gyve an ere
"I am the knyght; I come by nyght,
As secret as I can;
Sayinge, Alas! thus standeth the case,
I am a banyshed man.'
""
SHE.
And I your wyll for to fulfyll
In this wyll nat refuse;
Trustying to shewe, in wordès fewe,
That men have an yll use
THE NOT-BROWNE MAYD.
(To theyr own shame) women to blame,
And causelesse them accuse;
Therfore to you I answere nowe,
All women to excuse,-
M
Myne owne hart dere, with you what chere?
I
pray you, tell anone ;
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde
I love but you alone.
HE.
It standeth so; a dede is do
Wherof grete harme shall growe :
My destiny is for to dy
A shamefull deth, I trowe;
Or elles to file: the one must be.
None other way I knowe,
But to withdrawe as an outlawe,
And take me to my bowe.
Wherfore, adue, my owne hart true!
None other rede I can ;
For I must to the grene wode go,
Alone, a banyshed man.
SHE.
O Lord, what is thys worldys blysse,
That changeth as the mone!
My somers day in lusty may
Is derked before the none.
I here you say, farewell: Nay, nay,
We depart nat so sone.
Why say ye so? wheder wyll ye go?
Alas! what have ye done?
All my welfare to sorrowe and care
Sholde chaunge, yf ye were gone;
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde
I love but you alone.
HE.
I can beleve, it shall you greve,
And somewhat you dystrayne;
But, aftyrwarde, your paynes harde
Within a day or twayne
Shall sone aslake; and ye shall take
Comfort to you agayne.
Why sholde ye ought? for, to make thought,
Your labour were in vayne.
And thus I do; and pray you to,
As hartely, as I can ;
or I must to the grene wode go,
Alone, a banyshed man.
SIE.
have shewed to me
Tow, syth that ye
The secret of your mynde,
shall be playne to you agayne,
Lyke as ye shall me fynde.
yth it is so, that ye wyll go,
I wolle not leve behynde;
Ver. 63, The somers, Prol.
35
40
45
50
55
60
65
70
75
80
85
90
Shall never be sayd, the Not-browne Mayd
Was to her love unkynde:
Make you redy, for so am I,
Allthough it were anone;
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde
I love but you alone,
HE.
Yet I you rede to take good hede
What men wyll thynke, and say:
Of yonge, and olde it shall be tolde,
That ye be gone away,
Your wanton wyll for to fulfill,
grene wode you to play;
And that ye myght from your delyght
No lenger make delay.
In
Rather than ye sholde thus for me
Be called an yll womàn,
Yet wolde I to the grene wode go
Alone, a banyshed man.
SHE.
Though it be songe of old and yonge,
That I sholde be to blame,
Theyrs be the charge, that speke so large
In hurtynge of my name:
For I wyll prove, that faythfulle love
It is devoyd of shame;
In your dystresse, and hevynesse,
To part with you, the same:
And sure all tho, that do not so,
True lovers are they none;
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde
I love but you alone.
HE.
I counceyle you, remember howe,
It is no maydens lawe,
Nothynge to dout, but to renne out
To wode with an outlawe:
For ye must there in your hand bere
A bowe, redy to drawe;
And, as a thefe, thus must you lyve,
Ever in drede and awe;
Wherby to you grete harme myght growe:
Yet had I lever than,
That I had to the grene wode go,
Alone, a banyshed man.
SHE.
I thinke nat nay, but as ye say,
It is no maydens lore:
But love may make me for your sake,
As I have sayd before
To come on fote, to hunt, and shote
To gete us mete in store;
For so that I your company
May have, I aske no more:
From which to part, it maketh my hart
As colde as ony stone;
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde
I love but you alone.
HE.
For an outlawe this is the lawe,
That men hym take and bynde;
Without pytè, hanged to be,
And waver with the wynde,
97
H
95
100
105
110
115
120
125
130
135
140
145
Prol. and M. W.
Ver. 91, Shall it never, Prol. and Mr. W. V. 94, Al-
thought Mr. W. V. 117, To shewe all.
V. 133, I say nat, Prol. and Mr. W.
Camb. copy.
V. 138, and sucre,
98
THE NOT-BROWNE MAYD.
If I had nede, (as God forbede !)
What rescous coude ye fynde?
Forsoth, I trowe, ye and your bowe
For fere wolde drawe behynde :
And no mervayle; for lytell avayle
Were in your counceyle than:
Wherfore I wyll to the grene wode go,
Alone, a banyshed man.
SHE.
Ryght wele knowe ye, that women be
But feble for to fyght;
No womanhede it is indede
To be bolde as a knyght:
Yet, in such fere yf that ye were
With enemyes day or nyght,
I wolde withstande, with bowe in hande,
To greve them as I myght,
And you to save; as women have
From deth 'men' many one :
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde
I love but you alone.
HE.
Yet take good hede; for ever I drede
That ye coude nat sustayne
The thornie waves, the depe valèies,
The snowe, the frost, the rayne,
The colde, the hete: for dry, or wete,
We must lodge on the playne;
And, us above, none other rofe
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.
SHE.
Syth I have here bene partynère
With you of joy and blysse,
I must also parte of your wo
Endure, as reson is:
Yet am I sure of one plesùre;
And, shortely, it is this:
That, where ye be, me semeth, pardè,
I coude nat fare amysse.
Without more speche, I you beseche
That we were sone agone;
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde
I love but you alone.
HE.
If ye go thyder, ye must consyder,
Whan ye have lust to dyne,
There shall no mete be for you gete,
Nor drinke, bere, ale, ne wyne.
No shetés clene, to lye betwene,
Made of threde and twyne;
None other house, but leves and bowes,
To cover your hed and myne,
harte swete, this evyll dyéte
O myne
Sholde make you pale and wan;
Wherfore I wyll to the grene wode go,
Alone, a banyshed man.
150
155
160
165
170
175
180
185
190
195
200
Ver. 150, soconrs, Prol. and Mr. W. V. 162, and night,
Camb. Copy. V. 164, to helpe ye with my myght, Prol.
and Mr. W. V. 172, frost and rayne Mr. W. V. 174, Ye
must, Prol. V. 190, shortley gone, Prol. and Mr. W. V.
196, Neyther bere. Prol. and Mr. W. V. 201, Lo myn,
Mr. W.
SHE.
Amonge the wylde dere, such an archère,
As men say
that
ye be,
Ne may nat fayle of good vitayle,
Where is so grete plentè:
And water clere of the ryvére
Shall be full swete to me;
With which in hele I shall ryght wele
Endure, as ye shall see;
And, or we go, a bedde or two
I can provyde anone;
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde
I love but you alone.
IIE.
Lo yet, before, ye must do more,
Yf ye wyll go with me:
;
As cut your here up by your ere,
Your kyrtel by the kne
With bowe in hande, for to withstande
Your enemyes yf nede be:
And this same nyght before day-lyght,
To wode-warde wyll I fle.
Yf that ye wyll all this fulfill,
Do it shortely as ye can:
Els wyll I to the grene wode go,
Alone, a banyshed man.
SIIE.
I shall as nowe do more for you
Than lougeth to womanhede;
To shote my here, a bowe to bere,
To shote in tyme of nede.
0
my swete mother, before all other
For you I have most drede :
But nowe, adue! I must ensue,
Where fortune doth me lede.
All this make ye: Now let us fle;
The day cometh fast upon;
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde
I love but you alone.
HE.
Nay, nay, nat so; ye shall nat go,
And I shall tell ye why,
Your appetyght is to be lyght
Of love, I wele espy:
For, lyke as ye have sayed to me,
In lyke wyse hardely
Ye wolde answére whosoever it were,
In way of company.
It is sayd of olde, Sone hote, sone colde;
And so is a woman.
Wherfore I to the wode wyll go,
Alone, a banyshed man.
SIE.
Yf ye take hede, it is no nede
Such wordes to say by me;
For oft ye prayed, and longe assayed,
Or I you loved, pardè :
And though that I of auncestry
A barons daughter be,
Yet have you proved howe I you loved
A
of lowe degrè;
squyer
205
210
215
221
22
23
23
24
24
25
ல்
2.
の
​Ver. 207, May ye nat fayle, Prol. Ib. May nat fay
Mr. W. V. 219, above your ere, Prol. V. 220, above 1
kne, Prol. and Mr. W、 V. 223, the same, Prol. and ↑
W. V. 251, For I must to the grene,wode go, Prol. a
Mr. W. V. 253, yet is, Camb. Copy. Perhaps for yt is
THE NOT-BROWNE MAYD.
And ever shall, whatso befall;
To dy therfore* anone;
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde
I love but alone.
you
HE.
A barons chylde to be begylde!
It were a cursed dede;
To be felàwe with an outlawe!
Almighty God forbede!
the pore squyère
Yet beter were,
Alone to forest yede,
Than ye sholde say another day,
That, by my cursed dede,
Ye were betray'd: Wherfore, good mayd,
The best rede that I can,
Is, that I to the grene wode go,
Alone, a banyshed man.
SHE.
Whatever befall, I never shall
Of this thyng you upbrayd:
But yf ye go, and leve me so,
Than have ye me betrayd.
Remember you wele, howe that
ye
Sone after ye be gone;
For, in my mynde of all mankynde
I love but you alone.
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
dele;
HE.
Yf that ye went, ye sholde repent;
For in the forest nowe
I have purvayed me of a mayd,
Whom I love more than you;
Another fayrère, than ever ye were,
I dare it wele avowe;
And of you bothe eche sholde be wrothe
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.
SHE.
Though in the wode I undyrstode
Ye had a paramour,
All this may nought remove my thought,
But that I wyll be your:
And she shall fynde me soft, and kynde
And courteys every hour;
lad to fulfyll all that she wyll
Commaunde me to my power:
'or had ye, lo, an hundred mo,
•
Of them I wolde be one ;'
'or, in my mynde, of all mankynde
I love but you alone..
265
270
275
280
285
290
295
300
305
310
262, dy with him. Editor's MS. V. 278, outbrayed,
I. and Mr. W. V. 282, ye be as, Prol. and Mr. W. V.
Ye were unkynde to lev me behynde, Prol. and Mr. W.
310. So the Editor's MS. All the printed copies
Yet wold I be that one.
i. e. for this canse though I were to die for having
1 Vum
IIE.
Myne owne dere love, I se the prove
That be kynde, and true;
ye
Of mayde, and wyfe, in all my lyfe,
The best that ever I knewe.
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.
Be nat dismayed; whatsoever I sayd
To you, whan I began ;
I wyll nat to the greue wode go,
I am no banyshed man.
SHE.
These tydings be more gladd to me,
Than to be made a quene,
Yf I were sure they sholde endure:
But it is often sene,
Whan men wyll breke promyse, they speke
The wordés on the splene.
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
I love but you alone.
HF.
Ye shall nat nede further to drede;
I wyll nat dysparage
You, (God defend!) syth ye descend
Of so grete a lynàge.
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,
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 :
Late never man reprove them than,
Or call them variable ;
But, rather, pray God, that we may
To them be comfortable;
99
515
320
325
330
335
340
345
350
Which sometyme proveth such, as he loveth, 355
Yf they be charytable.
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
Ver. 315, of all, Prol. and Mr. W. V. 325, gladder, Prol. and
Mr. W. V. 340, grete lyny age, 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. Ib. as loveth, Camb.
V. 357, Forsoth, Prol. and Mr. W.
100
CUPID'S ASSAULT: BY LORD VAUX.
VII.
A BALET BY THE EARL RIVERS.
THE amiable light in which the character of
Anthony Widville the gallant Earl Rivers has been
placed by the elegant Author of the Catalogue of
Noble Writers, interests us in whatever fell from his
pen. It is presumed therefore that the insertion of
this little Sonnet 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 translations.
And if we consider that it was written during his
cruel confinement in Pomfret castle a short time
before his execution in 1483, it gives us a fine
picture of the composure and steadiness with which
this stout Earl beheld his approaching fate.
This ballad we owe to Rouse a contemporary
historian, who seems to have copied it from the
Earl's own hand writing: In tempore, says this
writer, incarcerationis apud Pontem-fractum edidit
unum Balet in anglicis, ut mihi monstratum est, quod
subsequitur sub his verbis: SUM WHAT MUSING, &c.
"Rossi Hist. 8vo. 2 Edit. p. 213." In Rouse the 2d
Stanza, &c. is imperfect, but the defects are bere
supplied from a more perfect copy printed in
"Ancient Songs, from the time of King Henry III.
to the Revolution."
page 87.
This little piece, which perhaps ought rather to
have been printed in stanzas of eight short lines, is
written in imitation of a poem 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.
VIII.
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."
THE Reader will think that infant Poetry grew
apace between the times of Rivers and Vaux, though
nearly contemporaries; if the following Song is the
composition of that Sir Nicholas (afterwards Lord)
Vaux, who was the shining ornament of the court of
Henry VII. and died in the year 1523.
And yet to this Lord it is attributed by Putten-
ham in his "Art of Eng. Poesie, 1589. 4to.” a writer
commonly well informed: take the passage at large.
"In this figure [Counterfait Action] the Lord
Nicholas Vaux, a noble gentleman and much de-
lighted in vulgar making, and a man otherwise of
no great learning, but having herein a marvelous
facilitie, made a dittie representing the Battayle and
Assault of Cupide, so excellently well, as for the
gallant and propre application 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, &c." p. 200.-For a farther
account of Nicholas Lord Vaux, see Mr. Walpole's
Noble Authors, Vol. I.
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, Wyllyng to dye.
Me thynkys truly, Bowndyn am I,
And that gretly, To be content;
Seyng playnly, Fortune doth wry
All contrary From myn entent.
My lyff was lent Me to on intent,
Hytt is ny spent. Welcome fortune!
But I ne went Thus to be shent,
But sho hit ment; such is hur won.
CUPID'S ASSAULT: BY LORD VAUX,
WHEN Cupide scaled first the fort,
Wherein my hart lay wounded sore;
The batry was of such a sort,
That I must yelde or die therfore.
There sawe I Love upon the wall,
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
The stedfast love, he alwayes inent.
:
The following Copy is printed from the first Ed
of Surrey's Poems, 1557, 4to.-See another Song
Lord Vaux's in the preceding Vol. Book II. No.!
Ver. 15, That fortune Rossi Hist. V. 19, went.
weened.
1
1
OY
There might you se his band all drest
In colours like to white and blacke,
With powder and with pelletes prest
To bring the fort to spoile and sacke.
Good-wyll, the maister of the shot,
Stode in the rampire brave and proude,
For spence of pouder he spared not
Assault! assault! to crye aloude.
There might you heare the cannons rore;
Eche pece discharged a lovers loke ;
Which had the power to rent, and tore
In any place whereas they toke.
And even with the trumpettes sowne
The scaling ladders were up set,
And Beautie walked up and downe,
With bow in hand, and arrowes whet.
Then first Desire began to scale,
And shrouded him under his' targe;
As one the worthiest of them all,
And aptest for to geve the charge.
Then pushed souldiers with their pikes,
And halberdes with handy strokes ;
The argabushe in fleshe it lightes,
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 livès grant.
When Fansy thus had made 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,
And every souldier to retire,
And mercy wyll'd with spede to fet
Me captive bound as prisoner.
Madame, quoth I, sith that this day
Hath served you at all assayes,
I yeld to you without delay
Here of the fortresse all the kayes.
SIR ALDINGAR.
And sith that I have ben the marke,
At whom you shot at with your eye;
Nedes must you with your handy warke
Or salve my sore, or let me die.
15
20
25
30
35
40
45
50
55
This old fabulous legend is given from the editor's
io MS. with conjectural emendations, and the in-
tion of some additional stanzas to supply and
mplete the story.
It has been suggested to the editor, that the
V. 20. her, Ed. 1557, so, Ed. 1585.
101
Since the foregoing song was first printed
off, reasons have occurred, which incline me to be-
lieve that Lord Vaux the poet was not the Lord
Nicholas Vaux, who died in 1523, but rather a suc-
cessor of his in the title. For in the first place it is
remarkable that all the old writers mention Lord
Vaux, 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 kings raigne [Henry VIII.] sprong up a new
company of courtly makers [poets], of whom Sir
Thomas Wyat th' elder, and Henry Earl of Surrey,
were the two chieftaines, who having travailed into
Italie, and there tasted the sweet and stately mea-
sures 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
Gascoigne, in the place quoted in the 1st vol. of
this work [B. II. No. II.] mentions Lord Vaux after
Surrey. Again, the stile and measure of Lord
Vaux's pieces seem too refined and polished for the
age of Henry VII. and rather resemble the smooth-
ness and harmony of Surrey and Wyat, than the
rude metre of Skelton and Hawes.-But what puts
the matter out of all doubt, in the British Museum
is a copy of his poem, I lothe that I did love, [vid.
vol. I. ubi supra] with this title, "A dyttye or sonet
made by the Lord Vaus, in the time of the noble
Quene Marye, representing 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 Vauxt, except
Puttenham; 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 Northamp-
tonshire, 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
IX.
SIR ALDINGAR.
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.
author of this poem seems to have had in his eye
the story of Gunhilda, who is sometimes called
Eleanor, and was married to the emperor (here
called King) Henry.
* i. e. Compositions in English.
+ In the Paradise of Dainty Devises, 1596, he is called
simply "Lord Vaux the elder.”
102
SIR ALDINGAR.
OUR king he kept a false stewàrde,
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 :
Our queene she was a good woman,
And evermore said him naye.
Sir Aldingar was wrothe in his mind,
With her hee was never content,
Till traiterous meanes he colde devyse,
In a fyer to have her brent.
There came a lazar to the kings gate,
A lazar both blinde and lame :
He tooke the lazar upon his backe,
Him on the queenes bed has layne.
"Lye still, lazàr, wheras thou lyest,
Looke thou goe not hence away;
Ile make thee a whole man and a sound
In two howers of the day*."
Then went him forth sir Aldingar,
And hyed him to our king:
"If I might have grace, as I have space,
Sad tydings I could bring.”
Say on, say on, sir Aldingar,
Saye on the soothe to mee,
"Our queene hath chosen a new new love,
And shee will have none of thee.
"If shee had chosen a right good knight,
The lesse had beene her shame;
But she hath chose her a lazar man,
A lazar both blinde and lame."
If this be true, thou Aldingar,
The tyding thou tellest to me,
Then will I make thee a rich rich knight,
Rich both of golde and fee.
But if it be false, sir Aldingar,
As God nowe grant it bee!
Thy body, I sweare by the holye rood,
Shall hang on the gallows tree.
He brought our king to the queenes chambèr,
And opend to him the dore.
A lodlye love, king Harry says,
For our queene dame Elinore!
If thou were a man, as thou art none,
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.
Now God you save, our queene, madame,
And Christ you save and see;
Heere you have chosen a newe newe love,
And you will have none of mee.
5
10
15
20
25
30
35
40
45
50
55
* He probably insinuates that the king should heal him by
nis power of touching for the King's Evil.
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.
Therfore a fyer there shall be built,
And brent all shalt thou bee.-
"Now out alacke! said our comly queene,
Sir Aldingar's false to mee.
Now out alacke! sayd our comlye queene,
My heart with griefe will brast.
I 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,
I dreamt a grype and a grimlie beast
Had carryed my crowne awaye :
My gorgett and my kirtle of golde,
And all my faire head-geere;
And he wold worrye me with his tush
And to his nest y-beare:
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.
Giffe I were a man, as now I am none,
A battell wold I prove,
To fight with that traitor Aldingar;
Att him I cast my glove.
But seeing Ime able noe battell to make,
My liege, grant me a knight
To fight with that traitor sir Aldingar,
To maintains 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.'
"
Then shee sent east, and shee sent west,
By north and south bedeene:
But never a champion colde she find,
Wolde fight with that knight soe keene.
Now twenty dayes were spent and gone,
Noe helpe there might be had;
Many a teare shed our comelye queene
And aye her hart was sad.
Then came one of the queenes damsèlles,
And knelt upon her knee,
"Cheare up, cheare up, my gracious dame,
I trust yet helpe may be:
And here I will make mine avowe,
And with the same me binde;
That never will I return to thee,
Till I some helpe may finde."
Then forth she rode on a faire palfràye
Oer hill and dale about :
But never a champion colde she finde,
Wolde fighte with that knight so stout.
Ver. 77, see below, ver. 137.
66
65
70
7:
81
8
U)
C
Wi
10
1
1
And nowe the daye drewe on a pace,
When our good queene must dye;
All woe-begone was that faire damsèlle,
When she found no helpe was nye.
All woe-begone was that faire damsèlle,
And the salt teares fell from her eve :
When lo! as she rode by a rivers side,
She met with a tinye boye.
A tinye boye she mette, God wot,
All clad in mantle of golde;
He seemed noe more in mans likenèsse,
Then a childe of four yeere olde.
Why grieve you, damselle faire, he sayd,
And what doth cause you moane?
The damsell scant wolde deigne a looke,
But fast she pricked on.
Yet turn againe, thou faïre damsèlle,
And greete thy queene from mee:
When bale is att hyest, boote is nyest,
Nowe helpe enoughe may bee.
Bid her remember what she dreamt
In her bedd, wheras shee laye;
How when the grype and the grimly beast
Wolde have carried her crowne awaye,
Even then there came the little gray hawke,
And saved her from his clawes :
Then bidd the queene be merry at hart,
For heaven will fende her cause.
Back then rode that faire damsèlle,
And her hart it lept for glee :
And when she told her gracious dame
A gladd woman then was shee.
But when the appointed day was come,
No helpe 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
;
And nowe Queene Elinor forth was led,
A sorrowful sight to see.
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.
No knight stood forth, no knight there came,
No helpe appeared nye:
And now the fyer was lighted up,
Queen Elinor she must dye.
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.
I am come to fight with Sir Aldingar,
And prove him a traitor keene."
115
120
125
130
135
140
145
150
155
160
"Away with that stake, away with those brands,
And loose our comelye queene:
16€
Forthe then stood Sir Aldingar,
But when he saw the chylde,
170
He laughed, and scoffed and turned his backe,
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,
Though I am so small to see.”
The boye pulld forth a well good sworde
So gilt it dazzled the ee;
The first stroke stricken at Aldingar
Smote off his leggs by the knee.
"Stand up, stand up, thou false traitor,
And fight upon thy feete,
For and thou thrive, as thou begin'st,
Of height wee shall be meete."
A priest, a priest, sayes Aldingàr,
While I am a man alive.
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;
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,
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,
Forgive, forgive me, queene, madame,
The short time I must live,
"Nowe Christ forgive thee, Aldingar,
As freely I forgive.”
Here take thy queene, our King Harryè,
And love her as thy life,
For never had a king in Christentye,
A truer and fairer wife.
King Henrye ran to claspe his queene,
And loosed her full sone;
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
All whole and sounde did stand.
103
The lazar under the gallowes tree
Was comelye, straight and tall;
King Henrye made him his head stewarde
To wayte withinn his hall.
175
180
185
190
195
1
200
205
210
215
220
.04
THE GABERLUNZIE MAN.
X.
THE GABERLUNZIE MAN.
Tradition informs us that the author of this song
was King James V. of Scotland. This prince
(whose character for wit and libertinism bears a
great resemblance to that of his gay successor
Charles II.) was noted for strolling about his do-
minions in disguise*, and for his frequent gallantries
with country girls. Two adventures of this kind he
hath celebrated with his own pen, viz. in this ballad
of "The Gaberlunzie Man ;" and in another, entitled
"The Jolly Beggar," beginning thus:
"Thair was a jollie beggar, and a begging he was
boun,
And he tuik up his quarters into a land'art toun.
Fa, la, la, &c."
It seems to be the latter of these ballads (which
was too licentious to be admitted into this collection)
that is meant in the Catalogue of Royal and Noble
Authors †, where the ingenious writer remarks, that
there is something very ludicrous in the young wo-
man'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 Dec. 13th, 1542, aged 33.
THE 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,
And down azout the ingle he sat;
My dochters shoulders he gan to clap,
And cadgily ranted and sang.
O wow! quo he, were I as free,
As first when I saw this countrie,
How blyth and merry wad I bee!
And I wad nevir think lang.
He grew canty, and she grew fain;
But little did her auld minny ken
What thir slee twa togither were say❜n,
When wooing they were sa thrang.
A SCOTTISH SONG.
And O! 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.
And O! quoth she, ann I were as white,
As evir the snaw lay on the dike,
Ild clead me braw, and lady-like,
And awa with thee Ild gang.
Between the twa was made a plot;
They raise a wee before the cock,
And wyliely they shot the lock,
5
10
15
20
25
*
sc. of a tinker, beggar, &c. Thus he used to visit a
smith's daughter at Niddry, near Edinburgh.
+ Vol. II. p. 203.
And fast to the bent are they gane.
Up the morn the auld wife raise,
And at her leisure put on her claiths,
Syne to the servants bed she gaes
To speir for the silly poor man.
She gaed to the bed, whair the beggar lay,
The strae was cauld, he was away
She clapt her hands, cryd, Dulefu' day!
For some of our geir will be gane.
Some ran to coffer, and some to kist,
But nought was stown that could be mist.
She dancid her lane, cryd, Praise be blest,
I have lodgd a leal poor man.
Since naithings awa, as we can learn,
The kirns to kirn, and milk to earn,
Gae butt the house, lass, and waken my bairn,
And bid her come quickly ben.
The servant gaed where the dochter lay,
The sheets was cauld, she was away,
And fast to her goodwife can say,
Shes aff with the gaberlunzie-man.
O fy gar ride, and fy gar rin,
And hast ze, find these traitors agen;
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,
But ay did curse and did ban.
Mean time far hind out owre the lee,
For snug in a glen, where nane could see,
The twa, with kindlie sport and glee,
Cut frae a new cheese a whang.
The priving was gude, it pleas'd them baith,
To lo❜e her for ay, he gae her his aith.
Quo she, to leave thee, I will be laith,
My winsome gaberlunzie-man.
O kend my minny I were wi' zou,
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 bae na learnt the beggars tonge,
To follow me frae toun to toun,
And carrie the gaberlunzie on.
Wi' kauk and keel, 1ll win zour bread,
And spindles and whorles for them wha need
Whilk is a gentil trade indeed
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 sall sing and be merrie-o.
Ver. 29, The Carline. Other copies.
31
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ON THOMAS LORD CROMWELL.
A
XI.
ON THOMAS LORD CROMWELL.
It is ever the fate of a disgraced minister to be
Corsaken by his friends, and insulted by his enemies,
always reckoning among the latter the giddy incon-
stant 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, follow-
ing. A short interval! but Henry's passion for
Catharine Howard would admit of no delay. Not-
withstanding our libeller, Cromwell had many excel-
lent qualities: his great fault was too much obse-
quiousness 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
shewn him the way in every kind of mean and servile
compliance. The original copy printed at London
in 1540, is intitled," 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,
Thou haddyst fayre tyme, but thou lackydyst grace;
Thy cofers with golde thou fyllydst a pace.
Synge, &c.
6
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.
Synge, &c.
15
Hys grace was euer of gentyll nature,
Mouyd with petye, and made the hys seruyture;
But thou, as a wretche, suche thinges dyd procure.
Synge, &c.
Thou dyd not remembre, false heretyke,
One God, one fayth, and one kynge catholyke, 20
For thou hast bene so long a scysmatyke.
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,
Agaynst the churche thou baddest them styckе;
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.
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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,
And nowe haste thou trodden thy shoo awrye.
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.
God saue kyng Henry with all his power,
And prynce Edwarde that goodly flowre,
With al hys lordes of great honoure.
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 cloth to flocke
Upon thy gresy fullers stocke;
Wherfore lay downe thy heade vpon this blocke.
Synge, &c.
Synge trolle on awaye, syng trolle on away.
Hevye and how rombelowe trolle on awaye.
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Synge, &c.
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45

+++ The foregoing Piece gave rise to a poetic
controversy, which was carried on through a suc-
cession of seven or eight Ballads written for and
against Lord Cromwell. These are all preserved
in the archives of the Antiquarian Society, in a large
folio Collection of Proclamations, &c., make in the
reigns of King Henry VIII., King Edward VI.,
Queen Mary, Queen Elizabeth, King James I, &c.
Ver. 32, i. e. Cain or Ishmael. V. 41. Cromwell's father is
generally said to have been a blacksmith at Putney: but
the author of this Ballad would insinuate that either he him-
self or some of his ancestors were Fullers by trade.
106
HARPALUS.
{
wine.
15%
This beautiful poem, which is perhaps the first at-
tempt at pastoral writing in our language, is pre-
served among the "Songs and Sonnettes" of the Earl
of Surrey, &c. 4to, in that part of the collection,
which consists of pieces by " Uncertain Auctours."
These poems were first published in 1557, ten years
after that accomplished nobleman fell a victim to the
tyranny of Henry VIII, but it is presumed most of
them were composed before the death of Sir Thomas
Wyatt in 1541. See Surrey's Poems, 4to, fol. 19,
49.
PHYLIDA was a faire mayde,
As fresh as any flowre;
Whom Harpalus the Herdman prayde
To be his paramour.
Though written perhaps near half a century before
the "Shepherd's Calendar*," this will be found far
superior to any of those Eclogues, in natural un-
affected sentiments, in simplicity of style, in easy
flow of versification, and all other beauties of pasto-
ral poetry. Spenser ought to have profited more by
so excellent a model.
Harpalus, and eke Corin,
Were herdmen both yfere :
And Phylida could twist and spinne,
And thereto sing full clere.
But Phylida was all to coye,
For Harpalus to winne:
For Corin was her onely joye,
Who forst her not a pinne.
AN ANCIENT ENGLISH PASTORAL.
How often would she flowers twine?
How often garlandes make
Of couslips and of colombine?
And al for Corin's sake.
But Corin, he had haukes to lure,
And forced more the field:
Of lovers lawe he toke no cure;
For once he was begilde.
Harpalus prevailed nought,
His labour all was lost;
For he was fardest from her thought,
And yet he loved her most.
Therefore waxt he both pale and leane,
And drye as clot of clay :
His fleshe it was consumed cleane ·
His colour gone away.
His beard it had not long be shave;
His heare hong all unkempt :
A man most fit even for the grave,
Whom spitefull love had spent.
XII.
HARPALUS.
* First published in 1579.
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C
His eyes were red, and all forewacht';
His face besprent with teares :
It semde unhap had him long hatcht',
In mids of his dispaires.
His clothes were blacke, and also bare;
As one forlorne was he;
Upon his head alwayes he ware
A wreath of wyllow tree.
His beastes he kept upon the hyll,
And he sate in the dale;
And thus with sighes and sorrowes shril,
He gan to tell his tale.
Oh Harpalus! (thus would he say)
Unhappiest under sunne!
The cause of thine unhappy day,
By love was first begunne.
For thou wentest first by sute to seeke
A tigre to make tame,
That settes not by thy love a leeke;
But makes thy griefe her game.
As easy it were for to convert
The frost into 'a' flame;
As for to turne a frowarde hert,
Whom thou so faine wouldst frame.
Corin he liveth carèlesse :
He leapes among the leaves :
He eates the frutes of thy redresse:
Thou 'reapst', he takes the sheaves.
My beastes, a whyle your foode refraine,
And harke your herdmans sounde;
Whom spitefull love, alas! hath slaine,
Through-girt with many a wounde.
O happy be ye, beastès wilde,
That here your pasture takes :
I se that ye be not begilde
Of these your faithfull makes.
The hart he feedeth by the hinde :
The bucke harde by the do :
The turtle dove is not unkinde
To him that loves her so.
The ewe she hath by her the ramme ;
The young cow hath the bull:
The calfe with many a lusty lambe
Do fede their hunger full.
But, wel-away! that nature wrought
The, Phylida, so faire :
For I may say that I have bought
Thy beauty all tò deare.
Ver. 33, &c. The Corrections are from Ed. 1574.
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801
What reason is that crueltie
With beautie should have part?
Or els that such great tyranny
Should dwell in womans hart?
I see therefore to shape my death
She cruelly is prest ;
To th' ende that I may want my breath:
My dayes been at the best.
O Cupide, graunt this my request,
And do not stoppe thine eares,
That she may feele within her brest
The paines of my dispaires :
ROBIN AND MAKYNE.
85
My dule in dern bot giff thou dill,
Doubtless but dreid Ill die."
90
The palm of pastoral poesy is here contested by a
contemporary writer with the author of the foregoing.
The critics will judge of their respective merits; but
must make some allowance for the preceding ballad,
which is given simply, as it stands in the old
editions: whereas this, which follows, has been re-
vised and amended throughout by Allan Ramsay, from
whose "Ever-Green," Vol. I. it is here chiefly
printed. The curious Reader may however com-
pare it with the more original copy, printed among
"Ancient Scottish Poems, from the MS. of George
Bannatyne, 1568, Edinb. 1770, 12mo." Mr. Robert
Henryson (to whom we are indebted for this Poem)
appears to so much advantage among the writers of
eclogue, that we are sorry we can give little other
account of him besides what is contained in the fol-
lowing eloge, written by W. Dunbar, a Scottish
poet, who lived about the middle of the 16th
century:
Quhen mirry Makyne said him till,
"O Robin rew on me :
I haif thee luivt baith loud and still,
Thir towmonds twa or thre;
XIII.
ROBIN AND MAKYNE.
"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 the title pre-
fixed to some of his poems preserved in the British
Museum; viz. "The morall Fabillis of Esop com-
pylit be Maister Robert Henrisoun, Scolmaister of
Dumfermling, 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 intitled
'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 Bannatyne's MS." above referred to.
ROBIN sat on the gude grene hill,
Keipand a flock of fie,
Robin replied, Now by the rude,
Naithing of luve I knaw,
But keip my sheip undir yon wod:
Lo quhair they raik on raw.
AN ANCIENT SCOTTISH PASTORAL.
10
Of Corin' who' is carèlesse,
That she may crave her fee :
As I have done in great distresse,
That loved her faithfully.
5
;
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.
10
"Here lieth unhappy Harpalus
By cruell love now slaine :
Whom Phylida unjustly thus
Hath murdred with disdaine."
Quhat can have mart thee in thy mude,
Thou Makyne to me schaw;
Or quhat is luve, or to be lude ?
Fain wald I leir that law.
"The law of luve gin thou wald leir,
Tak thair an A, B, с
Be heynd, courtas, and fair of feir,
Wyse, hardy, kind and frie,
Sae that nae danger do the deir,
Quhat dule in dern thou drie ;
Press ay to pleis and blyth appeir,
Be patient and privie."
Robin, he answert her againe,
I wat not quhat is luve;
But I haif marvel in certaine
Quhat makes thee thus wanrufe.
The wedder is fair, and I am fain;
My sheep gais hail abuve;
And sould we pley us on the plain,
They wald us baith repruve.
46
Robin, tak tent unto my tale,
And wirk all as I reid;
And thou sall, haif my heart all hale,
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.”
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,
Frae thay begin to steir,
Quhat lyes on heart I will nocht hyd,
Then Makyne mak gude cheir.
107
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100
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Ver. 19, Bannatyne's MS. reads as above, heynd, not
keynd, as in the Edinb. edit. 1770. V. 21, So that no dan
ger. Bannatyne's MS.
108
GENTLE HERDSMAN.
"Robin, thou reivs me of my rest;
I luve bot thee alane."
Makyne, adieu! the sun goes west,
The day is neir-hand gane.
Robin, in dule I am so drest,
That luve will be my bane."
Mykyn, gae luve quhair-eir ye list,
For leman I luid nane.
CC
"Robin, I stand in sic a style,
I sich and that full sair.'
Makyne, I have bene here this quyle;
At hame I wish I were.
<<
Robin, my 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,
As light as leif on tree;
But Makyne murnt and made lament,
Scho trow'd him neir to see.
Robin he brayd attowre the bent:
Then Makyne cried on hie,
"Now may thou sing, for I am shent!
Quhat ailis luve at me?”
Makyne went hame withouten fail,
And weirylie could weip;
Then Robin in a full fair dale
Assemblit all his sheip.
Be that some part of Makyne's ail,
Out-throw his heart could creip;
Hir fast he followt to assail,
And till her tuke gude keip.
Abyd, abyd, thou fair Makyne,
A word for ony thing;
For all my luve, it sall be thyne,
Withouten departing.
All bale thy heart for till have myne,
Is all my coveting;
My sheip to morn quhyle houris nyne,
Will need of nae keiping.
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XIV.
"Robin, thou hast heard sung and say,
In gests and storys auld,
The man that will not when he may,
Sall have nocht when he wald.
The scene of this beautiful old ballad is laid near
Walsingham, in Norfolk, where was anciently an
image of the Virgin Mary, famous over all Europe
for the numerous pilgrimages made to it, and the
great riches it possessed. Erasmus has given a very
exact and humorous description of the superstitions
practised there in his time. (See his account of the
Virgo Parathalassia," in his colloquy, intitled,
"Peregrinatio Religionis Ergo." He tells us, the
rich offerings in silver, gold, and precious stones,
that were there shewn 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 pre-
sent to "Our Lady of Walsingham*." At the disso-
I pray to heaven baith nicht and day,
Be eiked their cares sae cauld,
That presses first with thee to play
Be forrest, firth, or fauld.”
See at the end of this Ballad an account of the annual
offerings of the Earls of Northumberland.
Makyne, the nicht is soft and dry,
The wether warm and fair,
And the grene wod richt neir-hand by,
To walk attowre all where :
There may nae janglers us espy,
That is in luve contrair;
Therin, Makyne, baith you and I
Unseen may mak repair.
"Robin, that warld is now away,
And quyt brocht till an end :
And nevir again thereto, perfay,
Sall it be as thou wend;
For of my pain thou made but play;
I words in vain did spend :
As thou hast done, sae sall I say,
Murn on, I think to mend.”
Makyne, the hope of all my heil,
My heart on thee is set;
I'll evermair to thee be leil,
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.
""
Makyne went hameward blyth enough,
Outowre the holtis hair ;
GENTLE HERDSMAN, TELL TO ME.
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,
Keipand his herd under a heuch,
Amang the rushy gair.
DIALOGUE BETWEEN A PILGRIM AND HERDSMAN.
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lution of the monasteries in 1538, this splendid
image, with another from Ipswich, was carried to
Chelsea, and there burnt in the presence of commis-
sioners; who, we trust, did not burn the jewels and
the finery.
This poem
is printed from a copy in the editor's
folio MS. which had greatly suffered by the hand of
time; but vestiges of several of the lines remaining,
some conjectural supplements have been attempted,
which, for greater exactness, are in this one ballad
distinguished by italics.
Ver. 99, Bannatyne's MS. has woid, not woud, as in Ed.
1770. V. 117, Bannatyne's MS. reads as above feill, no
faill, as in Ed. 1770.
I
GENTLE heardsman, tell to me,
Of curtesy I thee pray,
Unto the towne of Walsingham
Which is the right and ready way.
"Unto the towne of Walsingham
The way is hard for to be gon;
And verry crooked are those pathes
For you to find out all alone."
Weere the miles doubled thrise,
And the way never soe ill,
Itt were not enough for mine offence;
Itt is soe grievous and soe ill.
<<
Yes, heardsman, yes, soe woldest thou say,
If thou knewest soe much as I ;
My witts, and thoughts, and all the rest,
Have well deserved for to dye.
I am not what I seeme to bee,
My clothes and sexe doe differ farr.
I am a woman, woe is me!
Born to greeffe and irksome care.
Thy yeeares are young, thy face is faire,
Thy witts are weake, thy thoughts are greene;
Time hath not given thee leave, as yett,
For to committ so great a sinne.'
15
For my beloved, and well-beloved,
My wayward cruelty could kill :
And though my teares will nought avail,
Most dearely I bewail him still.
He was the flower of noble wights,
None ever more sincere colde bee;
Of comely mien and shape hee was,
And tenderlye hee loved mee.
GENTLE HERDSMAN.
When thus I saw he loved me well,
I grewe so proud his paine to see,
That I, who did not know myselfe,
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.
'And' still I try'd each fickle art,
Importunate and vain;
LO
And while his passion touch'd my heart,
I triumph'd in his pain.
'Till quite dejected with my scorn
He left me to my pride;
And sought a solitude forlorn,
In secret, where he dy'd.
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*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 plea-
sure in comparing them with the original.
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Thus being wearyed with delayes
To see I pittyed not his greeffe,
He gott him to a secrett place,
And there he dyed without releeſſe.
And for his sake these weeds I weare,
And sacriffice my tender age;
And every day Ile begg my bread,
To undergo this pilgrimage.
Thus every day I fast and pray,
And ever will doe till I dye;
And gett me to some 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
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!"
109
But mine the sorrow, mine the fault,
And well my life shall pay ;
I'll seek the solitude he sought,
And stretch me where he lay.
45
And there forlorn despairing hiti,
I'll lay me down and cie:
'Twas so for me that Edwin did,
And so for him will I.
50
*To show what constant tribute was paid to
"Our Lady of Walsingham," I shall give a few ex-
tracts from the "Houshold-Book of Henry Algernon
Percy, 5th Earl of Northumberland." Printed 1770,
8vo.
55
Sect. XLIII. page 337, &c.
ITEM, My Lorde usith yerly to send afor Michaelmas
for his Lordschip's Offerynge to our Lady of
Walsyngeham.-iiij d.
ITEM, My Lorde usith ande accustumyth to sende
yerely for the upholdynge of the Light of Wax
which his Lordschip fyndith birnynge yerly befor
our Lady of Walsyngham, contenynge aj lb. of
Wax in it 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 fynd-
inge of the said Lyght byrnning,- vi s. viiij d.
ITEM, My Lord 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 kepynge of the said Light, lightynge
of it at all service tymes dayly thorowt the yere,—
xij d.
ITEM, My Lord 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.
110
KING EDWARD IV. AND THE TANNER OF TAMWORTH.
XV.
KING EDWARD IV. AND THE TANNER OF TAMWORTII.
Was a story of great fame among our ancestors.
The author of the " Art of English Poesie," 1589,
4to. seems to speak of it as a real fact.-Describing
that vicious mode of speech, which the Greeks
called ACYRON, i. e. "When we use a dark and
obscure word, utterly repugnant to that we should
he adds, "Such manner of uncouth
express;" he adds,
speech did the Tanner of Tamworth use to king
Edward 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 [I feare me] I shall be hanged; whereat the
king laughed a good*, not only to see the Tanner's
vaine feare, but also to heare his illshapen terme :
and gave him for recompence of his good sport, the
inheritance of Plumpton-parke. 'I am afraid,' con-
cludes 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 ano-
ther old poem, intitled "John the Reeve," described
in the following volume, (see the Preface to "the
King and the Miller,") viz.:
"C
Nay, sayd John, by Gods grace,
And Edward wer in this place,
Hee shold not touch this tonne :
He wold be wroth with John I hope,
Thereffore I beshrew 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, intitled,
merrie, pleasant, and delectable historie be-
tweene 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 anti-
quity 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. Lond. 1791, 8vo. As that
very antique Poem had never occurred to the Editor
of the Reliques, till he saw it in the above collection,
he now refers the curious Reader to it, as an imper-
fect and incorrect copy of the old original Ballad.
In summer time, when leaves grow greene,
And blossoms bedecke the tree,
King Edward wolde a hunting ryde,
Some pastime for to see.
Vi... Gloss.
(Nu ir that of the Barker mentioned below.
With hawke and hounde he made him bowne,
With horne, and eke with bowe;
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,
When he was ware of a bold tannèr,
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,
And a mare of four shilling*.
Nowe stand you still, my good lordes all,
Under the grene wood spraye;
And I will wend to yonder fellowe,
To weet what he will saye.
God speede, God speede thee, said 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,
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;
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 Brocke my mare,
And I am fasting yett.
Gramercye for nothing, the tanner replyde,
Thou payest no fare of mine:
I trowe I've more nobles in my purse,
Than thou hast pence in thine.
God give thee joy of them, sayd the king,
And send them well to priefe.
5
The tanner wolde faine have beene away,
For he weende he had beene a thiefe.
10
15
21
25
"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
30
35
45
* 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 138. 4d. to buy him an horse." Vid. Har-
leian Catalog. 2176. 27.-Now if 138. 4d. would purchase a
steed fit for a person of quality, a tanner's horse might rea-
sonably be valued at four or five shillings.
KING EDWARD IV. AND THE TANNER OF TAMWORTH.
What art thou, hee sayde, thou fine fellòwe,
Of thee I am in great feare,
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 unthrift doth, 55
And standest in midds of thy goode*."
What tydinges heare you, sayd the kynge,
As you ryde farre and neare?
"I heare no tydinges, sir, by the masse,
But that 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,
I praye thee tell me trowe.
"I am a barkert, sir, by my trade;
Nowe tell me what art thou ?”
I am a poore courtier, sir, quoth he,
That am forth of service worne;
And faine I wolde thy prentise bee,
Thy cunninge for to learne.
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.
"C
Marrye heaven forfend, the tanner replyde,
That thou my prentise were:
Thou woldst spend more good than I shold winne
By fortye shilling a yere.
76
Why if with me thou faine wilt change,
As change full well maye wee,
By the faith of my bodye, thou proude fellòwe,
I will have some boot of thee."
That were against reason, sayd the king,
I sweare, so mote I thee:
My horse is better than thy mare,
And that thou well mayst see.
"Yea, sir, but Brocke is gentle and mild,
And softly she will fare:
Thy horse is unrulye and wild, I wiss ;
Aye skipping here and theare."
What boote wilt thou have? our king reply'd;
Now tell me in this stound.
"Noe pence, nor half pence, by my faye,
But a noble in gold so round."
50
"Here's twentye groates of white moneyè,
Sith thou will have it of mee.
"
I would have sworne now, quoth the tanner,
Thou hadst not had one penniè.
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.
65
70
80
85
90
95
100
* i. e. has no other wealth, but what thou carriest about
hee.
fi. e. a dealer in Bark.
I will not have it, sayd the kynge,
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;
And threwe it upon the king's sadèlle,
That was soe fayrelye gilte.
"Now help me up, thou fine fellowe,
'Tis time that I were gone :
When I come home to Gyllian my wife,
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.
When the tanner he was in the kinges sadèlle,
And his foote in his stirrup was;
He marvelled greatlye in his minde,
Whether it were golde or brass.
The tanner he pulld, the tanner he sweat,
And held by the pummil fast:
At length the tanner came tumbling downe;
His necke he had well-nye brast.
"Yet if agayne thou faine woldst change,
As change full well may wee,
By the faith of my bodye, thou jolly tannèr,
I will have some boote of thee.”
But when his steede saw the cows taile wagge, 125
And eke the blacke cowe-horne;
He stamped, and stared, and awaye he ranne,
As the devill had him borne.
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 :
And I have one more, which we will spend
Together at the wine."
Take thy horse again with a vengeance, he sayd,
With mee he shall not byde.
The king set a bugle horne to his mouthe,
And blewe both loude and shrille :
111
"My horse wolde have borne thee well enoughe, 135
But he knewe not of thy cowe-hide.
105
Nowe, out alas! the tanner he cryde,
That ever I sawe this daye!
110
115
They are no thieves, the king replyde,
I sweare, soe mote I thee:
120
But they are the lords of the north countrèy,
Here come to hunt with mee.
130
150
And soone came lords, and soone came knights,
Fast ryding over the hille.
140
145
Thou art a strong thiefe, yon come thy fellowes
Will beare my cowe-hide away.
156
160
112
AS YE CAME FROM THE HOLY LAND
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.
A coller, a coller, here: sayd the king,
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 hang'd to-morrowe.
As I went to Walsingham,
To the shrine with speede,
Met I with a jolly palmer
165
170
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 col-
lection, vol. I. p. 226, is a kind of interlude in the
old ballad style, of which the first stanza alone is
worth reprinting.
As ye came from the holy land
Of blessed Walsingham,
XVI.
AS YE CAME FROM THE HOLY LAND.
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*.
O met you not with my true love
As by the way ye came?
DIALOGUE BITWEEN A PILGRIM AND TRAVELLER.
The following ballad was once very popular; it is
quoted in Fletcher's "Knight of the burning pestle,"
Act II. sc. ult. and in another old play, called, "Hans
Beer-pot, his 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 con-
cluding stanza.
We have placed this, and "Gentle Herdsman,"
&c. thus early in the works, upon a presumption
that they must have been written, if not before the
dissolution of the monasteries, yet while the remem-
brance of them was fresh in the minds of the
people.
"How should I know your true love,
That have met many a one,
As I came from the holy land,
That have both come, and gone?"
"Hermets on a heape, with hoked staves,
Wenten to Walsingham, and her† wenches after."
† i. e. their.
10
Be not afraid tanner, said our king;
I tell thee, so mought I thee,
Lo here I make thee the best esquire
That is in the North countrie*.
5
* Even in the time of Langland, pilgrimages to Walsing-
ham were not unfavourable to the rites of Venus.
his Visions of Pierce Plowman, fo. 1.
Thus in
For Plumpton-parke I will give thee,
With tenements faire beside :
'Tis worth three hundred markes by the yeare,
To maintaine thy good cowe-hide.
180
Gramercye, my liege, the tanner replyde,
For the favour thou hast me showne;
If ever thou comest to merry Tamworth,
Neates leather shall clout thy shoen.
My love is neither white*, nor browne,
But as the heavens faire;
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."
:
Yes she hath cleane forsaken me,
And left me all alone;
Who some time loved me as her life,
And called me her owne.
"What is the cause she leaves thee thus,
And a new way doth take,
That some times loved thee as her life,
And thee her joy did make?"
I that loved her all my youth,
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:
He is blind, or deaf, whenere he list;
His faith is never fast.
175
His fond desire is fickle found,
And yieldes a trustlesse joye;
Wonne with a world of toil and care,
And lost ev'n with a toye.
10
14
20
35
30
3:
* This stanza is restored from a quotation of this Balla
in Selden's "Titles of Honour," who produces it as a goo
authority to prove, that one mode of creating Esquires a
that time, was by the imposition of a collar. His word
are," Nor is that old pamphlet of the tanner of Tamwortl
and King Edward the Fourth so contemptible, but that we
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 "Curialia,'
4to.
† sc. pale.
Such is the love of womankinde,
Or Loves faire name abusde,
Beneathe which many vaine desires,
And follyes are excusde.
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
Wrought Scotland mickle wae :
And ay his sword tauld to their cost,
He was their deadlye fae.
HARDYKNUTE.
II.
High on a hill his castle stood,
With ha's and tow'rs a height
And goodly chambers fair to se,
Where he lodged mony a knight.
His dame sae peerless anes and fair,
For chast and beauty deem'd
Nae marrow had in all the land,
Save Elenor the queen.
40
XVII.
As this fine morsel of heroic poetry hath generally
past 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 particulars may be
depended on. Mrs. Wardlaw, whose maiden name
was Halket (aunt to the late Sir Peter Halket, of
Pitferran, in Scotland, who was killed in America,
along with General Bradock, in 1755), pretended
she had found this poem, written on shreds of paper,
employed for what is called the bottoms of clues.
A suspicion arose that it was her own composition.
Some able judges asserted it to be modern. The
lady did in a manner acknowledge it to be so.
Being desired to shew 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 Scotland) who had believed it
ancient, contributed to the expence of publishing the
first Edition, in folio, 1719. This account was trans-
mitted 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. In-
deed he had been informed, that the late William
Thompson, the Scottish musician, who published the
Orpheus Caledonius," 1733, 2 vols. 8vo. declared
he had heard Fragments of it repeated in his infancy,
before Mrs. Wardlaw's copy was heard of.
cc
The Poem is here printed from the original
Edition, as it was prepared for the press with the
additional improvements. (See below, page 116.)
HARDY KNUTE.
A SCOTTISH FRAGMENT.
5
• But true love is a lasting fire,
Which viewless vestals* tend,
That burnes for ever in the soule,
And knowes nor change, nor end.'
10
15
111.
Full thirteen sons to him she bare,
All men of valour stout:
In bloody fight with sword in hand
Nine lost their lives bot doubt :
Four yet remain, lang may they live
To stand by liege and land;
High was their fame, high was their might,
And high was their command.
IV.
Great love they bare to Fairly fair
Their sister saft and dear,
Her girdle shaw'd her middle gimp,
And gowden glist her hair.
What waefu' wae her beauty bred?
Waefu' to young and auld,
Waefu' I trow to kyth and kin,
As story ever tauld.
V.
The King of Norse in summer tyde,
Puff'd up with pow'r and might,
Landed in fair Scotland the isle
With mony a hardy knight.
The tydings to our good Scots king
Came, as he sat at dine,
With noble chiefs in brave aray,
Drinking the blood-red wine.
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,
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 bie,
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,
VIII.
Then red red grew his dark brown cheeks,
Sae did his dark-brown brow;
His looks grew keen as they were wont
In dangers great to do ;
sc. Angels.
113
I
20
25
30
35
40
45
"Come, down, come down, lord Hardyknute, 55
And rid your king frae harm."
50
60
O
114
HARDYKNUTE.
He's ta'en a horn as green as glass,
And gi'en five sounds sae shill,
That trees in green wood shook thereat,
Sae loud rang ilka hill.
IX.
His sons in manly sport and glee,
Had past that summer's morn,
When low down in a grassy dale,
They heard their father's horn.
That horn, quo' they, ne'er sounds in peace,
We've other sport to bide.
And soon they hy'd them up the hill,
And soon were at his side.
X.
"Late late the yestreen I ween'd in peace
To end my lengthened life,
My age might well excuse my arm
Frae manly feats of strife,
But now that Norse do's proudly boast
Fair Scotland to inthrall,
It's ne'er be said of Hardyknute,
He fear'd to fight or fall.
XI.
"Robin of Rothsay, bend thy bow,
Thy arrows shoot sae leel,
That mony a comely countenance
They've turned to deadly pale.
Brade Thomas take you but your lance,
You need nae weapons mair,
If you fight wi't as you did anes
'Gainst Westmoreland's fierce heir
XII.
"And Malcolm, light of foot as stag
That runs in forest wild,
Get me my thousands three of men
Well bred to sword and shield:
Bring me my horse and harnisine,
My blade of mettal clear.
If faes but ken'd the hand it bare,
They soon had fled for fear.
XIII.
"Farewell my dame sae peerless good,
(And took her by the hand),
Fairer to me in age you seem,
Than maids for beauty fam'd
My youngest son shall here remain
To guard these stately towers,
And shut the silver bolt that keeps
Sae fast your painted bowers."
XIV.
And first she wet her comely cheiks,
And then her boddice green,
Her silken cords of twirtle twist,
Well plett with silver sheen;
And apron set with mony a dice
Of needle-wark sae rare,
Wove by nae hand, as ye may guess,
Save that of Fairly fair.
XV.
And he has ridden o'er muir and moss,
O'er hills and mony a glen,
When he came to a wounded knight
Making a heavy mane;
65
70
75
80
85
90
95
100
105
110
115
"Here maun I lye, here maun I dye,
By treacherie's false guiles;
Witless I was that e'er ga faith
To wicked woman's smiles.”
XVI.
"Sir knight, gin you were in my bower,
To lean on silken seat,
My lady's kindly care you'd prove,
Who ne'er knew deadly hate.
Herself wou'd watch you a' the day,
Her maids a dead of night;
And Fairly fair your heart wou'd chear,
As she stands in your sight.
XVII.
"Arise young knight, and mount your stead
Full lowns the shynand day :
Choose frae my menzie whom ye please
To lead you on the way."
With smileless look, and visage wan
The wounded knight reply'd,
"Kind chieftain, your intent pursue,
For here I maun abyde.
XVIII.
To me nae after day nor night
Can e're be sweet or fair,
""
But soon beneath some draping tree,
Cauld death shall end my care.'
With him nae pleading might prevail ;
Brave Hardyknute to gain
With fairest words, and reason strong,
Strave courteously in vain.
XIX.
Syne he has gane far hynd out o'er
Lord Chattan's land sae wide;
That lord a worthy wight was ay
When faes his courage sey'd ;
Of Pictish race by mother's side,
When Picts rul'd Caledon,
Lord Chattan claim'd the princely maid,
When he sav'd Pictish crown.
XX.
Now with his fierce and stalwart train,
He reach'd a rising hight,
Quhair braid encampit on the dale,
Norss menzie lay in sicht.
"Yonder my valiant sons and feirs
Our raging revers wait
On the unconquert Scottish sward
To try with us their fate.
XXI.
Make orisons to him that sav'd
Our sauls upon the rude;
Syne bravely shaw your veins are fill'd
With Caledonian blude."
Then furth he drew his trusty glave,
While thousands all around
Drawn frae their sheaths glanc'd in the sun;
And loud the bougles sound.
XXII.
To joyn his king adoun the hill
In hast his merch he made,
While, playand pibrochs, minstralls meit
Afore him stately strade.
120
125
130
135
140
145
150
1
155
160
Į
165
170
"Thrice welcome valiant stoup of weir,
Thy nations shield and pride;
Thy king nae reason has to fear
When thou art by his side."
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.
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.
XXIV.
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.
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
A sharp unsonsie shaft ;
As he his hand put up to feel
The wound, an arrow keen,
O waefu' chance! there pinn'd his hand
In midst between his een.
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 mark'd,
It pierc'd 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 bleeds !”
Again wi' might he drew
And gesture dread his sturdy bow,
Fast the braid arrow flew :
HARDYKNUTE.
Wae to the knight he ettled at;
Lament now Queen Elgreed;
High dames too wail your darling's fall,
His youth and comely meed.
XXVIII.
“Take aff, take aff his costly jupe
(Of gold well was it twin'd,
Knit like the fowler's net, through quhilk,
His steelly harness shin'd)
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."
XXIX.
Proud Norse with giant body tall,
Braid shoulders and arms strong,
Cry'd, "Where is Hardyknute sae fam'd
And fear'd at Britain's throne:
175
180
185
190
195
200
205
210
215
220
225
Tho' Britons tremble at his name
I soon shall make him wail,
That e'er my sword was made sae sharp,
Sae saft his coat of mail.”
XXX.
That brag his stout heart cou'd na bide,
It lent him youthfu' micht:
"I'm Hardyknute; this day, he cry'd,
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.
XXXI.
XXXII.
Fu' soon he rais'd his bent body,
His bow he marvell'd sair,
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.
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;
He spurr'd his steid through thickest ranks
The hardy youth to quell,
Wha stood unmov'd at his approach
His fury to repell.
Norss' een like gray gosehawk's sta ir'd 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,
It made him doun to stoup,
As laigh as he to ladies us'd
In courtly guise to lout.
But dreadfull seems the rusty point!"
And loud he leugh in jear.
"Oft Britons bood has dimm'd its shine;
This point cut short their vaunt:
Syne pierc'd the boasters bearded cheek;
Nae time he took to taunt.
XXXV.
Short while he in his saddle swang,
His stirrup was nae stay,
Sae feeble hang his unbent knee
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 :
115
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:
230
235
240
245
XXXIV
"That short brown shaft sae meanly trimm'd,265
Looks like poor Scotlands gear,
250
255
260
270
275
280

I 2
116
HAKDYKNUTE:
Not yet his heart dames dimplet cheek
Could mease soft leve to bruik,
Till vengefu' Ann return'd his scorn,
Then languid grew his luik.
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.
XXXVIII.
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.
Here on a lee, where stands a cross
Set up for monument,
Thousands fu' fierce that summer's day
Fill'd keen war's black intent.
Let Scots, while Scots, praise Hardyknute,
Let Norse the name ay dread,
Ay how he faught, aft how he spar'd
Shall latest ages read.
XL.
Now loud and chill blew th' westlin wind,
Sair beat the heavy shower,
Mirk grew the night ere Hardyknute
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 sigh'd.
XLI.
"There's nae light in my lady's bower,
There's nae light in my ha';
Nae blink shines round my Fairly fair,
285
Nae answer fitts their dread.
"Stand back, my sons, I'le be your guide?"
But by they past with speed.
XLII.
"As fast I've sped owre Scotlands faes,"
There ceas'd his brag of weir,
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,
And a' the warrior fled.
290
295
300
305
319
315
320
Nor ward stands on my wa'
"What bodes it? Robert, Thomas, say;"— 325
330
335
In an elegant publication, intitled, “ Scottish
Tragic Ballads, printed by and for J. Nichols, 1781,
8vo," may be seen a continuation of the Ballad of
Hardyknute, by the addition of a "Second Part,"
which hath since been acknowledged to be his own
composition, by the ingenious Editor-To whom the
late Sir D. Dalrymple communicated (subsequent to
the account drawn up above in p. 113.) extracts of
a letter from Sir John Bruce, of Kinross, to Lord
Binning, which plainly proves the pretended dis-
coverer of the fragment of Hardyknute to have been
Sir John Bruce himself. His words are,
"To per-
form my promise, I send you a true copy of the
Manuscript I found some weeks ago in a vault at
Dumferline. It is written on vellum 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 afterwards used Mrs.
Wardlaw to be the midwife of his Poetry, and sup-
pressed the story of the vault; as is well observed
by the Editor 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 com-
panion of Lord President Forbes.
The title of the first edition was, " Hardyknute, a
Fragment. Edinburgh, printed for James Watson,
&c. 1719." folio, 12 pages.
Stanzas not in the first edition are, Nos. 17, 18,
20, 21, 22, 23, 34, 35, 36, 37, 41, 42.
In the present impression the orthography of Dr.
Clerk's copy has been preserved, and his readings
carefully followed, except in a few instances,
wherein the common edition appeared preferable :
viz. He had in ver. 20. but.v. 56. of harm.—v. 64.
every.—v. 67. lo down.-v. 83. That omitted.—v. 89.
And omitted.-v. 143.
v. 143. With argument but vainly
strave Lang.-v. 148. say'd.—v. 155. incampit on the
plain.-v. 156. Norse squadrons.-v. 158. regand re-
vers.-v. 170. his strides he bent.-v. 171. minstrals
play and Pibrochs fine.-v. 172. stately went.-v, 182.
mon.—v. 196. sharp and fatal.v. 219. which.-v.
241. stood wyld.-Stanza 39 preceded stanza 38.-
v. 305. There.-v. 313. blew wrestling.-v. 336. had
originally been, He fear'd a' cou'd be fear'd.
The editor was also informed, on the authority of
Dr. David Clerk, M.D. of Edinburgh (son of the
aforesaid Dr. John Clerk,) that between the present
stanzas 36 and 37, the two following had been in.
tended, 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 :
Righ 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 stilll 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 OF BOOK THE FIRST.
A BALLAD OF LUTHER, THE POPE, A CARDINAL, AND A HUSBANDMAN. 117
SERIES THE SECOND.
BOOK II.
I.
· A BALLAD OF LUTHER, THE POPE, A CARDINAL, AND A HUSBANDMAN.
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 supple-
ment to the pulpit:-this was so much the case, that
in the play of "Lusty Juventus," chapter and verse
are every where quoted as formally as in a sermon ;
take an instance:
In the former Book we brought down this second
Series of poems as low as about the middle of the
sixteenth century. We now find the Muses deeply
engaged in religious controversy. The sudden re-
volution wrought in the opinions of mankind by the
Reformation, is one of the most striking events in
the history of the human mind. It could not but
engross the attention of every individual in that age,
and therefore no other writings would have any
chance to be read, but such as related to this grand
topic. The alterations made in the established reli-
gion 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 followers of the Old and New Profession (as
they were called) had their respective ballad-makers;
and every day produced some popular sonnet for or
against the Reformation. The following ballad, and
that intitled "Little John Nobody," may serve for
specimens of the writings of each party. Both were
written in the reign of Edward VI.; and are not the
worst that were composed upon the occasion. Con-
troversial divinity is no friend to poetic flights. Yet
this ballad of "Luther and the Pope," is not altoge-
ther 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 ori-
ginal 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 contro-
versy, when the very stage teemed with polemic
divinity. I have now before me two very ancient
qarto black-letter plays: the one published in the
time of Henry VIII, intitled "Every Man ;"the other
called "Lusty Juventus," printed in the reign of
Edward VI. In the former of these, occasion is
taken to incultate great reverence for old mother
church and her superstitions*: in the other, the
Take a specimen from his high encomiums on the
priesthood,
"There is no emperour, kyng, duke, ne baron
That of God hath commissyon,
As hath the leest preest in the world beynge.
The Lord by his prophet Ezechiel sayeth in this
wise playnlye,
As in the xxxiij chapter it doth appere:
Be converted, O ye children, &c."
•

From this play we learn that most of the young
people were New Gospellers, or friends to the Re-
formation, and that the old were tenacious of the
doctrines imbibed in their youth: for thus the devil
is introduced lamenting the downfal 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 chyld a preacher."
Of the plays above mentioned, to the first is sub-
joined the following, Printer's Colophon, ¶ "Thus
endeth this moral playe of Every Man. ¶ Im-
prynted 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 enterlude called Lufty
Juventus:" and is thus distinguished at the end:
God hath to them more power gyven,
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 bytwene 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 dignité,
And letteth them in his stede amonge us be,
""
Thus be they above aungels in degre.'
See Hawkins's Orig. of Eng. Drama Vol. I. p.6l.
18
A BALLAD OF LUTHER, THE POPE, A CARDINAL, AND A HUSBANDMAN.
Finis. quod R. Wever. Imprynted 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 fur-
ther 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
From Christes bloude dyd all us leade*,
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;
That did the Freers from us fet,
And with our soules played the merchauntes :
And thus they with theyr false warrantes
Of our sweate have easelye lyved,
That for fatnesse theyr belyes pantes,
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:
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.
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,
When they theyr nettes craftelye dresse.
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.
5
10
Thy false power wyl I bryng down,
Thou shalt not raygne many a yere,
I shall dryve the from citye and towne,
Even with this pen that thou seyste here:
* į e. denied us the Cup, see below, ver. 94,
15
20
25
Thou flatterest every prince, and lord,
Thretening poore men with swearde and fyre;
All those, that do followe Gods worde,
35
30
40
Thou fyghtest with swerd shylde, and speare 45
But I wyll fyght with Gods worde;
Which is now so open and cleare,
That it shall brynge the under the borde *.
THE POPE.
Though I brought never so many to hel,
And to utter dampnacion,
Throughe myne ensample, and consel,
Or thorow any abhominacion,
Yet doth our lawe excuse my fashion.
And thou, Luther, arte accursed;
For blamynge me, and my condicion,
The holy decres have the condempned.
Thou stryvest against my purgatory,
Because thou findest it not in scripture;
As though I by myne auctorite
Myght not make one for myne honoure.
Knowest thou not, that I have power
To make, and mar, in heaven and hell,
In erth, and every creature?
Whatsoever I do it must be well.
As for scripture, I am above it;
Am not I Gods hye 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.
THE CARDINAL.
I am a Cardinall of Rome,
Sent from Christes hye vicary,
To graunt pardon to more, and sume,
That wil Luther resist strongly :
He is a greate hereticke treuly,
And regardeth to much the scripture ;
For he thinketh onely thereby
To subdue the popes high honoure:
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,
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
Shall go down to hel every one;
For they have not the popes blessynge,
Nor regard his holy pardon:
They thinke from all destruction
By Christes bloud to be saved,
Fearynge not our excommunicacion,
Therefore shall they al be dampned.
* i. e. Make thee knock under the table.
+ i. e. his rule,
55
60
65
70
75
80
85
90
95
LITTLE JOHN NOBODY.
II.
JOHN ANDERSON MY JO.
A SCOTTISH SONG.
While England verse was made the vehicle of
controversy, and Popery was attacked in it by
logical argument, or stinging satire; we may be
sure the 4al of the Scottish Reformers would not
suffer their pens to be idle, but many a pasquil was
discharged at the Romish priests, and their enormous
encroachments on property. Of this kind perhaps
is the following, (preserved in Maitland's MS
Collection of Scottish poems in the Pepysian
library :)
"Tak a Wobster, that is leill,
And a Miller, that will not steill,
With ane Priest, that is not gredy,
And lay ane deid corpse thame by,
And, throw virtue of thame three,
That deid corpse sall 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 obscene songs were composed to be
sung by the rabble to the tunes of the most favourite
hymns in the Latin service. Green sleeves and pud-
ding pies (designed to ridicule the popish clergy)
is said to have been one of these metamorphosed
hymns: Maggy Lauder was another: John Ander-
Son my jo was a third. The original music of all
these burlesque sonnets was very fine. To give a
specimen of their manner, we have inserted one of
the least offensive. The Reader will pardon the
Leanness of the composition for the sake of the
We have here a witty libel on the Reformation
under King Edward VI. written about the year
1550, and preserved in the Pepys collection, British
Museum, and Strype's Memoirs of Cranmer. The
author artfully declines 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 gene-
ral 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
tendency to produce a corruption of manners;
whereas he indirectly owns, that their Reverend
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 understanding, and by publishing homilies,
and other religious tracts. It must however be
119
anecdote, which strongly marks the spirit of the
times.
In the present Edition this song is much im-
proved by some new readings communicated by a
friend; who thinks by the "Seven Bairns," in st.
2d. are meant the Seven Sacraments; five of which
were the spurious offspring 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 Bas-
sendyne, printer in Edinburgh, printed "a psalme
buik, in the end whereof was found printit ane
baudy sang, called Welcome Fortunes **.”
WOMAN.
JOHN Anderson my jo, cum in as ze gae bye,
And ze sall get a sheips heid weel baken in a pre;
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? Woм. Cummer, I hae
III.
LITTLE JOHN NOBODY.
1
seven.
MAN. Are they to zour awin gude man? Woм. Na,
Cummer, na;
For five of tham were gotten, quhan he was awa'.
acknowledged, that our libeller had at that time
sufficient room for just satire. For under the ban-
ners of the reformed had enlisted themselves, many
concealed papists, who had private ends to gratify;
many that were of no religion; many greedy
courtiers, who thirsted after the possessions of the
church; and many dissolute persons, who wanted
to be exempt from all ecclesiastical censures and
as these men were loudest of all others in their
cries for Reformation, so in effect none obstructed
the regular progress of it so much, or by their
vicious lives brought vexation and shame more on
the truly venerable and pious Reformers.
:
The reader will remark the fondness of our satirist
for alliteration in this he was guilty of no affecta-
tion or singularity; his versification is that of
Pierce Plowman's Visions, in which a recurrence of
similar letters is essential: to this he has only
* See also Biograph. Briant. Ist. edit. vol. i p. 177.

120
QUEEN ELIZABETH'S VERSES.
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 noysome and
long;
As I past by a place privily at a port,
I saw one sit by himself making a song :
*
·C
His last talk of trifles, who told with his tongue
That few were fast i' th' faith. I freyned' that
freake,
[wrong.
Whether he wanted wit, or some had done him
He said, he was little John Nobody, that durst not
speake.
1
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 construe 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 fleyke.
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‡ ;
But that I little John Nobody durst not speake.
For our reverend father hath set forth an order,
Our service to be said in our seignours tongue;
As Solomon the sage set forth the scripture;
Our suffrages, and services, with many a sweet song,
With homilies, and godly books us among,
That no stiff, stubborn stomacks we should freyke :
But wretches nere worse to do poor men wrong;
But that I little John Nobody dare not speake.
-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 corrupted, 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.
For bribery was never so great, since born was our
Lord,
[rowed hel,
And whoredom was never les hated, sith Christ har-
And poor men are so sore punished commonly
through the world,
[tel.
That it would grieve any one, that good is, to hear
For al the homilies and good books, yet their hearts
be so quel,
[wreake;
That if a man do amisse, with mischiefe they wil him
The fashion of these new fellows it is so vile and
fell:
But that I little John Nobody dare not speake.
Он, Fortune! how thy restlesse wavering state
Hath fraught with cares my troubled witt!
knave
Thus to live after their lust, that life would they
And in lechery to leyke al their long life; [have,
For al the preaching of Paul, yet many a proud
[wife
Wil move mischiefe in their mind both to maid and
To bring them in advoutry or else they wil strife,
And in brawling about baudery, Gods command-
ments breake:
[thrife;
But of these frantic il fellowes, few of them do
Though I little John Nobody dare not speake.
* Perhaps He left talk. + feigned MSS. and P. C.
Cain's kind.] So in Pierce the Plowman's creed, the
proud friars are said to be,
"Of Caymes kind." Vid. Sig. C. ij. b.
If thou company with them, they wil currishly carp,
and not care
[naught :
According to their foolish fantacy; but fast wil they
Prayer with them is but prating; therefore they it
forbear:
[thought:
Both almes deeds, and holiness, they hate it in their
Therefore pray we to that prince, that with his bloud
us bought,
[freyke
That he wil mend that is amiss: for many a manful
Is sorry for these sects, though they say little or
nought;
[speake.
And that I little John Nobody dare not once
IV.
QUEEN ELIZABETH'S VERSES, WHILE PRISONER AT WOODSTOCK,
Thus in No place, this NOBODY, in No time I met,
Where No man, ‘ne*· NOUGHT was, nor NOTHING did
WRIT WITH CHARCOAL ON A SHUTTER,
appear;
Through the sound of a synagogue for sorrow I swett,
That Aeolus +' through the eccho did cause me to
hear.
<
Then I drew me down into a dale, whereas the
dumb deer
[freyke:
Did shiver for a shower; but I shunted from a
For I would no wight in this world wist who I were,
But little John Nobody, that dare not once speake.
Witnes this present prisonn, whither fate
Could beare me, and the joys I quit.
Thou causedest the guiltie to be losed
From bandes, wherein are innocents inclosed :
Causing the guiltles to be straite reserved,
And freeing those that death hath well deserved.
But by her envie can be nothing wroughte,
So God send to my foes all they have thoughte.
ELIZABETHE, PRISONNER.
A. D. MDLV.
5
Ver 4, Could beare, is an ancient idiom, equivalent to
Did bear or Hath borne. See below the Beggar Bednal,
Green, ver. 57, Could say.
* then, MSS. and PC.
+ Hercules, MS. and PC.

F
PART THE FIRST.
THE HEIR OF LINNE.
THIE HEIR OF LINNE.
he original of this Ballad is found in the Editor's
folio MS. the breaches and defects in which, rendered
the insertion of supplemental stanzas necessary.
These it is hoped the Reader will pardon, as indeed
the completion of the story was suggested by a
modern ballad on a similar subject.
From the Scottish phrases here and there dis-
cernible 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.
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,
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,
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,
Of gold and fee he mote be bare.
Soe fares the unthrifty Lord of Linne
Till all his gold is gone and spent ;
And he maun sell his landes so broad,
His house, and landes, and all his rent.
His father had a keen stewàrde,
And John o' the Scales was called hee:
But John is become a gentel-man,
And John has gott both gold and fee.
Sayes, Welcome, welcome, Lord of Linne,
Let nought disturb thy merry cheere;
Iff thou wilt sell thy landes soe broad,
Good store of gold Ile give thee heere
My gold is gone, my money is spent,
My lande nowe take it unto thee:
Give me the golde, good John o' the Scales,
And 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,
The lande, I wis, was well worth three.
.O
5
10
V.
15
20
25
30
35
(
* i. e. earnest-money; from the French Denier à Dien.'
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.
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 Ile be the Lord of Linne.
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.
My sonne, when I am gonne, sayd hee,
Then thou wilt spend thy lande so broad,
And thou wilt spend thy gold so free:
But sweare me nowe upon the roode,
That lonesome lodge thou'lt never spend;
For when all the world doth frown on thee,
Thou there shalt find a faithful friend.
The heire of Linne is full of golde:
And come with me, my friends, sayd hee,
Let's drinke, and rant, and merry make,
And he that spares, ne'er mote 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.
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 money.
Nowe well-aday, sayd the heire of Linne,
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?
Ile borrow of them all by turnes,
Soe need I not be never bare.
But one,
I wis, was not at home;
Another had payd his gold away;
Another call'd him thriftless loone,
And bade him 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.
To beg my bread from door to doo.
1 wis, it were a brenning shame
To rob and steal it were a Sinne :
To worke my limbs I cannot fraine
Ver. 63, 4, 5, &c. Sic MS.
121

40
45
50
55
60
65
RO
15
80
122
Now Ile away to lonesome lodge,
For there my father bade me wend:
When all the world should frown on mee
I there shold find a trusty friend.
THE HEIR OF LINNE.
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,
In hope some comfort for to winne :
But bare 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;
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 renning noose,
That dangling hung up o'er his head.
"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,
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:
"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 bodìe:
When lo! the ceiling burst in twaine,
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.
And over it in broad lettèrs,
These words were written so plain to see:
"Ah! gracelesse wretch, hast spent thine all
And brought thyselfe to penurie?
20
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-fe. e*.
Two were full of the beaten golde,
The third was full of white money;
And over them in broad lettèrs
These words were written so plaine to see:
in-fere, i. e. together.
85
10
5
10
15
25
30
35
40
45
"Once more, my sonne, I sette thee clere;
Amend thy life and follies past;
For but thou amend thee of thy life,
That rope must be thy end at last."
And let it bee, sayd the heire of Linne;
And let it bee, but if I amend *.
For here I will make mine avow,
This reade† shall guide me to the end.
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.
Away then went with a merry cheare,
Away then went the heire of Linne
I wis, he neither ceas'd ne blanne,
Till John o' the Scales house he did winne. 60
And John himself sate at the bord-head,
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:
For Christs curse on my head, he sayd,
If ever I trust thee one pennìe.
Then bespake the heire of Linne,
To John o' the Scales wife then spake he:
Madame, some almes on me bestowe,
I pray for sweet saint Charitìe.
Away, away, thou thriftless loone,
I swear thou gettest no almes of mee;
For if we shold hang any lusel heere,
The first we wold begin with thee.
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
And sparedst not thy gold and fee;
Therefore Ile lend thee forty pence
And other forty if need bee.
And ever, I pray thee, John o' the Scales,
To let him sit in thy companie
For well I wot thou hadst his land,
And a good bargain it was to thee.
50
Up then spake him John o' the Scales,
All wood he answer'd him againe :
Now Christs curse on my head, he sayd,
But I did lose by that bargaine.
55
65
7
75
80
85
90
95
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. 100
Ver. 60, an old northern phrase.
i. e. unless I amend.
+ 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 20
Part of the Acts of Eng. Votaries, we have this phrase, (fol.
CC
38.) The dore therof oft tymes opened and speared
agayne."
:
- !


}
GASCOIGNE'S PRAISE OF THE FAIR BRIDGES.
I drawe you to record, lords, he said.
With that he cast him a gods pennie.
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,
And layd them down upon the bord:
All woe begone was John o' the Scales,
Soe shent he cold say never a word.
He told him forth the good red gold,
He told it forth mickle dinne.
The gold is thine, the land is mine,
And now Ime againe the Lord of Linne.
Sayes, Have thou here, thou good fellòwe,
Forty pence thou didst lend mee:
Now I am againe the Lord of Linne,
And forty pounds I will give thee.
105
110
115
VI.
Ile 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.
Ca
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.
Ver. 34, of Part I. and 102, of Part II. cast is the reading
of the MS.
ON HER HAVING A SCAR IN HER FOREHEAD.
* Observation on the Faerie Queen, Vol. II. p. 168.
+ Printed in 1578, 1596, and perhaps oftener, in 4to. black-
letter.
GASCOIGNE'S PRAISE OF THE FAIR BRIDGES, AFTERWARDS LADY SANDES,
123
Now fare thee well, sayd the heire of Linne; 125
Farewell now, John o' the Scales, said hee:
Christs curse light on me, if ever again
I bring my lands in jeopardy.
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, intitled,
Gascoigne's Wodmanship, written to Lord Gray of
Wilton." Many of his epistles dedicatory are dated
in 1575, 1576, from "his poore house in Waltham-
$toe" where he died a middle-aged man in 1578,
according to Anth. Wood: or rather in 1577, if he
is the
published in 1572, or 3.
person meant in an old tract, intitled, "A re-
nembrance of the well employed life and godly end
of George Gascoigne, Esq. who deceased at Stam-
ford in Lincolnshire, Oct. 7, 1577, by Geo. Whet-
stone, Gent. an eye-witness of his godly and cha-
ritable 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 inharmo-
120
+ In the present edition of this ballad several
ancient readings are restored from the folio MS.
nious line* : whereas the numbers of Jonson
Donne, and most of their contemporaries, frequently
offend the ear, like the filing of a saw.-Perhaps
this is in some measure to be accounted for from
the growing pedantry of that age, and from the
writers affecting to run their lines into one another
after the manner of the Latin and Greek poets.
The following poem (which the elegant writer
above quoted hath recommended to notice, as pos-
sessed of a delicacy rarely to be seen in that early
state of our poetry), properly consists of alexandrines
of twelve and fourteen syllables, and is printed from
two quarto black-letter collections of Gascoigne's
pieces; the first intitled, "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
The other is intitled,
"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'st
or bookseller's device) is an ornamental wooden cut,
tolerably well executed, wherein Time is represented
drawing the figure of Truth out of a pit or cavern,
with this legend, "Occulta veritas tempore patet"
[R. S.] This is mentioned because it is not impro-
bable but the accidental sight of this or seme other
title page containing the same device, suggested to
Rubens that well-known design of a similar kind,
which he has introduced into the Luxemburgh
gallery, and which has been so justly censured for
the unnatural manner of its execution.
K
*The same is true of most of the poems in the "Mirrour
of Magistrates," 1563, 4to, and also of "Surrey's Poems,"
1557.
Henrie Binneman,
I Le Tems decouvre la Verite.

124
FAIR ROSAMOND.
IN court whoso demaundes
What dame doth most excell;
For my conceit I must needes say,
Faire Bridges beares the bel.
Upon whose lively cheeke,
To prove my judgment true,
The rose and lillie seeme to strive
For equall change of hewe:
And therewithall so well
Hir graces all agree;
No frowning cheere dare once presume
In hir sweet face to bee.
Although some lavishe lippes,
Which like some other best,
Will say, the blemishe on hir browe
Disgraceth all the rest.
Thereto I thus replie;
God wotte, they little knowe
The hidden cause of that mishap,
Nor how the harm did growe:
For when dame Nature first
Had framde hir heavenly face,
And thoroughly bedecked it
With goodly gleames of grace;
It lyked hir so well:
Lo here, quod she, a peece
For perfect shape, that passeth all
Appelles' worke in Greece.
This bayt may chaunce to catche
The greatest God of love,
Or mightie thundring Jove himself,
That rules the roast above.
But out, alas! those wordes
Were vaunted all in vayne:
And some unseen wer present there,
Pore Bridges, to thy pain.
10
5
10
15
20
25
30
35
VII
For Cupide, crafty boy,
Close in a corner stoode,
Not blyndfold then, to gaze on hir:
gesse it did him good.
I
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.
"C
Our old English annalists seem, most of them, to
have followed Higden the monk of Chester, whose
account, with some enlargements, is thus given by
Stow. Rosamond the fayre daughter of Walter
Lord Clifford, concubine to Henry II. (poisoned by
Queen Elianor, as some thought) dyed at 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
Yet when he felte the flame
Gan kindle in his brest,
And herd dame Nature boast by hir
To break him of his rest.
His hot newe-chosen love
He chaunged into hate,
And sodeynly with mightie mace
Gan rap hir on the pate.
It greeved Nature muche
To see the cruell deede :
Mee seemes I see hir, how she wept
To see hir dearling bleede.
Wel yet, quod she, this hurt
Shal have some helpe I trowe:
And quick with skin she coverd it,
That whiter is than snowe.
Wherwith Dan Cupide fled,
For feare of further flame,
When angel-like he saw hir shine,
Whome he had smit with shame.
Lo, thus was Bridges hurt
In cradel of hir kind.
The coward Cupide brake hir browe
To wreke his wounded mynd.
The skar still there remains;
No force, there let it bee:
There is no cloude that can eclipse
So bright a sunne, as she.
FAIR ROSAMOND.
40
45
50
55
60
65
The lady here celebrated was Catharine,
daughter of Edmond second Lord Chandos, wife of
William Lord Sands. See Collins's Peerage, vol.
ii. p. 133, ed. 1779.
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:
:
"Hic jacit in tumbâ, Rosa mundi, non Rosa munda.
Non redolet, sed olet, quæ redolere solet
Ver. 62, In cradel of hir kind: i. e. in the cradle of her
family. See Warton's Observations, vol. II, p. 137.
* Consisting of vaults under ground, arched and walled
with brick and stone, according to Drayton. See note on
his Epistle of Rosamond.
FAIR ROSAMOND.
"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 redolent:
But now that she is from this life blent,
Though she were sweete, now foully doth she stinke.
A mirrour good for all men, that on her thinke.'
Stowe's Annals, ed. 1631, p. 154.
How the queen gained admittance into Rosamond's
bower is differently related. Holinshed speaks of it,
as "the common report of the people, that he queene
founde hir out by a silker read, 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 after."
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, fallen from Rosamund's lappe, as shee sate
to take ayre, and suddenly fleeing from the sight of
the searcher, the end of her silke fastened to her
foot, and the clew still unwinding, remained behinde :
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 attri-
bute Rosamond's death to poison, (Stowe, above,
mentions it merely as a slight conjecture;) they
only give us to understand, that the queen treated
her harshly; with furious menaces, we may suppose,
and sharp expostulations, 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 engraven
the figure of a cup. This, which perhaps at first
was an accidental ornament, (perhaps only the Cha-
lice) might in after-times suggest the notion that she
was poisoned; at least this construction was put
upon it, when 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 weavings 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 benefactor
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 con-
temporary writer, whose words are thus translated by
Stowe: "Hugh bishop of Lincolne came to the abbey
of nunnes, called Godstow,.... and when he had
entred the church to pray, he saw a tombe in the
middle of the quire, covered with a pall of silke, and
set about with lights of waxe: and demanding whose
tomb it was, he was answered, that it was the tombe
of Rosamond, that was some time lemman to
* 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. iii. p. 739.
125
· 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 with-
out the church, lest Christian religion should grow
in contempt, and to the end that, through the exam-
ple of her, other women being made afraid may be-
ware, and keepe themselves from unlawfull and
advouterous company with men." Annals, p. 159.
History further informs us, that king John re-
paired Godstow nunnery, and endowed it with
yearly revenues, "that these holy virgins 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 dissolution of the nunnery, we learn from Le-
land, "Rosamundes tumbe at Godstowe nunnery
was taken up [of] late; it is a stone with this in-
scription, TUMBA ROSAMUNDæ.
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 itt." See Hearne's discourse above
quoted, written in 1718; at which time he tells us,
were still seen by the pool at Woodstock the foun-
dations of a very large building, which were believed
to be the remains of Rosamond's labyrinth.
To conclude this (perhaps too prolix) account,
Henry had two sons by Rosamond, from a compu-
tation of whose ages, a modern historian has endea-
voured to invalidate the received story. These were
William Longue-espé; (or Long-sword) earl of
Salisbury, and Geoffrey bishop of Lincolne ‡.
Geoffrey was the younger of Rosamond's sons, and
yet is said to have been twenty years old at the time
of his election to that see in 1173. Hence this
writer concludes, that 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 resentment at the defection
of her lover, entered on that occasion into the nun-
nery of Godstowe, 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 staid but eight months in
this island, and was almost all the time with the
King of Scots; that he did not return back to Eng-
land till 1153, the year after his marriage with
Eleanor; 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 con
sequently of Henry's commerce with Rosamond,
seems to be best ascertained from an ancient manu-
script in the Cotton library: wherein it is thus
registered of Geoffrey Plantagenet, "Natus est 5°
Henry II. [1159.] Factus est miles 25° Henry II.
•
* Vid. Reign of Henry II. in Speed's History, writ by
Dr. Barcham, Dean of Bocking.
+ This would have passed for miraculous, if it had hap-
pened in the tomb of any clerical person, and a proof of bis
being a saint.
† Afterwards Archbishop of York, temp. Rich. I.
126
FAIR ROSAMOND.
[1179.] Elect. in Episcop. Lincoln, 28° Henry II,
[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 Histories or Songs and
Sonnets, of Kinges, Princes, Dukes, Lords, Ladyes,
Knights, and Gentlemen. &c. By Thomas Delone.
Lond. 1612.” 4to. It is now printed (with conjec-
tural emendations) from four ancient copies in black-
letter; two of them in the Pepys library.
WHEN as King Henry rulde this land,
The second of that name,
Besides the queene, he dearly lovde
A faire and comely dame.
Most peerlesse was her beautye founde,
Her favour, and her face;
A sweeter creature in this worlde
Could never prince embrace.
Her crisped lockes like threads of golde
Appeard to each mans sight;
Her sparkling eyes, like Orient pearles,
Did cast a heavenlye light.
The blood within her crystal cheekes
Did such a colour drive,
As though the lillye and the rose
For mastership did strive.
Yea Rosamonde, fair Rosamonde,
Her name was called so,
To whom our queene, dame Ellinor,
Was known a deadlye foe.
The king therefore, for her defence,
Against the furious queene,
At Woodstocke builded such a bower,
The like was never seene.
Most curiously that bower was built
Of stone and timber strong,
An hundered and fifty doors
Did to this bower belong:
And they so cunninglye contriv'd
With turnings round about,
That none but with a clue of thread.
Could enter in or out.
And for his love and ladyes sake,
That was so faire and brighte,
The keeping of this bower he gave
Unto a valiant knighte.
But fortune, that doth often frowne
Where she before did smile,
The kinges delighte and ladyes joy
Full soon shee did beguile :
For why, the kinges ungracious sonne,
Whom he did high advance,
Against his father raised warres
Within the realme of France.
But yet before our comelye king
The English land forsooke,
Of Rosamond, his lady faire,
His farewelle thus he tooke:
5
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15
20
25
30
35
40
45
My Rosamonde, my only Rose.
That pleasest best mine eve :
The fairest flower in all the worlde
To feed my fantasye:
fa
The flower of mine affected heart,
Whose sweetness doth excelle
My royal Rose, a thousand times
I bid thee nowe farwelle!
For I must leave my fairest flower,
My sweetest Rose, a space,
And cross the seas to famous France,
Proud rebelles to abase.
But yet, my Rose, be sure thou shalt
My coming shortlye see,
And in my heart, when hence I am,
Ile beare my Rose with mee."
When Rosamond, that ladye brighte,
Did heare the king saye soe,
The sorrowe of her grieved heart
Her outward lookes did showe;
And from her cleare and crystall eyes
The teares gusht out apace,
Which like the silver-pearled dewe
Ranne down her comely face.
Her lippes, erst like the corall redde,
Did waxe both wan and pale,
And for the sorrow she conceivde
Her vitall spirits faile;
And falling down all in a swoone
Before king Henryes face,
Full oft he in his princelye armes
Her bodye did embrace :
And twentye times, with watery eyes,
He kist her tender cheeke,
Until he had revivde againe
Her senses milde and meeke.
Why grieves my Rose, my sweetest Rose?
The king did often say.
Because, quoth shee, to bloodye warres
My lord must part awaye.
But since your grace on forrayne coastes
Amonge your foes unkinde
Must goe to hazarde life and limbe,
Why should I staye behinde?
Nay rather, let me, like a page,
Your sworde and target beare,
That on my breast the blowes may lighte,
Which would offend you there.
Or lett mee, in your royal tent.
Prepare your bed at nighte,
And with sweete baths refresh your grace,
At your returne from fighte.
So I your presence may enjoye
No toil I will refuse ;
But wanting you, my life is death;
Nay, death I :ather ch
5.
60
65
70
75
80
85
90
95
100
QUEEN ELEANOR'S CONFESSION
"Content thy self, my dearest love;
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:
'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,
My foes seeke far awaye.
My Rose shall shine in pearle, and gulde,
Whilst Ime in armour dighte;
Gay galliards here my love shall dance,
Whilst I my foes goe fighte.
And you, Sir Thomas, whom I truste
To bee my loves defence;
Be careful of my gallant Rose
When I am parted hence."
And therewithall he fetcht a sigh,
As though his heart would breake:
And Rosamonde, for very griefe,
Not one plaine word could speake.
And at their parting well they mighte
In heart be grieved sore:
After that daye faire Rosamonde
The king did see no more.
For when his grace had past the seas,
And into France was gone;
With envious heart, Queene Ellinor,
To 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.
And when that they had wounded him,
The queene this thread did gette,
And went where ladye Rosamonde
Was like an angell sette.
But when the queene with stedfast eye
Beheld her beauteous face,
She was amazed in her minde
At her exceeding grace.
105
110
115
120
125
130
135
140
145
VIII.
Cast off from thee those robes, she said,
That riche and costlye bee;
And drinke thou up this deadlye draught,
Which I have brought to thee.
"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 mo-
narch commanded against the infidels; but having
lost the affections of her husband, and even fallen un-
Then presentlye upon her knees
Sweet Rosamonde did falle;
And pardon of the queene she crav'd
For her offences all.
"Take pitty on my youthfull yeares,
Faire Rosamonde did crye;
And lett mee not with poison stronge
Enforced bee to dye.
I will renounce my sinfull life,
And in some cloyster bide;
Or else be banisht, if you please,
To range the world soe wide.
And for the fault which I have done,
Though I was forc'd theretoe,
Preserve my life, and punish mee
As you thinke meet to doe."
And with these words, her lillie handes
She wrunge full often there;
And downe along her lovely face
Did trickle many a teare.
But nothing could this furious queene
Therewith appeased bee;
The cup of deadlye poyson stronge,
As she knelt on her knee,
Shee gave this comelye dame to drinke;
Who tooke it in her hand,
And from her bended knee arose,
And on her feet did stand:
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,
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 seene this day.
QUEEN ELEANOR'S CONFESSION.
12r
150
155
160
165
170
175
180
185
190
der some suspicions of gallantry with a handsome
Saracen, Louis, more delicate than politic, procured
a divorce from her, and restored her those rich pro-
vinces, which by her marriage she had annexed to
the crown of France. The young count of Anjou,
afterwards Henry II. King of England, though at

128
QUEEN ELEANOR'S CONFESSION.
that time but in his nineteenth year, neither discou-
raged 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 dominions
as a dowery. A marriage thus founded upon interest
was not likely to be very happy: it happened ac-
cordingly. Eleanor, who had disgusted her first
husband by her gallantries, was no less offensive to
her second by her jealousy: thus carrying to extre-
mity, in the different parts of her life, every circum-
stance of female weakness. She had several sons by
Henry, whom she spirited up to rebel against him;
and endeavouring to escape to them disguised in
man's apparel in 1173, she was discovered and thrown
into a confinement, which seems to have continued
till the death of her husband in 1189. She however
survived him many years; dying in 1204, in the
sixth year of the reign of her youngest son, John."
See Hume's History, 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 hus-
band, none are imputed to her in that of her se-
cond.
QUEENE Elianor was a sicke woman,
And afraid that she should dye;
Then she sent for two fryars of France
To speke with her speedilye.
The king calld downe his nobles all,
By one, by two, by three ;
"Earl marshall, Ile goe shrive the queene,
"
And thou shalt wend with mee.'
A boone, a boone; quoth earl marshàll,
And fell on his bended knee ;
That whatsoever Queene Elianor save,
No harme therof may bee.
Ile pawne my landes, the king then cryd,
My sceptre, crowne, and all,
That whatsoere Queen Elianor sayes
No harme thereof shall fall.
Do thou put on a fryars coat,
And Ile put on another;
And we will to Queen Elianor goe
Like fryar and his brother.
Thus both attired then they goe:
When they came to Whitehall,
The bells did ring, and the quiristers sing,
And the torches did lighte them all.
When that they came before the queene
They fell on their bended knee;
A boone, a boone, our gracious queene,
That you sent so hastilee.
Are
two fryars of France, she sayd,
you
As I suppose you bee?
But if you are two Englishe fryars,
You shall hang on the gallowes tree.
10
5
10
15
20
25
30
We are two fryars of France, they sayd,
As you suppose we bee,
We have not been at any masse
Sith we came from the sea.
The first vile thing that ever I did
I will to you unfolde;
Earl marshall had my maidenhead,
Beneath this cloth of golde.
That's a vile sinne, then sayd the king;
May God forgive it thee!
Amen, amen, quoth earl marshall ;
With a heavye heart spake hee.
The next vile thing that ever I did,
To you Ile not denye,
I made a boxe of poyson strong,
To poison King Henrye.
Thats a vile sinne, then sayd the king,
May God forgive it thee!
Amen, amen, quoth earl marshall;
And I wish it so may bee.
The next vile thing that ever I did,
To you
I will discover;
I poysoned fair Rosamonde,
All in fair Woodstocke bower.
Thats a vile sinne, then sayd the king;
May God forgive it thee!
Amen, amen, quoth earl marshall;
And I wish it so may bee.
Do you see yonders little boye,
A tossing of the balle?
That is earl marshalls eldest sonne,
And I love him the best of all.
Do
you see yonders little boye,
A catching of the balle?
That is king Henryes youngest sonne
And I love him the worst of all.
;
His head is fashyon'd like a bull
His nose is like a boare.
No matter for that, king Henrye cryd,
I love him the better therfore
3.5
The king lookt over his left shoulder,
And a grimme look looked hee,
Earl marshall, he sayd, but for my oathe
Or hanged thou shouldst bee.
40
45
50
55
60
65
76
The king pulled off his fryars coate,
And appeared all in redde:
She shrieked, and cryd, and wrung her hands, 7
And sayd she was betrayde.
80
Ver. 63, 67. She means that the eldest of these two was
by the Earl Marshall, the youngest by the king

THE BEGGAR'S DAUGHTER OF BEDNALL-GREEN.
IX.
THE STURDY ROCK.
This poem, subscribed M. T. [perhaps invertedly
for T. Marshall *] is preserved in " The Paradise of
daintie Devises," quoted above in page 123. The
two first stanzas may be found accompanied with
musical notes in "An Howres Recreation in Mu-
sicke," &c. by Richard Alison, Lond. 1606, 4to:
usually bound up with three or four sets of " Madri-
gals set to Music by Thomas Weelkes, Lond. 1597,
1600, 1608, 4to." One of these madrigals is so
complete an example of the Bathos that I cannot
forbear presenting it to the reader.
Thule, the period of cosmographie,
Doth vaunt of Hecla, whose sulphureous fire
Doth melt the frozen clime, and thaw the skie,
Trinacrian Ætna's flames ascend not hier:
These things seeme wondrous, yet more wondrous I,
Whose heart with feare doth freeze, with love doth fry.
The Andelusian merchant, that returnes
Laden with cutchinele and china dishes,
Reports in Spaine, how strangely Fogo burnes
Amidst an ocean full of flying fishes:
These things seeme wondrous, yet more wondrous 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.
(C
This popular old ballad was written in the reign
of Elizabeth, as appears not only from ver. 23,
where the arms of England are called the " Queenes
armes;" but from its tune's being quoted in other
old pieces, written in her time. See the ballad on
Mary Ambree," in this work. The late Mr.
Guthrie assured the editor, that he had formerly
seen another old song on the same subject, composed
in a different measure from this; which was truly
beautiful, if we may judge from the only stanza he
remembered. In this it was said of the old beggar,
that" down his neck
his reverend lockes
In comelye curles did wave;
And on his aged temples grewe
The blossomes of the grave."
X.
The following Ballad is chiefly given from the
Editor's folio MS. compared with two ancient printed
copies the concluding stanzas, which contain the
old Beggar's discovery of himself, are not however
* Vid. Athen. Ox. p. 152, 316.
THE sturdy rock for all his strength
By raging seas is rent in twaine :
The marble stone is pearst at length,
With little drops of drizling rain :
The oxe doth yeeld unto the yoke,
The steele 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,
1s soon deceived by subtill hooke.
TIIE BEGGAR'S DAUGHTER OF BEDNALL-GREEN.
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 :
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.
129
PART THE FIRST.
5
CR
10
15
20
given from any of these, being very different from
those of the vulgar ballad. Nor yet does the Editor
offer them as genuine, but as a modern attempt to
remove the absurdities and inconsistencies, which
so remarkably prevailed in this part of the song, as
it stood before: whereas, by the alteration of a few
lines, the story is rendered much more affecting,
and is reconciled to probability and true history.
For this informs us, that at the decisive battle of
Evesham, (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 consequence 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.
Irr 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.
K
130
THE BEGGAR'S DAUGHTER OF BEDNALL-GREEN.
And though shee was of favor most faire,
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
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
From father and mother alone parted shee;
Who sighed and sobbed for prettye Bessee.
Shee had not been there a month to an end,
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.
5
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 destinìe,
So sadd and soe heavy was pretty Bessee.
20
10
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.
15
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.
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.
Great gifts they did send her of silver and gold,
And in their songs daylye her love was extold; 30
Her beawtye was blazed in every degree;
Soe faire and soe comelye was pretty Bessee.
25
The young men of Rumford in her had their joy,
Shee shewed herself curteous, and modestlye coye;
And at her commandment still wold they bee;
Soe fayre and soe comlye was pretty Bessee.
35
40
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.
50
And, if thou wilt marry with mee, quoth the knight,
Ile make thee a ladye with joy and delight;
My hart's so inthralled by thy bewtìe,
That soone I shall dye for prettye Bessee.
The gentleman sayd, Come, marry with mee,
As fine as a ladye my Bessy shal bee:
My life is distressed: O 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 jewells 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,
Wherefore unto her they joyfullye sayd,
This thing to fulfill wee all doe agree;
But where dwells thy father, my prettye Bessee?
My father, shee said, is soone to be seene :
The seely blind beggar of Bednall-greene,
That daylye sits begging for charitìe,
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,
Yett hee is the father of pretty Bessee.
65
70
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 waighe not true love by the waight of the pursse,
And bewtye is bewtye in every degree;
Then welcome unto me, my 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 courteouslìe
They all fought against him for pretty Bessee.
75
85
With thee to thy father forthwith I will goe.
Nay soft, quoth his kinsmen, it must not be soe;
A poor beggars daughter noe ladye shall bee,
Then take thy 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.
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 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.
100
95
Then spake the blind beggar, Although I bee poore,
Yett rayle not against my child at my own doore:
Though shee be not decked in velvett and pearle,
Yett will I dropp angells with you for my girle.
*
105
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 angels full three thousand pound;
And oftentimes itt was proved most plaine,
115
For the gentlemens one the beggar droppt twayne :
In the Editor's folio MS. it is 500l.
THE BEGGAR'S DAUGHTER OF BEDNALL-GREEN.
Soe that the place, wherein they did sitt,
With gold it was covered every whitt.
The gentlemen then having dropt all their store,
Sayd, Now, beggar, hold, for wee have noe more. 120
Thou hast fulfilled thy promise arright.
Then marry, quoth he, my girle to this knight;
And heere, added hee, I will now throwe you downe
A hundred pounds more to buy her a gowne.
The gentlemen all, that this treasure had seene,
Admired the beggar of Bednall-greene:
And all those, that were her suitors before,
Their fleshe for very anger they tore.
Thus was fair Besse matched to the knight,
And then made a ladye in others despite :
A fairer ladye there never was seene,
Than the blind beggars daughter of Bednall-greene.
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.
125
But of their sumptuous marriage and feast,
What brave lords and knights thither were prest,
The second fitt* shall set forth to your sight
With marvelous pleasure and wished delight.
135
{
Within a gorgeous palace most brave,
Adorned with all the cost they cold have,
This wedding was kept most sumptuouslìe,
And all for the creditt of pretty Bessee.
130
C
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.
This marryage being solempnized then,
With musicke performed by the skilfullest men,
The nobles and gentles sate downe at that tyde,
Each one admiring the beautifull bryde.
This marriage through England was spread by report,
So that a great number thereto did resort
Of nobles and gentles in every degree;
And all for the fame of prettye Bessee.
15
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. 20
Now, after the sumptuous dinner was done,
To talke, and to reason a number begunn :
They talkt of the blind beggars daughter most bright,
And what with his daughter he gave to the knight.
25
Then spake the nobles, " Much marveil have wee,
30
This jolly blind beggar wee cannot here see."
My lords, quoth the bride, my father's so base,
He is loth with his presence these states to disgrace.
"The prayse of a woman in questyon to bringe
Before her own face, were a flattering thinge;
Eut wee thinke thy father's baseness, quoth they, 35
Might by thy bewtye be cleane put awaye."
* See an Essay on the word Fit at the end of the Second Part.
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.
With that his lute he twanged straigtway,
And thereon begaun most sweetlye to play;
And after that lessons were playd two or three,
He strayn'd out this song most delicatelìe.
He had a daintye lute under his arme,
He touched the strings, which made such a charme,
Saies, Please you to heare any musicke of mee,
Ile sing you a song of 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."
131
50
"A poore beggars daughter did dwell on a greene,
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.
With that the lords and the companye round
With harty laughter were readye to swound;
Att last said the lords, Full well wee may see,
The bride and the beggar's behoulden to thee.
;
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.
40
If this be thy father, the nobles did say,
Well may he be proud of this happy day;
Yett by his countenance well may wee see,
His birth and his fortune did never agree;
45
65
On this the bride all blushing did rise,
The pearlie dropps standing within her faire eyes,
O pardon my father, grave nobles, quoth shee,
That throughe blind affection thus doteth on mee.
(C
[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.
60
And therefore, blind man, we pray thee bewray,
(And looke that the truth thou to us doe say)
Thy birth and thy parentage, what itt may bee; 75
For the love that thou bearest to pretty Bessee.
70
"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,
Then doe not give me a groat for my sport.
80
"When the barons in armes did King Henrye oppose,
Sir Simon de Montfort their leader they chose; 86
A leader of courage undaunted was bee,
And oft-times he made their enemyes flee.
"At length in the battle on Eveshame plaine
The barons were routed, and Montfort was slaine;
Moste fatall that battel did prove unto thee,
91
Thoughe thou wast not borne then, my prettye Bessee'
* So the folio MS.
K 2
132
THE BEGGAR'S DAUGHTER OF BEDNALL-GREEN.
<<
'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.
"C
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
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 secrette 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.
100
"And nowe lest oure foes our lives sholde betraye,
We clothed ourselves in beggars arraye;
110
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
A silly blind beggar of Bednall-greene.
115
"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 knowne, but for prettye
Bessee."
120
Now when the faire companye everye one,
Had heard the strange tale in the song he had
showne,
They all were amazed, as well they might bee,
Both at the blinde beggar, and pretty Bessee.
With that the faire bride they all did embrace, 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 delighte,
A bridegroome most happy then was the younge
knighte,
In joy and felicitie long lived hee,
All with his faire ladye, the pretty Bessee.
131
ttt The word fit for part, often occurs in our
ancient ballads and metrical romances; which being
divided into several parts for the convenience of
singing them at public entertainments, were in the
intervals of the feast sung by fits, or intermissions.
So Puttenham 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 curious par-
ticulars relative to the state of ballad-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 measures used by common rhymers;
these, he says, "glut the eare, unless it be in small
and popular musickes, sung by these Cantabanqui
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 purposely for recreation of the common people
at Christmasse dinners and brideales, and in tavernes
and alehouses, and such other places of base re-
sorte." p. 69.
TF24
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 romance, 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 commo-
diously sung to the harpe in places of assembly,
where the company shal be desirous to heare of old
adventures, and valiaunces of noble knights in times
past, as are those of King Arthur and his knights of
the Round Table, Sir Bevys of Southampton, Guy
of Warwicke, and others like." p. 33.
In more ancient times no grand scene of festivity
was complete without one of these reciters to enter-
tain 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 Editor's folio MS.
“When meate and drinke is great plentyè,
And lords and ladyes still wil bee,
And sitt and solace + lythe;
Then itt is time for mee to speake
Of keene knightes, and kempès great,
Such carping for to kythe."
J
If we consider that a groat in the age of Elizabeth
was more than equivalent to a shilling now, we
shall find that the old harpers were even then, when
their art was on the decline, upon a far more reputa-
ble footing 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 appearance, we may learn from the dress
of the old beggar, in the preceding ballad, p. 131,
where he comes into company in the habit and
character of one of these minstrels, being not known
to be the bride's father, till after her speech, ver. 63.
The exordium of his song, and his claiming a groat
for his reward, ver. 80, are peculiarly characteristic
of that profession. Most of the old ballads begin in
a pompous manner, in order to captivate the atten-
tion of the audience, and induce them to purchase a
recital of the song: and they seldom conclude the
first part without large promises of still greater
entertainment in the second. This was a necessary
piece of art to incline the hearers to be at the ex-
pense of a second groat's-worth.-Many of the old
-
M
*He was one of Queen Elizabeth's gent. pensioners, at a
time when the whole band consisted of men of distinguished
birth and fortune. Vid. Ath. Ox. † Perhaps "blythe."
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-Chace," (p. 3,) the first
Part ends with this line,
"}
“The first fit here I fynde :'
FANCY AND DESIRE.
i.e. here I come to the first pause or intermis-
sion. (See also p. 5.) 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 ro-
mances):
"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 sig-
nified 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, Ɖare pisdom tha thar fitte
arungen hærde p. 65, i. e. "When wisdom had
sung these [fitts] verses." And in the Proem to
¦
Edward Vere, Earl of Oxford, was in high fame
for his poetical talents in the reign of Elizabeth :
perhaps it is no injury to his reputation that few of
his compositions are preserved for the inspection of
impartial posterity. To gratify curiosity, we have
inserted a sonnet of his, which is quoted with great
encomiums for its "excellencie and wit," in Putten-
ham's "Arte of Eng. Poesie," and found entire in
the "Garland of Good-will." A few more of his son-
nets (distinguished by the initial letters E. O.) may
be seen in the " Paradise of Daintie Devises." One of
these is entitled, "The Complaint of a Lover, wear-
ing blacke and iawnie." The only lines in it worth
notice are these,
* Lond. 1589, p. 172.
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 unfortunate princess lost her head,
May 19, the same year, on the ascencion day fol-
lowing, the kyng for mourning ware whyte." Fol.
227, 228.
(C
the same book Fon on fitte, "Put into [fitt] verse."
So in Cedmon, p. 45. Feond on fitte, seems to
mean "composed a song," or "poem."-The reader
will trace this old Saxon phrase, in the application
of the word fond, in the foregoing passage of Chaucer.
See Gloss.
rr
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,
XI.
FANCY AND DESIRE.
The Shepherd of the ocean [Sir Walt. Raleigh]
Provoked me to play some pleasant fit.
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), Juven-
tus says,
BY THE EARL OF OXFORD.
By the masse I would fayne go daunce a fitte.
And from being used as a part or division in a
ballad, poem, &c. it is applied by Bale to a section
or chapter in a book, (though I believe in a sense of
ridicule or sarcasm) for thus he entitles two chapters
of his "English Dotaryes," part 2, viz-fol. 49,
"The first fytt of Anselme with Kynge Wyllyam Ru-
fns." -fol. 50, “ An other fytt of Anselme with Kynge
Wyllyam Rufas."
133
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. Walpole's Noble Authors. Athen. Oxon.
&c.

COME hither shepherd's swayne:
"C
Sir, what do you require?"
I praye thee, shewe to me thy name.
My name is "Fond Desire."
When wert thou borne, Desire?
In pompe and pryme of may."
By whom, sweet boy, wert thou begot?
"By fond Conceit men say."
19
Tell me, who was thy nurse?
"Fresh Youth in sugred joy.'
What was thy meate and dayly foode?
"Sad sighes with great annoy."
What hadst thou then to drinke?
"Unsavoury lovers teares.'
What cradle wert thou rocked in?
"In hope devoyde of feares."
What lulld thee then asleepe?
"Sweete speech, which likes me best."
Tell me, where is thy dwelling place?
"In gentle hartes I rest.
>>
5
10
15
20
134
SIR ANDREW BARTON.
What thing doth please thee most?
"To gaze on beautye stille."
Whom dost thou thinke to be thy foe?
Disdayn of my good wille."
66
Doth companye displease?
"Yes, surelye, many one."
Where doth Desire delights to live?
"He loves to live alone.
25
XII.
I cannot give a better relation of the fact, which
is the subject of the following ballad, than in an ex-
tract from the late Mr. Guthrie's Peerage; which
was begun upon a very elegant plan, but never
finished. Vol. I. 4to. p. 22.
-
"The transactions which did the greatest honour
to the Earl of Surrey* and his family at this time
[A. D. 1511.] was their behaviour in the case of
Barton, a Scotch sea-officer. This gentleman's fa-
ther having suffered by sea from the Portugese, he
had obtained letters of marque for his two sons to
make reprisals upon the subjects of Portugal. It is
extremely probable, that the court of Scotland granted
these letters with no very honest intention. The
council board of England, at which the Earl of
Surrey held the chief place, was daily pestered with
complaints from the sailors and merchants, that
Barton, who was called Sir Andrew Barton, under
pretence of searching for Portugese goods, inter-
rupted the English navigation. Henry's situation at
that time rendered him backward from breaking with
Scotland, so that their complaints were but coldly
received. The Earl of Surrey, however, could not
smother his indignation, but gallantly declared at
the council board, that while he had an estate that
could furnish out a ship, or a son that was capable
of commanding one, the narrow seas should not be
infested.
"Sir Andrew Barton, who commanded the two
Scotch ships, had the reputation of being one of the
ablest sea officers of his time. By his depredations,
he had amassed great wealth, and his ships were very
richly laden. Henry, notwithstanding his situation,
could not refuse the generous offer made by the Earl
of Surrey. Two ships were immediately fitted out,
and put to sea with letters of marque, under his two
sons, Sir Thomast and Sir Edward Howard. After
encountering a great deal of foul weather, Sir Thomas
came up with the Lion, which was commanded by
Sir Andrew Barton in person; and Sir Edward came
up with the Union, Barton's other ship, [called by
Hall, the Bark of Scotland.] The engagement which
ensued was extremely obstinate on both sides; but
at last the fortune of the Howards prevailed. Sir
Andrew was killed fighting bravely, and encouraging
his men with his whistle, to hold out to the last; and
the two Scotch ships with their crews, were carried
into the River Thames. [Aug. 2, 1511.].
Doth either tyme or age
Bringe him unto decaye?
SIR ANDREW BARTON.
* Thomas Howard, afterwards created Duke of Norfolk.
+ Called by old historians Lord Howard, afterwards created
Earl of Surrey in his father's life time. He was father of
the poetical Earl of Surrey.
Co
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
With such a one as thee.
"This exploit had the more merit, as the two
English commanders were in a manner volunteers in
the service, by their father's order. But it seems to
have laid the foundation of Sir Edward's fortune;
for, on the 7th of April 1512, the king constituted
him (according to Dugdale) admiral of England,
Wales, &c.
"King James 'insisted' upon satisfaction for the
death of Barton, and capture of his ship: though'
Henry had generously dismissed the crews, and
even agreed that the parties accused might appear in
his courts of admiralty by their attornies, to vindi-
cate themselves." This affair was in a great measure
the cause of the battle of Flodden, in which James
IV. lost his life.
30
THE FIRST PART.
35
C
In the following ballad will be found perhaps some
few deviations from the truth of history: to atone
for which it has probably recorded many lesser facts,
which history hath not condescended to relate. I
take many of the little circumstances of the story to
be real, because I find one of the most unlikely to be
not very remote from the truth. In Part 2, v. 156,
it is said, that England had before "but two ships of
war." Now the " Great Harry" had been built only
seven years before, viz. in 1504: which "was 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.
"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,
Over the river of Thames past hee;
When eighty merchants of London came,
And downe they knelt upon their knee.
This Ballad, which appears to have been written
in the reign of Elizabeth, has received great improve-
ments from the Editor's folio MS. wherein was an
ancient copy, which though very incorrect, seemed
in many respects superior to the common ballad
the latter 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.
* From the pr. copƒ.
;
10
5

•
SIR ANDREW BARTON.
"O yee are welcome, rich merchants
Good saylors, welcome unto mee.
They swore by the rood, they were saylors good,
But rich merchants they cold not bee :
To France nor Flanders dare we pass :
Nor Bourdeaux voyage dare we fare;
And all for a rover that lyes on the seas,
Who robbs us of our merchant ware.'
""
""
King Henrye frownd, and turned him rounde,
And swore by the Lord, that was mickle of might,
"I thought he had not beene in the world,
The king lookt over his left shouldèr,
And an angrye look then looked hee:
"Have I never a lorde in all my realme,
Will feitch yond traytor unto mee?"
Yea, that dare I; Lord Howard sayes;
Yea, that dare I with heart and hand
If it please your grace to give me leave,
Myselfe wil be the only man.
Durst have wrought England such unright." 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.
Thou art but yong; the kyng replyed :
Yond Scott hath numbred manye a yeare.
"Trust me, my liege, Ile make him quail,
Or before my prince I will never appeare."
Then bowemen and gunners thou shalt have,
And chuse them over my realme so free;
Besides good mariners, and shipp-boyes,
To guide the great shipp on the sea.
The first man, that Lord Howard chose,
Was the ablest gunner in all the realm,
Thoughe he was threescore yeeres and ten ;
Good Peter Simon was his name.
Peter, sais hee, I must to the sea,
To bring home a traytor live or dead:
Before all others I have chosen thee;
Of a hundred gunners to be the head.
10
If
you, my lord, have chosen mee
Of a hundred gunners to be the head,
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 †
In Yorkshire was this gentleman borne,
And William Horseley was his name ‡.
15
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.
you, quoth hee, have chosen mee
Of a hundred bowemen to be the head;
your main-màst Ile hanged bee,
If I miss twelvescore one penny bread.
If
On
25
30
35
40
45
50
55
60
Ver. 15, 83, robber, MS. V. 29, Lord Charles Howard,
MS.
* An old English word for breadth.
† Pr. copy.
‡ 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. 5.
With pikes and gunnes, and bowemen bold,
This noble Howard is gone to the sea;
With a valyant heart and a pleasant cheare,
Out at Thames mouth sayled he.
And days he scant had sayled three,
Upon the 'voyage,' he tooke in hand,
But there he mett with a noble shipp,
And stoutely made itt stay and stand.
Thou must tell me, Lord Howard said,
Now who thou art, and what's thy name;
And shewe me where thy dwelling is :
And whither bound, and whence thou came.
My name is Henry Hunt, quoth hee
With a heavye heart, and a carefull mind;
I and my shipp doe both belong
To the Newcastle, that stands upon Tyne.
Hast thou not heard, nowe, Henrye Hunt,
As thou hast sayled by daye and by night,
Of a Scottish rover on the seas;
Men call him Sir Andrew Barton, knight?
Then ever he sighed, and sayd alas!
With a grieved mind, and well away!
But over-well I knowe that wight,
I was his prisoner yesterday.
As I was sayling uppon the sea,
A Burdeaux voyage for to fare;
To his hach-borde he clasped me,
And robd me of all my merchant ware:
And mickle debts, God wot, I owe,
And every man will have his owne ;
And I am nowe to London bounde,
Of our gracious king to beg a boone.
That shall not need, Lord Howard sais;
Lett me but once that robber see,
For every penny tane thee froe
It shall be doubled shillings three,
Nowe God forefend, the merchant said,
That you shold 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,
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;
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,
If once his beames they doe downe fall*.
135
65
70
75
80
85
0
95
100
105
110
115
Ver. 70, Journey, MS. V. 91, The MS. has here Arch-
borde, but in Part II. ver. 5, Hachebord.
* It should seem from hence, that before our marine artil-
lery was brought to its present perfection, some naval com-
manders had recourse to instruments or machines, similar
in use, though perhaps unlike in construction, to the heavy
Dolphins made of lead or iron used by the ancient Greeks;
which they suspended from beams or yards fastened to the
mast, and which they precipitately let fall on the enemies'
ships, in order to sink them, by beating holes through the
bottoms of their undecked Triremes, or otherwise damaging
them. These are mentioned by Thucydides, 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 every where in the MS. seems to be written Beanes.
156
SIR ANDREW BARTON.
This is cold comfort, sais my lord,
To wellcome a stranger thus to the sea :
Yet Ile bring him and his shipp to shore,
Or to Scottland hee shall carrye mee.
Then a noble gunner you must have,
And he must aim well with his ee,
And sinke his pinnace into the sea,
Or else hee never orecome will bee:
And if you chance his shipp to borde,
This counsel I must give withall,
Let no man to his topcastle goe
To strive to let his beams downe fall.
THE SECOND PART.
THE merchant sett my lorde a glasse
Soe well apparent in his sight,
And seven pieces of ordinance,
I pray your honour lend to mee,
On each side of my shipp along,
And I will lead you on the sea.
A glasse Ile sett, that may be seene,
Whether you sayle by day or night,
And to-morrowe, I sweare, by nine of the clocke 135
You shall meet with Sir Andrewe Barton knight.
And on the morrowe, by nine of the clocke.
He shewed him Sir Andrewe Barton knight.
His hachebord it was 'gilt' with gold,
Soe deerlye dight it dazzled the ee:
Nowe by my faith, Lord Howarde sais,
This is a gallant sight to see.
Take in your ancyents, standards eke,
So close that no man may them see;
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?
2
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.
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,
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;
For at my maine-mast thou shall hang,
If thou misse thy marke one shilling bread.
120
Simon was old, but his heart itt was bold.
His ordinance he laid right lowe;
He put in chaine full nine yardes long,
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.
125
130
10
5
10
15
20
25
30
35
40
Ver. 5, 'hached with gold.' MS. V. 35, i. e. discharged
chai shot.
* i. e. did not salute
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;
Ile fetch yond pedlars backe mysell,"
When my Lord sawe Sir Andrewe loose,
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;
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,
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.
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.
Come hither to me, thou Gordon good,
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,
(6
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,
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.
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;
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!
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,
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;
45
50
55
60
65
70
75
80
85
90
95
100
Ver. 67, 84, pounds, MS. V. 75, bearinge, sc. that carries
well, &c. But see Gloss.
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,
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.
Ile shoot my best, quoth Horseley then,
LADY ANNE BOTHWELL'S LAMENT.
1
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,
Sir Andrew he did swarve the tree,
With right good will he swarved then :
Upon his breast did Horsley hitt,
But the arrow bounded back agen.
Then Horseley spyed a privye place
With a perfect eye in a secrette part;
Under the spole of his right arme
He smote Sir Andrew to the heart.
I
"Fight on, my men, Sir Andrew sayes,
A little Ime hurt, but yett not slaine
Ile but lye downe and bleede a while,
And then Ile rise and fight againe.
Fight on, my men, Sir Andrew sayes,
And never flinche before the foe;
And stand fast by St. Andrewes crosse
Untill you heare whistle blowe."
my
They never heard his whistle blow,
cr
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.'
105
He caused his body to be cast
Over the hatchbord into the sea,
And about his middle three hundred crownes:
"Wherever thou land this will bury thee."
Thus from the warres Lord Howard came,
And backe he sayled ore the maine,
With mickle joy and triumphing
Into Thames mouth he came againe.
115
Which made their hearts waxe sore adread: 130
Then Horseley sayd, Aboard, my lord,
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,
The rest were either maimed or slaine.
120
125
135
140
145
Lord Howard then a letter wrote,
150
And sealed it with seale and ring;
"Such a noble prize have I brought to your grace
As never did subject to a king:
""
"Sir Andrewes shipp I bring with mee;
A braver shipp was never none :
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?
"The rover, he is safe, my leige,
Full many a fadom in the sea;
If he were alive as he is dead,
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 groundless;
Indeed Earl Bothwell's age, who was upwards of
These are William Horseley, Henry Hunt,
And Peter Simon, and his sonne.'
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,
To Henry Hunt, the king then sayd,
In lieu of what was from thee tane,
A noble a day now thou shalt have,
Sir Andrewes jewels and his chayne.
And Horseley thou shalt be a knight,
And lands and livings shalt have store;
Howard shall be Erle Surrye hight,
As Howards erst have beene before.
Nowe, Peter Simon, thou art old,
I will maintaine thee and thy sonne :
And the men shall have five hundred markes
For the good service they have done.
Then in came the queene with ladyes fair
To see Sir 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,
And eyes soe hollow in his head,
در
XIII.
137
I wold give, quoth the king, a thousand markes,
This man were alive as hee is dead :
LADY ANNE BOTHWELL'S LAMENT.
A SCOTTISH SONG.
155
160
170
175
Yett for the manfull 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.
180
185
sixty at the time of that marriage, renders it unlikely
that he should be the object of so warm a passion as
this elegy supposes. He has been since informed.
Ver. 175, 6... Erle of Nottingham, And soe was never
&c. MS.
138
THE MURDER OF THE KING OF SCOTS.
that it entirely refers to a private story. A young
lady of the name of Bothwell, or rather Boswell
having been, together with her child, deserted by
her husband or lover, composed these affecting lines
herself; which here are given from a copy in the
Editor's folio MS. corrected by another in Allan
Ramsay's Miscellany.
BALOW, my babe, lye still and sleipe!
It grieves me sair to see thee weipe:
If thoust be silent, Ise be glad,
Thy maining maks my heart ful sad.
Balow, my boy, thy mothers joy,
Thy father breides me great annoy.
Balow, my babe, ly stil and sleipe,
It grieves me sair to see thee weepe.
Whan 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.
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.
5
10
15
20
The catastrophe of Henry Stewart, Lord Darnley,
the unfortunate husband of Mary Queen of Scots, is
the subject of this ballad. It is here related in that
partial imperfect manner, in which such an event
would naturally strike the subjects of another king-
dom;
of which he was a native. Henry appears to
have been a vain capricious worthless young man,
of weak understanding, and dissolute morals. But
the beauty of his person, and the inexperience of bis
youth, would dispose mankind to treat him with an
indulgence, which the cruelty of his murder would
afterwards convert into the most tender pity and
regret and then imagination would not fail to
adorn his memory with all those virtues he ought to
have possessed. This will account for the extrava-
gant elogium bestowed upon him in the first stanza,
&c.
Henry Lord Darnley was eldest son of the Earl of
Lennox, by the Lady Margaret Douglas, niece of
Henry VIII. and daughter of Margaret Queen of
Scotland by the Earl of Angus, whom that princess
married after the death of James IV.—Darnley, who
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.
* 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.
But doe not, doe not, prettie mine,
To faynings fals thine hart incline;
Be loyal to thy luver trew,
And nevir change her for a new:
If gude or faire, of hir have care,
For womens banning's wonderous sair
Balow, &c.
XIV.
THE MURDER OF THE KING OF SCOTS.
Bairne, sin thy cruel father is gane,
Thy winsome smiles maun eise 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,
And quite forgeit man's cruelty.
Balow, &c.
Fareweil, fareweil, thou falsest youth,
That evir kist a womans mouth!
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,
It grives me sair to see thee weipe.
25
WOE worth, woe worth thee, false Scotlande!
For thou hast ever wrought by sleight;
The worthyest prince that ever was borne,
You hanged under a cloud by night
30
35
To be a king is a pleasant thing,
To bee a prince unto a peere :
But you have heard, and soe have I too,
A man may well buy gold too deare
40
4
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.
50

This ballad, (printed, with a few corrections, from
the Editor's folio MS.) seems to have been written
soon after Mary's escape into England in 1568, see
v. 65. It will be remembered at v. 5, that this
princess was Queen Dowager of France, having been
first married to Francis II. who died Dec. 4, 1560.
The Queene of France a letter wrote,
And sealed itt with harte and ringe ;
And bade him come Scotland within,
And shee wold marry and crowne him kinge.
10

A SONNET BY QUEEN ELIZABETH.
There was an Italyan in that place,
Was as well beloved as ever was hee,
Lord David was his name,
Chamberlaine to the queene was hee.
If the king had risen forth of his place,
He wold have 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,
And quarrelled with him for the nonce;
I shall you tell how it befell,
Twelve daggers were in him att once.
Then some of the lords they waxed wrothe,
And made their vow all vehementlye;
For the death of the queenes chamberlaine,
The king himselfe, bow he shall dye.
When the queene saw her chamberlaine was slaine,
For him her faire cheeks shee did weete,
And made a vowe for a yeare and a day
26
The king and shee wold not come in one sheete.
With gun-powder they strewed his roome,
And layd greene rushes in his way:
For the traitors thought that very night
This worthye king for to betray.
To bedd the king he made him bowne;
To take his rest was his desire ;
He was noe sooner cast on sleepe,
But his chamber was on a blasing fire.
15
20
<<
30
Ver. 15, sic MS.
* She was at this time near three-score.
35
40
XV.
The following lines, if they display no rich vein of
poetry, are yet so strongly characteristic of their
great and spirited authoress, that the insertion of
them will be pardoned. They are preserved in Put-
tenham'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 shews what kind of ho-
mage was exacted from the courtly writers of that
age, viz.
"I find," says this antiquated critic none exam-
ple in English metre, so well maintaining this figure
[Faargasia, or the Gorgeous, Lat. Expolitio] as that
dittie of her maje ties owne making, passing sweete
and harmonicall; which figure beyng as his very
original name purporteth the most bewtifull and
gorgious of all others, it asketh in reason to be re-
served for a last complement, and desciphred by a
lad es penne, herselfe beyng the most bewtifull, or
rather bewtie of queenes*. And this was the occa-
sion; our soveraigne lady perceiving how the Scottish
queenes residence within this realme at so great li-
bertie and ease (as were skarce meete for so great
and dangerous a prysoner) bred secret factions among
;
Up he lope, and the window brake,
And hee had thirtye foote to fall
Lord Bodwell kept a privy watch,
Underneath his castle wall.
Who have wee here? Lord Bodwell sayd:
Now answer me, that I may know.
<<
King Henry the eighth my uncle was;
For his sweete sake some pitty show."
Who have we here? Lord Bodwell sayd,
Now answer me when I doe speake.
"Ah, Lord Bodwell, I know thee well;
Some pitty on me I pray thee take."
Ile pitty thee as much he sayd,
And as much favor show to thee,
As thou didst to the queenes chamberlaine,
That day thou deemedst him to die*.
A SONNET BY QUEEN ELIZABETII.
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.
When the governor of Scotland heard
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,
And here her residence hath taine;
And through the Queene of Englands grace,
In England now shee doth remaine.
139
45
50
55
60
65
her people, and made many of the nobilitie incline to
favour her partie: some of them desirous of innova-
tion in the state: others aspiring to greater fortunes
by her libertie and life: the queene our soveraigne
ladie, to declare that she was nothing ignorant of those
secret practizes, though she had long with great wis-
dome 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 majestie, sought to interrupt the quiet of the
realme by many evill and undutifull practizes."
This sonnet seems to have been composed in 1569,
not long before the Duke of Norfolk, the Earls of
Pembroke and Arundel, the Lord Lumley, Sir Nich.
Throcmorton, and others, were taken into custody.
See Hume, Rapin, &c.—It was originally written in
long lines or alexandrines, each of which is here di-
vided into two.
The present edition is improved by some readings
adopted from a copy printed in a collection from the
papers of Sir John Harrington, intituled, Nuga
Antiquæ," Lond. 1769, 12mo. where the verses are
46
* Pronounced after the northern manner dee.

140.
KING OF SCOTS AND ANDREW BROWNE.
.. ··
accompanied with a very curious letter, in which this
sonnet is said to be " of her Highness own inditing
My Lady Willoughby did covertly 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,
And subjects faith doth ebbe:
Which would not be, if reason rul'd,
Or wisdome wove the webbe.
But clowdes of joyes untried
Do cloake aspiring mindes;
Which turn to raine of late repent,
By course of changed windes.
The toppe of hope supposed
The roote of ruthe will be;
And frutelesse all their graffed guiles,
As shortly all shall see.
10
10
15
This ballad is a proof of the little intercourse 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 appear to have had the least foundation in his-
tory, but was probably built upon some confused
hearsay report of the tumults in Scotland during the
minority of that prince, and of the conspiracies
formed by different factions to get possession of his
person. It should seem from ver. 97 to have been
written during the regency, or at least before the
death, of the Earl of Morton, who was condemned
and executed June 2, 1581; when James was in his
fifteenth year.
"A
The original copy (preserved in the archives of
the Antiquarian Society, London) is intitled,
new Ballad, declaring the great treason conspired
against the young king of Scots, and how one Andrew
Browne an English-man, which was the king's
chamberlaine, 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 James, dwelling
in Newgate Market, over against Ch. Church," in
black-letter folio.
XVI.
Then dazeld eyes with pride,
Which great ambition blindes,
Shal be unseeld by worthy wights,
Whose foresight falshood finds.
This Elderton, who had been originally an attorney
in the sheriffs courts of London, and afterwards (if
we may believe Oldys) a comedian, was a facetious
fuddling companion, whose tippling and rhymes
rendered him famous among his contemporaries. He
Ver. 1, dread, al. ed. V. 9, toyes, al. ed.
The daughter of debate*,
That discord doth sowe,
ay
Shal reape no gaine where former rule
Hath taught stil peace to growe.
No forreine bannisht wight
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,
To poll the toppes, that seeke such change,
Or gape for such like joy.
KING OF SCOTS AND ANDREW BROWNE.
tit
+ I cannot help subjoining to the above sonnet
another distich of Elizabeth's preserved by Putten-
ham (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 deserves at-
tention.
Hic situs est sitiens, atque ebrius Eldertonus,
Quid dico hic situs est? hic potius sitis est.
Dead drunk here Elderton doth lie;
Dead as he is, he still is dry:
So of him it may well be said,
Here he, but not his thirst, is laid.
20
25
was author of many popular songs and ballads;
and probably other pieces in this work, besides
the following, are of his composing. He is believed
to have fallen a victim to his bottle before the year
1592. His epitaph has been recorded by Camden,
and translated by Oldys.
Our 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
It is to offend the anointed king?
30
Alas for woe, why should it be so,
This makes a sorrowful heigh ho.
See Stow's Lond. [Guild-hall.] Biogr. Brit.
["Drayton," by Oldys, Note B.] Ath. Ox.-Cam-
den's Remains. The Exale-tation of Ale, among
Beaumont's Poems, 8vo. 1653.
In Scotland is a bonnie kinge,
As proper a youth as neede to be,
Well given to every happy thing,
That can be in a kinge to see :
* She evidently means here the Queen of Scots.
5
10
1
KING OF SCOTS AND ANDREW BROWNE.
Yet that unluckie country still,
Hath people given to craftie will
Alas for woe, &c.
On Whitsun eve it so befell,
A posset was made to give the king,
Whereof his ladie nurse hard tell,
And that it was a poysoned thing:
She cryed, and called piteouslie;
Now help, or els the king shall die !
Alas for &c.
woe,
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 flie;
But all the doores were made so fast,
Out of a window he got at last.
Alas, for woe, &c.
He met the bishop coming fast,
Having the posset in his hande:
The sight of Browne made him aghast,
Who bad him stoutly staie and stand.
With him were two that ranne awa,
For feare that Browne would make a fray.
Alas, for woe, &c.
Bishop, quoth Browne, what hast thou there?
Nothing at all, my friend, sayde he;
But a posset to make the king good cheere.
Is it so? sayd Browne, that will I see,
First I will have thyself begin,
Before thou go any further in;
Be it weale or woe, it shall be so,
This makes a sorrowful heigh ho.
The bishop sayde, Browne I doo know,
Thou art a 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:
Happe well or woe, it shall be so,
Drink now with a sorrowfull, &c.
The bishop dranke, and by and by
His belly burst and he fell downe:
A just rewarde for his traitery.
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,
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 :
Alas for woe, &c.
15
20
25
30
35
40
45
50
55
60
65
Alas, he said, unhappie realme,
My father, and grandfather slaine :
My mother banished, O extreame!
Unhappy fate, and bitter bayne!
And now like treason wrought for me,
What more unhappie realme can be!
Alas for woe, &c.
The king did call his nurse to his grace,
And gave her twenty poundes a yeere;
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.
When all this treason done and past,
Tooke not effect of traytery:
Another treason at the last,
They sought against his majestie :
How they might make their kinge away,
By a privie banket on a daye.
Álas for woe, &c.
• Another time' to sell the king
Beyonde the seas they had decreede :
Three noble Earles heard of this thing,
And did prevent the same with speede.
For a letter came, with such a charme,
That they should doo their king no harme:
For further woe, if they did soe,
Would make a sorrowful heigh hoe.
The Earle Mourton told the Douglas then,
Take heede you do not offend the king;
But shew yourselves like honest men
Obediently in every thing;
For his godmother* will not see
Her noble child misus'd to be
With any woe; for if it be so,
She will make, &c.
God graunt all subjects may be true,
In England, Scotland, every where:
That no such daunger may ensue,
To put the prince or state in feare :
That God the highest king may see
Obedience as it ought to be,
In wealth or woe, God graunt it be so
To avoide the sorrowful heigh ho.
141
* Queen Elizabeth.
70
75
80
85
iv
90.
95
100
105
110
Ver. 67. His father was Heury Lord Darnley. His
grandfather the old Earl of Lenox, regent of Scotland, and
father of Lord Darnley, was murdered at Stirling, Sept. 5,
1571.
142
YOUNG WATERS.
XVII.
THE BONNY EARL OF MURRAY.
A SCOTTISH SONG.
In December 1591, Francis Stewart, Earl of Both-
well, had made an attempt to seize on the person of
his sovereign James VI. but being disappointed, had
retired towards the north. The king unadvisedly
gave a commission to George Gordon Earl of Hunt-
ley, to pursue Bothwell and his followers with fire
and sword. Huntley, under cover of executing that
commission, took occasion to revenge a private quar-
rel he had against James Stewart Earl of Murray, a
relation of Bothwell's. In the night of Feb. 7, 1592,
he beset Murray's house, burnt it to the ground, and
slew Murray himself; a young nobleman of the most
promising virtues, and the very darling of the people.
See Robertson's History.
The present Lord Murray hath now in his posses-
sion 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 popu-
lace to revenge his death. If this picture did not
flatter, he well deserved the name of the "Bonny
Earl," for he is there represented as a tall and comely
personage. It is a tradition in the family, that Gor-
don 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 dagger
at Huntley's breast, swore, "You shall be as deep as
I;" and forced him to pierce the poor defenceless
body.
King James, who took no care to punish the mur-
derers, is said by some to have privately counte-
nanced and abetted them, being stimulated by jealousy
for some indiscreet praises which his queen had too
lavishly bestowed on this unfortunate youth. See
XVIII.
the preface to the next ballad. See also Mr. Wal-
pole's " Catalogue of Royal Authors," vol. I. p. 42.
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 shewn for
the "
Bonny Earl of Murray;" and which is sup-
posed to have influenced the fate of that unhappy
nobleman. Let the reader judge for himself.
The following account of the murder is given by a
contemporary writer, and a person of credit, Sir James
Balfour, knight, Lyon King of Arms, whose MS. of
the Annals of Scotland is in the Advocate's library
at Edinburgh.
YE highlands, and ye lawlands,
Oh! quhair hae ye been?
"The seventh of Febry, this zeire, 1592, the Earle
of Murray was cruelly murthered by the Earle of
Huntley at his house in Dunibrissel in Fyffe-shyre,
and with him Dunbar, sheriffe of Murray. It was
They hae slaine the Earl of Murray,
And hae laid him on the green.
Now wae be to thee, Huntley!
And quhairfore did you sae!
I bade you bring him wi' you,
But forbade you him to slay
He was a braw gallant,
And he rid at the ring
And the bonny Earl of Murray,
Oh! he might hae been a king.
He was a braw gallant,
And he played at the ba';
And the bonny Earl of Murray
Was the flower among them a'.
He was a braw gallant,
And he playd at the gluve;
And the bonny Earl of Murray,
Oh! he was the Queenes luve.
YOUNG WATERS.
Oh! lang will his lady
Luke owre the castle downe*,
Ere she see the Earl of Murray
Cum sounding throw the towne.
A SCOTTISH BALLAD.
¡
5
10
15
20
given out and publickly talkt, that the Earle or
Huntley was only the instrument of perpetrating this
facte, to satisfie the King's jealousie of Murray,
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 pro-
clamatione of the Kings, the 13 of Marche following:
inhibiteine the zoung Earle of Murray to persue the
Earle of Huntley, for his father's slaughter, in re-
spect he being wardeit [imprisoned] in the castell of
Blacknesse for the same murther, was willing to
• Castle downe here has been thought to mean the Castle
of Downe, a seat belonging to the family of Murray.
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* "
•
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-favourd man.
The queen luikt owre the castle wa,
Beheld baith dale and down,
And then she saw zoung Waters
Cum riding to the town.
His footmen they did rin before,
His horsemen rade behind,
Ane mantel of the burning gowd
Did keip him frae the wind.
Gowden graith'd his horse before
And siller shod behind,
The horse zong Waters rade upon
Was fleeter than the wind.
But than spake a wylie lord,
Unto the queen said he,
O tell me qhua's the fairest face
Rides in the company.
MARY AMBREE.
I've sene lord, and I've sene laird,
And knights of high degree;
Bot a fairer face than zoung Waters
Mine evne did never see.
10
5
-MARY AMBREE,
(Who marched so free
• This extract is copied from the Critical Review.
10
15
20
XIX.
In the year 1584, the Spaniards, under the com-
mand of Alexander Farnese prince of Parma, began
to gain great advantages in Flanders and Brabant, by
recovering many strong holds 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 assistance 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 remarkable virago by her name. See his Epi-
cæne, first acted in 1609, Act 4, sc. 2. His Tale of
a Tub, Act 1, sc. 4. And his masque intitled the
Fortunate Isles, 1626, where he quotes the very
words of the ballad,
Out then spack the jealous king,
(And an angry man was he)
O, 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;
Theris 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
Zoung Waters he maun dee.
;
They hae taen zoung Waters, and
Put fetters to his feet
They hae taen zoung Waters, and
Thrown him in dungeon deep.
Aft I have ridden thro' Stirling town
In the wind both and the weit;
Bot I neir rade thro' Stirling town
Wi fetters at my feet.
Aft have I ridden thro' Stirling town
In the wind both and the rain;
Bot I neir rade thro' Stirling town
Neir to return again.
MARY AMBREE.
**
They hae tean to the heiding-hill
His zoung son in his craddle,
And they hae taen to the heiding-hill,
His horse both and his saddle.
They hae taen to the heiding-hill
His lady fair to see.
And for the words the queen had spoke
Zoung Waters he did dee.
To the siege of Gaunt,
And death could not daunt,
As the ballad doth vaunt)
Were a braver wight, &c.
143
25
A bold virago stout and tall
As Joan of France, or English Mall.
30
35
40
45
50
55
She is also mentioned in Fletcher's Scornful Lady,
Act 5, sub finem.
(C
(C
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 in-
tended by Butler in Hudibras (P. 1. c. 3, v. 365.),
by her being coupled with John d'Arc, the celebrated
Pucelle de Orleans.
This ballad is printed from a black-letter copy
the Pepys Collection, improved from the Editor's
in
* Heiding-hill; i. e. heading [beheading] hill. The place
of execution was anciently an artificial hillock.
144
MARY AMBREE.
folio MS. and by conjecture.
The full title is
"The valourous acts performed at Gaunt by the
brave bonnie lass Mary Ambree, who in revenge of
her lovers death did play her part most gallantly.
The tune is, The blind beggar, &c."
WHEN captaines 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 treacherouslìe,
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 male + then slipped on shee;
Was not this a brave bonny lass, Mary Ambree ?
A helmett of proofe shee strait did provide,
A strong 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 Ambree ?
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 Ambree? 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 Ambree ?
Then cryed out her souldiers and loude they did
25
say,
Soe well thou becomest this gallant array,
Thy harte and thy weapons so well do agree,
There was none ever like Mary Ambree.
Shee cheared her souldiers, that foughten for life,
With ancyent and standard, with drum and with
fife,
31
With brave clanging trumpetts, that sounded so free;
Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?
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 Ambree?
35
* So M.S. Serjeant Major in PC.
+ 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.)
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 Ambree? 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 Ambree?
And when her false gunner, to spoyle her intent, 45
Away all her pellets and powder had sent, [three:
Straight with her keen weapon shee slasht him in
Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?
50
Being falselye betrayed for lucre of hyre,
At length she was forced to make a retyre;
Then her souldiers into a strong castle drew shee:
Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?
Her foes they besett her on everye side,
As thinking close siege shee cold never abide ;
To beate down the walles they all did decree:
But stoutlye deffyd them brave Mary Ambree.
55
Then tooke shee her sword and her targett in hand,
And mounting the walls all undaunted did stand,
There daring their captaines to match any three:
O what a brave captaine was Mary Ambree !
60
Now saye, English captaine, what woldest thou give
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.
65
Ye captaines couragious, of valour so bold,
Whom thinke you before you now you doe behold?
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 Ambree.
The prince of Great Parma heard of her renowne
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 åll,
Ile nere sell my honour for purple nor pall :
A mayden of England, sir, never will bee
The whore of a monarcke, quoth Mary Ambree.
Then to her owne country shee backe did returne, 85
Still holding the foes of faire England in scorne :
Therfore English captaines of every degree
Sing forth the brave valours of Mary Ambree.
BRAVE LORD WILLOUGH BEY.
BRAVE LORD WILLOUGHBEY.
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 opportunity of
signalizing his courage and military skill in several
actions against the Spaniards. One of these, greatly
exaggerated by popular report, is probably the sub-
ject of this old ballad, which, on account of its flat-
tering encomiums on English valour, hath always
been a favourite with the people.
"My Lord Willoughbie (says a contemporary
writer) was one of the queenes best swordsmen :
he was a great master of the art military....I
have heard it spoken, that had he not slighted the
court, but applied himselfe to the queene, he might
have enjoyed a 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, indeed, as he was a great soul-
dier, so he was of suitable magnanimitie, and could
not brooke the obsequiousnesse and assiduitie of the
court."(Naunton.)
Lord Willoughbie died in 1601.-Both Norris
and Turner were famous among the military men of
that age.
The subject of this ballad (which is printed from
an old black-letter copy, with some conjectural
emendations,) may possibly receive illustration from
what Chapman says in the dedication to his version
of Homer's Frogs and Mice, concerning the brave
and memorable retreat of Sir John Norris, with
only 1000 men, through the whole Spanish army,
under the Duke of Parma, for three miles together.
THE fifteenth day of July,
With glistering spear and shield,
A famous fight in Flanders
Was foughten in the field:
The most couragious officers
XX.
Were English captains three;
But the bravest man in battel
Was brave Lord Willoughbèy.
The next was Captain Norris,
A valiant man was hee:
The other Captain Turner,
From field would never flee.
With fifteen hundred fighting men,
Alas! there were no more,
They fought with fourteen thousand then,
Upon the bloody shore.
Stand to it noble pikemen,
And look you round about :
And shoot you right you bow-men,
And we will keep them out:
You musquet and calìver men,
Do you prove true to me,
I'le be the formost man in fight,
Says brave Lord Willoughbèy.
5
10
15
20
And then the bloody enemy
They fiercely did assail,
And fought it out most furiously,
Not doubting to prevail :
The wounded men on both sides fell
Most pitious for to see,
Yet nothing could the courage quell
Of brave Lord Willoughbèy.
For seven hours, to all men's view,
This fight endured sore,
Until our men so feeble grew
That they could fight no more;
And then upon dead horses,
Full savourly they eat,
And drank the puddle water,
They could no better get.
When they had fed so freely,
They kneeled on the ground,
And praised God devoutly
For the favour they had found;
And beating up their colours,
The fight they did renew,
And turning tow'rds the Spaniard,
A thousand more they slew.
The sharp steel-pointed arrows,
And bullets thick did fly;
Then did our valiant soldiers
Charge on most furiously;
Which made the Spaniards waver,
They thought it best to flee,
They fear'd the stout behaviour
Of brave Lord Willoughbèy.
Then quoth the Spanish general,
Come let us march away,
I fear we shall be spoiled all
If here we longer stay;
For yonder comes Lord Willoughbèy
With courage fierce and fell,
He will not give one inch of way
For all the devils in hell.
And then the fearful enemy
Was quickly put to flight,
Our men persued 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.
This news was brought to England
With all the speed might be,
And soon our gracious queen was told
Of this same victory.
O this is brave Lord Willoughbey,
My love that ever won,
Of all the lords of honour
'Tis he great deeds hath done.
L
145
25
30

35
40
45
50
55
60
65
70
75
80

146
THE WINNING OF CALES.
:
:
:
To the souldiers that were maimed,
And wounded in the fray,
The queen allowed a pension
Of fifteen pence a day;
And from all costs and charges
She quit and set them free :
And this she did all for the sake
Of brave Lord Willoughbèy.
85
VICTORIOUS Men of earth, no more
Proclaim how wide your empires are :
Though you binde in every shore,
And your triumphs reach as far
XXI.
This little moral sonnet hath such a pointed appli- |
cation 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,
XXII.
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 subject of this ballad is the taking of the city
of Cadiz, (called by our sailors corruptly Cales) on
June 21, 1596, in a descent made on the coast of
Spain, under the command of the Lord Howard
admiral, and the Earl of Essex general.
The valour of Essex was not more distinguished
on this occasion than his generosity: the town was
carried sword in hand, but he stopt the slaughter as
soon as possible, and treated his prisoners with the
greatest humanity, and even affability and kindness.
The English made a rich plunder in the city, but
missed of a much richer, by the resolution which the
Duke of Medina the Spanish admiral took, of setting
fire to the ships, in order to prevent their falling
into the hands of the enemy. It was computed, that
the loss which the Spaniards sustained from this
enterprize, amounted to twenty millions of ducats.
See Hume's History.
The Earl of Essex knighted on this occasion not
fewer than sixty persons, which gave rise to the fol-
lowing sarcasm:
Then courage, noble Englishmen,
And never be dismaid ;
If that we be but one to ten,
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 Willoughbèy.
THE WINNING OF CALES
The ballad is printed, with some corrections, from
the Editor's folio MS. and seems to have been com-
posed by some person, who was concerned in the
expedition. Most of the circumstances related in it
will be found supported by history.
As night or day;
Yet you proud monarchs must obey,
And mingle with forgotten ashes, when
Death calls yee to the croud of common men.
Devouring famine, plague, and war,
Each able to undo mankind,
Death's servile emissaries are:
Nor to these alone confin'd,
He hath at will
More quaint and subtle wayes to kill;
A smile or kiss, as he will use the art,
Shall have the cunning skill to break a heart.
90
95

10
15
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 :
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 general,
With him prepared to pass the salt flood.
Dub a dub, &c.
10
At Plymouth speedilye, took they ship valiantlye,
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,
Dub a dub, &c.
16
Unto Cales cunninglye, came we most speedilye,
Where the kinges navy securelye did ryde;
Being upon their backs, piercing their butts ofsacks,
Ere any Spaniards our coming descryde.
Dub a dub, &c.
20
Great was the crying, the running and ryding,
Which at that season was made in that place ;
The beacons were fyred, as need then required;
To hyde their great treasure they had little space.
25
Dub a dub, &c.
There you might see their ships, how they were
fyred fast,
THE SPANISH LADY'S LOVE.
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.
The great St. Phillip, the pryde of the Spaniards,
Was burnt to the bottom, and sunk in the sea;
But the St. Andrew, and eke the St. Matthew,
We took in fight manfullye and brought away. 35
Dub a dub, &c.
The Earl of Essex most valiant and hardye, [town;
With horsemen and footmen marched up to the
The Spanyards, which saw them, were greatly
alarmed,
[down. 40
Did fly for their savegard, and durst not come
Dub a dub, &c.
Now, quoth the noble Earl, courage my soldiers all,
Fight and be valiant, the spoil you shall have;
And be well rewarded all from the great to the small;
But looke that the women and children you save.
Dub a dub, &c.
46
1
The Spaniards at that sight, thinking it vain to fight,
Hung upp flags of truce and yielded the towne;
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 fore-
going ballad.
It was a tradition in the West of England, that
the person admired by the Spanish lady was a gen-
tleman of the Popham family, and that her picture,
with the pearl necklace mentioned in the ballad, was
not many years ago preserved at Littlecot, near
Hungerford, Wilts, the seat of that respectable
family.
Another tradition hath pointed out Sir Richard
Levison, of Trentham, in Staffordshire, as the sub-
ject of this ballad; who married Margaret daughter
of Charles Earl of Nottingham; and was eminently
distinguished as a naval officer and commander in
all the expeditions against the Spaniards in the latter
end of Queen Elizabeth's reign, particularly in that
to Cadiz in 1596, when he was aged 27. He died
in 1605, and has a monument, with his effigy in
brass, in Wolverhampton church.
It is printed from an ancient back 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.
Of a comely countenance and grace was she,
And by birth and parentage of high degree.
147.
Wee marched in presentlye, decking the walls on hye,
With English colours which purchased renowne.
51
Dub a dub, &c.
in
Entering the houses then, of the most richest men,
For gold and treasure we searched eche day;
In some places wè did find, pyes baking left behind,
Meate at fire rosting, and folkes run away.
55
Dub a dub, &c.
5
Full of rich merchandize, every shop catched our eyes.
Damasks and sattens and velvets full fayre ;
Which soldiers mèasur'd out by the length of their
swords;
60
XXIII.
THE SPANISH LADY'S LOVE.
Of all commodities eche had a share.
Dub a dub, &c.
Thus Cales was taken, and our brave general
March'd to the market-place, where he did stand:
There many prisoners fell to our several shares,
Many crav'd mercye, 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,
Their joint-stools and tables a fire we made; 70
And when the town burned all in flame,
With tara, tantara, away wee all came.
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.
In his courteous company was all her joy,
To favour him in any thing she was not cov.
But at last there came commandment
For to set the ladies free,
With their jewels still adorned,
None to do them injury.
Then said this lady mild, Full woe is me;
O let me still sustain this kind captivity!
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:
10
Gallant captain, shew some pity
To a ladye in distresse;
Leave me not within this city,
For to dye in heavinesse :
Thou hast set this present day my body free,
But my heart in prison still remains with thee.
"How should'st thou, fair lady, love me.
Whom thou knowst thy country's foe?
Thy fair wordes make me suspect thee:
Serpents lie where flowers grow."
All the harm I wishe to thee, most courteous knight,
God grant the same upon my head may fully light. 30
15
25

L 2
148
ARGENTILE AND CURAN.
With our city, you have won our hearts eche one, 35
Then to your country bear away, that is your owne.
"Rest you still, most gallant lady;
Rest you still, and weep no more;
Of fair lovers there is plenty,
Spain doth yield a wonderous store.”
Spaniards fraught with jealousy we often find,
But Englishmen through all the world are counted
kind.
Leave me not unto a Spaniard,
You alone enjoy my heart;
I am lovely, young, and tender,
Love is likewise my desert:
45
Still to serve thee day and night my mind is prest ;
The wife of every Englishman is counted blest.
"It wold be a shame, fair lady,
For to bear a woman hence;
English soldiers never carry
Any such without offence."
I'll quickly change myself, if it be so,
And like a page Ile follow thee, where'er thou go.
55
"On the seas are many dangers,
Many storms do there arise,
Which wil be to ladies dreadful,
40
"I have neither gold nor silver
To maintain thee in this case,
And to travel is great charges,
As you know in every place.".
My chains and jewels every one shal be thy own,
And eke five hundred pounds in gold that lies
unknown.
*
60
+
And force tears from watery eyes."
Well in troth I shall endure extremity,
For I could find in heart to lose my life for thee.
65
50
Is extracted from an ancient historical poem in
XIII. Books, intitled, "Albion's England, 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 British
history, and written with great learning, sense, and
spirit; in some places fine to an extraordinary de-
gree, as I think will eminently appear in the ensuing
episode [of Argentile and Curan,]-a tale full of
beautiful incidents in the romantic taste, extremely
affecting, rich in ornament, wonderfully various in
style; and in short, one of the most beautiful pasto-
rals 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. Woodt, to have been a
Warwickshire man, and to have been educated in
Oxford, at Magdalene-hall: as also in the latter part
of his life to have been retained in the service of
Ver. 65, Well in worth, MS.
* So the MS.-10,000l. PC.
† Athen. Ovc...
"Courteous ladye, leave this fancy
Here comes all that breeds the strife;
I in England have already
A sweet woman to my wife :
I will not falsify my vow for gold nor gain,
Nor yet for all the fairest dames that live in Spain."
O how happy is that woman
That enjoys so true a friend!
Many happy days God send her ;
Of my suit I make an end :
Commend me to thy lovely lady,
Bear to her this chain of gold;
And these bracelets for a token;
Grieving that I was so bold:
All my jewels in like sort take thou with thee,
For they are fitting for thy wife, but not for me.
On my knees I pardon crave for my offence,
Which did from love and true affection first com-
mence.
I will spend my days in prayer,
Love and all her laws defye;
XXIV.
ARGENTILE AND CURAN.
Thus farewell most gallant captain!
Farewell too my heart's content!
Count not Spanish ladies wanton,
Though to thee my love was bent:
Joy and true prosperity goe still with thee!
The like fall ever to thy share, most fair ladìe."
70
75
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
80
95
Ver. 86. So the folio MS.
95
Henry Cary Lord Hunsdon, to whom he dedicates
his poem. However that may have been, new light
is thrown upon his history, and the time and manner
of his death are now ascertained, by the following
extract from the parish register book of Amwell, in
Hertfordshire; which was obligingly communicated
to the editor by Mr. Hoole, the very ingenious trans-
lator of Tasso, &c.
[1608-1609.] "Master William Warner, a man
of good yeares and of honest reputation; by his pro-
fession an Atturnye of the Common Pleas; author
of Albions England, diynge suddenly in the night in
his bedde, without any former complaynt or sicknesse,
on thursday 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 Vicarius.
Though now Warner is so seldom mentioned, his
Contemporaries ranked him on a level with Spenser,
and called them the Homer and Virgil of their age*
Other editions read his laws.
• Athen. Oxon.
But Warner rather resembled Ovid, whose Meta-
morphosis he seems to have taken for his model,
having deduced a perpetual poem from the deluge
down to the era of Elizabeth, full of lively digressions
and entertaining episodes. And though he is some-
times harsh, affected, and obscure, he often displays
a most charming and pathetic simplicity: as where
he describes Eleanor's harsh treatment of Rosa-
mond:
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.
ARGENTILE AND CURAN.
The edition of "Albion's England" here followed
was printed in 4to, 1602; said in the title-page to
have been "first penned and published by William
Warner, and now revised and newly enlarged by the
same author." The story of " Argentile and Curan"
is, I believe, the poet's own invention; it is not men-
tioned in any of our chronicles. It was, however,
so much admired, that not many years after he pub-
lished it, came out a larger poem on the same subject
in stanzas of six lines, intitled, "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 War-
ner's lines, with a few contractions and interpolations,
but all greatly for the worse. See the collection of
Historical Ballads, 1727, 3 vols. 12mo.
Though here subdivided into stanzas, Warner's
metre is the old-fashioned alexandrine of fourteen
syllables. The reader therefore must not expect
to find the close of the stanzas consulted in the
pauses.
THE Bruton's 'being' departed hence
Seaven kingdoms here begonne,
Where diversly in divers broyles
The Saxons lost and wonne,
King Edel and King Adelbright
In Diria jointly raigne ;
In loyal concorde during life
These kingly friends remaine.
When Adelbright should leave his life,
To Edel thus he sayes,
By those same bonds of happie love,
That held us friends alwaies;
By our by-parted crowne, of which
The moyetie is mine;
By God, to whom my soule must passe,
And so in time may thine;
I pray thee, nay I conjure thee,
To nourish, as thine owne,
Thy niece, my daughter Argentile,
Till she to age be growne;
And then, as thou receivest it,
Resigne to her my throne.
A promise had for his bequest,
The testator he dies;
But all that Edel undertooke,
He afterwards denies.
5
10
15
20
25
Yet well he fosters for a time
The damsell that was growne
The fairest lady under heaven;
Whose beautie being knowne,
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
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.
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
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.
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
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.
Meane while the king did beate his braines,
His booty to atchieve,
Nor caring what became of her,
So he by her might thrive;
At last his resolution was
Some pessant should her wive.
And (which was working to his wish)
He did observe with joye
How Curan, whom he thought a drudge,
Scapt many an amorous toye *.
The king, perceiving such his veine,
Promotes his vassal still,
Lest that the basenesse of the man
Should lett, perhaps, his will.
Assured therefore of his love,
But not suspecting who
The lover was, the king himselfe
In his behalf did woe.
1.19
30
35
40
45
50
55
60
65
70
75

*The construction is, "How that many an amorous toy,
or foolery of love, 'scaped Curan;" i. e.escaped from him,
being off his guard.
150
ARGENTILE AND CURAN.
The lady resolute from love,
Unkindly takes that he
Should barre the noble, and unto
So base a match agree:
And therefore shifting out of doores,
Departed thence by stealth;
Preferring povertie before
A dangerous life in wealth.
When Curan heard of her escape,
The anguish in his hart
Was more than much, and after her
From court he did depart;
Forgetfull of himselfe, his birth,
His country, friends, and all,
And only minding (whom he mist)
The foundresse of his thrall.
Nor meanes he after to frequent
Or court, or stately townes,
But solitarily to live
Amongst the country grownes
A brace of years he lived thus,
Well pleased so to live,
And shepherd-like to feed a flocke
Himselfe did wholly give.
So wasting, love, by worke, and want,
Grew almost to the waine :
But then began a second love,
The worser of the twaine
A country wench, a neatherds maid,
Where Curan kept his sheepe,
Did feed her drove: and now on her
Was all the shepherds keepe.
He borrowed on the working daies
His holy russets oft,
And of the bacon's fat, to make
His startops blacke and soft.
And least his tarbox should offend,
He left it at the folde.
Sweete growte, or wig, his bottle had,
As much as it might holde.
A sheeve of bread as browne as nut
And cheese as white as snow,
And wildings, or the seasons fruit
He did in scrip bestow.
And whilst his py-bald curre did sleepe,
And sheep-hooke lay him by,
On hollow quilles of oten straw
He piped melody.
But when he spyed her his saint,
He wip'd his greasie shooes,
And clear'd the drivell from his beard,
And thus the shepheard wooes.
"I have, sweet wench, a peece of cheese,
As good as tooth may chawe,
And bread and wildings souling well,
And therewithall did drawe.
* Ver. 112, i. e. holy-day Russets.
80
85
90
95
100
105
110
115
120
125
130
His lardrie) and in yeaning' see
"Yon crumpling ewe, quoth he,
Did twinne this fall, and twin shouldst thou,
If I might tup with thee.
"Thou art too elvish, faith thou art,
Too elvish and too coy:
Am I, I pray thee, beggarly,
That such a flocke enjoy?
"I wis I am not : yet that thou
Doest hold me in disdaine
Is brimme abroad, and made a gybe
To all that keepe this plaine.
"There be as quaint (at least that thinke
Themselves as quaint) that crave
The match, that thou, I wot not why,
Maist, but mislik'st to have
"How wouldst thou match? (for well I wot,
“ Thou art a female) I,
Her know not here that willingly
With maiden-head would die.
"The plowmans labour hath no end
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:
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
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.
"Nor lacks he gleefull 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 :
Nor feares he blasting of his corne,
Nor uttering of his wares;
"Or stormes by seas, or stirres on land,
Or cracke of credit lost:
Not spending franklier than his flocke
Shall still defray the cost.
"Well wot I, sooth they say, that say
More quiet nights and and daies
The shepheard sleeps and wakes, than he
Whose cattel he doth graize.
135
-
140
145
!:
150
155
160
165
170
175
180
185
Ver. 135, Eating PCC. V. 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 ;
I Content is worth a monarchie
And mischiefs hit the hie;
"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
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
ARGENTILE AND CURAN.
"For beautie: though I clownish am,
I know what beautie is ;
Or did I not, at seeing thee,
I senceles were to mis.
"Her stature comely, tall; her gate
Well graced; and her wit
To marvell at, not meddle with,
As matchless I omit.
A globe-like head, a gold-like haire,
A forehead smooth, and hie,
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
A round and dimpled chin.
"Her snowie necke, with blewish veines,
Stood bolt upright upon
Her portly shoulders : beating balles
Her veined breasts, anon
"Adde more to beautie.
Her middle falling still,
And rising whereas women rise:** *
-Imagine nothing ill.
Wand-like was
"And more, her long, and limber armes
Had white and azure wrists;
And slender fingers auns were to
Her smooth and lillie fists.
"A legge in print, a pretie foot;
Conjecture of the rest :
For amorous eies, observing forme,
Think parts obscured best.
"With these, O raretie! with these
Her tong of speech was spare;
But speaking, Venus seem'd to speake,
The balle from Ide to bear.
:
"With Phoebe, Juno, and with both
Herselfe contends in face;
Wheare equall mixture did not want
Of milde and stately grace.
190
195
200
205
210
215
220
225
230
235
240
"Her smiles were sober, and her lookes
Were chearefull unto all :
Even such as neither wanton seeme,
Nor waiward; mell, nor gall.
"A quiet minde, a patient moode,
And not disdaining any;
Not gybing, gadding, gawdy: and
Sweete faculties had many.
"A nimph, no tong, no heart, no eie,
Might praise, might wish, might see.
For life, for love, for forme; more good,
More worth, more faire than shee.
"Yea such an one, as such was none,
Save only she was such:
Of Argentile to say the most,
Were to be silent much."
I knew the lady very well,
But worthles of such praise,
The neatresse said: and muse I do,
A shepheard thus should blaze
The 'coate' of beautie*. Credit me,
Thy latter speech bewraies.
Thy clownish shape a coined shew.
But wherefore dost thou weepe?
The shepheard wept, and she was woe,
And both doe silence keepe.
In troth, quoth he, I am not such,
As seeming I professe :
But then for her, and now for thee,
I from myselfe digresse.
.
"Her loved I (wretch that I am
A recreant to be)
I loved her, that hated love,
But now I die for thee.
"At Kirkland is my fathers court,
And Curan is my name,
In Edels court sometimes in pompe,
Till love countrould the same :
I graunt, quoth she, it was too much,
That you did love so much:
·
But whom your former could not move,
Your second love doth touch.
Thy twice-beloved Argentile
Submitteth her to thee,
And for thy double love presents
Herself a single fee,
In passion not in person chang'd,
And I, my lord, am she.
151,
They sweetly surfeiting in joy,
And silent for a space.
When as the extasie had end,
Did tenderly imbrace;
And for their wedding, and their wish
Got fitting time and place.
245
250
255
260
"But now-what now?-deare heart, how now?
What ailest thou to weepe
The damsell wept, and he was woe,
?"
280
And both did silence keepe.
255
270
275
285
290
295
* i. e. emblazon beauty's coat. Ed. 1597, 1602 1612, read
Coote.
152
JANE SHORE.
Not England (for of Hengist then
Was named so this land)
Then Curan had an hardier knight;
His force could none withstand :
Whose sheep-hooke laid apart, he then
Had higher things in hand.
First, making knowne his lawfull claime
In Argentile her right,
He warr'd in Diria*, and he wonne,
Bernicia*too in fight:
Wolfes and beares doe kepe the woodes;
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,
Hunger will as surely kill :
How may then reliefe be found?
200
305
XXV.
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 appli-
cation, this has been attempted 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:
CORIN'S FATE.
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10
And so from trecherous Edel tooke
At once his life and crowne,
And of Northumberland was king,
Long raigning in renowne.
** During the Saxon heptarchy, the kingdom of
Northumberland (consisting of six northern counties,
besides part of Scotland) was for a long time divided
into two lesser sovereignties, viz. Deira (called here
Diria) which contained the southern parts, and Ber-
nicia, comprehend those which lay north.
XXVI.
Though so many vulgar errors have prevailed
concerning this celebrated courtezan, no character
history has been more perfectly 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 catas-
trophe. The first is from Sir Thomas More's His-
tory of Richard III. 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 coo'asio
Such is hapless Corins fate:
Since my waywarde love begunne,
Equall doubts begett debate
What to seeke, and what to shunne.
Spare 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.
JANE SHORE.
310
15
20
that no colour could fasten upon these matters, ther
he layd heinously to her charge the thing that her
selfe could not deny, that al the world wist was
true, and that natheless every man laughed at tc
here it then so sodainly so highly taken,-that she
was naught of her body. And for thys cause, (as i
goodly continent prince, clene and fautless of him
self, sent out of heaven into this vicious world fo
the amendment of mens manners) he caused the
bishop of London to put her to open pennance
going before the crosse in procession upon a sonday
with a taper in her hand. In which she went in
countenance and pace demure so womanly; and al
beit she was out of al array save her kyrtle only, ye
went she so fair and lovely, namelye, while the
wondering of the people caste a comly rud in he
chekes (of which she before had most misse) tha
her great shame wan her much praise among those
that were more amorous of her body, then curious o
her soule. And many good folke also, that hated
her living, and glad wer to se sin corrected, ye
pittied thei more her penance than rejoiced therin
JANE SHORE.
when thei considred that the protector procured it
more of a corrupt intent, than any virtuous af-
feccion.
“This woman was born in London, worshipfully
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 forasmuche 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 ap-
petite, when he required her. Howbeit the respect
of his royaltie, the hope of gay apparel, ease, ple-
sure, 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
inan, and one that could his good, not presuming to
touch a kinges concubine) left her up to him al toge-
ther. When the king died, the lord chamberlen
[Hastings] toke her*: which in the kinges daies,
albeit he was sore enamoured upon her, yet he for-
bare her, either for reverence, or for a certain frendly
faithfulness.
#6
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
t. her youthe. Albeit some that 'now see her (for
et she liveth)' deme her never to have bene wel
visaged. Whose jugement seemeth me somewhat
like, as though men should gesse the 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 com-
pany, 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 pro-
perties diversly excelled. One the meriest, another
the wiliest, the thirde the holiest harlot in his realme,
as one whom no man could get out of the churc
lightly to any place, but it wer to his bed. The other
two wer somwhat greater personages, and natheles
of their humilite content to be nameles, and to for-
Bere 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 displeasure, she would mitigate and ap-
pease his mind: where men were out of favour, she
wold bring them in his grace: for many, that had
* After the death of Hastings, she was kept by the Mar-
quis of Dorset, son to Edward IV's qneen. In Rymer's
Foedera is a proclamation of Richard's, dated at Leicester,
October 23, 1483, wherein a reward of 1000 marks in money,
dr 100 a year in land is offered for taking "Thomas late
Marquis of Dorset," 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 ime in rebellion, but as Dorset was not
with him, Richard could not accuse hin of treason, and
therefore made a handle of these pretended debaucheries
to him apprehended. Vide Rym. Foed. tom. xij. page
201
+
highly offended, shee obtained pardon of great for-
feitures she gate men remission: and finally in many
weighty sutes she stode many men in great stede,
either for none or very smal rewardes, and those ra-
ther gay than rich: either for that she was content
with the dede selfe well done, or for that she delited
to be sued unto, and to show what she was able to
do with the king, or for that wanton women and
welthy be not alway covetous.
•
"I doubt not some shal think this woman too
sleight a 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 condicion,
unfrended and worne out of acquaintance, after good
substance, after as grete 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. *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.
153
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 yellow, 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 cheer-
full and like to her condition. The picture which I
have seen of hers was such as she rose out of her
bed in the morning, having 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 tyrant 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 cunningly.' See England's He-
roical Epistles, by Michael Drayton, Esq. London
1637, 12mo.
The history of Jane Shore receives new illustra-
tion from the following letter of King Richard III.
which is preserved in the Harl. MSS. Number 433
Article 2378, but of which the copy transmitted to
the Editor has been reduced to modern orthography,
&c. It is said to have been addressed to Russel
bishop of Lincoln, lord chancellor, Anno 1484.
* These words of Sir Thomas More probably suggested to
Shakespeare that proverbial reflection in Hen. viii. Act 4,
sc. 11.

"Men's evill manners live in brass-: their virtues
We write in water."
Shakespeare, in his play of Richard III, follows More's
History of that reign, and therefore could not but see this
passage
154
JANE SHORE.
By the KING.
Co
Right Reverend Father in God, &c. signifying
unto you, that it is shewed unto us, that our Servant
and Solicitor Thomas Lynom, 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 contrary: 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 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, committing her to the rule, and
guiding of her Father, or any other, by your direc-
tion, in the mean season. Given, &c.
"
RIC. Rex."
It appears from two articles in the same MS. that
King Richard had granted to the said Thomas Linom
the office of King's Solicitor (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 Colloge, Cambridge: to both which founda-
tions she is supposed to have done friendly offices with
Edward IV. ˜Â small quarto mezzotinto print was
taken from the former of these by J. Faber.
The following ballad is printed (with some cor-
rections) from an old black-letter copy in the Pepys
collection. Its full title is, "The woeful lamenta-
tion of Jane Shore, a goldsmith's wife in London,
sometime king Edward IV. his concubine. To
the tune of Live with me,' &c." [See the first
volume.] To every stanza is annexed the following
burthen:
"
Then maids and wives in time amend,
For love and beauty will have end.
IF Rosamonde that was so faire,
Had cause her sorrowes to declare,
Then let Jane Shore with sorrowe sing
That was beloved of a king.
In maiden yeares my beautye bright
Was loved dear of lord and knight ;
But yet the love that they requir'd,
It was not as my friends desir'd.
My parents they, for thirst of gaine,
A husband for me did obtaine;
And I, their pleasure to fulfille,
Was forc'd to wedd against my wille.
To Matthew Shore I was a wife,
Till lust brought ruine to my life;
And then my life I lewdlye spent,
Which makes my soul for to lament.
In Lombard-street I once did dwelle,
As London yet can witnesse welle
e;
Where many gallants did beholde
My beautye in a shop of golde.
5
10
15
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
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,
Did saye, It was a gallant thing
To be beloved of a king.
By her persuasions I was led,
For to defile my marriage-bed,
And wronge my wedded husband Shore,
Whom I had married yeares before.
In heart and mind I did rejoyce,
That I had made so sweet a choice;
And therefore did my state resigne,
To be king Edward's concubine,
From city then to court I went,
To reape the pleasures of content;
There had the joyes that love could bring,
And knew the secrets of a king.
When I was thus advanc'd on highe
Commanding Edward with mine eye,
For Mrs. Blague 1 in short space
Obtainde a livinge from his grace.
No friende I had but in short time
I made unto a promotion climbe;
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
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.
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
To helplesse people, that were poore;
I still redrest the orphans crye,
And sav❜d their lives condemnd to dye.
I still had ruth on widowes tears,
I succour'd babes of tender yeares;
And never look'd for other gaine
But love and thankes for all my paine.
25
At last my royall king king did dye,
And then my dayes of woe grew nighe;
When crook-back Richard got the crowne,
King Edwards friends were soon put downe.
!
30¹
4.
35
:
:
t
+
2
J
1
50
55
70.
CORYDONS DOLEFUL KNELL..
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 shamefull end.
Then for my lewd and wanton life,
That made a strumpet of a wife,
I penance did in Lombard-street,
In shamefull manner in a sheet.
Where many thousands did me viewe,
Who late in court my credit knewe;
Which made the teares run down my face,
To thinke upon my foul disgrace.
Not thus content, they took from mee
My goodes, my livings, and my fee,
And charg'd that none should me relieve,
Nor any succour to me give.
Then unto Mrs. Blague I went,
To whom my jewels I had sent,
In hope therebye to ease my want,
When riches fail'd, and love grew scant:
But she denyed to me the same
When in my need for them I came ;
To recompence my former love,
Out of her doores shee did me shove.
So love did vanish with my state,
Which now my soul repents too late;
Therefore example take by mee,
For friendship parts in povertìe.
But yet one friend among the rest,
Whom I before had seen distrest,
And sav'd his life, condemn'd to die,
Did give me food to succour me :
For which, by lawe, it was decreed
That he was hanged for that deed ;
His death did grieve me so much more,
Than had I dyed myself therefore.
80
85
90
"Full fadom five thy father lies,
Of his bones are corrall made;
Those are pearles that were his eyes;
Nothing of him that doth fade,
95
100
105
110
XXVII.
This little simple elegy is given, with some cor-
rections, from two copies, one of which is in "The
Golden Garland of Princely Delights."
The burthen of the song, "Ding Dong, &c." is
at present appropriated to burlesque subjects, and,
therefore, may excite only ludicrous ideas in a mo-
dern reader; but, in the time of our poet, it usually
accompanied the most solemn and mournful strains.
Of this kind is that fine aërial dirge in Shakspear's
Tempest:
Then those to whom I had done good,
Durst not afford mee any food;
Whereby I begged all the day,
And still in streets by night I lay.
•
My gowns beset with pearl and gold,
Were turn'd to simple garments old;
My chains and gems and golden rings,
To filthy rags and loathsome things.
Thus was I scorn'd of maid and wife,
For leading such a wicked life ;
Both sucking babes and children small,
Did make their pastime at my fall.
1 could not get one bit of bread,
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
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,
For being concubine to a king.
You wanton wives, that fall to lust,
Be you assur'd that God is just ;
Whoredome shall not escape his hand,
Nor pride unpunish'd in this land.
CORYDON'S DOLEFUL KNELL.
If God to me such shame did bring,
That yielded only to a king,
How shall they scape that daily run
To practise sin with every one?
You husbands, match not but for love,
Lest some disliking after prove;
Women, be warn'd when you are wives,
What plagues are due to sinful lives:
Then, maids and wives, in time amend,
For love and beauty will have end.
155
My Phillida, adieu love!
For evermore farewel!
Ay me! I've lost my true love,
And thus I ring her knell,
115
120
125
130
135
140
145
But doth suffer a sea-change
66
Into something rich and strange:
Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell,
Harke now I heare them, Ding dong bell.
Burthen, Ding dong."
I make no doubt but the poet intended to conclude
the above air in a manner the most solemn and ex-
pressive of melancholy.
* But it had this name long before; being so called from
its being a common Sewer (valgaily Shore) or drain. See
Stow.
156
THE COMPLAINT OF CONSCIENCE.
:.
Ding dong, ding dong, ding dong,
My Phillida is dead!
I'll stick a branch of willow
At my fair Phillis' head,
For my fair Phillida,
:
Our bridal bed was made
But 'stead of silkes so gay,
She in her shroud is laid.
Ding, &c.
Her corpse shall be attended,
By maides in fair array,
Till the obsequies are ended,
And she is wrapt in clay.
Ding, &c.
Her herse it shall be carried
By youths that do excell;
And when that she is buried,
I thus will ring her knell,
Ding, &c.
A garland shall be framed
By art and natures skill,
Of sundry-colour'd flowers,
In token of good-will*.
Ding, &c.
5
10
15
20
BOOK III.
And sundry-colour'd ribbands
On it I will bestow?
But chiefly black and yellowe* :
With her to grave shall go.
Ding, &c.
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's
Visions," was at least chiefly brought into repute
by that ancient satirist. It is not so generally
known that the kind of verse used in this ballad hath
any affinity with the peculiar metre of that writer,
for which reason I shall throw together some cursory
remarks on that very singular species of versification,
the nature of which has been so little understood.
I'll decke her tombe with flowers,
The rarest ever seen,
And with my tears, as showers,
I'll keepe them fresh and green.
Ding, &c.
I.
* It is a custom in many parts of England, to carry a
flowery garland before the corpse of a woman who dies
unmarried.
Instead of fairest colours,
Set forth with curious art †,
Her image shall be painted
On my distressed heart.
Ding, &c.
And thereon shall be graven
Her epitaph so faire,
"Here lies the loveliest maiden,
That e'er gave shepheard care."
Ding, &c.
THE END OF THE SECOND POOK.
SERIES THE SECOND.
In sable will I mourne ;
Blacke shall be all my weede :
Ay me! I am forlorne,
Now Phillida is dead!
Ding dong, ding dong, ding dong,
My Phillida is dead!
I'll stick a branch of willow
my fair Phillis' head.
At
THE COMPLAINT OF CONSCIENCE.
25
30
35
40
45
ON THE ALLITERATIVE METRE, WITHOUT RHYME, IN
PIERCE PLOWMAN'S VISIONS.
We learn from Wormius*, that the ancient Islan-
dic poets used a great variety of measures: he men-
tions 136 different kinds, without including rhyme,
or a correspondence of final syllables: yet this was.
* See above, preface to No. XI, Book II.
+ This alludes to the painted effigies of Alabaster, anciently
erected upon tombs and monuments.
The
* Literatura Runica. Hafniæ 1636, 4to.-1651, fol.
Islandic language is of the same origin as our Anglo-Saxon,
being both dialects of the ancient Gothic or Teutonic. Vid
Hickesii Præfat. in Grammat. Anglo-Saxon, & Moeso-Goth
4to, 1639.
occasionally used, as appears from the Ode of Egil,
which Wormius hath inserted in his book.
He hath analysed the structure of one of these
kinds of verse, the harmony of which neither de-
pended on the quantity of the syllables, like that of
the ancient Greeks and Romans; nor on the rhymes
at the end, as in modern poetry; but consisted alto-
gether 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 line. This
will be the best understood by the following exam-
ples*.
"Meire og Minne
Mogu heimdaller."
“Gab Ginunga
Enn Gras huerge."
There were many other little niceties observed by
the Islandic poets, who, as they retained their ori-
ginal language and peculiarities longer than the other
nations of Gothic race had time to cultivate their
native poetry more, and to carry it to a higher pitch
of refinement, than any of the rest.
Their brethren the Anglo-Saxon poets occasionally
used the same kind of alliteration, and it is common
to meet in their writings with similar examples of
the foregoing rules. Take an instance or two in
modern characters†;
THE ALLITERATIVE METRE.
"C
Skeop tha and Skyrede
Skyppend ure."
"Ham and Heahsetl
Heofena rikes."
I know not, however, that there is any where extant
an entire Saxon poem all in this measure. But dis-
tichs 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 ex-
actly by these rules; and therefore each line, as
printed, is in reality a distich of two verses, and will,
I believe, be found distingushed as such, by some
mark or other in all the ancient MSS. viz.
"In a Somer Season, when hot‡' was the Sunne,
I Shope me into Shroubs, | as I a Shepe were ;
In Habite as an Harmet | un Holy of werkes,
Went Wyde in thys world | Wonders to heare," &c.
So that the author of this poem will not be found
to have invented any new mode of versification, as
some have supposed, but only to have retained that
of the old Saxon and Gothic poets; which was pro-
bably never wholly laid aside, but occasionally used
at different intervals: though the ravages of time
will not suffer us now to produce a regular series of
poems entirely written in it.
There are some readers, whom it may gratify 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 fellow of Oriel college in Oxford,
who flourished in the reigns of Edward III. and
Richard II. and published his poem a few years
6
217.
* Vid. Hickes Antiq. Literatur. Septentrional. Tom. I, p.
t Ibid.
+ So I would read with Mr. Warton, rather than either
"soft," as in MS. or "set," as in PCC
157
after 1350. It consits of xx Passus or Breaks*, ex-
hibiting a series of visions, which he pretends hap-
pened to him on Malvern hills in Worcestershire.
The author excels in strong allegoric painting, and
has with great humour, spirit, and fancy, censured
most of the vices incident to the several professions
of life; but he particularly inveighs against the cor-
ruptions of the clergy, and the absurdities of super-
stition. Of this work I have now before me four
different editions in black-letter quarto. Three of
them are printed in 1550 by Robert Crowley,
dwelling in Elye rentes in Holburne. It is re-
markable that two of these are mentioned in the
title-page as both of the second impression, though
they contain evident variations in every paget. The
other is said to be newlye imprynted after_the
authors olde copy
by Owen Rogers, Feb.
21, 1561.
As Langland was not the first, so neither was he
the last that used this alliterative species of versi-
fication. To Rogers's edition of the Visions is
subjoined a poem, which was probably writ in imi-
tation of them, intitled "Pierce the Ploughman's
Crede." It begins thus:
"Cros, and Curteis Christ, this beginning spede
For the Faders Frendshipe, that Fourmed heaven,
And through the Special Spirit, that Sprong of hem
tweyne,
And al in one godhed endles dwelleth."
The author feigns himself ignorant of his Creed, to
be instructed in which he applies to the four reli-
gious orders, viz. the gray friers of St. Francis, the
black friers of St. Dominic, the Carmelites or white
friers, and the Augustines. This affords him occa-
sion to describe in very lively colours the sloth,
ignorance, 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 ancient
English poems, two of which are written in this
alliterative metre, and have the division of the lines
into distichs distinctly marked by a point, as is
usual in old poetical MSS. That which stands first
of the two (though perhaps the latest written) is
intitled "The sege of I erlam," [i. e. Jerusalem],
being an old fabulous legend composed by some
monk, and stuffed with marvellous figments con-
cerning the destruction of the holy city and temple.
It begins thus :
In Tyberius Tyme. the Trewe emperour
Syr Sesar hymself. beSted in Rome
Whyll Pylat was Provoste. under that Prynce ryche
* The poem properly contains xxi parts; the word passus,
adopted by the author, seems only to denote the break or
division between two parts, though by the ignorance of the
printer applied to the parts themselves. See Series III. pre-
face to ballad III. where Passus seems to signify Pause.
That which seems the first of the two, is thus distin-
guished in the title-page, nowe the seconde tyme imprinted by
Roberte Crowlye; the other thus, nowe the seconde time im
printed by Robert Crowley. tn 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 mul
tiply editions.
Signature. Tii.
Caligula A. ij. fol. 109, 123.
158
ON ALLITERATIVE METRE.
•
And Jewes Justice also. of Judeas londe
Herode under empere as Herytage wolde
Kyng," &c.
•
The other is intitled "Chevalere Assigne" [or De
Cigne], that is, "The Knight of the Swan," being
an ancient Romance, beginning thus :
"All-Weldynge God. Whene it is his Wylle
Wele he Wereth his Werke. With his owene honde
For ofte Harmes were Hente. that Helpe we ne myzte
Nere the Hyznes of Hym. that lengeth in Hevene
For this," &c.
Among Mr. Garrick's collection of old plays* is a
prose narrative of the adventures of this same Knight
of the Swan, "newly translated out of Frenshe into
Englyshe, at thinstigacion of the puyssant and illus-
tryous prynce, lorde Edward duke of Buckynghame."
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, de-
syrynge cotydyally to encrease and augment the
name and fame of such as were relucent in vertuous
feates and triumphaunt actes of chyvalry, and to en-
courage 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 sometime
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 hys-
tory is compyld, named Helyas, the knight of the
swanne, ' of whome linially is dyscended my sayde
lorde.' The whiche 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 Wordet to put the
said vertuous hystori in prynte at whose insti-
gacion and stiring 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 capacitè and rudenesse of my weke
entendement." A curious picture of the times!
While in Italy literature and the fine arts were ready
to burst forth with classical splendour under Leo X.
the first peer of this realm was proud to derive his
pedigree from a fabulous "Knight of the Swant."
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 versification.
One of these is an ancient allegorical poem, intitled
"Death and Life," (in 2 fitts or parts, containing
458 distichs) which, for aught that appears, may
have been written as early, if not before, the time of
Langland. The first forty lines are broke as they
should be into distichs, a distinction that is neg-
•
K. vol. X.
+ W. de Worde's edit. is in 1512. See Ames, p. 92. Mr.
G's copy is "¶Imprinted at London by me William Cop-
land."
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 VIII.
lected in the remaining part of the transcript, in
order I suppose to save room. It begins,
"Christ Christen king
that on the Crosse tholed;
Hadd Paines and Passyons
to defend our soules ;
Give us Grace on the Ground
the Greatlye to serve,
For that Royal Red blood
that Rann 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 attributes and
concomitants are personified in a fine vein of alle-
goric painting. Part of the description of Dame
Life is,
"Shee was Brighter of her Blee,
then was the Bright sonn:
Her Rudd Redder then the Rose,
that on the Rise hangeth :
Meekely smiling with her Mouth,
And Merry in her lookes
Ever Laughing for Love,
as shee Like would.
;
And as shee came by the Bankes,
the Boughes eche one
They Lowted to that Ladye,
and Layd forth their branches;
Blossomes and Burgens
Breathed full sweete;
Flowers Flourished in the Frith,
where shee Forth stepped;
And the Grasse, that was Gray,
Greened belive."
Death is afterwards sketched out with a no less bold
and original pencil.
The other poem is that, which is quoted in the
96th 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 96, that
in this poem the lines are throughout divided into
distichs, thus :
Grant Gracious God,
Grant me this time, &c.
It is intitled "Scottish Feilde" (in 2 Fitts, 420 dis-
tichs.) containing a very circumstantial narrative of
the battle of Flodden, fought Sept. 9, 1513: at
which the author seems to have been present, from
his speaking in the first person plural :
"Then we Tild downe OUR Tents,
that Told were a thousand.”
In the conclusion of the poem he gives this account
of himself:
"He was a Gentleman by Jesu,
that this Gest* made:
Which Say but as he Sayd †
for Sooth and noe other.
At Bagily that Bearne
his Biding place had;
* Jest. MS.
+ Probably corrupted for- Says but as he Saw?'
}
And his ancestors of old time
have yearded* theire longe,
Before William Conquerour
this Cuntry did inhabitt.
Jesus Bring them t' to Blisse,
that Brought us forth of BALE,
That hath Hearkned me Heare
or Heard my TALE.”
f
ON ALLITERATIVE METRE.
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 was of that country appears from
other passages in the body of the poem, particularly
from the pains he takes to wipe off a stain from the
Cheshiremen, who it seems ran away in that battle,
and from his encomiums on the Stanleys Earls of
Derby, who usually headed that county. He
laments the death of James Stanley bishop of Ely,
as what had recently happened when this poem was
written; which serves to ascertain its date, for that
prelate died March 22, 1514-5.
Thus have we traced the Alliterative Measure 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, par-
ticularly 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 t.
About the beginning of the sixteenth century 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 innova-
tion 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 §, now never used but in ballads
"
* Yearded, i. e. buried, earthed, earded. It is common
pronounce "Earth," in some parts of England “ Yearth,'
particularly in the North.-Pitscottie, speaking of James II1.
slain at Bannockbourn, says, "Nae man wot whar they
yearded him."
+'us,' MS. In the second line above, the MS. has
bidding."
‡ And in that of, Robert of Gloucester. See the next note.
Consisting of four Anapests (~ ~ -) in which the ac-
cent rests upon every third syllable. This kind of verse,
which I also call the Burlesque Alexandrine to distinguish
it from the other Alexandrines of eleven and fourteen
syllables, the parents of our lyric measure: See examples,
pp. 151, 152, &c.) was early applied by Robert 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 alli-
terations adopted by Langland, he rather chose final rhymes,
as the French poets have done since. Take a specimen.
1:59
and pieces of light humour, as in the following song
of "Conscience," and in that well-known doggrel,
"A cobler there was, and he lived in a stall."
"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 Guoucester wrote in the western dialect, and his
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
tho old alliterative metre of the ancient Gothic and
Francic poets, stript like our Anapestic of its alli-
teration, and ornamented with rhyme. But with
this difference, that whereas this kind of verse hath
been applied by us only to light and trivial subjects,
to which by its quick and lively measure it seemed
best adapted, our poets have let it remain in a more
lax unconfined state t, as a greater degree of
severity and strictness would have been inconsistent
with the light and airy subjects to which they have
applied it. On the other hand, the French having
retained this verse as the vehicle of their epic and
tragic flights, in order to give it a stateliness and
dignity were obliged to confine it to more exact laws
of Scansion; they have therefore limited it to the
number of twelve syllables; and by making the
Cæsura or Pause as full and distinct as possible, and
by other severe restrictions, have given it all the
solemnity of which it was capable.
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 consists of the ancient Distich
of their Francic ancestors: which, by the way, will
account to us why this verse of the French so
naturally resclves itself into two complete hemistichs.
And indeed by making the cæsura or pause always
to rest on the last syllable of a word, and by making
a kind of pause in the sense, the French poets do in
effect reduce their hemistichs to two distinct and
independent verses: and some of their old poets
have gone so far as to make the two hemistichs
rhyme to each other ‡.
After all, the old alliterative and anapestic metre
of the English poets being chiefly used in a barbarous
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, although the Spaniards, as well as we, anciently
used a short-lined metre. I believe the success with which
Petrarch, and perhaps one or two others, first used the
heroic verse of ten syllables in Italian 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 Lerd Surrey we also
owe the first introduction of blank verse in his versions of
the second and fourth books of the Æneid, 1557, 4to.
+ Thus our poets use this verse indifferently with twelve,
eleven, and even ten syllables. For though regularly it
consists of four anapests (e-) or twelve syllables, yet
they frequently retrench à syllable from the first or third
anapest; and sometimes from both; as in these instances
from Prior and from the following song of Conscience :
Whỏ hǎs eer been at Pāris must needs know thẻ Grēve,
The fatăl retreat of th' tinförtünăte brāve.
Hě stept to him straight, and did him require.
See instances in L'Hist. de la Poesie Françoise par
Massieu, &c. In the same book are also specimens of alli
terative French verses.
LUR
ON ALLITERATIVE METRE
age, and in a rude unpolished language, abounds with
verses defective in length, proportion, and harmony;
and therefore cannot enter into a comparison with the
correct versification of the best modern French
writers; but making allowances for these defects,
that sort of metre runs with a cadence so exactly
resembling the French heroic Alexandrine, that I
believe no peculiarities of their versification can be
produced, which cannot be exactly matched in the
alliterative metre. I shall give by way of example
a few lines from the modern French poets accom-
modated with parallels from the ancient poem of
"Life and Death;" in these I shall denote the
Cæsura or Pause by a perpendicular line and the
Cadence by the marks of the Latin quantity.
Lě succés fut toŭjoūrs
All shall dryè with the dints
L'hommě prudent võit trōp
Yonder damsel is death
L'intrěpidě võit mieux
When shě dolefully saw
Même aŭx yeux dě l'injūste | un înjuste ěst hõrrible+.
Then shě cast ip a cryē | tò thể high king of heavěn.
un enfant de l'ăudāce,
| that I deal with my hands.
l'ĭlĭūsion lě sūit,
that dresseth her to smite.
1
ět le füntōme fuit*.
how she dang downe hir fölke.
Du mensongě toujours |
Thou shalt bitterlyě byē |
Pour părōitre hônněte homme | ĕn ăn mòt, îl făut l'êtreŢ
Thus I fared throughe ǎ frythh
where the flōwers wěre
manyč.
lě vrai démēurē māitrě,
or else the bookě faileth.
To conclude; the metre of Pierce Plowman's
Visions has no kind of affinity with what is commonly
called Blank Verse; yet has it a sort of harmony of
its own, proceeding not so much from its alliteration,
as from the artful disposal of its cadence, and the
contrivance of its pause; so that when the ear is a
little accustomed to it, it is by no means unpleasing;
but claims all the merit of the French heroic numbers,
only far less polished; being sweetened, instead of
their final rhymes, with the internal recurrence of
similar sounds,
This Essay will receive illustration from another
specimen in Warton's "History of English Poetry,"
Vol, I, p. 309, being the fragment of a MS poem on
the subject of "Alexander the Great," in the Bodleian
Library, which he supposes to be the same with
Number 44, in the Ashmol. MSS. containing twenty-
seven pasus, and beginning thus:
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.
I am a Sotherne [i. e. Southern] man,
I cannot geste, rom, ram, raf, by my letter.
That the fondness for this species of versification,
&c. was retained longest in the northern provinces :
and that the author of " Pierce Plowman's Visions"
is in the best MSS. called "William," without any
surname. (See vol. iv. p. 74.)
ADDITIONS TO THE ESSAY ON THE ALLITERATIVE
METRE.
Since the foregoing Essay was first printed, the
Editor hath met with some additional examples of
the old alliterative metre.
The first is in MS.* which begins thus:
• Catalina, A. 3 + Boileau Sat.
Boil. Sat. 11.
§ In a small 4to MS. containing 38 leaves in private
hands.
Crist Crowned Kyng, that on Cros didest*,
And art Comfort of all Care, thowt, kind go out of
Cours
With thi Halwes in Heven Heried mote thu be,
And thy Worshipful Werkes Worshiped evre,
That suche Sondry Signes Shewest unto man,
In Dremyng, in Drecchyng‡, and in Derke swevenes
The author from this proemium takes occasion to
give an account of a dream that happened to him-
self; which he introduces with the following cir-
cumstances:
Ones y me Ordayned, as y have Ofte doon,
With Frendes, and Felawes, Frendemen, and other;
And Caught me in a Company on Corpus Christi
even,
Six, others Seven myle, out of Suthampton,
To take Melodye, and Mirthes,lamong my Makes ;
With Redyng of Romaunces, and Revelyng among,
The Dym of the Derknesse Drewe me into the west;
And be Gon for to spryng in the Grey day.
Than Lift up my Lyddes, and Loked in the sky,
And Knewe by the Kende Cours, hit clered in the
est:
Blyve y Busked me down, and to Bed went,
For to Comforte my Kynde, and Cacche a slepe.
He then describes his dream :
Methought that y Hoved on High on an Hill,
And loked Doun on a Dale Depest of othre;
Ther y Sawe in my Sighte a Selcouthe peple;
The Multitude was so Moche, it Mighte not be
nombred.
Laxe
Methoughte v herd a Crowned Kyng, of his Comunes
A Soleyne || Subsidie, to Susteyne his werres.
[wordes,
With that a Clerk Kneled adowne and Carped these
Liege Lord; yif it you Like to Listen a while,
Som Sawes of Salomon y shall you shewe sone.
*
The writer then gives a solemn lecture to kings
on the art of governing. From the demand of sub-
sidies "to susteyne his werres," I am inclined to
believe this poem composed in the reign of King
Henry V. as the MS. appears from a subsequent
entry to have been written before the 9th of Henry
VI. The whole poem contains but 146 lines.
The alliterative metre was no less popular among
the old Scottish poets, than with their brethren on
this side the Tweed. In Maitland's Collection of
ancient Scottish Poems, MS. in the Pepysian library,
is a very long poem in this species of versification,
thus inscribed:
HEIR begins the Tretis of the Twa Marriit Wemen,
and the Wedo, compylit be Maister William Dunbar¶.
"Upon the Midsummer evven Mirriest of nichtis
I Muvit furth alane quhen as Midnight was past
Besyd ane Gudlie Grene Garth **, full of Gay flouris
Hegeit ++ of ane Huge Hicht with Hawthorne treeis
Quairon ane Bird on ane Bransehe so Birst out hir
notis
[hard, &c."
That nevir ane Blythfuller Bird was on the Benche ‡‡
• Didst dye. + though. ‡ being overpowered.
§ i. e. either, or.
•
| Soleinn. ¶ Since the above was written, this poem
hath been printed in "Ancient Scottish Poems, &c. from
the MS. collections of Sir R. Maitland, of Lethingtons
knight of London, 1786," 2 vols. 12mo. The two first line,
are here corrected by that edition.
** Garden. + Hedged.
Bough.
1
1
THE COMPLAINT OF CONSCIENCE.
The author pretends to over- hear 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. 158,) which is the latest specimen I
have met with written in England. This poem con-
tains about five hundred lines.
But the current use of the Alliterative Metre in
Scotland, appears more particularly from those
popular vulgar prophecies, which are still printed
for the use of the lower people in Scotland, under
the names of "Thomas the Rymer," "Marvellous
Merling," &c. This collection seems to have been
put together after the accession of James I. to the
crown of England, and most of the pieces in it are
in the metre of "Pierce Plowman's Visions." The
first of them begins thus :
"Merling sayes in his book, who will Read Right,
Although his Sayings be uncouth, they Shall be true
In the seventh chapter, read Whoso Will, [found,
One thousand and more after Christ's birth, &c.”
And the "Prophesie of Beid:
"Betwixt the chief of Summer and the Sad winter;
Before the Heat of summer Happen shall a war
That Europ's lands Earnestly shall be wrought
And Earnest Envy shall last but a while, &c."
So again the "Prophesie of Berlington:"
"When the Ruby is Raised, Rest is there none,
But much Rancour shall Rise in River and plain,
Much Sorrow is Seen through a Suth-hound
That beares Hornes in his Head like a wyld Hart, &c."
In like metre is the "Prophesie of Waldhave :"
"Upon Lowdon Law alone as I Lay,
Looking to the Lennox, as me Lief thought,
The first Morning of May, Medicine to seek
For Malice and Melody that Moved me sore, &c."
And lastly, that intitled "The Prophesie of Gildas:
"When holy kirk is Wracked and Will has no Wit
And Pastors are Pluckt, and Pil'd without Pity
When Idolatry Is In ENS and Re
And spiritual pastours are vexed away, &c.”
It will be observed in the foregoing specimens,
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 Bur-
lington and Waldhave are more ancient than the
others: indeed the first and fifth appear evidently to
have been new modelled, if not intirely composed
about the beginning of the last century, and are pro-
bably the latest attempts ever made in this species of
verse.
In this and the foregoing Essay are mentioned
all the specimens I have met with of the Alliterative
Metre without rhyme: but instances occur some-
times in old manuscripts, of poems written both
with final rhymes in the internal cadence and alliter-
ations of the Metre of Pierce Plowman.
The following song, intitled, "The Complaint of
Conscience," is printed from the Editor's folio manu-
script: some corruptions in the old copy are here
corrected; but with notice to the reader wherever it
was judged necessary, by inclosing the corrections
between 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,
My name, quoth he, is the cause of my care,
And makes me scorned, and left here so bare.
161
Then straightway he turned him, and prayd' meʼ sit
downe,
And I will, saithe he, declare my whole greefe; 16
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.
10
There was none in the court that lived in such fame,
For with the kings councell'I' sate in commission;
Dukes, earles, and barrons esteem'd of my name;
And how that I liv'd there needs no repetition: 25
I was ever holden in honest condition,
For howsoever the lawes went in Westminster-hall,
When sentence was given, for me they wold call.
No incomes at all the landlords wold take,
But one pore peny, that was their fine;
And that they acknowledged to be for my sake.
The
poore wold doe nothing without councell mine:
I ruled the world with the right line:
For nothing was passed 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:
'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.
•
40
He brought with him three, whose names thus they
call'
W
That is Covetousnes, Lecherye, Usury, beside :
They never prevail'd, 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.
Ver 1, one, MS. V. 15, him, MS. V. 19, not in MS.
V. 23, he sate, MS. V. 35, an end, MS. V. 43, they be
these, MS. V. 46, was derided, MS.
162
THE COMPLAINT OF CONSCIENCE.
1
Then went I to the court the gallatns to winn,
But the porter kept me out of the gate:
To Bartlemew Spittle to pray for my sinne,
They bade me goe packe, it was fitt for my state;
Goe, goe, threed-bare Conscience, and seeke thee a
[queene,
Good Lord, long preserve my king, prince, and
With whom evermore I esteemed have been 56
mate.
50
Then went I to London, where once I did 'dwell' :
But they bade away with me, when they knew my
For he will undoe us to bye and to sell ! [name;
They bade me goe packe me, and bye me for shame :
They lought at my raggs, and there had good game;
This is old threed-bare Conscience, tkat dwelt
with saint Peter
63
But they wold not admitt me to be a chimney-
sweeper.
65
Not one wold receive me, the Lord' he' doth know;
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 forlorne,
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 aud the place agreed soe fit, ;
But there of my purpose 1 fayled a whit,
75
For thoughe' the judge us' d my name in everye
'commission,'
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 dissemble;
Soe they gave me some money my charges to beare,
But swore me on a booke I must never come there.
80
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,
Ver. 53, packe me, MS. V. 57, wonne, MS. V. 70, see,
V. 76, condicion, MS. V. 77, get a, MS.
And we were right glad when thou didst refuse
90
For when we wold reape profitt here thou woldst
us;
accuse us.
Then had I noe way, but for to goe on
To gentlemens houses of an ancyent name;
Declaring my greeffes, 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 greeved 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 this wood I doe me repayre,
Where hepps and hawes, that is my best fare. 105
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 proceeds'; 110
Our banishment is its utter decay,
The which the riche glutton will answer one day.
Why then, I said to him, me-thinks it were best
To goe to the clergie; for dailye they preach
Eche man to love you above all the rest;
Of Mercye, and Pittie, and Almes-' deeds', they
teach.
115
O, said he, noe matter of a pin what they preach,
For their wives and their children soe hange them
upon,
That whosoever gives almes they will* give none
Then laid he him down, and turned him away,
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 England were
blest ;
[land, 125
For then those wold love us, that now sell their
And then goodhouse-keeping wold revive' out
of hand.
120
Ver. 95, And how, MS. V. 101. so sore, MS. V. 109,
ill, MS. V. 110, not in MS. V. 119, almes-deeds. V. 126,
houses every where wold be kept, MS.
* We ought in justice and truth to read 'can.'
PLAIN TRUTH, AND BLIND IGNORANCE.
This excellent old ballad is preserved in the little
ancient miscellany, entitled, "The Garland of Good-
will." Ignorance is here made to speak in the broad
Somersetshire dialect. The scene we may suppose
to be Glastonbury Abbey,
TRUTH.
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
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
•
?
A vair and goodly abbey
Stand here of bricke and stone;
And many a holy vrier,
As ich may say to thee,
Within these goodly cloysters
Che did full often zee.
TRUTH.
Then I must tell thee, father,
In truthe and veritiè,
A sorte of greater hypocrites
Thou couldst not likely see;
Deceiving of the simple
With false and feigned lies:
But such an order truly
Christ never did devise.
IGNORANCE.
Ah! ah! che zmell thee now, man;
Che know well what thou art;
A vellow of mean learning,
Thee was not worth a vart :
Vor when we had the old lawe,
A merry world was then ;
And every thing was plenty
Among all zorts of men.
TRUTII.
II.
Thou givest me an answer,
As did the Jewes sometimes
Unto the prophet Jeremye,
When he accus'd their crimes
'Twas merry, sayd the people,
And joyfull in our rea'me,
When we did offer spice-cakes
Unto the queen of heav'n.
5
10
15
20
25
30
35
40
* i. e. faithen: as in the Midland counties they say honsen,
closen, for houses, closes. A.
IGNORANCE.
Chill tell thee what, good vellowe,
Before the vriers went hence,
A bushell of the best wheate
Was zold vor vourteen pence;
And vorty egges a penny,
That were both good and newe;
And this che zay my zelf have zeene,
And yet ich am no Jewe.
TRUTH
Within the sacred bible
We find it written plain,
The latter days should troublesome
And dangerous be, certaine ;
That we should be self-lovers,
And charity wax colde;
Then 'tis not true religion
That makes thee grief to holde.
IGNORANCE.
IGNO
Chill tell thee my opinion plaine,
And choul'd that well ye knewe,
Ich care not for the bible booke ;
Tis too big to be true.
Our blessed ladyes psalter
Zhall for my money goe;
Zuch pretty prayers, as there bee *,
The bible cannot zhowe.
TRUTH.
Nowe hast thou spoken trulye,
For in that book indeede
No mention of our lady,
Or Romish saint we read:
For by the blessed Spirit
That book indited was,
And not by simple persons,
As was the foolish masse.
IGNORANCE,
Cham zure they were not voolishe
That made the masse, che trowe;
Why, man, 'tis all in Latine,
And vools no Latine knowe.
Were not our fathers wise men,
And they did like it well;
Who very much rejoyced
To heare the zacring bell?
TRUTH.
But many kinges and prophets,
As I may say to thee,
Have wisht the light that you have,
And could it never see :
For what art thou the better
A Latin song to heare,
And understandest nothing,
That they sing in the quiere?
45
50
55
60
65
70
75
80
85
* Probably alluding to the illuminated psalters, missals,
&c.
M 2
164
THE WANDERING JEW.
IGNORANCE.
O hold thy peace, che pray thee,
The noise was passing trim
To heare the vriers zinging,
As we did enter in :
And then to zee the rood-loft
Zo bravely zet with zaints ;—
But now to zee them wandring
My heart with zorrow vaints.
TRUTH.
The Lord did give commandment,
No image thou shouldst make,
Nor that unto idolatry
You should your self betake:
The golden calf of Israel
Moses did therefore spoile;
And Baal's priests and temple
Were brought to utter foile.
IGNORANCÈ.
But our lady of Walsinghame
Was a pure and holy zaint,
And many men in pilgrimage
Did shew to her complaint.
Yea with zweet Thomas Becket,
And many other moe:
The holy maid of Kent * likewise
Did many wonders zhowe.
TRUTH.
Such saints are well agreeing
To your profession sure;
And to the men that made them
So precious and so pure ;
90
95
100
105
110
115
The story of the Wandering Jew is of considerable
antiquity: it had obtained full credit in this part of
the world before the year 1228, as we learn from
Matthew Paris. For in that year, it seems, there
came an Armenian archbishop into England, to visit
the shrines and reliques preserved in our churches;
who, being entertained at the monastery of St. Al-
bans, 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 bis
table but a little while before he left the East: that
he had been Pontius Pilate's porter, by name Carta-
philus; who, when they were dragging Jesus out of
:
The one for being a traytoure,
Met an untimely death;
The other eke for treason
Did end her hateful breath.
* By name Eliz. Barton, executed April 21, 1534. Stow,
p. 570.
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,
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,
Which never Christ commanded,
As learned doctors knowe:
Search then the holy scriptures,
And thou shalt plainly see
That headlong to damnation
They alway trained thee.
III.
THE WANDERING JEW.
IGNORANCE.
If it be true, good vellowe,
As thou dost zay to mee,
Unto my heavenly fader
Alone then will I flee:
Believing in the Gospel,
And passion of his Zon,
And with the zubtil papistes
Ich have for ever done.
120
125
130
135
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 ecstacy, out of which when he recovers, he re-
turns to the same state of youth he was in when Je-
sus suffered, being then about thirty years of age.
He remembers all the circumstances of the death and
resurrection of Christ, the saints that arose with him,
the composing of the apostles creed, their preaching,
and dispersion; and is himself a very grave and holy
person." This is the substance of Matthew Paris's
account, who was himself a monk of St. Albans, and
was living at the time when the Armenian archbishop
made the above relation.
Since his time soveral impostors have appeared at
intervals under the name and character of the "Wan-
dering Jew;" whose several histories may be seen
in Calmet's dictionary of the Bible. See also the
Turkish 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
later date. It is preserved in black-letter in the Pe-
pys collection.
WHEN as in faire Jerusalem
Our Saviour Christ did live,
And for the sins of all the worlde
THE WANDERING JEW.
His own deare life did give ;
The wicked Jewes with scoffes and scornes
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,
In scornfull sort they led him forthe
Unto his dying place,
Where thousand thousands in the streete
Beheld him passe along,
Yet not one gentle heart was there,
That pityed this his wrong.
Both old and young reviled him,
As in the streete he wente,
And nought he found but churlish tauntes,
By every ones consente:
His owne deare crosse he bore himselfe,
A burthen far too great,
Which made him in the street 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.
And thereupon he thrust him thence;
At which our Saviour sayd,
I sure will rest, but thou shalt walke,
And have no journey stayed.
With that this cursed shoemaker,
For offering Christ this wrong,
Left wife and children, house and all,
And went from thence along.
Where after he had seene the bloude
Of Jesus Christ thus shed,
And to the crosse his bodye nail'd,
Awaye with speed he fled
Without returning backe againe
Unto his dwelling place,
And wandred up and downe the worlde,
runnagate most base.
A
;
No resting could he finde at all,
No ease, nor hearts content
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
Of his fore-passed ill.
5
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20
25
30
35
40
45
50
55
Thus after some fewe ages past
In wandring up and downe;
He much again desired to see
Jerusalems renowne,
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
From place to place, but cannot rest
For seeing countries newe;
Declaring still the power of him,
Whereas he comes or goes,
And of all things done in the east,
Since Christ his death, he showes.
The world he hath still compast round
And seene those nations strange,
That hearing of the name of Christ,
Their 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:
Desiring still to be dissolv'd,
And yeild his mortal breath;
But, if the Lord hath thus decreed,
He shall not yet see death.
For neither lookes he old nor young,
But as he did those times,
When Christ did suffer on the crosse
For mortall sinners crimes,
He hath past through many a foreigne place,
Arabia, Egypt, Africa,
Grecia, Syria, and great Thrace,
And throughout all Hungaria,
Where Paul and Peter preached Christ,
Those blest apostles deare;
There he hath told our Saviours wordes,
In countries far and neare.
And lately in Bohemia,
With many a German towne;
And now in Flanders, as tis thought,
He wandreth up and downe:
Where learned men with him conferre
Of those his lingering dayes,
And wonder much to heare him tell
His journeyes, and his wayes.
If people give this Jew an almes,
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,
Affirming still that Jesus Christ
Of him hath dailye care.
He ne'er was seene to laugh nor smile,
But weepe and make great moane;
Lamenting still his miseries,
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.
165
60
65
70
75
80
85
90
95
100
105
110
115
120
106
If
you
had seene his death, saith he,
As these mine eyes have done,
Ten thousand thousand times would yee
His torments think upon :
•
GOE, Soule, the bodies guest,
Upon a thankelesse arrant;
Feare not to touche the best,
""
-is found in a very scarce miscellany intitled
Davison's Poems, or a poeticall Rapsodie 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 Davison's poems before that
time, one in 1608*, the other in 1611t. So that
unless this poem was an after-insertion in the 4th
edit. it must have been written long before the death
of Sir Walter: perhaps it was composed soon after
his condemnation in 1603. See Oldys's Life of Sir
Walter Raleigh, p. 173, fol.
The truth shall be thy warrant :
Goe, since I needs must dye,
And give the world the lye.
Goe tell the court, it glowes
And shines like rotten wood;
Goe tell the church it showes
What's good, and doth no good:
If church and court reply,
Then give them both the lye.
Tell potentates they live
;
Acting by others actions
Not lov'd unlesse they give,
Not strong but by their factions;
If potentates reply,
Give potentates the lye.
Tell men of high condition,
That rule affairs of state,
Their
is ambition,
purpose
Their practise onely hate;
And if they once reply,
Then give them all the lye.
Tell them that brave it most,
They beg for more by spending,
Who in their greatest cost
Seek nothing but commending;
And if they make reply,
Spare not to give the lye.
mislaid.
THE LYE.
IV.
THE LYE.
BY SIR WALTER RALEIGH,
5
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15
20
25
And suffer for his sake all paine
Of torments, and all woes.
These are his wordes and eke his life
Whereas he comes or goes.
30
*Catalogue of T. Rawlinson, 1727.
Catalogue of Sion coll. library. This is either lost or
Tell zeale, it lacks devotion;
Tell love, it is but lust;
Tell time, it is but motion;
Tell flesh, it is but dust;
And wish them not reply,
For thou must give the lye.
Tell age, it daily wasteth;
Tell honour, how it alters;
Tell beauty, how she blasteth;
Tell favour, how she falters;
And as they shall reply,
Give each of them the lye.
Tell wit, how much it wrangles
In tickle points of nicenesse;
Tell wisedome, she entangles
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;
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;
Tell nature of decay;
Tell friendship of unkindnesse ;
Tell justice of delay :
And if they dare reply,
Then give them all the lye.
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,
Give arts and schooles the lye.
Tell faith, it's fled the citie;
Tell how the countrey erreth,
Tell, manhood shakes off pitie;
Tell, vertue least preferreth:
And, if they doe reply,
Spare not to give the lye.
So, when thou hast, as I
Commanded thee, done blabbing,
Although to give the lye
Deserves no less than stabbing,
Yet stab at thee who will,
No stab the soule can kill.
>
135
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50
55
60
65
70
75
KING JOHN AND THE ABBOT OF CANTERBURY.
V.
VERSES BY KING JAMES I.
In the firs. edition of this book were inserted, by
way of spec len 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 commenda-
tions in prose, and that some obsequious court-
rhymer put them into metre *; it was thought proper
to exchange them for two sonnets of King James's
own composition. James was a great versifier, and
therefore out of the multitude of his poems, we have
here selected two, which (to shew 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 example of the
Bathos.
A SONNET ADDRESSED BY KING JAMES TO HIS SON
PRINCE HENRY.
" Own
From King James's Works in folio: where is
also printed another called his Majesty's
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 reigne,
Observe the statutes of our heavenly King;
And from his law make all your laws to spring;
Since his lieutenant here ye
should remaine.
The common popular ballad of "King John and
the Abbot" seems to have been abridged and mo-
dernized about the time of James I. from one much
older, entitled, "King John and the Bishop of Can-
terbury." 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 reviving,
which will be found inserted in the ensuing stanzas.
The archness of the following questions and
answers hath been much admired by our old ballad-
makers; for besides the two copies above men-
tioned, there is extant another ballad on the same
subject (but of no great antiquity or merit), entitled,
King Olfrey and the Abbot.:" Lastly, about the
time of the civil wars, when the cry ran against the
* See a folio, intitled, "The Muses welcome to King
James.
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 prophane.
And so ye shall in princely vertues shine,
Resembling right your mightie King divine.
↑ See the collection of Historical Ballads, 3 vols. 1727.
Mr. Wise supposes Olfrey to be a corruption of Alfred, in
his pamphlet concerning the White Horse in Berkshire, 6.
15.
A SONNET OCCASIONED BY THE BAD WEATHER WHICH
HINDERED THE SPORTS AT NEWMARKET
IN JANUARY 1616.
This is printed from Drummond of Hawthornden's
works, folio: where also may be seen some verses
of Lord Stirling's upon this sonnet, which concludes
with the finest Anticlimax I remember to have seen.
VI.
167
How cruelly these catives do conspire?
What loathsome love breeds such a baleful band
Betwixt the cankred King of Creta land *,
That melancholy old and angry sire,
KING JOHN AND THE ABBOT OF CANTERBURY.
5
And him, who wont to quench debate and ire
Among the Romans, when his ports were clos'd †?
But now his double face is still dispos'd,
With Saturn's help, to freeze us at the fire.
The earth ore-covered with a sheet of snow,
Refuses food to fowl, to bird, and beast:
The chilling cold lets every thing to grow,
And surfeits cattle with a starving feast.
Curs'd be that love and mought ‡ continue short,
Which kills all creatures, and doth spoil our sport.
bishops, some puritan worked up the same story
into a very doleful ditty, to a solemn tune, concern-
ing "King Henry and a Bishop;" with this stinging
moral :
"Unlearned men hard matters out can find,
When learned bishops princes eyes do blind."
10
The following is chiefly printed from an ancient
black-letter copy, to “ The tune of Derry down."
An ancient story Ile tell you anon
Of a notable prince, that was called King John;
And he ruled England with maine and with might,
For he did great wrong, and maintein'd little right.
And Ile tell you a story, a story so merrye,
Concerning the Abbot of Canterburye;
How for his house-keeping, and high renowne,
They rode poste for him to fair London towne.
Ţi. e. may it.
* Saturn.
+ Janus.
5
168
KING JOHN AND THE ABBOT OF CANTERBURY.
An hundred men, the king did heare say,
The abbot kept in his house every day;
And fifty golde chaynes, without any doubt,
In velvet coates waited the abbot about.
How now, father abbot, I heare it of thee,
Thou keepest a farre better house than mee,
And for thy house-keeping and high renowne,
I feare thou work'st treason against my crown.
Yes, yes, father abbot, thy fault it is highe,
And now for the same thou needest must dye;
For except thou canst answer me questions three,
Thy head shall be smitten from thy bodìe.
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.
Secondlye, tell me, without any doubt,
llow 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.
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.
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,
Thy lands and thy livings are forfeit to mee.
10
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.
15
O, these are hard questions for my shallow witt,
Nor I cannot answer your grace as yet :
But if you will give me but three weekes space, 35
Ile do my endeavour to answer your grace.
20
The first is to tell him there in that stead,
With his crowne of golde so fair on his head,
Among all his liege men so noble of birth,
To within one penny of whnt 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."
30
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?
40
50
"Sad newes, sad newes, shepheard, I must give;
That I have but three days more to live:
For if I do not answer him questions three,
My head will be smitten from my bodìe.
45
55
60 |
Now cheare up, sire abbot, did you never hear yet,
That a fool he may learne a wise man witt?
Lend me horse, and serving men, and your apparel,
And I'll ride to London to answere your quarrel.
Nay frowne not, if it hath bin told unto mee,
I am like your lordship, as ever may bee:
And if you will but lend me your gowne,
There is none shall knowe us in fair London towne.
Now horses, and serving-men thou shalt have,
With sumptuous array most gallant and brave;
With crozier, and miter, and rochet, and cope,
Fit to appeare 'fore our fader the pope.
And first, when thou seest me here in this stead,
With my crown 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.
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.
65
70
"For thirty pence our Saivour was sold
Among the false Jewes, as I have bin told:
And twenty-nine is the worth of thee,
For I thinke, thou art one penny worser than hee."
The king he laughed, and swore by St. Bittel*, 85
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.
80
"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 the masse,
Ile make thee lord abbot this day in his place!
"
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
Now naye, my liege, be not in such speede,
For alacke I can neither write, ne reade."
Yea, that shall I do, and make your grace merry :
You thinke I'm the abbot of Canterbury;
But I'm his poor shepheard, as plain you may see,
That am come to beg pardon for him and for mee."100
* Meaning probably St. Botolph.
Four nobles a week, then I will give thee,
For this merry jest thou hast showne unto mee;
And tell the old abbot when thou comest home,
Thou has brought him a pardon from good King
John.
105
THE OLD AND YOUNG COURTIER.
VII.
YOU MEANER BEAUTIES.
This little sonnet was written by Sir Henry
Wotton, knight, on that amiable princess, Elizabeth
daughter of James I. and wife of the Elector Pala-
tine, who was chosen King of Bohemia, Sept. 5,
1519. 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 Reliquia Wottoniana,
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 ;
VIII.
This excellent old song, the subject of which is a
comparison between the manners of the old gentry,
as still subsisting in the times of Elizabeth, and the
modern refinements affected by their sons in the
! reigns of her successors, is given, with corrections,
from an ancient black-letter copy in the Pepys col-
lection, compared with another printed among some
miscellaneous" poems and songs," in a book inti-
tled, "Le Prince d'Amour," 1660, 8vo.
[estate,
AN old song made by an aged old pate,
Of an old worshipful gentleman, who had a greate
That kept a brave old house at a bountiful rate,
And an old porter to relieve the poor at his gate;
Like an old courtier of the queen's,
And the queen's old courtier.
With an old lady, whose anger one word asswages;
They every quarter paid their old servants their wages,
And never knew what belong'd to coachmen, foot-
men, nor pages,
[badges;
But kept twenty old fellows with blue coats and
Like an old courtier, &c.
You common people of the skies,
What are you when the moon shall rise?
THE OLD AND YOUNG COURTIER.
With an old study fill'd full of learned old books,
With an old reverend chaplain, you might know him
by his looks,
With an old buttery hatch worn quite off the hooks,
And an old kitchen, that maintain'd half a dozen old
Like an old courtier, &c.
[cooks.
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?
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,
Whon Philomell her voyce shall raise?
So when my mistris shal be seene
In sweetnesse of her looks and minde;
By virtue first, then choyce a queen;
Tell me, if she was not design'd
Th' eclypse and glory of her kind?
169
5
10
15
Like a young courtier of the king's,
And the king's young courtier.
20
With an old hall, hung about with pikes, guns, and
bows,
With old swords, and bucklers, that had borne many
shrewde blows,
[hose,
And an old frize coat, to cover his worship's trunk
And a cup of old sherry, to comfort his copper nose;
Like an old courtier, &c.
With a good old fashion, when Christmasse was come,
To call in all his old neighbours with bagpipe and
drum,
With good chear enough to furnish every old room,
And old liquor able to make a cat speak, and man
Like an old courtier, &c.
[dumb.
With an old falconer, huntsman, and a kennel of
hounds,
[grounds,
That never hawked, nor hunted, but in his own
Who, like a wise man, kept himself within his own
bounds,
And when he dyed gave every child a thousand good
Like an old courtier, &c. [pounds;
But to his eldest son his house and land he assign'd,
Charging him in his will to keep the old bountifull
mind,
[be kind:
To be good to his old tenants, and to his neighbours
But in the ensuing ditty you shall hear how he was
inclin'd;
170
SIR JOHN SUCKLING'S CAMPAIGNE.
Like a flourishing young gallant, newly come to his
land,
[mand,
Who keeps a brace of painted madams at his com-
And takes up a thousand pound upon his father's
land,
[stand;
And gets drunk in a tavern, till he can neither go nor
Like a young courtier, &c.
With a new-fangled lady, that is dainty, nice, and
spare,
Who never knew what belonged to good house-
keeping, or care,
[air,
Who buyes gaudy-color'd fans to play with wanton
And seven or eight different dressings of other
women's hair;
Like a young courtier, &c.
With a new-fashion'd hall, built where the old one
stood,
[good,
Hung round with new pictures, that do the poor no
With a fine marble chimney, wherein burns neither
coal nor wood,
[ne'er stood;
And a new smooth shovelboard, whereon no victuals.
Like a young courtier, &c.
With a new study, stuft full of pamphlets, and plays,
And a new chaplain, that swears faster than he prays,
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 expence. Among these none
were more distinguished than the gallant Sir John
Suckling, who raised a troop of horse, so richly ac-
coutred, that it cost him 12,000l. The like expen-
sive 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 Memoirs.] When they came to action, the
rugged Scots proved more than a match for the fine
shewy English: many of whom behaved remarkably
ill, and among the rest this splendid troop of Sir
John Suckling's.
This humorous pasquil has been generally sup-
posed to have been written by Sir John, as a banter
upon himself. Some of his contemporaries however
attributed it to Sir John Mennis, a wit of those
times, among whose poems it is printed in a small
poetical miscellany, intitled, " Musarum deliciæ: or
the Muses recreation, containing several pieces of
poetique wit, 2d edition.-By Sir J. M. [Sir John
Mennis] and Ja. S. [James Smith.] London 1656,
12mo.' [See Woods Athenæ, II. 397, 418.] In
that copy is subjoined 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,
"3
;
But his lost honour must lye still in the dust
At Barwick away it went-a."
With a new buttery hatch, that opens once in four
or five days,
[and toys;
And a new French cook, to devise fine kickshaws,
Like a young courtier, &c.
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.
With a new fashion, when Christmas is drawing on,
On a new journey to London straight we all must
begone,
[John,
And leave none to keep house, but our new porter
Who relieves the poor with a thump on the back
with a stone;
Like a young courtier, &c.
With a new gentleman-usher, whose carriage is
compleat,
[up the meat.
With a new coachman, footmen, and pages to carry
With a waiting-gentlewoman, whose dressing is
very neat,
[eat;
Who when her lady has din'd, lets the servants not
Like a young courtier, &c.
IX.
SIR JOHN SUCKLING'S CAMPAIGNE.
With new titles of honour bought with his father's
old gold,
[sold;
For which sundry of his ancestors old manors are
And this is the course most of our new gallants 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.
•
No Errant-knight ever went to fight
With halfe so gay a bravada,
Had
you seen but his look, you'ld have sworn on a
Hee❜ld have conquer'd a whole armada.
[book,
The ladies ran all to the windows to see
So gallant and warlike a sight-a,
And as he pass'd by, they said with a sigh,
Sir John, why will you go fight-a?
But he, like a cruel knight, spurr'd on ;
His heart would not relent-a,
For, till he came there, what had he to fear?
Or why should he repent-a?
For when the Scots army came within sight,
And all prepared to fight-a,
He ran to his tent, they ask'd what he meant,
He swore he must needs goe sh*te-a.
5
10
15
The king (God bless him!) had singular hopes
Of him and all his troop-a:
The borderers they, as they met him on the way,
For joy did hollow, and whoop-a.
20
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.
25
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. Sce Bayle's Dictionary.
THE DOWNFALL OF CHARING-CROSS.
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 kill'd the very first man-a.
This excellent sonnet, which possessed a high
degree of fame among the old cavaliers, was written
by Colonel Richard Lovelace during his confinement
in the gate-house Westminster to which he was
committed by the House of Commons, in April 1642,
for presenting a petition from the county of Kent,
requesting them to restore the king to his rights,
and to settle the government. See Wood's Athenæ,
Vol. II. p. 228, and Lysons's Environs of London,
Vol. I. p. 109; where may be seen at large the
affecting story of this elegant writer, who after
having been distinguished for every gallant and
polite accomplishment, the pattern of his own sex,
and the darling of the ladies, died in the lowest
wretchedness, obscurity, and want, in 1658.
This song is printed from a scarce volume o Lis
poems intitled, "Lucasta, 1649, 12mo." collated with
a copy in the Editor's folio MS.
TO ALTHEA FROM PRISON:
WHEN love with unconfined wings
Hovers within my gates,
And my divine Althea brings
To whisper at my grates;
When I lye tangled in her haire,
And fetter'd with her eye,
The birds that wanton in the aire,
Know no such libertye.
5
X.
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 herse 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 preserve it from the
merciless zeal of the times: For, in 1647, it was
demolished by order of the House of Commons, as
popish and superstitious. This occasioned the fol-
lowing not unhumourous sarcasm which has been
often printed among the popular sonnets of those
times.
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.
The plot referred to in ver. 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.
When flowing cups run swiftly round
With no allaying Thames,
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,
Know no such libertìe.
When, linnet-like, confined I
With shriller note shall sing
The mercye, sweetness, majestye,
And glories of my king;
When I shall voyce aloud how good
He is, how great should be,
Th' enlarged windes, that curle the flood,
Know no such libertìe.
XI.
THE DOWNFALL OF CHARING-CROSS.
Stone walls doe not a prison make,
Nor iron barres a cage,
Mindes, innocent, and quiet, take
That for an hermitage :
If I have freedom in my love,
And in my soule am free,
Angels alone, that soare above,
Enjoy such libertìe.
UNDONE, undone the lawyers are,
They wander about the towne,
Nor can find the way to Westminster,
Now Charing-cross is downe :
At the end of the Strand, they make a stand,
Swearing they are at a loss,
And 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.
171
35
10
20
25
30
5
10
15
Ver 10, with woe-allaying theines, MS. Thames is used
for water in general.
172
LOYALTY CONFINED.
Men talk of plots, this might have been worse
For anything I know,
Than that Tomkins, and Chaloner,
Were hang'd for long agoe.
Our parliament did that prevent,
And wisely them defended,
For plots they will discover still,
Before they were intended.
But neither man, woman, nor child,
Will say, I'm confident,
They ever heard it speak one word
Against the parliament.
An informer swore, it letters bore,
Or else it had been freed
;
I'll take, in troth, my Bible oath,
It could neither write, nor read.
The committee said, that verily
To popery it was bent;
For ought I know it might be so,
For to church it never went.
What with excise, and such device,
The kingdom doth begin
To think you'll leave them ne'er a cross,
Without doors nor within.
BEAT On, proud billows; Boreas blow;
Swell, curled waves, high as Jove's roof;
Your incivility doth show,
That innocence is tempest proof;
20
25
That which the world miscalls a jail,
A private closet is to me:
Whilst a good conscience is my bail,
And innocence my liberty :
Locks, bars, and solitude, together met,
Make me no prisoner, but an anchoret.
30
I, whilst I wisht to be retir'd,
Into this private room was turn'd ;
As if their wisdoms had conspir'd
The salamander should be burn'd:
Or like those sophists, that would drown a fish,
I am constrain'd to suffer what I wish.
35
40
This excellent old song is preserved in David Lloyd's
"Memoires of those that suffered in the cause of
Charles I." London 1668, fol. p. 96. He speaks of
it as the composition of a worthy personage, who
suffered deeply in those times, and was still living
with no other reward than the conscience of having
suffered. The author's name he has not mentioned,
but, if tradition may be credited, this song was
written by Sir Roger L'Estrange.-Some mistakes
in Lloyd's copy are corrected by two others, one in
MS. the other in the "Westminster Drollery, or a
choice Collection of Songs and Poems, 1671."
12mo.
Though surly Nereus frown, my thoughts are calm;
Then strike, Affliction, for thy wounds are balm. 6
XII.
LOYALTY CONFINED.
10
Methinks the common-council shou’d
Of it have taken pity,
'Cause, good old cross, it always stood
So firmly to the city.
15
Since crosses you so much disdain,
Faith, if I were as you,
For feare the king should rule again,
I'd pull down Tyburn too.
""
Whitelocke says, "May 3, 1643, Cheapside
cross and other crosses were voted down," &c.-But
this Vote was not put in execution with regard to
Charing Cross" till four years after, as appears
from Lilly's Observations on the Life, &c. of King
Charles, viz. "Charing-Cross, we know, was pulled
down, 1647, in June, July, and August. Part of
the stones were converted to pave before Whitehall.
I have seen Knife-hafts made of some of the stones,
which, being well polished, looked like marble."
Ed. 1715, p. 18, 12mo.
See an Account of the pulling down Cheapside
Cross, in the Supplement to Gent. Mag. 1764.
The cynick loves his poverty;
The pelican her wilderness;
And 'tis the Indian's pride to be
Naked on frozen Caucasus :
Contentment cannot smart, Stoicks we see
Make torments easie to their apathy.
These manacles upon my arm
I, as my mistress' favours, wear;
And for to keep my ancles warm,
I have some iron shackles there :
These walls are but my garrison; this cell,
Which men call jail, doth prove my citadel
45
I'm in the cabinet lockt up,
Like some high-prized margarite,
Or, like the great mogul or pope,
Am cloyster'd up from publick sight:
Retiredness is a piece of majesty,
And thus proud sultan, I'm as great as thee.
Here sin for want of food must starve,
Where tempting objects are not seen
And these strong walls do only serve
To keep vice out, and keep me in:
Malice of late's grown charitable sure,
I'm not committed, but am kept secure.
?
So he that struck at Jason's life*,
Thinking t' have made his purpose sure,
By a malicious friendly knife
Did only wound him to a cure:
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25
30
35
40
45
* See this remarkable story in Cicero de Nat. Deorum, Lib.
3, c. 28. Cic. de Offic. Lib. I. c. 30; see also Val. Max. 1,8.
VERSES BY KING CHARLES I.
Malice, I see, wants wit; for what is meant
Mischief, oft-times proves favour by th' event.
When once my prince affliction hath,
Prosperity doth treason seem;
And to make smooth so rough a path,
I can learn patience from him:
Now not to suffer shews no loyal heart,
When kings want ease subjects must bear a part.
What though I cannot see my king
Neither in person or in coin ;
Yet contemplation is a thing
That renders what I have not, mine:
My king from me what adamant can part,
Whom I do wear engraven on my heart?
Have you not seen the nightingale,
A prisoner like, coopt in a cage,
50
55
"This prince, like his father, did not confine him-
self 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
unharmonious, but there are strong thoughts in it,
some good sense, and a strain of majestic piety."
Mr. Walpole's Royal and Noble Authors, vol. I.
It is in his "Memoirs of the Duke of Hamilton,"
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 when it was written, and copied
it out from the original. It is there intitled, “Ma-
JESTY IN MISERY: OR AN IMPLORATION TO THE KING
OF KINGS."
And teach my tongue, that ever did confine
Its faculties in truth's seraphick line,
To track the treasons of thy foes and mine.
60
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 comment upon them. These are almost
the only verses known of Charles's composition.
Indeed a little Poem "On a Quite Conscience,"
printed in the Poetical Calendar, 1763, vol. VIII is
attributed to King Charles I; being reprinted from
a thin 8vo. published by Nahum Tate, called “Mis-
cellanea Sacra, or Poems on Divine and Moral
Subjects."
Nature and law, by thy divine decree,
The only root of righteous royaltie)
With this dim diadem invested me:
XIII.
VERSES BY KING CHARLES I.
GREAT monarch of the world, from whose power
The potency and power of kings,
[springs
Record the royal woe my suffering sings;
With it, the sacred scepter, purple robe,
The holy unction, and the royal globe:
Yet am I levell'd with the life of Job.
How doth she chaunt her wonted tale
In that her narrow hermitage?
Even then her charming melody doth prove,
That all her bars are trees, her cage a grove,
10
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, and sing
Disgrace to rebels, glory to my king.
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.
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 the cause,
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,
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 treason.
Next at the clergy do their furies frown,
Pious episcopacy must go down,
They will destroy the crosier and the crown.
The church of England doth all factions foster,
The pulpit is usurpt by each impostor,
Extempore excludes the Paternoster.
Churchmen are chain'd, and schismaticks are freed,
Mechanicks preach, and holy fathers bleed,
The crown is crucified with the creed.
The corner stone's misplac'd by every pavier:
With such a bloody method and behaviour
Their ancestors did crucifie our Saviour.
173
My royal consort, from whose fruitful womb
So many princes legally have come,
Is forc'd in pilgrimage to seek a tomb.
Great Britain's heir is forced into France,
Whilst on his father's head his foes advance:
Poor child! he weeps out his inheritance.
65
70
75
15
20
25
The Presbyter, and Independent seed
Springs with broad blades. To make religion bleed
Herod and Pontius Pilate are agreed.
36
30
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45
174
THE SALE OF REBELLIOUS HOUSEHOLD-STUFF.
With my own power my majesty they wound,
In the king's name the king himself's uncrown'd
So doth the dust destroy the diamond.
With propositions daily they enchant
My people's ears, such as do reason daunt,
And the Almighty will not let me grant.
They promise to erect my royal stem,
To make me great, t' advance my diadem,
If I will first fall down, and worship them!
But for refusal they devour my thrones,
Distress my children, and destroy my bones;
I fear they'll force me to make bread of stones.
My life they prize at such a slender rate,
That in my absence they draw bills of hate,
To prove the king a traytor to the state.
REBELLION hath broken up house,
And hath left me old lumber to sell;
Come hither, and take your choice,
I'll promise to use you well:
Will you buy the old speaker's chair?
Which was warm and easie to sit in,
And oft hath been clean'd I declare,
When as it was fouler than fitting.
Says old Simon the king, &c.
Will you buy any bacon-flitches,
The fattest, that ever were spent?
They're the sides of the old committees,
Fed up in the long parliament.
Here's a pair of bellows, and tongs,
And for a small matter I'll sell ye 'um;
They are made of the presbyters lungs,
To blow up the coals of rebellion.
Says old Simon, &c.
I had thought to have given them once
To some black-smith for his forge;
But now I have considered on't,
They are consecrate to the church:
So I'll give them unto some quire,
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.
They will make the big organs roar,
And the little pipes to squeeke higher,
Than ever they could before.
Says old Simon, &c.
50
Here's a couple of stools for sale,
One's square, and t'other is round;
Betwixt them both the tail
55
Of the Rump fell down to the ground.
Will
you buy the states council-table,
60
THE SALE OF REBELLIOUS HOUSEHOLD-STUff.
10
XIV.
5
10
15
20
Felons obtain more privilege than I,
They are allowed to answer ere they die;
'Tis death for me to ask the reason, why.
25
But, sacred Saviour, with thy words I woo
Thee to forgive, and not be bitter to
Such, as thou know'st do not know what they do.
65
30
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, nullifie my hate,
Preserve my issue, and inspire my mate;
Yet, though we perish, bless this church and state,
Which was made of the good wain Scot?
The frame was a tottering Babel
To uphold the Independent plot.
Says old Simon, &c.
Here's the 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.
Will you buy the states spinning-wheel,
Which spun for the roper's trade?
But better it had stood still,
For now it has spun a fair thread.
Says old Simon, &c.
Here's a glyster-pipe well try'd,
Which was made of a butcher's stump
And has been safely apply'd,
To cure the colds of the rump.
Here's a lump of Pilgrim's-Salve,
Which once was a justice of peace,
Who Noll and the Devil did serve;
But now it is come to this.
Says old Simon, &c.
Here's a roll of the states tobacco,
If any good fellow will take it;
No 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;
And many of them, that have took't,
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.
2
70
35
10
45
59
55
GO
65
* Alluding probably to Major-General Harrison, a but
cner's son, who assisted Cromwell in turning out the long
parliament April 20, 1653.
THE BAFFLED KNIGHT, OR LADY'S POLICY.
A Lanthorn here is to be bought,
The like was scarce ever gotten,
For many plots it has found out
Before they ever were thought on
Says old Simon, &c.
Will you buy the Rump's great saddle,
With which it jocky'd the nation?
And here is the bitt, and the bridle,
And curb of Dissimulation:
And here's the trunk-hose of the Rump,
And their fair dissembling cloak,
And a Presbyterian jump,
With an Independent smock,
Says old Simon, &c.
Will you buy a Conscience oft turn'd,
Which serv'd the high-court of justice,
And stretch'd until England it mourn'd :
But hell will buy that if the worst is.
Here's Joan Cromwell's kitching-stuff tub,
Wherein is the fat of the Rumpers,
A
THERE was a knight was drunk with wine,
A riding along the way, sir;
And there he met with a lady fine,
Among the cocks of bay, sir.
Shall you and I, O lady faire,
Among the grass lye down-a:
And I will have a special care
Of rumpling of your gowne-a.
Upon the grass there is a dewe,
Will spoil my damask gowne, sir:
My gowne and kirtle they are newe,
And cost me many a crowne, sir..
I have a cloak of scarlet red,
Upon the ground I'll throwe it ;
Then, lady faire, come lay thy head
We'll play, and none shall knowe it.
70
Given (with some corrections) from a MS. copy,
and collated with two printed ones in Roman cha-
racter in the Pepys dollection.
O yonder stands my steed so free
Among the cocks of hay, sir;
And if the pinner should chance to see,
He'll take my steed away, sir.
7
Upon my finger I have a ring
Its made of finest gold-a,
And, lady, it thy steed shall bring
Out of the pinner's fold-a.
80
85
THE BAFFLED KNIGHT, OR LADY'S POLICY,
O go with me to my father's hall;
Fair chambers there are three, sir:
And you shall have the best of all,
And I'll your chamberlaine bee, sir.
XV.
5
10
15
20
Ver. 86. This was a cant name given 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.
With which old Noll's horns she did rub,
When he was got drunk with false bumpers.
Says old Simon, &c.
Here's the purse of the public faith;
Here's the model of the Sequestration,
When the old wives upon their good troth,
Lent thimbles to ruine the nation.
Here's Dick Cromwell's Protectorship,
And here are Lambert's commissions,
And here is Hugh Peters his scrip
Cramm'd with the tumultuous petitions.
Says old Simon, &c.
And here are old Noll's brewing vessels,
And here are his dray, and his slings;
Here are Hewson's awl, and his bristles;
With diverse other odd things:
And what is the price doth belong
To all these matters before ye?
I'll sell them all for an old song,
And so I do end my story.
Says old Simon, &c.
He mounted himself on his steed so tall,
And her on her dapple gray, sir:
And there they rode to her father's hall,
Fast pricking along the way, sir.
To her father's hall they arrived strait;
'Twas moated round about-a;
She slipped herself within the gate,
And lockt the knight without-a.
Here is a silver penny to spend,
And take it for your pain, sir;
And two of my father's men I'll send
To wait on you back again, sir.
He from his scabbard drew his brand,
And wiped it upon his sleeve-a!
And cursed, he said, be every man,
That will a maid believe-a!
175
She drew a bodkin from her haire,
And whip'd it upon her gown-a;
And curs'd be every maiden faire,
That will with men lye down-a !
90
95
100
105
25
30
35
40
45
Ver. 94. See Grey's Hudibras, Pt. I, Cant. 2, ver. 570,
&c. V. 100, 102, Cromwell had in his younger years fol-
lowed the brewing trade at Huntingdon. Col. Hewson is
said to have been originally a cobler.
+
176
THE BAFFLED KNIGHT, OR LADY'S POLICY.
A herb there is, that lowly grows,
And some do call it rue, sir:
The smallest dunghill cock that crows,
Would make a capon of you, sir.
A flower there is, that shineth bright,
Some call it mary-gold-a :
He that wold not when he might,
He shall not when he wold-a..
The knight was riding another day,
With cloak and hat and feather:
He met again with that lady gay,
Who was angling in the river.
Now, lady faire, I've met with you,
You shall no more escape me;
Remember, how not long agoe
You falsely did intrap me.
The lady blushed scarlet red,
And trembled at the stranger:
How shall I guard my maidenhead
From this approaching danger?
He from his saddle down did light,
In all his riche attyer;
And cryed, As I am a noble knight,
I do thy charms admyer.
He took the lady by the hand,
Who seemingly consented;
And would no more disputing stand:
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.
On tip-toe peering stood the knight,
Fast by the rivers brink-a;
The lady pusht with all her migh:
Sir knight, now swim or sink-a.
O'er head and ears he plunged in,
The bottom faire he sounded;
Then rising up, he cried amain,
Help, helpe, or else I'm drownded!
Now, fare-you-well, sir knight, adieu!
You see what comes of fooling:
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;
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.
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.
50
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60
6.5
70
75
80
85
90
95
100
A gentle jest, in soothe he cry'd,
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' injur'd out of measure;
But theu prepare without delay
To yield thee to my pleasure.
Well then, if I must grant your suit,
Yet think of your boots and spurs, sir:
Let me pull off both spur and boot,
Or else you cannot stir, sir.
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.
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 soe,
He fretted, fum'd, and grumbled:
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:
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.
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.
Then mounting upon his steed so tall,
By hill and dale he swore-a:
I'll ride at once to her father's hall;
She shall escape no more-a.
I'll take her father by the beard,
I'll challenge all her kindred;
Each dastard soul shall stand affeard ;
My wrath shall no more be hindred.
He rode unto her father's house,
Which every side was moated:
The lady heard his furious vows,
And all his vengeance noted.
105
Then faining penitence and feare,
She did invite a parley:
Sir knight, if you'll forgive me heare,
Henceforth I'll love you dearly.
110
Thought shee, sir knight, to quench your rage,
Once more I will endeavour:
This water shall your fury 'swage,
Or else it shall burn for ever.
115
12)
125
136
135
140
14
150
155
160
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.
OLD TOM OF BEDLAM.
False maid, thou canst no more deceive;
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;
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?
165
170
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.
5
XVI.
WHY SO PALE?
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.
It is worth attention, that the English have more
songs and ballads on the subject of madness, than
any of their neighbours. Whether 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 written at considerable intervals of time;
but we have here grouped them together, that the
reader may the better examine their comparative
merits. He may consider them as so many trials of
skill in a very peculiar subject, 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 it;
the fourth and sixth towards the end; and the fifth
within the eighteenth century.
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.
This is given from the Editor's folio MS. com-
pared 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
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?
Quit, quit for shame; this will not move
This cannot take her
XVII.
OLD TOM OF BEDLAM.
;
If of herself she will not love
Nothing can make her.
The devil take her!
MAD SONG THE FIRST
FORTII 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;
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,
In an angry moode I mett old Time,
With his pentarchye of tenses:
When me he spyed,
Away he hyed,
For time will stay for no man :
In vaine with cryes
66
angling, which the author says was made at his re-
quest 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.
I rent the skyes,
For pity is not common.
177
N
175
180
10
15
10
15
178
TILE DISTRACTED PURITAN.
•
Cold and comfortless I lye:
Helpe, oh helpe! or else I dye!
Harke! I heare Apollo's teame,
The carman 'gins to whistle;
Chast Diana bends her bowe,
The boare begins to bristle.
Come, Vulcan, with tools and with tackles,
To knocke off my troublesome shackles ;
Bid Charles make ready his waine
To fetch me my senses againe.
:
Last night I heard the dog-star bark
Mars met Venus in the darke;
Limping Vulcan het an iron barr,
And furiouslye made at the god of war :
Mars with his weapon laid about,
But Vulcan's temples had the gout,
For his broad horns did so hang in his light, 35
He could not see to aim his blowes aright:
Am I mad, O noble Festus,
When zeal and godly knowledge
Have put me in hope
To deal with the pope,
As well as the best in the college?
In the house of pure Emanuel *
1 had my education,
Where my friends surmise
I dazel'd my eyes
With the sight of revelation.
Boldly I preach, &c.
Faith makes me sure
To be one of Foxes martyrs.
Boldly I preach, &c.
20
was written about the beginning of the seven-
teenth century by the witty bishop Corbet, and is
printed from the third edition of his poems, 12mo.
1672, compared with a more ancient copy in the
Editor's folio MS.
They bound me like a bedlam,
They lash'd my four poor quarters ;
Whilst this I endure,
25
Can resist my strong invasion.
Boldly I preach, &c.
30
Boldly I preach, hate a cross, hate a surplice,
Mitres, copes, and rochets;
Come hear me pray nine times a day,
And fill your heads with crochets.
These injuries I suffer
Through antichrist's perswasion:
Take off this chain,
Neither Rome nor Spain
THE DISTRACTED PURITAN.
XVIII.
5
10
Mercurye, the nimble post of heaven,
Stood still to see the quarrell;
Gorrel-bellyed Bacchus, gyant-like,
Bestryd a strong-beere barrell.
MAD SONG THE SECOND,
15
20
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.
* Emanuel College, Cambridge, was originally a semi-
nary of Puritans,
Poore naked Tom is very drye :
A little drinke for charitye!
Harke, I hear Acteon's horne!
The huntsmen whoop and hallowe:
Ringwood, Royster, Bowman, Jowler,
All the chase do followe.
The man in the moone drinkes clarret,
Eates powder'd beef, turnip, and carret,
But a cup of old Malaga sack
Will fire the bushe at his backe.
Of the beast's ten horns (God bless us ')
I have knock'd off three already;
If they let me alone
I'll leave him none :
But they say I am too heady.
Boldly I preach, &c.
When I sack'd the seven-hill'd city,
I met the great red dragon;
I kept him aloof
With the armour of proof,
Though here I have never a rag on.
Boldly I preach, &c.
With a fiery sword and target,
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,
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
With a flying book* between them.
40
46
50
55
25
30
35
40
45
* Alluding to some visionary exposition of Zech. ch. v.
ver. 1; or, if the date of this song would permit, one might
suppose it aimed at one Coppe, a strange enthusiast, whose
life may be seen in Wood's Athen. vol. II, p. 501. He was
author of a book, intitled, "The Fiery Flying Roll:" and
afterwards published a Recantation, part of whose title is,
"The Fiery Flying Roll's Wings clipt,"&c.
I have been in despair
Five times in a year,
And been cur'd by reading Greenham*.
Boldly I preach, &c.
;
I observ'd in Perkin's tables +
The black line of damnation
Those crooked veins
So stuck in my brains,
That I fear'd my reprobation.
Boldly I preach, &c.
In the holy tongue of Canaan
I plac'd my chiefest pleasure :
THE LUNATIC LOVER.
GRIM king of the ghosts, make haste,
And bring hither all your train;
See how the pale moon does waste,
And just now is in the wane.
Come, you night-hags, with all your charms,
And revelling witches away,
And hug me close in your arms;
To you my respects I'll pay.
-is given from an old printed copy in the British
Museum, compared with another in the Pepys col-
lection; both in black letter.
I'll court you, and think you fair,
Since love does distract my brain :
I'll go, I'll wedd the night-mare,
And kiss her, and kiss her again :
But if she prove peevish and proud,
Then, a pise on her love! let her go;
I'll seek me a winding shroud,
And down to the shades below.
50
A lunacy sad I endure,
Since reason departs away;
I call to those hags for a cure,
As knowing not what I say.
The beauty, whom I do adore,
Now slights me with scorn and disdain ;
I never shall see her more:
Ah! how shall I bear my pain!
I ramble, and range about
To find out my charming saint;
While she at my grief does flout,
And smiles at my loud complaint.
55
THE LUNATIC LOVER,
MAD SONG THE THIRD,
XIX.
10
5
10
15
20
25
* See Greenham's Works, fol. 1605, particularly the tract
intitled "A sweet Comfort for an Afflicted Conscience."
Till I prick'd my foot
With an Hebrew root,
That I bled beyond all measure.
Boldly I preach, &c.
+ See Perkins's Works, fol. 1616, vol. I, p. 11; where is
a large half sheet folded, containing, " A survey, or table,
declaring the order of the causes of salvation and damnation,
&c." the pedigree of damnation being distinguished by a
broad black zig-zag line.
I appear'd before the archbishop *,
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 surplice,
Mitres, copes, and rochets :
Come hear me pray nine times a day,
And fill your heads with crotchets.
Distraction I see is my doom,
Of this I am now too sure;
A rival is got in my room,
While torments I do endure.
Strange fancies do fill my head,
While wandering in despair,
I am to the desarts lead,
Expecting to find her there.
Methinks in a spangled cloud
I see her enthroned on high;
Then to her I crie aloud,
And labour to reach the sky.
When thus I have raved awhile,
And wearyed myself in vain,
I lye on the barren soil,
And bitterly do complain.
Till slumber hath quieted me,
In sorrow I sigh and weep;
The clouds are my canopy
To cover me while I sleep.
I dream that my charming fair
Is then in my rival's bed,
Whose tresses of golden hair
Are on the fair pillow bespread.
Then this doth my passion inflame,
I start, and no longer can lie :
Ah! Sylvia, art thou not to blame
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.
To the Elysian shades I post
In hopes to be freed from care,
Where many a bleeding ghost
Is hovering in the air.
Abp. Laud.
179
60
66
30
35
40
4.5
50
55
6C
N 2
180
THE DISTRACTED LOVER.
L

THE LADY DISTRACTED WITH LOVE,
was originally sung in one of Tom D'Urfey's
comedies of Don Quixote, acted in 1694 and 1696 :
and probably composed by himself. In the several
stanzas, the author represents his pretty Mad-woman
as 1. sullenly mad; 2. mirthfully mad : 3. melan-
choly mad: 4. fantastically mad and 5. stark mad.
Both this and Num. XXII.are printed from D'Urfey's
"Pills to purge Melancholy," 1719, vol. 1.
:
FROM rosie bowers, where sleeps the god of love,
Hither ye little wanton cupids fly;
Teach me in soft melodious strains to move
Or, if more influencing
Is to be brisk and airy,
With a step and a bound,
With a frisk from the ground,
I'll trip like any fairy.
With tender passion my heart's darling joy:
Ah! let the soul of musick tune my voice,
To win dear Strephon, who my soul enjoys.
As once on Ida dancing
Were three celestial bodies:
With an air, and a face,
And a shape, and a grace,
I'll charm, like beauty's goddess.
XX.
MAD SONG THE FOURTH,
"Gods? I can never this endure,
Death alone must be my cure," &c.
I fly from Celia's cold disdain,
From her disdain I fly ;
She is the cause of all my pain,
For her alone I die.
I Go to the Elysian shade,
Where sorrow ne'er shall wound me;
Where nothing shall my rest invade,
But joy shall still surround me.
10
5
10
15
-was written by Henry Carey, a celebrated com-
poser of music at the beginning of the eighteenth
century, and author of several little Theatrical Enter-
tainments, which the reader may find enumerated in
the "
Companion to the Play-house," &c. The
sprightliness of this songster's fancy could not pre-
serve him from a very melancholy catastrophe, which
was effected by his own hand. In his Poems, 4to.
Lond. 1729, may be seen another mad song of this
author, beginning thus:
XXI.
Ah! 'tis in vain! 'tis all, 'tis all in vain!
Death aud despair must end the fatal pain :
Cold, cold despair, disguis'd like snow and rain,
Falls on my breast; bleak winds in tempests blow;
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.
21
THE DISTRACTED LOVER,
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 love-sick head?
5
MAD SONG THE FIFTH,
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!
A thousand, thousand times I'll dye
Ere thus, thus in vain,-ere thus in vain adore.
Her eyes are brighter than the mid-day sun,
When he but half his radiant course has run,
When his meridian glories gaily shine,
And gild all nature with a warmth divine.
See yonder river's flowing tide,
Which now so full appears;
Those streams, that do so swiftly glide,
Are nothing but my tears.
25
Then, like the clouds, that rob the azure main,
I've drain'd the flood to weep it back again.
Pity my pains,
Ye gentle swains!
Cover me with ice and snow,
I scorch, I burn, I flame, I glow!
30
35
10
There I have wept till I could weep no more,
And curst mine eyes, when they have wept their
store :
15
20
Furies, tear me,
Quickly bear me
To the dismal shades below!
Where yelling, and howling,
And grumbling, and growling,
Strike the ear with horrid woe.
Hissing snakes,
Fiery lakes
LILLI BURLERO.
25
30
XXII.
THE FRANTIC LADY,
This, like Number XX. was originally sung in
one of D'Urfey's Comedies of Don Quixote, (first
acted about the year 1694) and was probably com-
posed by that popular songster, who died Feb. 26,
1723.
Blow, blow, the winds' great ruler!
Bring the Po, and the Ganges hither,
'Tis sultry weather;
MAD SONG THE SIXTH.
This is printed in the " Hive, a Collection of
Songs," 4 vols. 1721, 12mo. where may be found
two or three other mad songs not admitted into
these volumes.
I
BURN, my brain consumes to ashes!
Each eye-ball too like lightning flashes!
Within my breast there glows a solid fire,
Which in a thousand ages can't expire!
5
Would be a pleasure, and a cure :
Not all the hells,
Where Pluto dwells,
Can give such pain as I endure
To some peaceful plain convey me,
On a mossey carpet lay me,
Fan me with ambrosial breeze,
Let me die, and so have ease!
The following rhymes, slight and insignificant 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 revolu-
tion in 1688. Let us hear a contemporary writer.
"A foolish ballad was made at that time, treating
the Papists, and chiefly the Irish, in a very ridiculous
manner, which had a burden said to be Irish words,
'Lero, lero, lilliburlero,' that made an impression on
the [king's] army, that cannot be imagined by those
that saw it not. The whole army, and at last the
people, both in city and country, were singing it
perpetually. And perhaps never had so slight a
thing so great an effect."Burnet.
XXIII.
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
recommended himself to his bigoted master by his
arbitrary treatment of the protestants in the pre-
ceding year, when only lieutenant general, and
Pour them all on my soul,
It will hiss like a coal,
But be never the cooler.
'Twas pride hot as hell,
That first made me rebell,
From love's awful throne a curst angel I fell;
And mourn now my fate,
Which myself did create:
Fool, fool, that consider'd not when I was well!
LILII BURLERO.
181
Adieu! ye vain transporting joys!
Off ye vain fantastic toys!
That dress this face-this body-to allure!
Bring me daggers, poison, fire!
Since scorn is turn'd into desire.
All hell feels not the rage, which I, poor I, endure.
35
Ho! by shaint Tyburn, it is de Talbote :
Lilli, &c.
40
And he will cut de Englishmen's troate.
Lilli, &c.
10
Ver. 7, Ho by my shoul, al. ed.
15
whose subsequent conduct fully justified his ex-
pectations and their fears. The violence of his
administration may be seen in any of the histories of
those times particularly in Bishop King's" State
of the Protestants in Ireland," 1691, 4to.
Lilliburlero and Bullen-a-lah are said to have been
the words of distinction used among the Irish Pa-
pists in their massacre of the Protestants in 1641.
20
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.
10

182
THE BRAES OF YARROW.
Dough by my shoul de English do praat,
Lilli, &c.
De law's on dare side, and Creish knows what.
Lilli, &c.
But if dispence do come from de pope,
Lilli, &c.
We'll hang Magna Charta and dem in a rope.
Lilli, &c.
For de good Talbot is made a lord,
Lilli, &c.
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 beir.
Lilli, &c.
Ara! but why does he stay behind?
Lilli, &c.
Ho! by my shoul 'tis a protestant wind.
Lilli, &c.
But see de Tyrconnel is now come ashore,
Lilli, &c.
And we shall have commissions gillore,
Lilli, &c.
B. Where gat ye that bonny bonny bride?
Where gat ye that winsome marrow?
A. I gat her where I dare na weil be seen,
Puing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow.
15
Weep not, weep not, my bonny bonny bride,
Weep not, weep not, my winsome marrow;
Nor let thy heart lament to leive,
Puing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow.
20
B. Why does she weep, thy bonny bonny bride?
Why does she weep thy winsome marrow?
And why dare ye nae mair weil be seen
Puing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow?
25
was written by William Hamilton, of Bangour,
Esq. who died March 25, 1754, aged 50. It is
printed from an elegant edition of his Poems, pub-
lished at Edinburgh, 1760, 12mo. This song was
written in imitation 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.
30
10
XXIV.
THE BRAES OF YARROW,
IN IMITATION OF THE ANCIENT SCOTS MANNER,
5
10
15
A. Lang maun she weep, lang maun she, maun she
weep,
Lang maun she weep with dule and sorrow
And lang maun 1 nae mair weil be seen
Puing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow.
And he dat will not go to de mass,
Lilli, &c.
Shall be turn out, and look like an ass.
Lilli, &c.
20
Now, now de hereticks all go down,
Lilli, &c.
40
By Chrish and shaint Patrick, de nation's our own.
Lilli, &c.
Dare was an old prophesy found in a bog,
Lilli, &c.
"Ireland shall be rul'd by an ass and a dog."
Lilli, &c.
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, irtitled, "A true re-
lation of the several facts and circumstances of the
intended riot and tumult on Queen Elizabeth's birth-
day, &c." third edition, London, 1712, price 2d.-
See p. 5, viz. "A late Viceroy [of Ireland,] who has
so often boasted himself upon his talent for mischief,
invention, lying, and for making a certain Lillibur-
lero Song; with which, if you will believe himself,
he sung a deluded prince out of three kingdoms."
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 hirks on the Braes of Yarrow.
What's yonder floats on the rueful rueful flude?
What's yonder floats? O dule and sorrow!
O 'tis he the comely swain I slew
Upon the duleful Braes of Yarrow.
35
Why rins thy stream, O Yarrow, Yarrow, reid? 25
Why on thy braes heard the voice of sorrow?
And why yon melancholious weids
Hung on the bonny birks of Yarrow ?
Wash, O wash his wounds, his wounds in tears,
His wounds in tears with dule and sorrow;
And wrap his limbs in mourning weids,
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.
45
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.
Ver. 43, What follows is not in me copies.
30
35
40
ADMIRAL HOSIER'S GHOST.
Did I not warn thee, not to, not to luve?
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,
50
Yellow on Yarrow's bank the gowan,
Fair hangs the apple frae the rock,
Sweet the wave of Yarrow flowan.
Flows Yarrow sweet? as sweet, as sweet flows
Tweed,
As green its grass, its gowan as yellow,
As sweet smells on its braes the birk,
The apple frae its rock as mellow.
Fair was thy luve, fair fair indeed thy luve,
In flow'ry bands thou didst him fetter;
Tho' he was fair, and weil beluv'd again
Than me he never luv'd thee better.
Busk ye, then busk, my bonny bonny bride,
Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome marrow,
Busk ye, and luve me on the banks of Tweed,
And think nae mair on the Braes of Yarrow.
C. How can I busk a bonny bonny bride?
How can I busk a winsome marrow?
How luve him upon the banks of Tweed,
That slew my luve on the Braes of Yarrow?
O Yarrow fields, may never never rain
Nor dew thy tender blossoms cover,
For there was basely slain my luve,
My luve, as he had not been a lover.
45
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
He was in these to meet his ruin.
"
55
60
65
70
75
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
was a Party Song written by the ingenious
author of "Leonidas" *, on the taking of Porto Bello
from the Spaniards by Admiral Vernon, Nov. 22,
1739.-The case of Hosier, which is here so pathe-
tically represented, was briefly this. In April 1726,
that commander 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
I
Much I rejoyc'd that waeful waeful day;
sang, my voice the woods returning:
But lang ere night the spear was flown,
That slew my luve, and left me mourning.
* An ingenious correspondent informs the Editor, that
this Ballad hath been also attributed to the late Lord Bath.
What can my barbarous barbarous father do,
But with his cruel rage pursue me?
My luver's blood is on thy spear,
How canst thou, barbarous man, then wooe me?
My happy sisters may be, may be proud
With cruel and ungentle scoffin',
May bid me seek on Yarrow's Braes
My luver nailed in his coffin.
Yes, yes, prepare the bed, the bed of luve,
With bridal sheets my body cover,
Unbar, ye bridal maids, the door,
Let in the expected husband lover.
But who the expected husband husband is?
His hands, methinks, are bath'd in slaughter:
Ah me! what ghastly spectre's yon
Comes in his pale shroud, bleeding after?
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 ?
Pale as he is, here lay him, lay him down,
O lay his cold head on my pillow;
Take aff, take aff these bridal weids,
And crown my careful head with willow.
Pale tho' thou art, yet best, yet best beluv'd,
O could my warmth to life restore thee!
Yet lye all night between my breists,
No youth lay ever there before thee.
Pale, pale indeed, O luvely luvely youth!
Forgive, forgive so foul a slaughter:
And lye all night between my briests;
No youth shall ever lye there after.
A. Return, return, O mournful, mournful bride,
Return, and dry thy useless sorrow :
Thy luver heeds none of thy sighs,
He lyes a corps in the Braes of Yarrow.
XXV.
ADMIRAL HOSIER'S GHOST.
183
↑
85
90
100
105
110
115
120
accordingly arrived at the Bastimentos near Porto
Bello, but being employed rather to overawe than to
attack the Spaniards, with whom it was probably
not our interest to go to war, he continued long in-
active on that station, to his own great regret. He
afterwards removed to Carthagena, and remained
cruizing in these seas, till far the greater part of his
men perished deplorably by the diseases of that un-
healthy 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

184
ADMIRAL HOSIER'S GHOST.
broken heart. Such is the account of Smollett, com.
pared with that of other less partial writers.
The following song is commonly accompanied
with a Second Part, or Answer, which being of in-
ferior 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
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;
Then each heart with fear confounding,
A sad troop of ghosts appear'd.
All in dreary hammocks shrouded,
Which for winding-sheets they wore,
And with looks by sorrow clouded
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.
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, ob heed our fatal story,
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,
When you think on our undoing,
You will mix your joy with tears.
5
• Admiral Vernon's ship.
10 |
15
20
25
30
See these mournful spectres sweeping
Ghastly o'er this hated wave,
Whose wan cheeks are stain'd with weeping; 35
These were English captains brave.
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 this 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 !
For resistance I could fear none,
But with twenty ships had done
What thou, brave and happy Vernon,
Hast atchiev'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.
Thus, like thee, proud Spain dismaying,
And her galleons leading home,
Though condemn'd for disobeying,
I had met a traitor's doom,
To have fallen, my country crying
He has play'd an English part,
Had been better far than dying
Of a griev'd and broken heart.
Unrepining at thy glory,
Thy successful arms we hail;
But remember our sad story,
And let Hosier's wrongs prevail.
Sent in this foul clime to languish,
Think what thousands fell in vain,
Wasted with disease and anguish,
Not in glorious battle slain.
Hence with all my train attending
From their oozy tombs below,
Thro' the hoary foam ascending,
Here I feed my constant woe:
Here the bastimentos viewing,
We recal our shameful doom,
And our plaintive cries renewing,
Wander thro' the midnight gloom.
O'er these waves for ever mourning
Shall we roam depriv'd of rest,
If to Britain's shores returning
You neglect my just request;
After this proud foe subduing,
When your patriot friends you see,
Think on vengeance for my ruin,
And for England sham'd in me.
45
50
55
60
65
70
75
80
85
COME listen to my mournful tale,
Ye tender hearts, and lovers. dear ;
Nor will you scorn to heave a sigh,
Nor will you blush to shed a tear.
And thou, dear Kitty, peerless maid,
Do thou a pensive ear incline;
For thou canst weep at every woe,
And pity every plaint, but mine.
James Dawson was one of the Manchester rebels,
who was hanged, drawn, and quartered, on Kenning-
ton-common, in the county of Surrey, July 30, 1746.
This ballad is founded on a remarkable fact, which
was reported to have happened at his execution. It
was written by the late William Shenstone, Esq.
soon after the event, and has been printed amongst
his posthumous works, 2 vols. 8vo. It is here given
from a MS. which contained some small variations
from that printed copy.
Young Dawson was a gallant youth,
A brighter never trod the plain;
And well he lov'd one charming maid,
And dearly was he lov'd again.
One tender maid she lov'd him dear,
Of gentle blood the damsel came,
And faultless was her beauteous form,
And spotless was her virgin fame.
But curse on party's hateful strife,
That led the faithful youth astray
The day the rebel clans appear'd:
O had he never seen that day!
JEMMY DAWSON.
JEMMY DAWSON,
Their colours and their sash he wore,
And in the fatal dress was found;
And now he must that death endure,
Which gives the brave the keenest wound.
How pale was then his true love's cheek
When Jemmy's sentence reach'd her ear!
For never yet did Alpine snows
So pale, nor yet so chill appear.
With faltering voice she weeping said,
Oh, Dawson, monarch of my heart,
Think not thy death shall end our loves,
For thou and I will never part.
Yet might sweet mercy find a place,
And bring relief to Jemmy's woes,
O George, without a prayer for thee
My orisons should never close.
XXVI.
5
10
15
20
25
30
35
The gracious prince that gives bim life
Would crown a never-dying flame,
And every tender babe I bore
Should learn to lisp the giver's name.
O then her mourning-coach was call'd,
The sledge mov'd slowly on before ;
Tho' borne in a triumphal car,
She had not lov'd her favourite more.
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.
She followed him, prepar'd to view
The terrible behests of law ;
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,
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:
And ravish'd was that constant heart,
She did to every heart prefer;
For though it could his king forget,
'Twas true and loyal still to her.
Amid those unrelenting flames
She bore this constant heart to see;
But when 'twas moulder'd into dust,
Now, now, she cried, I'll follow thee.
My death, my death alone can show
The pure and lasting love I bore:
Accept, O heaven, of woes like ours,
And let us, let us weep no more.
The dismal scene was o'er and past,
The lover's mournful hearse retir'd;
The maid drew back her languid head,
And sighing forth his name expir'd.
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.
185
THE END OF THE THIRD BOOK.
40
45
50
55
60
65
70
75
80

136
POEMS ON KING ARTHUR.
SERIES THE THIRD.
BOOK I.
AN ordinary song or ballad, that is the delight of the common people, cannot fail to please all such
readers as are not unqualified for the entertainment by their affectation or their ignorance; and the reason
is plain, because the same paintings of nature which recommend it to the most ordinary reader will
beautiful to the most refined.
appear
ADDISON, in SPECTATOR, No. 70.
I.
POEMS ON KING ARTHUR, &c.
The third series being chiefly devoted to romantic
subjects, may not be improperly introduced with a
few slight strictures on the old metrical romances :
a subject the more worthy attention, as it seems not
to have been known to such as have written on the
nature and origin of books of chivalry, that the first
compositions of this kind were in verse, and usually
sung to the harp.
ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL
ROMANCES, &c
I. The first attempts at compositionn among all
barbarous nations are ever found to be poetry and
song. The praises of their gods, and the achieve-
ments of their heroes, are usually chanted at their
festival meetings, Tha39 are the first rudiments of
history. It is in this manner that the savages of
North America preserve the memory of past er*
and the same method is known to have prevailed
among our Saxon ancestors, before they quitted
their German forests t. The ancient Britons had
their bards, and the Gothic nations their scalds or
popular poets ‡, whose business it was to record the
victories of their warriors, and the genealogies of
their princes, in a kind of narrative songs, which
were committed to memory, and delivered down
from one reciter to another. So long as poetry con-
tinued a distinct profession, and while the bard, or
scald, was a regular and stated officer in the prince's
court, these men are thought to have performed the
functions of the historian pretty faithfully; for
though their narrations would be apt to receive a
good deal of embellishment, they are supposed to
have had at the bottom so much of truth as to serve
for the basis of more regular annals. At least suc-
ceeding historians have taken up with the relations
of these rude men, and, for want of more authentic
records, have agreed to allow them the credit of true
history §.
* Vid. Lasiteau Mœurs des Sauvages, t. ii. Dr. Browne's
Hist. of the Rise and Progress of Poetry.
+ Germani celebrant carminibus antiquis (quod unum
apud illos memoriæ et annalium genus est) Tuistonem, &c.
Tacit. Germ. c. 2.
Barth. Antiq. Dan. lib. i. cap. 10.-Wormii Literatura
Runica, ad finem.
See" Northern Antiquities, or a Description of the
Manners, Customs, &c. of the ancient Danes and other
northern Nations, translated from the French of M Mallet,"
1770, 2 vol. Svo (vol. i. p. 49, &c.)
After letters began to prevail, and history assumed
a more stable form, by being committed to plain
simple prose;
these songs of the scalds or bards
began to be more amusing than useful. And in
proportion as it became their business chiefly to
entertain and delight, they gave more and more into
embellishment, and set off their recitals with such
marvellous fictions as were calculated to captivate
gross and ignorant minds. Thus began stories of
adventurers with giants and dragons, and witches
and enchanters, and all the monstrous extravagances
of wild imagination, unguided by judgment and
uncorrected by art*. This seems to be the true
origin of that species of romance which so long
celebrated feats of chivalry, and which at first in
metre, and afterwards in prosa, was the entertain-
ment of our ancestors, in common with their con-
temporaries on the Continent, til the satire of
Cervantes, or rather the increase of knowledge and
classical literature, drove them off the stage, to
make room for a more refined species of fiction,
under the name of French romances, copied from the
Greek t.
That our old romances of chivalry may be derived
in a lineal descent from the ancient historical songs
of the Gothic bards and scalds, will be shown below,
and indeed appears the more evident, as many of
those songs are still preserved in the north, which
exhibit all the seeds of chivalry before it became a
solemn institution ‡. "Chivalry, as a distinct mili-
tary order, conferred in the way of investiture, and
accompanied with the solemnity of an oath, and
other ceremonies," was of later date, and sprung out
of the feudal constitution, as an elegant writer has
clearly shown. But the ideas of chivalry prevailed
long before in all the Gothic nations, and may be
discovered as in embryo in the customs, manners,
and opinions of every branch of that people. That
fondness of going in quest of adventures, that spirit
of challenging to single combat, and that respectful
complaisance shown to the fair sex (so different
from the manners of the Greeks and Romans), all
are of Gothic origin, and may be traced up to the
* Vid. infra, pp. 4, 5, &c.
+ Viz. Astræa, Cassandra, Clelia, &c.
‡ Mallet, vid. Northern Antiquities, vol. i. p. 318, &c.
vol. ii. p. 234, &c.
§ Letters concerning Chivalry, 8vo. 1763.
ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES.
earliest times among all the northern nations *.
These existed long before the feudal ages, though
they were called forth and strengthened in a peculiar
manner under that constitution, and at length arrived
to their full maturity in the times of the Crusades,
so replete with romantic adventures +.
Even the common arbitrary fictions of romance
were (as is hinted above) most of them familiar to
the ancient scalds of the north, long before the time
of the crusades. They believed the existence of
giants and dwarfs ; they entertained opinions not
unlike the more modern notion of fairies §; they
were strongly possessed with the belief of spells and
enchantment; and were fond of inventing combats
with dragons and monsters T.
The opinion therefore seems very untenable,
which some learned and ingenious men have enter-
tained, that the turn for chivalry, and the taste for
that species of romantic fiction were caught by the
Spaniards from the Arabians or Moors after their
invasion of Spain, and from the Spaniards trans-
mitted to the bards of Armorica**, and thus diffused
* Mallet.
The seeds of chivalry sprung up so naturally out of the
original manners and opinions of the northern nations, that
It is not credible they arose so late as after the establishment
of the feudal system, much less the crusades. Nor again, that
the romances of chivalry were transmitted to other nations,
through the Spaniards, from the Moors and Arabians. Had
this been the case, the first French Romances of chivalry
would have been on Moorish or at least Spanish subjects:
whereas the most ancient stories of this kind, whether in prose
or verse, whether in Italian, French, English, &c. are chiefly
on the subjects of Charlemagne, and the Paladins; or of our
British Arthur, and his knights of the Round Table, &c. being
evidently borrowed from the fabulous Chronicles of the sup-
posed Archbishop 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
Diable, &c.; whereas I do not recollect so inuch 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 shews 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.
§ Olaus Verel. ad Hervarer Saga, pp. 44, 45. Hickes's
Thesaur. vol. ii. p. 311. Northern Antiquities, vol. ii. passim.
|| Ibid. vol. i. pp. 69, 374, &c. vol. ii. p. 216, &c.
TRollof's Saga. cap. 35, &c.
** 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 Welch inhabitants, which are
allowed to have been derived from this island, 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 the ancient inhabitants of the north and south of
Asia as having all the same manners, traditions, and fables;
and because the secluded people of Arabia took the lead under
the religion and empire of Mahomet, therefore every thing
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 the
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 agree-
able dissertator endeavours to maintain and defend this
favourite opinion of Dr. W. who has been himself so com-
187
through Britain, France, Italy, Germany, and the
north. For it seems utterly incredible that one rude
people should adopt a peculiar taste and manner of
writing or thinking from another, without borrowing
at the same time any of their particular stories and
fables, without appearing to know any thing of their
heroes, history, laws, and religion.
religion. When the Ro-
mans began to adopt and imitate the Grecian litera-
ture, they immediately naturalized all the Grecian
fables, histories, and religious stories; which be-
came 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 with whatever relates
to the Mahometan nations. Thus with regard to
their religion, they constantly represent them as
worshiping 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 peo-
ple, especially of their heroes, champions, and local
stories, as almost amounts to a demonstration that
they did not imitate them in their songs or romances:
for as to dragons, serpents, necromancies, &c. why
should these be thought only derived from the
Moors in Spain so late as after the eighth century?
since notions of this kind appear too familiar to the
northern scalds, and enter too deeply into all the
northern mythology, to have been transmitted to the
unlettered Scandinavians, from so distant a country,
pletely 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 Magiouge of the Arabians
and Persians, &c. (p. 13.)-That "we may venture to affirm,
that this [Geoffrey of Monmouth's] Chronicle, supposed to
contain the ideas ot the Welch bards, entirely consists of
Arabian inventions." (p. 13.)-And that, "as Geoffrey's
History is the grand repository of the acts of Arthur, so a
fabulous history, ascribed to Turpin, is the ground-work of
all the chimerical legends which have been related concern
ing 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 congenial to those which cha-
racterize Geoffrey's History." (p. 17.)-That is, as he after-
wards expresses it. "lavishly decorated by the Arabian
fablers." (p. 58.)—We should hardly have expected that the
Arabian fablers would have been lavish in decorating a his-
tory of their enemy; but what is singular, as an instance and
proof of this Arabian origin of the fictions of Turpin, a pas-
sage is quoted from his fourth chapter, which I shall beg leave
to offer, as affording decisive evidence that they could not
possibly be derived from a Mahometan source. Sc." The
Christians under Charlemagne 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 tradi-
tion, that this club should fall from the hand of the image in
that year when a certain king should be born in France, &c.
Vid. p. 18, Note.
Glassday
* The little narrative songs on Morisco subjects, which
the Spaniards have at present in great abundance, and
which they call 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 Historias
de Cavallerias: these are evidently imitations of the French,
and shew 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.
188
ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES.
at so late a period. If they may not be allowed to
have brought these opinions with them in their
original migrations from the north of Asia, they
will be far more likely to have borrowed them from
the Latin poets after the Roman conquests in Gaul,
Britain, Germany, &c. For I believe one may
challenge the maintainers of this opinion to produce
any Arabian poem or history, that could possibly
have been 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 infamous for their
magic arts; and as Odin and his followers are said
to have come precisely from those parts of Asia, we
can readily account for the prevalence of fictions of
this sort among the Gothic nations of the north,
without 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 Christians, whom they chiefly pent up in
the mountains, as gave them no chance of learning
their music, poetry, or stories; and this, together
with the religious hatred of the latter for their cruel
invaders, will account for the utter ignorance of the
old Spanish romancers in whatever relates to the
Mahometan nations, although so nearly their own
neighbours.
On the other hand, from the local customs and sit-
uations, from the known manners and opinions of
the Gothic nations in the North, we can easily ac-
count 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 man-
ners of the Mahometan nations†, their national and
domestic history so naturally assumes all the won-
ders of this species of fabling, that almost all their
historical narratives appear regular romances. One
might refer, in proof of this, to the old northern
Sagas in general: but, to give a particular instance,
it will be sufficient to produce the history of King
Regner Lodbrog, a celebrated warrior and pirate,
who reigned in Denmark about the year 800+. This
hero signalized his youth by an exploit of gallantry.
A Swedish prince had a beautiful daughter, whom
he intrusted (probably during some expedition) to
the care of one of his officers, assigning a strong
castle for their defence. The officer fell in love with
his ward, and detained her in his castle, spite of all
the efforts of her father. Upon this he published a
proclamation, through all the neighbouring coun-
tries, 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 delivered the fair captive,
and obtained her for his prize. It happened that
the name of this discourteous officer was Orme,
which, in the Islandic language signifies serpent:
wherefore the scalds, to give the more poetical turn
to the adventure, represent the lady as detained from
her father by a dreadful dragon, and that Regner
slew the monster to set her at liberty. This fabulous
account of the exploit is given in a poem still ex-
tant, which is even ascribed to Regner himself, who
* See Northern Antiquities, passim.
+ lbid.
Saxon Gram. p. 152, 153.-Mallet, North. Antiq. vol. i.
p. 321.
was 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 were the more lavish of these in proportion as
they departed from their original institution; but it
was a long time before they thought of deliver-
ing 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 foun-
dation in truth; and the more ancient they are,
the more they are believed to be connected with true
history+.
It was not probably till after the historian and the
bard had been long disunited, that the latter ven-
tured at pure fiction, At length, when their busi-
ness was no longer to instruct or inform, but merely
to amuse, it was no longer needful for them to ad-
here to truth. Then succeeded fabulous songs and
romances in verse, which for a long time prevailed
in France and England, before they had books of
chivalry in prose. Yet, in both these countries, the
minstrels still retained so much of their original
institution as frequently to make true events the
subject of their songs ; and, indeed, as during the
barbarous ages, the regular histories were almost all
written in Latin by the monks, the memory of events
was preserved and propagated among the ignorant
laity, by scarce any other means than the popular
songs of the minstrels.
II. The inhabitants of Sweden, Denmark, and
Norway, being the latest converts to Christianity,
retained their original manners and opinions longer
than the other nations of Gothic race: and, there-
fore, they have preserved more of the genuine com-
positions of their ancient poets than their southern
neighbours. Hence the progress among them, from
poetical history to poetical fiction, is very discern-
ible: they have some old pieces, that are in effect
complete romances of chivalrys. They have also
(as hath been observed) a multitude of sagas||, 01
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 es-
teemed the more ancient.
Now, as the irruption of the Normans into
France under Rollo did not take place till towards
the beginning of the tenth century, at which time
the Scaldic art was arrived to the highest perfection
in Rollo's native country, we can easily trace the
descent of the French and English romances of chi-
valry 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, opi-
nions, and language of the new country, substituted
* See a Translation of this poem among "Five Pieces of
Runic Poetry," printed for Dodsley, 1764, 8vo.
+ Vid. Mallet, Northern Antiquities, passim.
t 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.
See a specimen in 2d. vol. of Northern Antiquities, &c
p. 248, &c.

Eccardi Hist. Stud. Etym. 1711, p. 179, &c. Hickes's
thesaur, vol. ii, p. 314.
i. e. Northern Men: being chiefly emigrants from Nor-
way, Denmark, &c.
ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES, &c.
the heroes of Christendom instead of those of their
pagan ancestors, and began to celebrate the feats of
Charlemagne, Roland, and Oliver; whose true his-
tory they set off and embellished with the scaldic
figments of dwarfs, giants, dragons, and enchant-
ments. The first mention we have in song of those
heroes of chivalry, is in the mouth of a Norman
warrior at the conquest of England*; and this cir-
cumstance alone would sufficiently account for the
propagation of this kind of romantic poems among
the French and English.
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 fond-
ness they even retained long after their conversion
to Christianity, as we learn from the examples of
Charlemagne and Alfredt. Now poetry, being thus
the transmitter of facts, would as easily learn to
blend them with fiction s 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 Nor-
mans, will easily account to us why the first roman-
ces of chivalry that appeared both in England and
France | were composed in metre as a rude kind of
epic songs. In both kingdoms, tales in verse were
usually sung by minstrels to the harp on festival oc-
casions and doubtless, both nations derived their
relish for this sort of entertainment from their Teu-
tonic ancestors, without either of them borrowing it
from the other. Among both people, narrative songs,
on true or fictitious subjects had evidently obtained
from the earliest times. But the professed romances
of chivalry seem to have been first composed in
France, where also they had their name.
The Latin tongue, as is observed by an ingenious
writer, ceased to be spoken in France about the
ninth century, and was succeeded by what was called
the romance tongue, a mixture of the language of the
Franks and bad Latin. As the songs of chivalry
became the most popular compositions in that lan-
guage, 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
* See the account of Taillefer in Essay and Note.
+ Ipsa carmina memoriæ mandabant, et prælia inituri
decantabant: qua memoria tam fortium gestorum à majori-
bus patratorum ad imitationem animus adderetur. Jornan-
des de Gothis.
Eginhartus de Carolo magno. "Item barbara, et anti-
quissima carmina, quibus veterum regum actus et bella cane-
bantur, scripsit." c. 29.
Asserius de Elfredo magno. "Rex inter bella, &c.………….
Saxonicos libros recitare, et maxime carmina Saxonica me-
moriter discere, aliis imperare, et solus assidue pro viribus,
studiosissime non desinebat." Ed. 1722, 8vo, p. 43.
§ See above, pp. 186, 188, &c.
The romances on the subject of Perceval, San Graal,
Lancelot du Lac, Tristan, &c. were among the first that ap-
peared in the French language in prose, yet these were ori-
ginally composed in metre: The Editor has in his possession
a very old French MS. in verse, containing L'ancien 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 Harl. Catalog. No. 2252, p. 49, &c. Nicolson's Eng.
Hist. Library, 3d. Ed. p. 91, &c.-See also a curious collec-
tion of old French romances, with Mr. Wanley's account of
this sort of pieces, in Harl. MSS. Catal. 978, 106.
¶ The Author of the Essay on the Genius of Pope, p. 282,
189
traced as early as the eleventh century*. I know
not if the Roman de Brut, written in 1155, was such :
But if it was, it was by no means the first poem of
the kind; others more ancient are still extant+. And
we have already seen, that, in the preceding century,
when the Normans marched down to the battle of
Hastings, they animated themselves, by singing (in
some popular romance or ballad) the exploits of
Roland and the other heroes of chivalry‡.
So early as this I cannot trace the songs of chivalry
in English. The most ancient I have seen, is that
of Hornechild, described below, which seems not
older than the twelfth 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 languages. We have seen
above, that a propensity to this kind of fiction pre
vailed among all the Gothic nations||; and though,
after the Norman conquest, this country abounded
with French romances, or with translations from the
French, there is good reason to believe that the
English had original pieces of their own.
The stories of King Arthur and his Round-Table
may be reasonably supposed of the growth of this
island; both the French and the Armoricans probably
had them from Britain¶. The stories of Guy and
Bevis, with some others, were probably the invention
of English minstrels**. On the other hand, the
English procured translations of such romances as
were most current in France: and in the list given
at the conclusion of these remarks many are doubt-
less of French original.
The first prose books of chivalry that appeared in
our language were those printed by Caxton++; at least,
* Ibid. p. 283.
283. Hist. Lit. tom. vi, vii.
+ Voi Preface aux "Fabliaux et Contes des Poetes Fran-
çois "des xii, xiii, xiv, et xv. siecles, &c. Paris, 1756, 3
tom. 12mo." (a very curious work).
I See the account of Taillefer in Essay, and Note.
And see Rapin, Carte, &c.-This song of Roland (whatever
it was) continued for some centuries to be usually sung by
the French in their marches, if we may believe a modern
French writer. "Un jour qu'on chantoit la Chanson de Ro-
land, comme c'etoit l'usage dans les marches. Il y a long
temps, dit il [John K. of France, who died in 1364], qu'on
ne voit plus de Rolands, parmi les François. On y verroit
encore des Rolands, lui repondit un vieux Capitaine, s'ils
avoient un Charlemagne à leur tête." Vid. tom. iii, p. 202,
des Essaies Hist, sur Paris de M. de Saintefoix, who gives,
as his authority, Boethius in Hist. Scotorum. This author,
however, speaks of the complaint and repartee as made in
an assembly of the states (vocato senatu), and not upon
any march, &c. Vid. Boeth. lib. xv, fol. 327.
Ed. Paris,
1574.
See, on this subject, Notes on the Essay on the An-
cient Minstrels, (s 2.) and (G G).
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
their own country, but also on those of France and Britain,
as Tristram, Arthur, Gawain, and the Knights von der Tafel-
ronde. Vid. Goldasti Not. in Eginhart. Vit. 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 probably
their first pieces that were composed on that subject.
** It is most credible that these stories were originally of
English invention, even if the only pieces now extant should
be found to be translations from the French. What now
pass for the French originals were probably only amplifica-
tions, or enlargements of the old English story. That the
French romancers borrowed some things from the English,
appears from the word Termagant, which they took up from
our minstrels, and corrupted into Tervagaunte. See p. 19,
and Gloss. "Termagaunt."
Recuyel of the Hystoryes of Troy, 1471. Godfrye of
Boloyne, 1481. Le Morte de Arthur, 1485. The Life of
Charlemagne, 1485, &c. As the old minstrelsy wore out,
190
ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES, &c.
these are the first I have been able to discover, and
these are all translations 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 burlesque them*.
He expressly mentions several of them by name
in a stanza, which I shall have occasion 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 chevalriet.
Most if not all of these are still extant in MS. in
some or other of our libraries, as I shall shew in the
conclusion of this slight essay, where I shall give a
list of such metrical histories and romances as have
fallen under my
observation.
As many of these contain a considerable portion
of poetic merit, and throw great light on the manners
and opinions of former times, it were to be wished
that some of the best of them were rescued from
oblivion. A judicious collection of them accurately
published, with proper illustrations, would be an
important accession to our stock of ancient English
literature. Many of them exhibit no mean attempts
at epic poetry and though full of the exploded
fictions of chivalry, frequently display great descrip-
tive and inventive powers in the bards who com-
posed them. They are at least generally equal to
any other poetry of the same age. They cannot in-
deed be put in competition with the nervous pro-
ductions of so universal and commanding a genius as
Chaucer; but they have a simplicity that makes
them be read with less interruption, and be more
easily understood; and they are far more spirited and
entertaining than the tedious allegories of Gower, or
the dull and prolix legends of Lydgate. Yet, while
> much stress was laid upon the writings of these
last, by such as treat of English poetry, the old metri-
cal romances, though far more popular in their time,
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 there-
fore 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
rhymist, whose merit it was to deform morality or
obscure true history. Should the public encourage
the revival of some of those ancient epic songs of
chivalry, they would frequently see the rich ore of
an Ariosto or a Tasso, though buried it may be among
the rubbish and dross of barbarous times.
Such a publication would answer many important
uses: It would throw new light on the rise and
progress of English poetry, the history of which can
prose books of chivalry became more admired, especially
after the Spanish romances began to be translated into
English, towards the end of Queen Elizabeth's reigns then
the most popular metrical romances began to be reduced
into prose, as Sir Guy Bevis &c.
* See extract from a letter, written by the Editor of these
volumes, in Mr. Warton's Observations, vol. ii. p. 139.
+ Canterbury Tales (Tyrwhitt's Edit.) vol. ii. p. 238.
In all the former editions, which I have seen, the
name at the end of the 4th line is Blandamoure-
be but impefectly 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
Shakespeare, by way of specimen of their use.
In his play of King John our great dramatic poet
alludes to an exploit of Richard I. which the reader
will in vain look for in any true history. Faulcon-
bridge says to his mother, act i. sc. 1.
"Needs must you lay your heart at his dispose...
Against whose furie and unmatched force,
The awlesse lion could not wage the fight,
Nor keepe his princely heart from Richard's hand:
He that perforce robs lions of their hearts
May easily winne a woman's :"
The fact here referred to, is to be traced to its
source only in the old romance of Richard Cœur de
Lyon *, in which his encounter with a lion makes a
very shining figure. I shall give a large extract
from this poem, as a specimen of the manner of these
old rhapsodists, and to shew that they did not in
their fictions neglect the proper means to produce
the ends, as was afterwards so childishly done in
the
prose books of chivalry.
The poet tells us, that Richard, in his return from
the Holy Land, having been discovered in the habit
of "a palmer in Almaye," and apprehended as a spy,
was by the king thrown into prison. Wardrewe,
the king's son, hearing of Richard's great strength,
desires the jailor to let him have a sight of his
prisoners. Richard being the foremost, Wardrewe
asks him, "if he dare stand a buffet from his hand?"
and that on the morrow he shall return him another.
Richard consents, and receives a blow that staggers
him. On the morrow, having previously waxed his
hands, he waits his antagonist's arrival. Wardrewe
accordingly, proceeds the story, "held forth as a
trewe man," and Richard gave him such a blow on
the cheek, as broke his jaw-bone, and killed him on
the spot. The king, to revenge the death of his son,
orders, by the advice of one Eldrede, that a lion,
kept purposely from food, shall be turned loose
upon Richard.
But the king's daughter, having
fallen in love with him, tells him of her father's
resolution, and at his request procures him forty
ells of white silk "kerchers;" and here the descrip-
tion of the combat begins:
The kever-chefes + he toke on honde,
And aboute his arme he wonde;
And thought in that ylke while,
To slee the lyon with some gyle.
And syngle in a kyrtyll he stode,
And abode the lyon fyers and wode,
With that came the jaylere,
And other men that wyth him were,
And the lyon them amonge;
His paws were stiffe and stronge.
The chambre dore they undone,
And the lyon to them is gone.
Rycharde sayd, Helpe, Lorde Jesu!
The lyon made to hym venu,
* Dr. Grey has shewn 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 Metrieal Romances
throw light on our first writers in prose: many of our
ancient historians have recorded the fictions of romance.
+ i. e. Handkerchiefs. Here we have the etymology of
the word, viz. "Convre le Chef,"
;
R
ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES, &c.
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 yaned + wyde.
Kynge Rycharde bethought hym that tyde
What hym was beste, and to hym sterte,
In at the throte his honde he gerte,
And rente out the herte with his honde,
Lounge and all that he there fonde.
The lyon fell deed to the grounde:
Rycharde felte no wem ‡, ne wounde.
He fell on his knees on that place,
And thanked Jesu of his grace.
What follows is not so well, and therefore I shall
extract no more of this poem.-For the above feat
the author tells us, the king was deservedly called
Stronge Rycharde Cure de Lyowne.
That distich which Shakespeare puts in the mouth
of his madman in King Lear, act 3, sc. 4.
Mice and rats and such small deere
Have been Tom's food for seven long yeare,
has excited the attention of the critics. Instead of
deere, one of them would substitute geer; and another
cheer §.. But the ancient reading is established by
the old romance of Sir Bevis, which Shakespeare
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 work, the reader
will find various extracts from these old poetical
legends; to which I refer him for farther examples
of their style and metre. To complete this subject,
it will be proper at least to give one specimen of
their skill in distributing and conducting their fable,
by which it will be seen that nature and common
sense had supplied to these old simple bards the
want of critical art, and taught them some of the
most essential rules of epic poetry, I shall select
the romance of Libius Disconius ], as being one of
those mentioned by Chaucer, and either shorter or
more intelligible than the others he has quoted.
If an epic poem may be defined "¶A fable re-
lated by a poet, to excite admiration, and inspire
virtue, by representing the action of some one hero,
favoured by heaven, who executes a great design, in
spite of all the obstacles that oppose him :" I know
not why we should withold the name of epic poem
from the piece which I am about to analyse.
My copy is divided into nine parts or cantos, the
several arguments of which are as follows.
* i. e. slipt aside. + i. e. yawned.
ti. e. hurt.
§ Dr. Warburton-Dr. Grey.
So it is intitled in the Editor's MS. But the true title
is Le baux disconus, or The Fair Unknown. See a note on
the Canterbury Tales, vol. iv. p. 333.
¶ Vid. "Discours sur la Poesie Epique," prefixed to Tele-
maque.
191
PART I.
Opens with a short exordium to bespeak attention:
the hero is described; a natural son of Sir Gawain
a celebrated knight of King Arthur's court, who
being brought up in a forest by his mother, is kept
ignorant of his name and descent. He early ex-
hibits 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 cloathing himself in his
enemy's armour, he goes to King Arthur's court, to
request the order of knighthood.
His request
granted, he obtains a promise of having the first
adventure assigned him that shall offer.-A damsel
named Ellen, attended by a dwarf, comes to implore
King Arthur's assistance, to rescue a young princess,
"the Lady of Sinadone" their mistress, who is
detained from her rights, and confined in prison.
The adventure is claimed by the young knight Sir
Lybius: the king assents; the messengers are dis-
satisfied and object to his youth; but are forced to
acquiesce. And here the first book closes with a
description of the ceremony of equipping him forth.
PART II.
:
Sir Lybius sets out on the adventure: he is
derided by the dwarf and the damsel on account of
his youth they come to the bridge of Perill, which
none can pass without encountering a knight called
William de la Braunch. Sir Lybius is challenged :
they just with their spears: De la Braunch is dis-
mounted the battle is renewed on foot: Sir Wil-
liam'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: is met by
three knights, his kinsmen ; who, informed of his
disgrace, vow revenge, and pursue the conqueror.
The next day they overtake him: the eldest of the
three attacks Sir Lybius; but is overthrown to the
ground. The two other brothers assault him: Sir
Lybius is wounded; yet cuts off the second brother's
arm: the third yields; Sir Lybius sends them all to
King Arthur. In the third evening he is awakened
by the dwarf, who has discovered a fire in the wood.
PART III.
Sir Lybius arms himself, and leaps on horse-
back 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 daugh-
ter) tells him her story; and leads him to her father's
castle; who entertains him with a great feast and
t;
presents him at parting with a suit of armour and a
steed. He sends the giant's head to King Arthur.
PART IV.
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 Gefferon, who, in honour of his
lemman or mistress challenges all comers: he that
can produce a fairer lady, is to be rewarded with a
milkwhite 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

192
ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES, &c.
knights exchange their gloves: they agree to just in
the market-place: the lady and maid Ellen are
placed aloft in chairs; their dresses: the superior
beauty of Sir Gefferon's mistress described: the
ceremonies previous to the combat. They engage:
the combat described at large: Sir Gefferon is in-
curably 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.
PART V.
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 Otes meets
them, and claims his dog is refused: being un-
armed he rides to his castle, and summons his fol-
lowers: they go in quest of Sir Lybius: a battle
ensues: he is still victorious, and forces Sir Otes to
follow the other conquered knights to King Arthur.
:
PART VI.
:
Sir Lybius comes to a fair city and castle by a
river-side, beset round with pavillions or tents: he
is informed, in the castle is a beautiful lady besieged
by a giant named Maugys, who keeps the bridge
and will let none pass without doing him homage:
this Lybius refuses 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 pro-
cession to meet their deliverer: 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
This fair sorceress, like another
twelvemonth.
Alcina, intoxicates him with all kinds of sensual
pleasure; and detains him from the pursuit of
honour.
PART VIL
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 intention of delivering
their lady; and inquires the particulars of her bis-
tory. "Two Necromancers have built a fine palace
by sorcery, and there keep her inchanted, 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
inchanted 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
B
sword from one of the necromancers, and wounds
the other with it: the edge of the sword being
secretly poisoned, the wound proves mortal.
PART IX.
He goes up to the surviving sorcerer, who is
carried away from him by enchantment: at length
he finds him, and cuts off his head: he returns to
the palace to deliver the lady; but cannot find her:
as he is lamenting, a window opens, through which
enters a horrible 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 Sinadone, 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 discovered) joyfully accepts the offer; makes
her his bride, and then sets out with her for King
Arthur's court.
Such is the fable of this ancient piece: which the
reader may observe, is as regular in its conduct, as
any of the finest poems of classical antiquity. If the
execution, particularly as to the diction and senti-
ments, 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 bar-
barous unpolished language.
IV. I shall conclude this prolix account, with a
list of such old metrical romances as are still extant ;
beginning with those mentioned by Chaucer.
1. The romance of "Horne Childe" is preserved
in the British Muesum, where it is intitled þe geste
of King Horne. See Catalog. Harl. MSS. 2253,
p. 70. The language is almost Saxon, yet from the
mention in it of Sarazens, it appears to have been
written after some of the Crusades. It begins thus:
All heo ben blyþe
þat to my song ylype :
song ychulle ou sing
Of Allof þe gode kynge*,
A
Another copy of this poem, but greatly altered,
and somewhat modernized, is preserved in the Ad-
vocates' Library at Edinburgh, in a MS. quarto
volume of old English poetry [W. 4. 1.] No. XXXIV.
in seven leaves or foliost, intitled, Hornchild and
Muiden Rinivel, and beginning thus:
Mi leve frende dere,
Herken and ye may here.
* &c.
2. The Poem of Ipotis (or Ypotis) is preserved in
the Cotton Library, Calig. A. 2, fo. 77, but is rather
a religious legend, than a romance. Its beggining
is,
He þat 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.
* i. e. May all they be blithe, that to my song listen: A
song I shall you sing, of Allof the good king, &c.
+ 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.
Sign. K. 2. b.
ON THE ANCIENT METICAL ROMANCES, &c.
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,
M
Sythe the tyme that God was borne.
4. Guy and Colbronde, 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 twenty-six leaves, and
xx. fifty-nine leaves. Both these have unfortu-
nately the beginnings wanting, otherwise they would
perhaps be found to be different copies of one or
both the preceeding articles.
5. From the same MS. I can add another article
to this list, viz. The Romance of Rembrun son of Sir
Guy; being No. xxI. in nine leaves: this is pro-
perly 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.
Before I quit the subject of Sir Guy, I must ob-
serve, that if we may believe Dugdale in his Baron-
age (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 Christendom. 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 famous Guy of Warwick,
"whose story they had in books of their own lan-
guage," invited him to his palace; and royally feast-
ing him, presented him with three precious stones of
great value; besides divers cloaths of silk and gold
given to his servants.
6. The Romance of Syr Bevis is described in
Series I. Book iii. No. 1. Two manuscript copies
of this poem are extant at Cambridge; viz. in the
public Libraryt, and in that of Caius Coll. Class A.
9. (5.)—The first of these begins,
Lordyngs lystenyth grete and smale.
There is also a copy of this Romance of Sir Bevis
of Hamptoun, in the Edinburgh MS. No. xxii. con-
sisting of twenty-five leaves, and beginning thus :
Lordinges herkneth to mi tale,
Is merier than the nightengale.
The printed copies begin different from both: viz.
Lysten, Lordinges, and hold you styl.
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.
† No. 690, sec. 31. Vid. Catalog. MSS. p. 394.
7. Libeaux (Libeaus, or Lybius) Disconius is pre-
served in the Editors folio MS. (pag. 317.) where
the first stanza is,
Jesus Christ christen kinge,
And his mother that sweete thinge,
Helpe them at their neede,
That will listen to my tale,
Of a Knight I will you tell,
A doughty man of deede,
193
An older copy is preserved in the Cotton Library
(Calig. A. 2. fol. 40), but containing such innumer-
able variations, that it is apparently a different trans-
lation of some old French original, which will ac-
count for the title of Le Beaux Disconus, or The
Fair Unknown, the first line is,
Jesu Christ our Savyour.
As for Pleindamour, or Blandamoure, no romance
with this title has been discovered; but as the word
Blaundemere occurs in the romance of Libius Disco-
nius, in the Editor's folio MS. p. 319, he thought
the name of Blandamoure (which was in all
the editions of Chaucer he had then seen) might
have some reference to this. But Pleindamour, the
name restored by Mr. Tyrrwhitt, is more remote.
8. Le Morte Arthure is among the Harl. MSS.
2252,§ 49. This is judged to be a translation from
the French; Mr. Wanley thinks it no older than the
time of Henry VII. but it seems to be quoted in Syr
Bevis (Sign K. ij b.) It begins,
Lordinges that are leffe and deare.
In the Library of Bennet College, Cambridge, No.
cccli. is a MS. intitled, in the catalogue, Acta Arthuris
Metrico Anglicano, but I know not its contents.
9. In the Editor's folio MS. are many songs and
romances about King Arthur and his Knights, some
of which are very imperfect, as King Arthur and the
King of Cornwall, (p. 24.) in stanzas of four lines,
beginning,
'Come here,' my cozen Gawaine so gay.
The Turke and Gawain (p. 38), in stanzas of six
lines, beginning thus :
Listen lords great and small*.
but these are so imperfect that I do not make distinct
articles of them. See also Series I. Book i. No. 1, 2,
4, 5.
In the same MS. (p. 203) is the Greene Knight, in
two parts, relating a curious adventure of Sir Gawain,
in stanzas of six lines, beginning thus :
List when Arthur he was k:
10. The Carle of Carlisle is another romantic tale
about Sir Gawain, in the same MS. p. 448, in dis-
tichs:
Listen to me a litle stond.
In all these old poems the same set of knights are
always represented with the same manners and cha-
racters; which seem to have been as well known,
and as distinctly marked among our ancestors, as
* In the former editions; after the above, followed mention
of a fragment in the same MS. intitled, Sir Lionel, in dis
tichs (p. 32); but this being only a short ballad, and not
relating to King Arthur is here omitted.
0
194
ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES, &c.
Homer's heroes were among the Greeks; for, as
Ulysses is always represented crafty, Achilles irascible
and Ajax rough; so Sir Gawain is ever courteous
and gentle, Sir Kay rigged 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 con-
cerning another of King Arthur's knights, is pre-
served 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 min-
strel into the romance of Sir Lambewell, in three
parts, under which title it was more generally
knownt. 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 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, (pre-
served in the same folio MS. p. 145) gives a curious
account of the birth, parentage, and juvenile adven-
tures of this famous British prophet. In this poem
the Saxons are called Sarazens; and the thrusting
the rebel angels out of Heaven is attributed to "oure
Lady." It is in distichs, and begins thus :
He that made with his hand.
There is an old romance Of Arthour and of Merlin,
in the Edinburgh MS. of old English poems: I know
not whether it has any thing in common with this
last mentioned. It is in the volume numbered xxiii.,
and extends through fifty-five leaves. The two first
lines are,
Jesu Crist, heven king,
Al ous graunt gode ending.
14. Sir Isenbras (or as it is in the MS. copies, Sir
Isumbras) is quoted in Chaucer's R. of Thop. v. 6.
Among Mr. Garrick's old plays is a printed copy; of
which an account has been already given in Series I.
Book iii. No. 8. It is preserved in MS. in the Li-
brary of Caius Coll. Camb. Class A. 9. (2) and also
in the Cotton Library, Calig. A. 12. (f. 128.) This
is extremely different from the printed copy, E. g.
God þat made both erpe and hevene.
15. Emarè, a very curious and ancient romance,
preserved in the same volume of the Cotton Library,
f. 69. It is in stanzas of six lines, and begins thus:
Jesu þat ys kyng in trone.
* The French original is preserved among the Harl. MSS
No. 978, sec. 112, Lanval.
+ See Laneham's Letter concerning Queen Elizabeth's
entertainment at Killingworth, 1575, 12mo, p. 34.
16. 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, &c.
Series II. Book iii. No. 1, as hath also
17. The Sege of Jérlam (or Jerusalem), which
seems to have been written after the other, and may
not improperly be classed among the romances; as
may also the following, which is preserved in the
same volume; viz.
18. Owaine Myles, (fol. 90) giving an account of
the wonders of St. Patrick's Purgatory. This is a
translation into verse of the story related in Mat.
Paris's Hist. (sub. ann. 1153.)—It is in distichs be-
ginning thus:
God þat ys so full of my ht.
In the same manuscript are three or four other
narrative poems, which might be reckoned among
the romances, but being rather religious legends, I
shall barely mention them; as Tundale f. 17. Tren-
tale Sci Gregorii, f. 81. Jerome, f. 133. Eustache,
f. 136.
19. Octavian imperator, an ancient romance of chi-
valry, is in the same volume of the Cotton Library,
f. 20.-Notwithstanding the name, this old poem
has nothing in common with the history of the Ro-
man 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 þat 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 Artas (or Artoys) is preserved in
the same volume with the foregoing, both in the
Cotton Library, and public Library at Cambridge.
It is also in the Editor's folio MS. (p. 295,) where it
is divided into six parts.-A printed copy is in the
Bodleian 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 pre-
served in MS. in the Editor's volume (p. 210), and
in the public Library at Cambridge, (690, § 29.
Vid. Cat. MSS. p. 394 )-Two printed copies are
extant in the Bodleian Library, and among Mr.
Garrick's plays, in the same volumes with the last
article. Both the Editor's MS. and the printed co
pies begin,
Nowe Jesu Chryste our heven kynge,
The Cambridge copy thus:
Heven blys that all shall wynne.
22. Sir Degree (Degare, or Degore, which last
seems the true title,) in five parts, in distichs, is
preserved in the Editor's folio MS. p. 371, and in
the public Library at Cambridge (ubi supra.)-A
printed copy is in the Bod. Library, C. 39. Art. Seld.
* No. 690 (30). Vid. Oxon. Catalog. MSS. p. 394.
I
ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES, &c.
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, K k. 3. 10.
is an old imperfect printed copy, wanting the whole
first sheet A.
24. The Squyr of Lowe Degre, is one of those bur-
lesqued 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. Historye of K. Richard Cure [Cœur] 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, No. xxxvii. in two leaves. A large
extract from this romance has been given already
above (p. 190.) Richard was 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 Knight 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 hallad 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 Erle 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 Kynge of Cysyll (or Sicilly,) shewing
the fall of pride. Of this there is also a copy among
the Harl. MSS. 1703 (3.) The Cambridge MS.
begins,
Princis that be prowde in prese.
29. Le bone Florence of Rome, beginning thus:
As ferre as men ride or gone.
30. Dioclesian the Emperour, beginning,
Sum tyme ther was a noble man.
* This is alluded to by Shakespeare 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.
31. The two knightly brothers Amys and Amelion
(among the Harl. MSS. 2386, § 42) is an old ro-
mance of chivalry; as is also, I believe, the frag-
ment of the Lady Belesant, the duke of Lombardy's
fair daughter, mentioned in the same article. See
the Catalog. vol. ii.
32. In the Edinburgh MS. so often referred to
(preserved in the Advocates' Library, W. 4. 1,)
might probably be found some other articles to add
to this list, as well as other copies of some of the
pieces mentioned in it; for the whole volume con
tains not fewer than thirty-seven poems or ro
mances, some of them very long. But as many of
them have lost the beginnings, which have been cut
out for the sake of the illuminations, and as I have
not had an opportunity of examining the MS. my-
self, I shall be content to mention only the articles
that follow *; viz.
· 195
An old romance about Rouland (not I believe the
famous Paladine, but a champion named Rouland
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, intitled, 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
thay weren y-cald.
36. Another mutilated tale or romance (No. iii.
four leaves.) The first lines at present are,
To Mr. Steward will y gon.
sothe of the
Reseyved bestow sone auon
and with hir be.
and tellen him the
gif zou will serve
37. A mutilated tale or romance (No. xi. in thir-
teen 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 curious man-
uscript, without acknowledging that I was in-
debted to the friendship of the Rev. Dr. Blair, the
ingenious professor of Belles Lettres in the Univer-
sity of Edinburgh, for whatever I learned of its
contents, and for the important additions it enabled
me to make to the foregoing list.
To the preceding articles, two ancient metrical
* Some of these I give, though mutilated and divested of
their titles, because they may enable a curious inquirer to
complete or improve other copies.
o 2
196
THE BOY AND THE MANTLE.
romances in the Scottish dialect may now be added,
which are published in Pinkerton's "Scottish
Poems, reprinted from scarce editions." Lond. 1792,
in 3 vols. 8vo. viz.
38. Gawan and Gologras, a metrical romance,
from an edition printed at Edinburgh, 1508, 8vo.
beginning,
In the tyme of Arthur, as trew men me tald.
It is in stanzas of thirteen lines.
39. Sir Gawan and Sir Galaron of Galloway, a
metrical romance, in the same stanzas as No.xxxviii,
from an ancient MS. beginning 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.
Both these (which exhibit the union of the old
alliterative metre, with rhyme, &c. and in the ter-
mination of each stanza the short triplets of the Tur-
nament 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
Is printed verbatim from the old MS.
described in the Preface. The Editor believes it
more ancient than it will appear to be at first sight;
the transcriber of that manuscript having reduced
the orthography and style in many instances to the
standard of his own times.
The incidents of the "Mantle" and the "Knife"
have not, that I can recollect, been borrowed from
any other writer. The former of these evidently
suggested to Spenser his conceit of
Girdle," B. iv. Č. 5, St. 3.
Florimel's
Dunbar, in his "Lament for the Death of the Mak-
karis :'
THE END OF THE ESSAY.
That girdle gave the virtue of chaste love
And wivehood true to all that did it beare;
But whosoever contrarie doth prove,
Might not the same about her middle weare,
But it would loose or else asunder teare.
"Clerk of Tranent eik he hes take,
That made the aventures of Sir Gawane."
I.
THE BOY AND THE MANTLE.
So it happened to the false Florimell, 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
* i. e. Adventure.
It will scarce be necessary to remind the reader,
that Turnewathelan is evidently Tearne-Wadling, ce-
lebrated 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 addi-
tional articles might be added to the foregoing list
from Mr. Warton's " History of English Poetry,'
3 vols. 4to., and from the notes to Mr. Tyrwhitt's
improved edition of "Chaucer's Canterbury Tales,"
&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 parti-
culars on the subject of these volumes, as well as on
most points of general literature, in Sir John Haw-
kins's curious " History of Music," &c. in 5 vols.
4to. as also in Dr. Burney's History, &c. in 4 vols.
4to.
Did find it fit withouten breach or let,
Whereat the rest gan greatly to envie.
But Florimel exceedingly did fret,
And snatching from her hand, &c.
As for the trial of the Horne, it is not peculiar to our
Poet: It occurs in the old Romance, intitled "Morte
Arthur," which was translated out of French in the
time of King Edward IV., and first printed anno
1484. From that romance Ariosto is thought to have
borrowed his tale of the Enchanted Cup, C. 42, &c.
See Mr. Warton's Observations on the Faerie Queen,
&c.
The story of the Iorn in Morte Arthur varies a
good deal from this of our Poet, as the reader will
judge from the following extract." By the way
they met with a knight that was sent from Morgan
la Faye to King Arthur, and this knight had a fair
horne all garnished with gold, and the horne had
such a virtue, that there might no ladye or gentle-
woman drinke of that horne, but if she were true to
her husband and if shee were false she should spill
all the drinke, and if shee were true unto her lorde,
shee might drink peaceably and because of Queene
Guenever and in despite of Sir Launcelot du Lake,
this horne was sent unto King Arthur."- This
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 qeene drinke
thereof and an hundred ladies moe, 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 different,
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 represented
no otherwise than in the old Histories and Romances.
Holinshed observes, that "she was evil reported of,
as noted of incontinence and breach of faith to hir
husband." Vol. I, p. 93.
Such Readers, as have no relish for pure
antiquity, will find a more modern copy of this
Ballad at the end of the volume.
In the third day of may,
To Carleile did come
A kind curteous child,
That cold much of wisdome.
A kirtle and a mantle
This child had uppon,
With 'brouches' and ringes
Full richelye bedone.
He had a sute of silke
About his middle drawne ;
Without he cold of curtesye
He thought itt much shame.
God speed thee, King Arthur,
Sitting at thy meate:
THE BOY AND THE MANTLE.
And the goodly Queene Guénever,
I cannott her forgett.
(
I tell you, lords, in this hall;
I hett you all to heede';
Except you be the more surer
Is you for to dread.
He plucked out of his 'poterner,'
And longer wold not dwell,
He pulled forth a pretty mantle,
Betweene two nut-shells.
Have thou here, King Arthur;
Have thou heere of mee:
Give itt to thy comely queene
Shapen as itt is already
Itt shall never become that wiffe,
That hath once done amisse.
Then every knight in the kings court
Began to care for 'his'
•
Forth came dame Guénever;
To the mantle shee her hied';
The ladye shee was newfangle,
But yett shee was affrayd.
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.
One while was it 'gule';
Another while was itt greene;
Another while was it wadded:
Ill itt did her beseeme.
Another while was it blacke
And bore the worst hue:
By my troth, quoth King Arthur,
I thinke thou be not true.
5
10
15
20
25
30
35
40
45
Ver, 7, branches, MS. V. 18, heate, MS. V. 21, poter-
ver, MS. V. 32, his wiffe, MS. V. 34, bided, MS. V. 41,
gaule, MS.
Shee threw downe the mantle,
That bright was of blee;
Fast with a rudd redd,
To her chamber can shee flee.
She curst the weaver, and the walker,
That clothe that had wrought;
And bade a vengeance on his crowne,
That hither hath itt brought.
I had rather be in a wood,
Under a greene tree;
Then in King Arthurs court
Shamed for to bee.
Kay called forth his ladye,
And bade her come neere;
Saies, Madam, and thou be guiltye,
I pray thee hold thee there.
Forth came his ladye
Shortlye and anon;
Boldlye to the mantle
Then is shee gone.
When she had tane the mantle,
And cast it her about;
Then was shee bare
'Before all the rout."
Then ever knight,
That was in the kings court,
Talked, laughed, and showted
Full oft att that sport.
Shee threw downe the mantle,
That bright was of blee;
Fast, with a red rudd,
To her chamber can shee flee.
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
Willinglye to ffeede;
For why this mantle might
Doe his wiffe some need.
When she had tane the mantle,
Of cloth that was made,
Shee had no more left on her,
But a tassell and a threed:
Then every knight in the kings court
Bade evill might shee speed.
Shee threw downe the mantle,
That bright was of blee;
And fast, with a redd rudd,
To her chamber can shee flee
Craddocke called forth his ladye,
And bade her come in ;
Saith, Winne this mantle, ladye,
With a little dinne.
Ver. 75, lauged.
197
50
55
60
65
70
75
80
85
90
95
100
198
THE BOY AND THE MANTLE.
Winne this mantle, ladye,
And it shal be thine,
If thou never did amisse
Since thou wast mine.
Forth came Craddockes ladve
Shortlye and anon;
But boldlye to the mantle
Then is shee gone.
When she had tane the mantle,
And cast it her about,
Upp att her great toe
It began to crinkle and crowt:
Shee said, bowe downe, mantle,
And shame me not for nought.
Once I did amisse,
I tell you certainlye,
When I kist Craddockes mouth
Under a greene tree;
When I kist Craddockes mouth
Before he marryed mee.
When shee had her shreeven,
And her sines shee had tolde;
The mantle stode about her
Right as shee wold:
Seemelye of coulour
Glittering like gold :
Then every knight in Arthurs court
Did her behold.
Then spake dame Guénever
To Arthur our king;
She hath tane yonder mantle
Not with right, but with wronge
See you not yonder woman,
That maketh her self soe' cleane'?
I have seene tane out of her bedd
Of men fiveteene;
Priests, clarkes, and wedded men
From her bedeene:
Yett shee taketh the mantle,
And maketh her self cleane.
Then spake the litle boy,
That kept the mantle in hold;
Sayes, king, chasten thy wiffe,
Of her words shee is to bold:
Shee is a bitch and a witch,
And a whore bold:
King, in thine owne hall
Thou art a cuckold.
105
110
115
120
125
130
135
140
145
150
Ver. 134, wright, MS. V. 136, cleare, MS. V. 140, by
deene, MS.
The litle boy stoode
Looking out a dore;
And there as he was lookinge
He was ware of a wyld bore.'
•
He was ware of a wyld bore,
Wold have werryed a man :
He pulld forth a wood kniffe
Fast thither that he ran :
He brought in the bores head,
And quitted him like a man.
He brought in the bores head,
And was wonderous bold :
He said there was never a cuckolds kniffe
Carve itt that cold.
Some rubbed their knives
Uppon a whetstone :
Some threw them under the table,
And said they had none.
King Arthur, and the child
Stood looking upon them;
All their knives edges
Turned backe againe.
Craddocke had a litle knive
Of iron and of steele ;
He britled the bores head
Wonderous weele ;
That every knight in the kings court
Had a morssell,
The litle boy had a horne,
Of red gold that ronge:
He said, there was noe cuckolde
Shall drinke of my horne;
But he shold it sheede
Either behind or beforne.
Some shedd on their shoulder,
And some on their knee;
He that cold not hitt his mouthe,
Put it in his eye :
And he that was a cuckold
Every man might him see.
Craddocke wan the horne,
And the bores head :
His ladie wan the mantle
Unto her meede.
Everye such a lovely ladye
God send her well to speede.
Ver. 170, them upon, MS. V. 175, or birtled, MS.
155
160
165
170
175
180
185
190
195
THE MARRIAGE OF SIR GAWAINE.
II.
THE MARRIAGE OF SIR GAWAINE.
Is chiefly taken from the fragment of an old
ballad in the Editor's MS. which he has reason to
believe more ancient than the time of Chaucer, and
what furnished that bard with his Wife of Bath's
fale. The original was so extremely mutilated, half
of every leaf being torn away, that without large
supplements, &c. it was deemed improper for this
collection: these it has therefore received, such as
they are. They are not here particularly pointed
out, because the "Fragment" itself will now be found
printed at the end of this volume.
PART THE FIRST.
KING Arthur lives in merry Carleile,
And seemely is to see;
And there with him Queene Guenever,
That bride soe bright of blee,
And there with him Queene Guenever,
That bride so 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;
To him repaired many a knighte,
That came both farre and neare.
And when they were to dinner sette,
And cups went freely round:
Before them came a faire damsèlle,
And knelt upon the ground.
A boone, a boone, O Kinge Arthùre,
I beg a boone of thee;
Avenge me of a carlish knighte,
Who hath shent my love and mee.
At Tearne-Wadling* his castle stands,
Near to that lake so fair,
And proudlye rise the battlements,
And streamers deck the air.
Noe gentle knighte, nor ladye gay,
May pass that castle-walle:
But from that foule discurteous knighte,
Mishappe will them befalle.
Ilee's twyce the size of common men,
Wi' thewes, and sinewes stronge,
And on his backe he bears a clubbe,
That is both thicke and longe.
This grimme baròne 'twas our harde happe,
But yester morne to see;
When to his bowre he bare my love,
And sore misused mee.
10
5
10
15
20
25
30
35
* 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 were not long since visible.
Tearn, in the dialect of that country, signifies a small lake,
and is still in use.
And when I told him, King Arthùre
As lyttle shold him spare ;
Goe tell, sayd hee, that cuckold kinge,
To meete mee if he dare.
Upp then sterted King Arthùre,
And sware by hille and dale,
He ne'er wolde quitt that grimme baròne
Till he had made him quail.
Goe fetch my sword Excalibar:
Goe saddle mee my steede ;
Nowe, by my faye, that grimme baròne
Shall rue this ruthfulle deede.
And when he came to Tearne Wadlinge
Benethe the castle walle:
On magicke grounde that castle stoode,
And fenc'd with many a spelle:
Noe valiant knighte could tread thereon,
But straite his courage felle.
Forth then rush'd that carlish knight,
King Arthur felte the charme
His sturdy sinewes lost their strengthe,
Downe sunke his feeble arme.
Nowe yield thee, yield thee, Kinge Arthure,
Now yield thee, unto mee:
Or fighte with mee, or lose thy lande,
Noe better termes maye bee,
50
"Come forth; come forth; thou proude barone,
Or yielde thyself my thralle."
Unlesse thou sweare upon the rood,
And promise on thy faye,
Here to returne to Tearne-Wadling,
Upon the new-yeare's daye:
And bringe me worde what thing it is
All women moste desyre:
This is thy ransome, Arthur, he sayes,
Ile have noe other hyre.
King Arthur then helde up his hande,
And sware upon his faye,
Then tooke his leave of the grimme barone,
And faste hee rode awaye.
And he rode east, and he rode west,
And did of all inquyre,
What thing it is all women crave,
And what they most desyre.
Some told him riches, pompe, or staˇe;
Some rayment fine and brighte;
Some told him mirthe; some flatterye,
And some a jollye knighte.
199
In letters all King Arthur wrote,
And seal'd them with his ringe:
But still his minde was helde in doubte,
Each tolde a different thinge.
1
40
45
55
60
65
70
75
80
85
200
THE MARRIAGE OF SIR GAWAINE.
As ruthfulle he rode over a more,
He sawe a ladye sette
Betweene an oke, and a greene holléye,
All clad in red* scarlette.
Her nose was crookt and turnd outwarde,
Her chin stoode all awrye;
And where as sholde have been her mouthe,
Lo! there was set her eye:
Her haires, like serpents, clung aboute
Her cheekes of deadlye hewe:
A worse-form'd ladye than she was,
No man mote ever viewe.
To hail the king in seemelye sorte
This ladye was fulle faine:
But King Arthure all sore amaz’d,
No aunswere made againe.
What wight art thou, the ladye sayd,
That wilt not speake to mee;
Sir, I may chance to ease thy paine,
Though I bee foule to see.
If thou wilt ease my paine, he sayd,
And helpe me in
my neede;
Ask what thou wilt, thou grimme ladyè,
And it shall bee thy meede.
O sweare mee this upon the roode,
And promise on thy faye;
And here the secrette I will telle,
That shall thy ransome paye.
King Arthur promis'd on his faye,
And sware upon the roode;
The secrette than the ladye told,
As lightlye well shee cou'de.
Now this shall be my paye, sir king,
And this my guerdon bee,
That some yong fair and courtlye knight,
Thou bringe to marrye mee.
Fast then pricked King Arthure
Ore hille, and dale, and downe:
And soone he founde the barone's bowre :
And soone the grimme baroùne.
He bare his clubbe upon his backe,
Hee stoode bothe stiffe and stronge;
And, when he had the letters reade,
Awaye the lettres flunge.
Nowe yielde thee, Arthur, and thy lands,
All forfeit unto mee;
For this is not thy paye, sir king,
Nor
may thy ransome bee.
Yet hold thy hand, thou proud barone,
I praye thee hold thy hand;
And give mee leave to speake once more
In reskewe of my land.
90
95
100
105
110
115
120
125
130
135
140
• This was a common phrase in our old writers; so Chaucer
in his Prologue to the Cant. Tales, says of the wife of Bath:
Her hosen were of fyne scarlet red.
This morne, as I came over a more,
I saw a ladye sette
Betwene an oke, and a greene hollèye,
All clad in red scarlètte.
Shee sayes, all women will have their wille, 145
This is their chief desyre;
Now yield, as thou art a barone true,
That I have payd mine hyre.
An earlye vengeaunce light on her!
The carlish baron swore :
Shee was my sister tolde thee this,
And shee's a mishapen whore.
But here I will make mine avowe,
To do her as ill a turne :
For an ever I may that foule theefe gette,
In a fyre I will her burne.
PART THE SECONDE.
HOMEWARDE pricked King Arthure,
And a wearye man was hee;
And soone he mette Queene Guenever,
That bride so bright of blee.
The carlish knight is safe for mee,
And free fro mortal harine :
On magicke grounde bis castle stands,
And fenc'd with many a charme.
What newes! what newes! thou noble king, 5
Howe, Arthur, hast thou sped?
Where hast thou hung the carlish knighte?
And where bestow'd his head?
To bowe to him I was fulle faine,
And yielde mee to his hand :
And but for a lothly ladye, there
I sholde have lost my land.
And nowe this fills my hearte with woe,
And sorrowe of my life;
I swore a yonge and courtlye knight,
Sholde marry her to his wife.
Then bespake him Sir Gawaine,
That was ever a gentle knighte :
That lothly ladye I will wed;
Therefore be merrye and lighte.
Nowe naye, nowe naye, good Sir Gawaine }
My sister's sonne yee bee;
This lothlye ladye's all too grimme,
And all too foule for yee.
Her nose is crookt and turn'd outwàrde:
Her chin stands all awrye;
A worse form'd ladye than shee is
Was never seen with eye.
What though her chin stand all awrye,
And shee be foule to see:
130
I'll marry her, unkle, for thy sake,
And I'll thy ransome bee.
155
10
15
20
25
30
35
THE MARRIAGE OF SIR GAWAINE.
Nowe thankes, nowe thankes, good Sir Gawàine;
And a blessing thee betyde!
To-morrow wee'll have knights and squires,
And wee'll goe fetch thy bride.
And wee'll have hawkes and wee'll have houndes,
To cover our intent;
And wee'll away to the greene forèst,
As wee a hunting went.
Sir Lancelot, Sir Stephen bolde,
They rode with them that daye;
And foremoste of the companye
There rode the stewarde Kaye :
Soe did Sir Banier and Sir Bore,
And eke Sir Garratte keene
;
Sir Tristram too, that gentle knight,
To the forest freshe and greene.
And when they came to the greene forrèst,
Beneathe a faire holley tree
There sate that ladye in red scarlètte
That unseemelye was to see.
Sir Kay beheld that lady's face,
And looked upon her sweere;
Whoever kisses that ladye, he sayes,
Of his kisse he stands in feare.
Sir Kay beheld that ladye againe,
And looked upon her snout;
Whoever kisses that ladye, he sayes,
Of his kisse he stands in doubt.
Peace, brother Kay, sayde Sir Gawaine,
And amend thee of thy life :
For there is a knight amongst us all,
Must marry her to his wife.
What marry this foule queane, quoth Kay,
I' the devil's name anone;
Gett mee a wife wherever I maye,
In sooth shee shall be none.
'Then some tooke up their hawkes in haste,
And some took up their houndes;
And sayd they wolde not marry her,
For cities, nor for townes.
Then bespake him King Arthure,
And sware there by this daye;
For a little foule sighte and mislikìnge,
Yee shall not say her naye.
Peace, lordlings, peace; Sir Gawaine sayd;
Nor make debate and strife;
This lothlye ladye I will take,
And marry her to my wife.
40
Then up they took that lothly dame,
And home anone they bringe:
And there Sir Gawaine he her wed,
And married her with a ringe,
45
50
55
60
65
70
75
80
Now thankes, nowe thankes, good Sir Gawaine, 85
And a blessinge be thy meede!
For as I am thine owne ladyè,
Thou never shalt rue this deede.
90
And when they were in wed-bed laid,
And all were done awaye :
"Come turne to mee, mine own wed-lord,
Come turne to mee I praye."
Sir Gawaine scant could lift his head,
For sorrowe and for care;
When, lo! instead of that lothelye dame,
He sawe a young ladye faire.
Sweet blushes stayn'd her rud-red cheeke,
Her eyen were blacke as sloe :
The ripening cherrye swellde her lippe,
And all her necke was snowe.
Sir Gawaine kiss'd that lady faire,
Lying upon the sheete,
And swore, as he was a true knighte,
The spice was never soe sweete.
Sir Gawaine kiss'd that lady brighte,
Lying there by his side:
"The fairest flower is not so faire :
Thou never can'st bee my bride."
I am thy bride, mine owne deare lorde,
The same whiche thou didst knowe,
That was soe lothlye, and was wont
Upon the wild more to goe.
Nowe, gentle Gawaine, chuse, quoth shee,
And make thy choice with care;
Whether by night, or else by daye,
Shall I be foule or faire?
"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."
"My faire ladyè, Sir Gawaine sayd,
I yield me to thy skille;
Because thou art mine owne ladyè
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,
Soe shall I ever bee.
My father was an aged knighte,
And yet it chanced soe,
He tooke to a wife a false ladyè,
Whiche broughte me to this woe.
Shee witch'd mee, being a faire yonge maide,
In the greene forèst to dwelle;
And there to abide in lothlye shape,
Most like a fiend of helle.
201
Till some yong faire and courtlye knighte
Wolde marrye me to his wife:
95
;
What when gaye ladyes goe with their lordes 125
To drinke the ale and wine
Alas! then I must hide myself,
I must not goe with mine?
Nor fully to gaine mine owne trewe shape,
Such was her devilish skille;
Until he wolde yielde to be rul'd by mee,
And let mee have all my wille.
100
105
110
115
120
130
135
Midst mores and mosses; woods, and wilds; 145
To lead a lonesome life;
140
150
202
KING RYENCES CHALLENGE.
She witchd my brother to a carlish boore,
And made him stiffe and stronge;
And built him a bowre on magicke grounde, 155
To live by rapine and wronge.
This song is more modern than many of those
which follow it, but is placed here for the sake of
the subject. It was sung before Queen Elizabeth at
the grand entertainment at Kenelworth castle in
1575, and was probably composed for that occasion.
In a letter describing those festivities it is thus
mentioned: A "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 flayne off,-where-
fore the messenger come for King Arthur'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 man heard sent to a king. Also thou
mayest see my beard is full young yet for to make a
purfell of, but tell thou the king that—or it be long he
shall do to me homage on both his knees, or else he
shall leese his head." [B. I. c. 24. See also the
same Romance, B. I. c. 92.]
A
KING RYENCE'S CHALLENGE.
The thought seems to be originally taken from
Jeff. Monmouth's Hist. B. X. c. 3. which is alluded
to by Drayton in his Poly-Olb. Song 4. and by
Spenser in Faer. Qu. 6. 1. 13. 15. See the Obser-
vations on Spenser, vol. II. p. 223.
The following text is composed of the best read-
ings selected from three different copies. The first
in Enderbie's Cambria Triumphans, p. 197. The
second in the Letter above mentioned. And the
third inserted in MS. in a copy of Morte Arthur,
1632, in the Bodl. Library.
Stow tells us, that King Arthur kept his round
table at "diverse places, but especially at Carlion,
Winchester, and Camalet in Somersetshire." This
III.
Camalet," sometimes a famous towne or castle, is
situate on a "very high tor or hill, &c." [See an
exact description in Stow's Aunals, Ed. 1631, p. 55.]
But now the spelle is broken throughe,
And wronge is turnde to righte;
Henceforth I shall bee a faire ladyè,
And hee be a gentle knighte.
As it fell out on a Pentecost day,
King Arthur at Camelot kept his court royall,
With his faire queene dame Guenever the gay;
And many bold barons sitting in hall;
With ladies attired in purple and pall;
And heraults in hewkes hooting on high,
Cryed, Largesse, Largesse, Chevaliers tres-hardie*.
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
seei
Sir Ryence of North-gales greeteth well thee,
And bids thee thy beard anon to him send,
Or else from thy jaws he will it off rend.
For his robe of state is a rich scarlet mantle,
With eleven kings beards bordered † about,
And there is room lefte yet in a kantle,
For thine to stande, to make the twelfth out:
This must be done, be thou never so stout;
This must be done, I tell thee no fable,
Maugre the teeth of all thy round table.
160
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 began
lower;
Knights stormed; squires startled, like steeds in
a stower;
Pages and yeomen yell'd out in the hall,
Then in came Sir Kay, the king's' seneschal.
C
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.
* Largesse, Largesse. The heralds resounded these words
as oft as they received of the bounty of the knights. See
"Memoires de la Chevalerie," tom. I. p. 99. The expression
is still used in the form of installing knights of the garter.
+ i. e. set round the border, as furs are now round the gowns
of Magistrates.
KING ARTHUR'S DEATH.
But say to Sir Ryence, thou dwarf, quoth the king,
That for his bold message I do him defye;
And shortlye with basins and pans will him ring
Out of North-gales; where he and I
With swords, and not razors, quickly shall trye,
KING ARTHUR'S DEATII.
The subject of this ballad is evidently taken from
the old romance "Morte Arthur," but with some
variations, especially in the concluding stanzas; in
which the author seems rather to follow the tradi-
tions of the old Welsh Bards, who "believed that
King Arthur was not dead, but conveied awaie by
the Fairies into some pleasant place, where he
should remaine for a time, and then returne againe
and reign in as great authority as ever." Holinshed,
B. 5, c. 14; or, as it is expressed in an old Chroni-
cle printed at Antwerp 1493, by Ger. de Leew,
"The Bretons supposen, that he [King Arthur] shall
come yet and conquere all Bretaigne, for certes this
is the prophicye of Merlyn; He sayd, that his deth
shall be doubteous; and sayd soth, for men thereof
yet have doubte, and shullen for ever more,—for
men wyt not whether that he lyveth or is dede."
See more ancient testimonies in Selden's Notes on
Polyolbion, song 3.
ON Trinitye Mondaye in the morne,
This sore battayle was doom'd to bee:
Where manye a knighte cry'd, Well-awaye!
Alacke, it was the more pittie.
This fragment, being very incorrect and imperfect
in the original MS. hath received some conjectural
emendations, and even a supplement of 3 or 4
stanzas composed from the romance of "Morte
Arthur."
Ere the first crowinge of the cocke,
When as the kinge in his bed laye,
He thoughte Sir Gawaine to him came
And there to him these wordes did saye.
Nowe, as you are mine unkle deare,
And as you prize your life, this daye
O meet not with your foe in fighte;
Putt off the battayle, if yee maye.
For Sir Launcelot is nowe in Fraunce,
And with him many an hardye knighte:
Who will within this moneth be backe,
And will assiste yee in the fighte.
IV.
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.
A FRAGMENT.
10
5
10
15
Whether he, or King Arthur will prove the best barbor;
And therewith he shook his good sword Escalàbor.
*
20
** Strada, in his Prolusions, has ridiculed the story
of the Giant's Mantle, made of the beards of kings.
*
* Sir Gawaine had been killed at Arthur's landing on his
return from abroad. See the next Ballad, ver. 73.
His nobles all this counsayle gave,
That earlye in the morning, hee
Shold send awaye an herauld at armes,
To aske a parley faire and free.
Then twelve good knightes King Arthure chose,
The best of all that with him were:
26
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 noe weapon sturre,
Unlesse a sword drawne they shold see.
And Mordred on the other parte,
Twelve of his knights did likewise bringe;
The beste of all his companye,
To hold the parley with the kinge.
Sir Mordred alsoe charged his hoste,
In readinesse there for to bee;
But noe man sholde noe weapon sturre,
But if a sworde drawne they shold see.
For he durste not his unkle truste,
Nor he his nephewe, sothe to tell :
Alacke! it was a woefulle case,
As ere in Christentye befelle.
203
But when they were together mette,
And both to faire accordance broughte;
And a month's league betweene them sette,
Before the battayle sholde be foughte;
When the knighte found him wounded sore,
And sawe the wild-worme hanginge there;
His sworde he from his scabberde drewe :
A piteous case, as ye shall heare.
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.
Ver. 41, 42, the folio reads father..... sonne.
30
35
An addere crept forth of a bushe,
Stunge one o' th' king's knightes on the knee :
Alacke! it was a woefulle chance,
51
As ever was in Christentìe.
40
45
55
60
204
KING ARTHUR'S DEATH.
For all were slain that durst abide,
And but some fewe that fled awaye :
Ay mee! it was a bloodye fielde,
As ere was foughte on summer's daye.
Upon King Arthur's own partyè,
Onlye himselfe escaped there,
And Lukyn Duke of Gloster free,
And the king's butler Bedevere.
And when the king beheld his knightes,
All dead and scattered on the molde;
The teares fast trickled downe his face;
That manlye face in fight so bolde.
Nowe reste yee all, brave knights, he said,
Soe true and faithful to your trust:
And must yee then, ye valiant hearts,
Be lefte to moulder into dust!
Most loyal have yee been to mee,
Most true and faithful unto deathe:
And, oh! to rayse yee up againe,
How freelye could I yield my breathe!
But see the traitor's yet alive,
Lo where hee stalkes among the deade!
Nowe bitterlye he shall abye :
And vengeance fall upon his head.
O staye, my liege, then sayd the duke;
O staye for love and charitìe;
Remember what the vision spake,
Nor meete your foe, if it may bee.
O, staye mee not, thou worthye wight,
This debt my loyal knights I owe:
Betide me life, betide me death,
I will avenge them of their foe.
Then straite he grasp'd his trustye speare,
And on his horse then mounted hee:
As his butler holpe him to his horse,
His bowels gushed to his knee.
Alas! then sayd the noble king,
That I should live this sight to see!
To see this good knight here be slaine,
All for his love in helping mee!
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 sworde,
And fierce to meet the king ran hee:
The king his speare he through him thrust;
And fathom thorow his bodìe.
When Mordered felt the stroke of death,
And found that he was wounded soe;
He thruste himselfe upon the speare,
And strucke the king a deadlye blowe.
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Then grimmlye dyed Sir Mordered,
Presentlye upon that tree :
And bloody streames ranne from the kinge 115
Ere to the duke returned hee.
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:
O 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,
A better neer had valiant knighte,
With thee full ofte, and manye a daye,
Have I withstood my foe in fighte.
With this good fauchion in my hande,
Oft have I reapd the bloody feelde:
But nowe the fatalle houre is come,
That never more I may thee weelde.
The duke to the river side he went,
And there his owne sword in threwe he:
But he kept back Excalibar,
He kept it back in privitie.
:
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,
Who sayd, Sir Lukyn, what did yee see?
Nothing, my liege, save that the winde
Blewe oer the waters faire and free.
O goe againe, then said the kinge,
O good 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,
And hid it undernethe a tree.
Then backe he came to tell the kinge,
Who sayde, Sir Lukyn, sawe ye oughte?
Nothinge, my liege, save that the winde
Nowe with the angrye waters fought.
O Lukyn, Lukyn, said the kinge,
Twice haste thou dealt deceytfullye:
Alacke, whom may wee ever truste,
When suche a knighte soe false can bee?
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,
No auns were 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;
Then sunke benethe the renninge streme,
And of the duke was seen noe mair.
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* More commonly called Caliburn. In the folio M S.
Escalberd.
THE LEGEND OF KING ARTHUR.
All sore astonied stood the duke;
He stood as still, as still mote bee:
Then hastend backe to tell the kinge;
But he was gone from under the tree.
But to what place he cold not tell,
For never after hee did him spye:
We have here a short summary of King Arthur's
History as given by Jeff. of Monmouth and the old
Chronicles, with the addition of a few circumstances
from the romance Morte Arthur.-The ancient
chronicle of Ger. de Leew (quoted above in p. 203)
seems to have been chiefly followed: upon the au-
thority of which we have restored some of the names
which were corrupted in the MS. and have trans-
posed one stanza, which appeared to be misplaced,
[viz. that beginning at v. 49, which in the MS. fol-
lowed 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.
V.
THE LEGEND OF KING ARTIIUR.
In Jesus Christ I doe beleeve ;
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,
After my savior Christ his byrth:
What time I did maintaine.
The fellowshipp of the table round,
Soe famous in those dayes;
Whereatt a hundred noble knights,
And thirty sat alwayes :
Who for their deeds and martiall feates,
As bookes done yett record,
Amongst all other nations
Wer feared throwgh the world.
175
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,
Then was I crowned kinge:
All Brittaine that was att an upròre
I did to quiett bringe.
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But hee sawe a barge goe from the land,
And hee heard ladyes howle and crye*.
Ver. 178, see MS.
Ver. 1, Bruite, MS. V. 9, He began his reign, A.D. 515,
according to the Chonicles. V. 23, She is named Igerna in
the old Chronicles. V. 24, his, MS.
And whether the kinge were there, or not,
Hee never knewe, nor ever colde:
For from that sad and direfulle daye,
Hee never more was seene on molde.
And drove the Saxons from the realme,
Who had opprest this land;
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:
And Lucyus the emperour of Rome
I brought to deadly wracke;
And a thousand more of noble knightes
For feare did turne their backe:
Five kinges of" paynims" I did kill
Amidst that bloody strife;
Besides the Grecian emperour
Who alsoe lost his liffe.
Whose carcasse I did send to Rome
Cladd poorlye on a beere ;
And afterward I past Mount-Joye
The next approaching yeere.
Then I came to Rome, where I was mett
Right as a conquerour,
And by all the cardinalls solempnelye
I was crowned an emperour.
"When scorching Phœbus he did mount,
Then Lady Venus went to hunt:
To whom Diana did resort,
205
With all the Ladyes of hills, and valleys,
"
Of springs, and floodes, &c.'
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Ver. 39, Froland field, MS. Froll, according to the
Chronicles, was a Roman knight, governor of Gaul. V. 4,
Danibus, MS. V. 49, of Pavye, MS.
* Not unlike that passage in Virgil:
Summoque ulularunt vertice nymphæ.
LADIES was the word our old English writers used for
NYMPHS: As in the following lines of an old song in the
Editor's folio MS.
60

206
GLASGERION.
1
One winter there I made abode :
Then word to mee was brought
Howe Mordred had oppressd the crowne:
What treason he had wrought
Att home in Brittaine with my queene;
Therfore I came with speede
To Brittaine backe, with all my power,
To quitt that traiterous deede:
+
And soone at Sandwiche I arrivde,
Where Mordred me withstoode :
But yett at last I landed there,
With effusion of much blood.
For there my nephew Sir Gawaine dyed,
Being wounded in that sore,
The whiche Sir Lancelot in fight
Had given him before.
Thence chased I Mordered away,
Who fledd to London right,
From London to Winchester, and
To Cornewalle tooke his flyght.
WHO sekes to tame the blustering winde,
Or causse the floods bend to his wyll,
Or els against dame nature's kinde
Copied from an old MS. in the Cotton Library,
[Vesp. A. 25.] intitled, "Divers things of Hen. viij's
time."
To'change' things frame by cunning skyll:
That man I thinke bestoweth paine,
Thoughe that his laboure be in vaine.
Who strives to breake the sturdye steele,
Or goeth about to staye the sunne;
Who thinks to causse an oke to reele,
Which never can by force be done :
That man likewise bestoweth paine,
Thoughe that his laboure be in vaine.
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Ver. 4, causse, MS.
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A DYTTIE TO HEY DOWNE.
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10
An ingenious Friend thinks that the following 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
intended favours to Castalio.
"
See what is said concerning the hero of this song,
(who is celebrated by Chaucer under the name of
Glaskyrion) in the Essay prefixed to Series the First,
Note H.
VI.
And still I him pursued with speed
Till at the last wee mett :
Wherby an appointed day of fight
Was there agreed and sett.
Where we did fight, of mortal life.
Eche other to deprive,
Till of a hundred thousand men
Scarce one was left alive.
There all the noble chivalrye
Of Brittaine tooke their end.
O see how fickle is their state
That doe on feates depend!
There all the traiterous men were slaine,
Not one escapte away;
And there dyed all my vallyant knightes
Alas! that woefull day!
Two and twenty yeere I ware the crowne
In honor and great fame;
And thus by death was suddenlye
Deprived of the same.
Who thinks to stryve against the streame,
And for to sayle without a maste;
Unlessse he thinks perhapps to faine,
His travell ys forelorne and waste;
And so in cure of all his paine,
His travell his cheffest gaine.
ys
So he lykewise, that goes about
To please eche eye and every care,
Had nede to have withouten doubt
A golden gyft with hym to beare;
For evyll report shall be his gaine,
Though he bestowe both toyle and paine.
VII.
GLASGERION.
God grant eche man one to amend;
God send us all a happy place;
And let us pray unto the end,
That we may have our princes grace:
Amen, amen! so shall we gaine
A dewe reward for all our paine.
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,
Till ladies waxed' glad.'
And then bespake the kinges daughter;
And these wordes thus shee sayd.
Ver. 92, perhaps fates. V. 6, wood. MS.
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Strike on, strike on, Glasgèrion,
Of thy striking doe not blinne :
Theres never a stroke comes oer thy harpe,
But it glads my hart withinne.
Faire might he fall, ladye, quoth hee,
Who taught you nowe to speake !
I have loved you, ladye, seven longe yeere
My minde I neere durst breake.
But come to my bower, my Glasgeriòn,
When all men are att rest:
As I am a ladie true of my promise,
Thou shalt bee a welcome guest.
Home then came Glasgèrion,
A glad man, lord! was hee.
And, come thou hither, Jacke my boy;
Come hither unto mee.
For the kinges daughter of Normandye
Hath granted mee my hoone :
And att her chambere must I bee
Beffore the cocke have crowen.
O master, master, then quoth hee,
Lay your head downe on this stone:
For I will waken you, master deere,
Afore it be time to gone.
But
up then rose that lither ladd,
And hose and shoone did on:
A coller he cast upon his necke,
Hee seemed a gentleman.
And when he came to the ladies chamber,
He thrild upon a pinn*.
The lady was true of her promise,
Rose up and lett him in.
He did not take the lady gaye
To boulster nor to bed:
'Nor thoughe hee had his wicked wille,
A single word he sed.'
He did not kisse that ladyes mouthe,
Nor when he came, nor youd:
And sore mistrusted that ladye gay,
He was of some churls bloud.
But home then came that lither ladd,
And did off his hose and shoone;
And cast the coller from off his necke:
He was but a churlès sonne.
GLASGERION.
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Ver. 16, harte, MS.
* This is elsewhere expressed 'twirled the pin' or 'tirled
at the 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.
Awake, awake, my deere master,
The cock hath well-nigh crowen.
Awake, awake, my master deere,
I hold it time to be gone.
For I have saddled your horsse, mastèr,
Well bridled I have your steede :
And I have served you a good breakfast:
For thereof ye have need.
Up then rose, good Glasgeriòn,
And did on hose and shoone;
And cast a coller about his necke:
For he was a kinge his sonne.
And when he came to the ladyes chamber,
He thrild upon the pinne:
The ladye was more than true of promise,
And rose and let him inn.
Saies, whether have you left with me
Your bracelett or your glove?
Or are you returned backe againe
To know more of my love?
Glasgèrion swore a full great othe,
By oake, and ashe, and thorne,
Lady, I was never in your chambèr,
Sith the time that I was borne,
O then it was your lither foot-page,
He hath beguiled mee.
Then shee pulled forth a little pen-knìffe,
That hanged by her knee :
Sayes, there shall never noe churlés blood
Within my bodye spring :
No churlès blood shall ever defile
The daughter of a kinge.
Home then went Galsgèrion,
And woe, good lord, was hee.
Sayes, come thou hither, Jacke my boy,
Come hither unto mee.
If I had killed a man to night,
Jacke, I would tell it to thee:
But if I have not killed a man to night,
Jacke, thou hast killed three.
And he puld out his bright browne sword,
A dryed it on his sleeve,
And he smote off that lither ladds head,
Who did his ladye grieve.
He sett the swords poynt till his brest,
The pummil untill a stone:
Throw the falsenesse of that lither ladd,
These three lives werne all gone.
Ver. 76. litle, MS.
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208
OLD ROBIN OF PORTINGALE.
VIII.
OLD ROBIN OF PORTINGALE.
From an ancient copy in the Editor's folio MS.
which was judged to require considerable cor-
rections.
In the former Edition the hero of this piece had
been called Sir Robin, but that title not being in the
MS. is now omitted.
LET never again soe old a man
Marrye soe yonge a wife,
As did old Robin of Portingale ;
Who may rue all the dayes of his life.
For the mayors daughter of Lin, god wott,
He chose her to his wife,
And thought with her to have lived in love,
But they fell to hate and strife:
They scarce were in their wed-bed laid,
And scarce was hee asleepe,
But upp shee rose, and forth she goes,
To the steward, and gan to weepe.
Sleepe you, wake you, faire Sir Gyles?
Or be you not within?
Sleepe you, wake you, faire Sir Gyles,
Arise and let me inn.
O, I am waking, sweete, he said,
Sweete ladye, what is your will?
I have unbethought me of a wile
How my wed-lord weell spill.
Twenty-four good knights, shee sayes,
That dwell about this towne,
Even twenty-four of my next cozèns
Will helpe to dinge him downe.
;
All that beheard his litle footepage,
As he watered his masters steed
And for his masters sad perìlle
His verry heart did bleed.
He mourned still, and wept full sore;
I sweare by the holy roode
The teares he for his master wept
Were blent water and bloude.
And that beheard his deare mastèr
As he stood at his garden pale :
Sayes, Ever alacke, my litle foot-page,
What causes thee to wail?
Hath any one done to thee wronge
Any of thy fellowes here?
Or is any of thy good friends dead,
That thou shedst manye a teare?
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Ver. 19, unbethought, [properly onbethought] this word is
still used in the Midland counties in the same sense as be-
thought. V. 32, blend, MS.
Or, if it be my head bookes-man,
Aggrieved he shal bee :
For no man here within my howse,
Shall doe wrong unto thee.
O, it is not your head bookes-man,
Nor none of his degree:
But, on to-morrow ere it be noone
All deemed to die are yee.
And of that bethank your head steward,
And thank your gay ladie.
If this be true, my litle foot-page,
The beyre of my land thoust bee.
If it be not true, my dear mastèr,
No good death let me die.
If it be not true, thou litle foot-page,
A dead corse shalt thou lie.
O call now downe my faire ladye,
O call her downe to mee :
And tell my ladye gay how sicke,
And like to die I bee.
Downe then came his ladye faire,
All clad in purple and pall:
The rings that were on her fingèrs,
Cast light thorrow the hall.
What is your will, my owne wed-lord?
What is your will with mee?
O see, my ladye deere, how sicke,
And like to die I bee.
And thou be sicke, my own wed-lord,
Soe sore it grieveth me :
But my five maydens and myselfe
Will' watch thy' bedde for thee.
And at the waking of your first sleepe,
We will a hott drinke make:
And at the waking of your next' sleepe,
Your sorrowes we will slake.
He put a silk cote on his backe,
And mail of manye a fold:
And hee putt a steele cap on his head,
Was gilt with good red gold.
He layd a bright browne sword by his side,
And another att his feete :
And about the middle time of the night,
Came twentye-four traitours inn:
Sir Giles he was the foremost man,
The leader of that ginn.
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"And twentye good knights he placed at hand,
To watch him in his sleepe."
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70
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80
85
72,
Ver. 47, or to-morrow, MS. V. 56, bee, MS. V.
make the, MS. V. 75, first, MS.
Old Robin with his bright browne sword,
Sir Gyles head soon did winn:
And scant of all those twenty-four,
Went out one quick agenn.
None save only a litle foot-page,
Crept forth at a window of stone:
And he had two armes when he came in,
And he went back with one.
Upp then came that ladie gaye
With torches burning bright:
CHILD WATERS.
The first thinge that she stumbled on
It was Sir Gyles his foote :
Sayes, Ever alacke, and woe is mee!
Here lyes my sweete hart-route.
The next thinge that she stumbled on
It was Sir Gyles his heade:
Sayes, Ever, alacke, and woe is me!
Heere lyes my true love deade.
She thought to have brought Sir Gyles a drinke,
Butt she found her owne wedd knight.
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CHILDE Waters in his stable stoode
And stroakt his milke white steede :
To him a fayre yonge ladye came
As ever ware womans weede.
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IX.
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 ballad 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 In-
Fans, Varlets, Damoysels, Bacheliers. The most noble
of the youth were particularly called Infans.” [Vid.
Warb. Shakesp.] A late commentator on Spenser
observes, that the Saxon word cnihz knight, signifies
also a "Child." [See Upton's Gloss. to the F. Q.]
The Editor's folio MS. whence the following piece
is taken (with some corrections), affords several
other ballads, wherein the word Child occurs as a
title: but in none of these it signifies "Prince." See
the song intitled Gill Morrice, in this volume.
It ought to be observed, that the word Child or
Chield is still used in North Britain to denominate
a Man, commonly with some contemptuous character
affixed to him, but sometimes to denote Man in
general,
Hee cutt the pappes beside her brest,
And did her body spille;
Sayes, Christ you save, good Childe Waters; 5
Sayes, Christ you save, and see :
My girdle of gold that was too longe,
Is now too short for mee.
He cutt the eares beside her heade,
And bade her love her fille.
He called then up his litle foot-page,
And made him there his heyre;
And sayd, henceforth my worldlye goodes
And countrye I forsweare.
He shope the crosse on his right shoulder,
Of the white clothe' and the redde *
And went into the holy land,
Whereas Christ was quicke and dead.
CHILD WATERS.
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.
And all is with one chyld of yours,
I feele sturre att my side:
My gowne of greene it is too straighte ;
Before, it was too wide.
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If the child be mine, faire Ellen, he sayd,
Be mine as you tell mee;
Then take you Cheshire and Lancashire both, 15
Take them your owne to bee.
If the childe be mine, faire Ellen he sayd,
Be mine, as you doe sweare:
Then take you Cheshire and Lancashire both,
And make that child your heyre.
To morrow, Ellen, I must forth ryde
Farr into the north countrie
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"
The fairest lady that I can find,
Ellen, must goe with mee.
Thoughe I am not that lady fayre,
Yet let me go with thee':
And ever I pray you, Child Watèrs,
Your foot-page let me bee.
Shee saies, I had rather have one kisse,
Child Waters, of thy mouth;
Than I wolde have Cheshire and Lancashire both,
That lye by north and south.
"
10
And I had rather have one twinkling,
Childe Waters, of thine ee :
Then I wolde have Cheshire and Lancashire both,
To take them mine owne to bee.
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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 nations
were distinguished by crosses of different colours: The
English wore white; the French red; &c. This circumstance
seems to be confounded in the ballad. V Spelman, Gloss.}
!
P
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CHILD WATERS.
If you will my foot-page be, Ellèn,
As you doe tell to mee;
Then you must cut your gowne of greene,
An inch above your knee :
Soe must you doe your yellowe lockes,
An inch above your ee:
You must tell no man what is my name;
My foot-page then you shall bee.
Shee, all the long day Child Waters rode,
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;
Yett hee was never soe curteoue, a knighte,
To say, put on your shoone.
Ride softlye, shee sayd, O Childe Waters,
Why doe you ryde soe fast?
The childe, which is no mans but thine,
My bodye itt will brast.
Hee sayth, seest thou yonder water, Ellen,
That flows from banke to brimme.-
I trust to God, O Child Waters,
You never will see* mee swimme.
But when shee came to the waters side,
Shee sayled to the chinne :
Except the Lord of heaven be my speed,
Now must I learne to swimme.
The salt waters bare up her clothes
Our 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:
He said, Come hither, thou faire Ellèn,
Loe yonder what I see.
Scest thou not yonder hall, Ellèn?
Of redd gold shines the yate:
Of twenty foure faire ladyes there,
The fairest is my mate.
Seest thou not yonder hall, Ellèn?
Of redd gold shines the towre:
There are twenty four faire ladyes there,
The fairest is my paramoure.
I see the hall now, Child Waters,
Of redd gold shines the yate:
God give you good now of yourselfe,
And of
your worthye mate.
I see the hall now, Child Waters,
Of redd golde shines the towre:
God give you good now of yourselfe,
And of your paramoure.
There twenty four fayre ladyes were
A playing att the ball:
And Ellen the fairest ladye there,
Must bring his steed to the stall.
Ver. 84, woldlye, MS.
i. e. permit, suffer, &c.
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85
90
There twenty four fayre ladyes were
A playinge at the chesse;
And Ellen the fayrest ladye there,
Must bring his horse to gresse.
And then bespake Childe Waters sister,
These were the wordes said shee:
You have the prettyest foot-page, brother,
That ever I saw with mine ee.
But that his bellye it is soe bigg,
His girdle goes wondrous hie:
And let him, I pray you, Childe Watèrs,
Goe into the chamber with mee.
It is not fit for a little foot-page,
That has run throughe mosse and myre,
To go into the chamber with any ladye,
That weares soe riche attyre.
It is more meete for a little foot-page,
That has run throughe mosse and myre,
To take his supper upon his knee,
And sitt downe by the kitchen fyer.
But when they had supped every one,
To bedd they tooke theyr waye :
He sayd, come hither, my little foot-page,
And hearken what I saye.
Goe thee downe into yonder towne,
And low into the street;
The fayrest ladye that thou can finde,
Hyer her in mine armes to sleepe,
And take her up in thine armes twaine,
For filinge* of her feete.
Ellen is gone into the towne,
And low into the streete :
The fairest ladye that shee cold find,
Shee hyred in his armes to sleepe;
And tooke her up in her armes twayne,
For filing of her feete.
I
pray you nowe, good Childe Watèrs,
Let mee lye at your bedds feete :
For there is noe place about this house,
Where I may 'saye† a sleepe.
'He gave her leave, and faire Ellèn
'Down at his beds feet lay :'
This done the nighte drove on apace,
And when it was neare the daye,
Hee sayd, Rise up, my litle foot-page,
Give my steede corne and haye;
And soe doe thou the good black oats,
To carry mee better awaye.
Up then rose the faire Ellèn,
And gave his steede corne and hay;
And soe shee did the good blacke oates,
To carry him the better away.
Shee leaned her backe to the manger side,
And grievouslye did groane:
She leaned her back to the manger side,
And there shee made ber moane.
95
100
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115
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135
* i. e. defiling. See Warton's Observ. vol. II. p. 158.
+ i. e. essay, attempt.
140
145
PHILLIDA AND CORYDON.
And that beheard his mother deere,
Shee heard her there monand*.
Shee sayd, Rise up, thou Childe Watèrs,
I think thee a cursed man.
For in thy stable is a ghost,
That grievouslye doth grone:
Or else some woman labours of childe
Shee is soe woe-begone,
Up then rose Childe Waters soon,
And did on his shirte of silke;
And then he put on his other clothes,
On his body as white as milke.
In the merrie moneth of Maye,
In a morne by break of daye,
With a troope of damselles playing
Forthe 'I yode' forsooth a maying :
When anon by a wood side,
Where as Maye was in his pride,
I espied all alone
Phillida and Corydon.
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, intitled England's Heli-
con, 1600, 4to. The author was Nicholas Breton, a
writer of some fame in the reign of Elizabeth; who
also published an interlude intitled "An old man's
lesson and a young man's love," 4to. and many
other little pieces in prose and verse, the titles of
which may be seen in Winstanley, Ames' Typog, and
Osborne's Harl. Catalog. &c.-He is mentioned with
great respect by Meres, in his second part of "Wit's
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
Whalley's Ben Jonson, vol. III. p. 103.
The present Edition is improved by a copy in
"England's Helicon," vol. III, edit. 1614, 8vo.
Much adoe there was, god wot;
He wold love, and she wold not.
She sayde, never man was trewe;
He sayes, none was false to you.
He sayde, hee had lovde her longe :
She sayes, love should have no wronge.
Corydon wold kisse her then :
She sayes, maydes must kisse no men,
150
X.
PHILLIDA AND CORYDON.
Tyll they doe for good and all.
When she made the shepperde call
All the heavens to wytnes truthe,
Never loved a truer youthe.
155
Ver. 4, the wode, MS.
* Sic in MS. i. e. moaning, bemoaning, &c.
160
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5
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15
And when he came to the stable dore,
Full still there he did stand,
That hee mighte heare his fayre Ellèn,
Howe shee made her monand.
20
She sayd, Lullabye, mine owne deere child,
Lullabye, dere child, dere;
I wold thy father were a king,
Thy mother layd on a biere.
Peace now, hee said, good faire Ellèn,
Be of good cheere, I praye;
And the bridal and the churching both
Shall bee upon one day.
Then with manie a prettie othe,
Yea and nay, and faith and trothe;
Suche as seelie shepperdes use
When they will not love abuse;
Love, that had bene long deluded,
Was with kisses sweete concluded;
And Phillida with garlands gaye
Was made the lady of the Maye.
211
165
170
25
+++ The foregoing little pastoral of "Phillida and
Corydon" is one of the songs in "The Honourable
Entertainment gieven to the Queenes Majestie in
Progresse at Elvetham in Hampshire, by the R. H.
the Earle of Hertford, 1591," 4to. [Printed by
Wolfe. No name of author.] See in that pamphlet,
"The thirde daies Etertainment.
"On Wednesday morning about 9 o'clock, as her
Majestie opened a casement of her gallerie window,
ther were 3 excellent musitians, who being disguised
in auncient country attire, did greete her with a plea-
sant song of 'Corydon and Phillida,' made in 3 parts
of purpose. The song, as well for the worth of the
dittie, as the aptnesse of the note thereto applied, it
pleased her Highnesse after it had been once sung to
command it againe, and highly to grace it with her
cheerefull acceptance and commendation.
THE PLOWMAN'S SONG.
"In the merrie month of May, &c."
The splendour and magnificence of Elizabeth's
reign is no where more strongly painted than in these
little diaries of some of her summer excursions to the
houses of her nobility; nor could a more acceptable
present be given to the world, than a republication
of a select number of such details as this of the en-
tertainment 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 mo-
dern manners.
** Since the above was written, the Public hath
been gratified with a most complete work on the
foregoing subject, intitled, "The Progresses and
Public Processions of Queen Elizabeth, &c. By
John Nichols, F. A. S. Edinb. and Perth, 1788," 3
vols, 4to.
2 P
212
LITTLE MUSGRAVE AND LADY BARNARD.
XI.
LITTLE MUSGRAVE AND LADY BARNARD.
This ballad is ancient, and has been popular; we
find it quoted in many old plays. See Beaum. and
Fletcher's Knight of the Burning Pestle, 4to, 1613,
Act 5. The Varietie, 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 Musgrave,
And for Chevy-chace no lark comes near me.
""
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 Musgrave came to the church door,
The priest was at the mass;
But he had more mind of the fine women,
Then he had of our Ladyes grace.
And some of them were clad in greene,
And others were clad in pall;
And then came in my Lord Barnardes wife,
The fairest among them all.
Shee cast an eye on little Musgràve
As bright as the summer sunne :
O then bethought him little Musgrave,
This ladyes heart I have wonne.
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 saye.
I have a bower at Bucklesford-Bury*,
Full daintilye bedight,
If thoult wend thither, my little Musgràve,
Thoust lig in mine armes all night.
Quoth bee, I thanke yee, ladye faire,
This kindness yee shew to mee;
And whether it be to my weale or woe,
This night will I lig with thee.
All this beheard a litle foot-page,
By his ladyes coach as he ranne :
Quoth he, thoughe I am my ladyes page,
Yet Ime my Lord Barnardes manne.
* Bucklefield-berry, fol. MS.
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30
My Lord Barnard shall knowe of this,
Although I lose a limbe.
And ever whereas the bridges were broke,
He layd him downe to swimme.
Asleep or awake, thou Lord Barnàrd,
As thou art a man of life,
Lo! this same night at Bucklesford-Bury
Litle Musgrave's in bed with thy wife.
If it be trew, thou litle foote-page,
This tale thou hast told to mee,
Then all my lands in Bucklesford-Bury
I 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
All hanged shalt thou bee.
Rise up, rise up, my merry men all,
And saddle me my good steede;
This night must I to Bucklesford-Bury;
God wott, I had never more neede.
Methinkes I heare the throstle cocke,
Methinkes I heare the jay,
Methinkes I heare Lord Barnards horne;
I would I were awaye.
Lye still, lye still, thou little Musgrave,
And huggle 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,
Thy horse eating corne and haye?
And thou a gay lady within thine armes :
And wouldst thou be awaye?
Then some they whistled, and some they sang,
And some did loudlye saye,
Whenever Lord Barnardes horne it blewe, 55
Awaye, Musgrave, away.
By this Lord Barnard was come to the dore,
And lighted upon a stone:
And he pulled out three silver keyes,
And opened the dores eche one.
He lifted up the coverlett,
He lifted up the sheete;
How now, how now,
thou little Musgràve,
Dost find my gaye ladye sweete?
35
I find her sweete, quoth little Musgrave,
The more is my griefe and paine;
Ide gladlye give three hundred poundes
That I were on yonder plaine.
Ver. 64, Is whistling sherpe ore the mold, fol. MS.
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50
60
65
70
75
80
THE EW-BUGHTS MARION.
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 scabbarde,
Full deare they cost my purse;
And thou shalt have the best of them,
And I will have the worse.
The first stroke that little Musgrave strucke,
He hurt Lord Barnard sore;
The next stroke that Lord Barnard strucke,
Little Musgrave never strucke more.
And wishe well to thy soule will I,
So long as I have life;
So will I not do for thee, Barnard,
Thoughe I am thy wedded wife.
With that bespake the ladye faire,
In bed whereas she laye,
Althoughe thou art dead, my little Musgrave, 95
Yet for the I will praye:
He cut her pappes from off her brest;
Great pitye it was to see
The drops of this fair ladyes bloode
Run trickling downe her knee.
85
WILL Ze gae to the ew-bughts, Marion,
And wear in the sheip wi' mee?
The sun shines sweit, my Marion,
But nae half sae sweit as thee.
O Marion's a bonnie lass;
90
And the blyth blinks in her ee:
And fain wad I marrie Marion,
Gin Marion wad marrie mee.
Theire's gowd in zour garters, Marion ;
And siller on zour white hauss-bane*:
Fou faine wad I kisse my Marion
At eene quhan I cum hame.
100
This sonnet appears to be ancient: that and its
simplicity of sentiment have recommended it to a
place here.
XII.
THE EW-BUGHTS MARION.
5
10
Wo worth, wo worth ye, my merrye men all, 105
You never were borne for my goode :
Why did you not offer 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 ;
So have I done the fairest lady,
That ever ware womans weede.
* Hauss-bane, i. e. The neck-bone. Marion had prooably
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," property halse.
A grave, a grave, Lord Barnard cryde,
To putt these lovers in;
But lay my ladye o' the upper hande,
For shee comes o' the better kin.
A SCOTTISH SONG.
"This sad Mischief by Lust was wrought;
Then let us call for Grace
That we may shun the wicked vice,
And fly from Sin a-pace."
+ 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.
Theire's braw lads in Earnslaw, Marion,
Quha gape and glowr wi' their ee
At kirk, quhan they see my Marion;
Bot nane of them lues like mee.
Ive nine milk-ews, my Marion,
A cow and a brawney quay;
Ise gie tham au to my Marion,
Just on her bridal day.
And zees get a grein sey apron,
And waistcote o' Loudon broun;
And wow bot ze will be vaporing
Quhaneir ze gang to the toun.
Ime
yong and stout, my Marion,
None dance lik mee on the greine ;
And gin ze forsak me, Marion,
213
Ise een gae draw up wi' Jeane.
Sae put on zour pearlins, Marion,
And kirtle oth' cramasie,
And sune as my chin has nae haire on,
I sall cum west, and see zee.
110
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25
3
21.1
THE KNIGHTS AND SHEPHERD'S DAUGHTER.
THE KNIGHT, AND SHEPHERD'S DAUGHTER.
This ballad (given from an old black-letter Copy,
with some corrections) was popular in the time of
Queen Elizabeth, being usually printed with her
picture before it, as Hearne informs us in his preface
to "Gul. Neubrig, Hist, Oxon, 1719, 8vo, vol. I,
p. lxx." It is quoted in Fletcher's comedy of the
Pilgrim, Act 4, sc. 1.
THERE was a shepherds daughter
Came tripping on the waye;
And there by chance a knighte shee mett,
Which caused her to staye.
Good morrowe to you, beauteous maide,
These words pronounced hee:
O I shall dye this daye, he sayd,
If Ive not my wille of thee.
The Lord forbid, the maide reply de,
That you shold waxe so wode!
• But for all that shee could do or saye,
He wold not be withstood.'
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,
And some do call mee Jille;
But when I come to the kings faire courte
They call me Wilfulle Wille.
He sett his foot into the stirrup,
And awaye then he did ride;
She tuckt her girdle about her middle,
And ranne close by his side.
But when she came to the brode watèr,
She sett her brest and swamme;
And when she was got out againe,
She tooke to her heels and ranne.
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.
When she came to the kings faire courte,
She knocked at the ring;
So readye was the king himself
To let this faire maide in.
XIII.
Now Christ you save, my gracious liege,
Now Christ yon save and see,
You have a knighte within your courte
This daye hath robbed mee.
What hath he robbed thee of, sweet heart?
Of purple or of pall?
Or hath he took thy gaye gold ring
From off thy finger small?
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35
40
He hath not robbed mee, my leige,
Of purple nor of pall:
But he hath gotten my maiden head,
Which grieves mee worst of all.
Now if he be a batchelor,
His bodye Ile give to thee;
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.
But nowe the last came hee.
He brought her downe full fortye pounde,
Tyed up withinne a glove:
Faire maide, Ile give the same to thee;
Go, seeke thee another love.
O lle have none of your gold, she sayde,
Nor lle have none of your fee;
But your faire bodye I must have,
The king hath granted mee.
Sir William ranne and fetchd her then
Five hundred pound in golde,
Saying, faire maide, take this to thee,
Thy fault will never be tolde.
Tis not the gold that shall mee tempt,
These words then answered shee,
But
your own bodye I must have,
The king hath granted mee.
Would I had dranke the water cleare,
When I did drinke the wine,
Rather than any shepherds brat
Shold bee a ladye of mine!
Would I had drank the puddle foule,
When I did drink the ale,
Rather than ever a shepherds brat
Shold tell me such a tale!
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,
And himself upon a graye;
He hung a bugle about his necke,
And soe they rode awaye.
45
509
པ་
60
65
70
75
80
85
Ver. 50, His bodye Ile give to thee.] This was agreeable
to the feudal customs: The lord had a right to give a wife
to his vassals. See Shakspeare's " All's well, that ends well."
LORD THOMAS AND FAIR ELINOR.
But when they came unto the place,
Where marriage-rites were done,
She proved herself a dukes daughtèr,
And he but a squires sonne.
Now marrye me, or not, sir knight,
Your pleasure shall be free:
If you make me ladye of one good towne,
İle make you lord of three.
GOOD Muse, rocke me aslepe
With some sweete harmony:
This wearie eyes is not to kepe
Thy wary company.
This Poem, originally printed from the small MS
volume mentioned above in No. X. has been im-
proved by a more perfect copy in "England's
Helicon," where the author is discovered to be N.
Breton.
Sweete Love, begon a while,
Thou seest my heavines :
Beautie is borne but to beguyle
My harte of happines.
XIV.
THE SHEPHERDS ADDRESS TO HIS MUSE.
See howe my little flocke,
That lovde to feede on highe,
Doe headlonge tumble downe the rocke,
And in the valley dye.
The bushes and the trees,
That were so freshe and greene,
Doe all their deintie colors leese,
And not a leafe is seene.
90
The blacke birde and the thrushe,
That made the woodes to ringe,
With all the rest, are now at hushe,
And not a note they singe.
95
LORD Thomas he was a bold forrrestèr,
And a chaser of the kings deere;
Faire Ellinor was a fine woman,
And Lord Thomas he loved his deare.
5
10
15
20
Ah! cursed 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.
is given (with corrections) from an ancient
copy in black letter, in the Pepys collection, intitled,
"A tragical ballad on the unfortunate love of Lord
Thomas and fair Ellinor, together with the downfall
of the browne girl."-In the same collection may be
seen an attempt to modernize this old song, and
reduce it to a different measure:
a proof of its
popularity.
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.
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,
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.
And therefore, my sweete muse,
That knowest what helpe is best,
Doe nowe thy heavenlie conninge use
To sett my harte at rest:
XV.
LORD THOMAS AND FAIR ELINOR,
And in a dreame bewraie
What fate shal be my frende;
Whether my life shall still decaye,
Or when my sorrowes ende.
215
100
And as it befelle on a high holidaye,
As many there are beside,
Lord Thomas he went to faire Ellinor,
That should have been her bride.
25
The browne girl she has got houses and lands,
Faire Ellinor she has got none,
And therefore I charge thee on my blessing,
To bring me the browne girl home.
30
35
Come riddle my riddle, dear mother, he sayd, 5
And riddle us both as one ;
Whether I shall marrye with faire Ellinor,
And let the browne girl alone?
40
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15
216
CUPID AND CAMPASPE.
And when he came to faire Ellinors bower,
He knocked there at the ring,
And who was so ready as faire Ellinòr,
To lett Lord Thomas withinn.
What newes, what newes, Lord Thomas, she sayd?
What newes dost thou bring to mee?
I am come to bid thee to my wedding,
And that is bad news for thee.
O God forbid, Lord Thomas she sayd,
That such a thing should be done;
I thought to have been the bride my selfe,
And thou to have been the bridegrome.
Come riddle my riddle, dear mother, she sayd,
And riddle it all in one;
20
30
Whether I shall goe to Lord Thomas his wedding,
Or whether shall tarry at home?
25
There are manye that are your friendes, daughtèr,
And manye a one your foe,
Therefore I charge you on my blessing,
To Lord Thomas his wedding don't goe.
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.
There are manye that are my friendes, mother;
But were every one my foe,
Betide me life, betide me death,
To Lord Thomas his wedding I'ld goe.
35
CUPID and my Campaspe playd
At cardes for kisses; Cupid payd:
40
But when she came to Lord Thomas his gate, 45
She knocked there at the ring;
And who was so readye as Lord Thomas,
To lett faire Ellinor in.
XVI.
This elegant little sonnet is found in the third act
of an old play, intitled, "Alexander and Campaspe,"
written by John Lilye, a celebrated writer in the
time of Queen Elizabeth. That play was first
printed in 1591: but this copy is given from a later
edition.
Is this your bride, fair Ellinor sayd?
Methinks she looks wonderous browne;
Thou mightest have had as faire a woman,
As ever trod on the grounde.
Ver. 29, It should probably be Reade me, read, &c. i. e.
Advise me, advise.
Despise her not, fair Ellin, he sayd,
Despise her not unto mee;
For better I love thy little finger,
Than all her whole bodèe.
This browne bride had a little penknife,
That was both long and sharpe,
And betwixt the short ribs and the long,
She prick'd faire Ellinor's harte.
O Christ thee save, Lord Thomas, hee sayd,
Methinks thou lookst wondrous wan;
Thou usedst to look with as fresh a colòur,
As ever the sun shone on.
50
CUPID AND CAMPASPE.
Lord Thomas he had a sword by his side;
As he walked about the halle,
He cut off his brides head from her shoulders,,
And threw it against the walle.
55
Oh, art thou blind, Lord Thomas? she sayd, 65
Or canst thou not very well see?
Oh! dost thou not see my owne hearts bloode
Run trickling down my knee.
60
70
He set the hilte against the grounde,
And the point aginst his harte.
There never three lovers together did meete, 75
That sooner againe did parte.
The reader will find a Scottish song on a
sim lar subject to this, towards the end of this
volume, intitled, "Lord Thomas and Lady Annet."
He stakes his quiver, bow and arrows,
His mothers doves, and teame of sparrows;
Loses them too; then down he throws
The coral of his lippe, the rose
;
Growing on's cheek (but none knows how),
With these, the crystal of his browe,
And then the dimple of his chinne
All these did my Campaspe winne.
At last he set her both his eyes,
She won, and Cupid blind did rise.
O Love! has she done this to thee?
What shall, alas! become of mee?
THE LADY TURNED SERVING-MAN.
THE LADY TURNED SERVING-MAN.
is given from a written copy, containing some
improvements (perhaps modern ones), upon the
popular ballad, intitled, "The famous flower of
Serving-men; or the Lady turned Serving-man,"
You beauteous ladyes, great and small,
I write unto you one and all,
Whereby that you may understand
What I have suffered in the land.
I was by birth a lady faire,
An ancient barons only heire,
And when my good old father dyed,
Then I became a young knightes bride.
And there my love built me a bower,
Bedeck'd with many a fragrant flower;
A braver bower you ne'er did see
Then my true love did build for mee.
And there I livde a ladye gay,
Till fortune wrought our loves decay;
For there came foes so fierce a band,
That soon they over-run the land.
They came upon us in the night,'
And brent my bower, and slew my knight;
And trembling hid in mans array
I scant with life escap'd away.
In the midst of this extremitìe,
My servants all did from me flee:
Thus was I left myself alone,
With heart more cold than any stone.
Yet though my heart was full of care,
Heaven would not suffer me to dispaire,
Wherefore in haste I chang'd my name
From fair Elise, to sweet Williame:
And therewithall I cut my haire,
Resolv'd my man's attire to weare;
And in my beaver, hose and band,
I travell'd far through many a land.
At length all wearied with my toil,
I sate me down to rest awhile;
My heart it was so fill'd with woe,
That downe my cheeke the teares did flow.
It chanc'd the king of that same place
With all his lords a hunting was,
And seeing me weepe, upon the same
Askt who I was, and whence I came.
XVII.
Then to his grace I did replye,
I am a poore and friendlesse boye,
Though nobly borne, nowe forc'd to bee
A serving-man of lowe degree.
Stand up, faire youth, the king reply'd,
For thee a service I'll provyde;
But tell me first what thou canst do;
Thou shalt be fitted thereunto.
5
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45
Wilt thou be usher of my hall,
To wait upon my nobles all?
Or wilt be taster of my wine,
To 'tend on me when I shall dine?
Or wilt thou be my chamberlaine,
About my person to remaine?
Or wilt thou be one of my guard,
And I will give thee great reward?
Chuse, gentle youth, said he, thy place.
Then I reply'd, If it please your grace
To shew such favour unto mee,
Your chamberlaine I faine would bee.
The king then smiling gave consent,
And straitwaye to his court I went;
Where I behavde so faithfullìe,
That bee great favour showd to mee.
Now marke what fortune did provide;
The king he would a hunting ride
With all his lords and noble traine,
Sweet William must at home remaine.
Thus being left alone behind,
My former state came in my mind:
I wept to see my mans array;
No longer now a ladye gay.
And meeting with a ladyes vest,
Within the same myself I drest;
With silken robes and jewels rare,
I deckt me, as a ladye faire :
And taking up a lute straitwaye,
Upon the same I strove to play;
And sweetly to the same did sing,
As made both hall and chamber ring.
""
;
My father was as brave a lord,
As ever Europe might afford
My mother was a lady bright:
My husband was a valiant knight:
“ And I myself a ladye gay
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;
I had my virgins fair and free
Continually to wait on mee.
"But now, alas! my husband's dead,
And all my friends are from me fled,
My former days are past and gone,
And I am now a serving-man."
And fetching many a tender sigh,
As thinking no one then was nigh,
In pensive mood I laid me lowe,
My heart was full, the tears did flowe.
217
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218
GIL MORRICE.
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,
Hearing one sing within his bower,
He stopt to listen, and to see
Who sung there so melodiouslìe.
Thus heard he everye word I sed,
And saw the pearlye teares I shed,
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,
The which shall turn to thy availe.
A crimson dye my face orespred,
I blusht for shame, and hung my head,
GIL Morrice was an erlès son,
His name it waxed wide;
It was nae for his great richès,
Nor zet his mickle pride;
Bot it was for a lady gay,
That livd on Carron side.
105
110
115
XVIII.
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 advertise-
ment, 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
66
any reader that can render it more correct or com-
plete," is desired to oblige the public with such im-
provements. In consequence of this advertisement,
sixteen additional verses have been produced and
handed about in manuscript, which are here in-
serted in their proper places: (these are from verse
109 to verse 121, and from verse 124 to verse 129,
but are perhaps, after all, only an ingenious interpo-
lation.)
As this poem lays claim to a pretty high antiquity,
we have assigned it a place among our early pieces:
though, after all, there is reason to believe it has
received very considerable modern improvements:
for in the Editor's ancient MS collection is a very
old imperfect copy of the same ballad: wherein
though the leading features of the story are the
same, yet the colouring here is so much improved
and heightened, and so many additional strokes are
thrown in, that it is evident the whole has under-
gone a revisal.
N. B. The Editor's MS. instead of "Lord Bar-
nard," has "John Stewart;" and instead of "Gil
Morrice,"
"« Child Maurice," which last is probably
the original title. See above, p. 209.
To find my sex and story knowne,
When as I thought I was alone.
But to be briefe, his royall grace
Grewe so enamour'd of my face,
The richest gifts he proffered mee,
His mistress if that I would bee.
5
Ah! no, my liege, I firmlye sayd,
I'll rather in my grave be layd,
And though your grace hath won my heart,
I ne'er will act soe base a part.
Faire ladye, pardon me, sayd hee,
Thy virtue shall rewarded bee,
And since it is soe fairly tryde
Thou shalt become my royal bride.
GIL MORRICE.
Then strait to end his amorous strife,
He tooke sweet William to his wife.
The like before was never seene,
A serving-man became a queene.
A SCOTTISH BALLAD.
Quhair sall I get a bonny boy,
That will win hose and shoen;
That will gae to Lord Barnards ha',
And bid his lady cum?
And ze maun rin my errand, Willie ;
And ze may rin wi' pride;
Quhen other boys gae on their foot,
On horse-back ze sall ride.
O no! Oh no! my master dear!
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:
How can ze strive against the stream?
For I sall be obeyd.
Bot, O my master dear! he cryd,
In grene wod ze're zour lain;
Gi owre sic thochts, I walde ze rede,
For fear ze should be tain.
Haste, haste, I say, gae to the ba’,
Bid bir cum here wi speid:
If ze refuse my heigh command,
Ill gar zour body bleid.
Gae bid hir take this gay mantèl,
'Tis a' gowd bot the hem;
Bid bir cum to the gude grene wode,
And bring nane bot hir lain :
And there it is, a silken sarke,
Hir ain hand sewd the sleive;
And bid hir cum to Gill Morice,
Speir nae bauld barons leave.
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125
130
135
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35
Ver. 11, something seems wanting here. V. 32, and 68,
perhaps, 'bout the hem.
Yes, I will gae zour black errand,
Though it be to zour cost;
Sen ze by me will nae be warn'd,
In it ze sall find frost.
The baron he is a man of might,
He neir could bide to taunt,
As ze will see before its nicht,
How sma' ze hae to vaunt.
And sen I maun zour errand rin
Sae sair against my will;
I'se mak a vow and keip it trow,
It sall be done for ill.
And quhen he came to broken brigue,
He bent his bow and swam;
And quhen he came to grass growing,
Set down his feet and ran.
And quhen he came to Barnards ha',
Would neither chap nor ca':
Bot set his bent bow to his breist,
And lichtly lap the wa'.
He wauld nae tell the man his errand,
Though he stude at the gait;
Bot straiht into the ha' he cam,
Quhair they were set at meit.
Hail! hail! my gentle sire and dame!
My message winna waite;
Dame, ze maun to the gude grene wod
Before that it be late.
Ze're bidden tak this gay mantèl,
Tis a' gowd bot the hem :
Zou maun gae to the gude grene wode,
Ev'n by your sel alane.
And there it is, a silken sarke,
Your ain hand sewd the sleive;
Ze maun gae speik to Gill Moríce :
Speir nae bauld barons leave.
The lady stamped wi' hir foot,
And winked wi' hir ee ;
Bot a' that she coud say or do,
Forbidden he wad nae bee.
Its surely to my bow'r-woman;
It neir could be to me.
I brocht it to Lord Barnards lady;
I trow that ze be she.
Then up and spack the wylie nurse,
(The bairn upon hir knee)
If it be cum frae Gill Morìce,
It's deir welcum to mee.
Ze leid, ze leid, ze filthy nurse,
Sae loud I heird ze lee;
I brocht it to Lord Barnards lady;
I trow ze be nae shee.
Then up and spack the bauld baròn,
An angry man was hee;
He's tain the table wi' his foot,
Sae has he wi' his knee
'
Till siller cup and mazer' dish
In flinders he gard flee.
GIL MORRICE.
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60
65
70
75
80
85
90
95
Ver. 58, Could this be the wall of the castle? V. 88, Per-
haps, loud say I heire.
i. e. a drinking cup of maple: other Edit. read ezar.
Gae bring a robe of zour clidìng,
That hings upon the pin ;
And I'll gae to the gude grene wode,
And speik wi' zour lemmàn.
O bide at hame, now Lord Barnard,
I warde ze bide at hame;
Neir wyte a man for violence,
That neir wate ze wi' nane.
Gil Morice state in gude grene wode,
He whistled and he sang :
O what mean a' the folk coming,
My mother tarries lang.
His hair was like the threeds of gold,
Drawne frae Minerva's loome:
His lipps like roses drapping dew,
His breath was a' perfume.
Ilis brow was like the mountain snae
Gilt by the morning beam :
His cheeks like living roses glow:
His een like azure stream.
The boy was clad in robes of grene,
Sweete as the infant spring:
And like the mavis on the bush,
He gart the vallies ring.
The baron came to the grene wode,
Wi' mickle dule and care,
And there he first spied Gill Morìce
Kameing his zellow hair.
That sweetly wavd around his face,
That face beyond compare:
He sang sae sweet it might dispel
A' rage but fell despair.
Nae wonder, nae wonder, Gill Morice,
My lady loed thee weel,
The fairest part of my bodie
Is blacker than thy heel.
Zet neir the less now, Gill Morìce,
For a' thy great beautiè,
Ze's rew the day ze eir was born;
That head sall gae wi' me.
Now he has drawn his trusty brand,
And slaited on the strae ;
And thro' Gill Morice' fair body
He's gar cauld iron gae.
And he has tain Gill Morice' head
And set it on a speir ;
The meanest man in a' his train
Has gotten that head to bear.
And he has tain Gill Morice up,
Laid him across his steid,
And brocht him to his painted bowr,
And laid him on a bed.
The lady sat on castil wa',
Beheld baith dale and doun;
And there she saw Gill Morice' head
Cum trailing to the toun.
Far better I lce that bluidy head,
Both and that zellow hair,
Than lord Barnard, and a' his lands,
As they lig here and thair.
Ver. 128. So Milton,
Vernal delight and joy: able to drive
All sadness but despair.
B. iv. v. 155
219
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105
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126
125
130
135
140
145
150
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220
THE LEGEND OF SIR GUY.
And she has tain her Gill Morice,
And kissd baith mouth and chin :
I was once as fow of Gill Morice,
As the hip is o' the stean.
I got ze in my father's house,
Wi' mickle sin and shame;
I brocht thee up in gude grene wode,
Under the heavy rain.
Oft have I by thy cradle sitten,
And fondly seen thee sleip;
But now I gae about thy grave,
The saut tears for to weip.
Aud syne she kissd his bluidy cheik,
And syne his bluidy chin :
O better I loe my Gill Morice
Than a' my kith and kin!
Away, away, ze ill woman,
And an il deith mait ze dee:
Gin I had kend he'd bin zour son,
He'd neir bin slain for mee.
Obraid me not, my Lord Barnard !
Obraid me not for shame!
Wi' that saim speir O pierce my heart!
And put me out o' pain.
Since nothing bot Gill Morice head
Thy jelous rage could quell,
Let that saim hand now tak hir life,
That neir to thee did ill.
To me nae after days nor nichts
Will eir be saft or kind;
I'll fill the air with heavy sighs,
And greet till I am blind.
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185
Enouch of blood by me's bin spilt,
Seek not zour death frae mee;
I rather lourd it had been my sel
Than eather him or thee.
With waefo wae I hear zour plaint;
Sair, sair I rew the deid,
That eir this cursed hand of mine
Had gard his body bleid.
Dry up zour tears, my winsome dame,
Ze neir can heal the wound;
Ze see his head upon the speir,
His heart's blude on the ground.
I.
contains a short summary of the exploits of this
famous champion, as recorded in the old story books;
and is commonly intitled, " A pleasant song of the
valiant deeds of chivalry achieved by that noble
knight Sir Guy of Warwick, who, for the love of
fair Phelis, became a hermit, and dyed in a cave of
craggy rocke, a mile distant from Warwick."
The history of Sir Guy, though now very pro-
perly resigned to children, was once admired by all
readers of wit and taste: for taste and wit had
once their childhood. Although of English growth,
it was early a favourite with other nations: it ap-
I curse the hand that did the deid,
The heart that thocht the ill;
The feet that bore me wi' silk speid,
The comely zouth to kill.
I'll ay lament for Gill Morice,
As gin he were mine ain;
I'll neir forget the dreiry day
On which the zouth was slain.
BOOK II.
“Shot frae the golden sun.”
And ver 116 as follows:
THE END OF THE FIRST BOOK.
**This little pathetic tale suggested the plot of
the tragedy of" Douglas."
Since it was first printed, the Editor has been
assured that the foregoing ballad is still current in
many parts of Scotland, where the hero is univer-
sally known by the name of " Child Maurice," pro-
nounced by the common people Cheild or Cheeld;
which occasioned the mistake.
SERIES THE THIRD.
It may be proper to mention, that other copies
read ver. 110 thus:
"His een like azure sheene."
120
THE LEGEND OF SIR GUY
195
200
205
peared in French in 1525; and is alluded to in the
old Spanish romance Tirante el blanco, which, it is
believed, was written not long after the year 1430.
See advertisement to the French translation, 2 vols.
12mo.
The original whence all these stories are ex-
tracted is a very ancient romance in old English
verse, which is quoted by Chaucer as a celebrated
piece even in his time, (viz.)
"Men speken of romances of price,
Of Horne childe and Ippotis,
Of Bevis, and Sir Guy, &c." R. of Thop.)
THE LEGEND OF SIR GUY.
and was usually sung to the harp at Christmas din-
ners 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,
in black letter, “ Imprynted at Lon-
don -for Wylliam Copland," in 34 sheets 4to.
without date, is still preserved among Mr. Garrick's
collection of old plays. As a specimen of the poetry
of this antique rhymer, take his description of the
dragon mentioned in ver. 105 of the following ballad:
-"A messenger came to the king.
Syr king, he sayd, lysten me now,
For bad tydinges I bring you,
In Northumberlande there is no man,
But that they be slayne everychone:
For there dare no man route,
By twenty myle rounde aboute,
For doubt of a fowle dragon,
That sleath men and beastes downe.
He is blacke as any cole
Rugged as a rough 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 aguyne,
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 acknow-
ledges the monks have sounded out his praises too
hyperbolically. In particular, he gives the duel fought
with the Danish champion as a real historical truth,
and fixes the date of it in the year 926, ætat. Guy
67. See his Warwickshire.
The following is written upon the same plan as
ballad V. Book I. but which is the original, and
which the copy, cannot be decided. This song is
ancient, as may be inferred from the idiom preserved
in the margin, ver. 94. 102: and was once popular,
as appears from Fletcher's Knight of the Burning
Pestle, Act 2. sc. ult.
It is here published from an ancient MS copy in
the Editor's old folio volume, collated with two
printed ones, one of which is in black letter in the
Pepys collection.
WAS ever knight for ladyes sake
Soe tost in love, as I Sir Guy
For Phelis fayre, that lady bright
As ever man beheld with eye?
She gave me leave myself to try,
The valiant knight with sheeld and speare,
Ere that her love shee wold grant me;
Which made mee venture far and neare.
Then proved I a baron bold,
In deeds of armes the doughtyest knight
That in those dayes in England was,
With sworde and speare in fieild to fight.
Ver 9, The proud Sir Guy, PC.
in
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10
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.
'Nine' hundred twenty yeere and odde
After our Saviour Christ his birth,
When King Athèlstone wore the crowne,
I lived heere upon the earth.
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
In strange and sundry heathen lands;
Where I atchieved for her sake
Right dangerous conquests with my
For first I sayled to Normandye,
And there I stoutlye wan in fight
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
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 Coldràn.
Eskeldered a famous knight
To death likewise I did pursue :
And Elmayne King of Tyre alsoe,
Most terrible in fight to viewe.
I went into the souldans hoast,
Being thither on embassage sent,
And brought his head awaye with mee;
I having slaine him in his tent.
There was a dragon in that land
Most fiercely mett me by the waye
As hee a lyon did pursue,
Which I myself did alsoe slay.
hands.
Then soon I past the seas from Greece,
And came to Pavye land aright:
Where I the duke of Pavye killed,
His hainous treason to requite.
To England then I came with speede,
To wedd faire Phelis lady bright :
For love of whome I travelled farr
To try my manhood and my might.
But when I had espoused her,
I stayd with her but fortye dayes,
Ere that I left this ladye faire,
And went from her beyond the seas.
All cladd in gray, in pilgrim sort,
My voyage from her I did take
Unto the blessed Holy-land,
For Jesus Christ my Saviours sake.
Ver. 17, Two hundred, MS. and P.
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GUY AND AMARANT.
Where I Erle Jonas did redeeme,
And all his sonnes, which were fifteene,
Who with the cruell Sarazens
In prison for long time had beene.
I slew the gyant Amarant
In battel fiercelye hand to hand:
And doughty Barknard killed I,
A treacherous knight of Pavye land.
Then I to England came againe,
And here with Colbronde fell I fought:
An ugly gyant, which the Danes
Had for their champion hither brought.
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 offered upp
The use of weapons solemnlye
At Winchester, whereas I fought,
In sight of manye farr and nye.
'But first,' neare Winsor, I did slaye
A bore of passing might and strength;
Whose like in England never was
For hugenesse both in bredth and length.
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.
On Dunsmore heath I alsoe slewe
A monstrous wyld and cruell beast,
Calld the Dun-cow of Dunsmore heath;
Which manye people had opprest.
Some of her bones in Warwicke yett
Still for a monument doe lye,
And there exposed to lookers viewe
As wondrous strange, they may espye.
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95
100
11
A dragon in Northumberland
I alsoe did in fight destroye,
Which did bothe man and beast oppresse,
And all the countrye sore annoye.
The Editor found this Poem in his ancient folio
manuscript among the old ballads; he was desirous,
therefore, that it should still accompany them; and
as it is not altogether devoid of merit, its insertion
here will be pardoned.
Although this piece seems not imperfect, there is
reason to believe that it is only a part of a much
larger poem, which contained the whole history of
Sir Guy: for, upon comparing it with the common
story book 12mo, we find the latter to be nothing
more than this poem reduced to prose: which is
only effected by now and then altering the rhyme,
and throwing out some few of the poetical ornaments.
The disguise is so slight, that it is an easy matter to
pick complete stanzas in any page of that book.
Ver. 94, 102, doth lye, MS.
At length to Warwicke I did come,
Like pilgrim poore, and was not knowne; 110
And there I lived a hermitts life
A mile and more out of the towne.
Where with my hands I hewed a house
Out of a craggy rocke of stone;
And lived like a palmer poore
Within that cave myself alone:
And daylye came to begg my bread
Of Phelis att my castle gate;
Not knowne unto my loved wiffe,
Who dailye mourned for her mate.
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 shee knew me presentlye.
Then shee repairing to the cave
Before that I gave up the ghost;
Herself closd up my dying eyes:
My Phelis faire, whom I lovd most.
Thus dreadful death did me arrest,
To bring my corpes unto the grave;
And like a palmer dyed I,
Wherby I sought my soule to save.
My body that endured this toyle,
Though now it be consumed to mold;
My statue fair engraven in stone,
In Warwicke still you may behold.
GUY AND AMARANT.
105
113
With tedious miles he tyred his wearye feet,
And passed desart places full of danger,
At last with a most woefull wight * did meet,
* Erle Jonas, mentioned in the foregoing ballad.
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125
18C
135
The author of this poem has shown some inven-
tion. Though he took the subject from the old
romance quoted before, he has adorned it afresh.
and made the story intirely 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.
5
GUY AND AMARANT.
A man that unto sorrow was noe stranger:
For he had fifteen sonnes, made captives all
To slavish bondage, in extremest thrall.
A gyant called Amarant detaind them,
Whom noe man durst encounter for his strength :
Who in a castle, which he held, had chaind them: 15
Guy questions, where? and understands at length
The place not farr.-Lend me thy sword, quoth hee,
Ile lend my manhood all thy sonnes to free.
With that he goes, and lays upon the dore,
Like one 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 braires. 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 ;
But shew thy utmost hate, enlarge thy spight,
Keene is my weapon, and shall doe me right.
35
10
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
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,
Did brush his plated coat against his will:
Att such advantage Guy wold never fayle,
To bang him soundlye in his coate of mayle.
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.
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,
Soe to the spring he goes, and slakes his thirst;
Takeing the water in extremely like
45
I graunt thee leave, quoth Guye, goe drink thy last,55
Go 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.
Ver. 64, bulke, MS. and PCC.
* Which Guy had slaiu before.
CO
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.
65
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:
But I will see their satisfaction made,
With gyants blood they must, and shall be payd.
71
223
Villaine, quoth Amarant, Ile crush thee streight;
Thy life shall pay thy daring toungs offence:
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,
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,
And and a stroke that wonderfullye mist.
Traytor, quoth Guy, thy falshood Ile repay,
This coward act to intercept my bloode.
Sayes Amarant, Ile murther any way,
With enemyes all vantages are good:
O could I poyson in thy nostrills blowe,
Besure of it I wold dispatch thee soe.
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:
Forbear a litle, as I delt with thee.
Quoth Amarant. "Thou hast noe foole of mee.
85
90
Its well, said Guy, thy honest thoughts appeare,
Within that beastlye bulke where devills dwell;
Which are thy tenants while thou livest heare,
But will be landlords when thou comest in hell:
Vile miscreant, prepare thee for their den, 101
Inhumane monster, hatefull unto men.
95
Noe, fellow, I have known the world too long
To be soe simple: now I know thy want,
A minutes space of breathing I'll not grant.
105
Noe, sillye wretch, my father taught more witt,
How I shold use such enemyes as thou;
By all my gods I doe rejoice at itt,
To understand that thirst constraines thee now;
For all the treasure, that the world containes,
One drop of water shall not coole thy vaines.
1:0
Releeve my foe! why, 'twere a madmans part: 115
Refresh an adversarye to my wrong!
If thou imagine this, a child thou art:
180
And with these words heaving aloft his clubb
Into the ayre, he swings the same about:
Then shakes his lockes, and doth his temples rubb,
And, like the Cyclops, in his pride doth strout:
Sirra, sayes hee, I have you at a lift,
12
Now you are come unto your latest shift.
224
GUY AND AMARANT.
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; 130
Here's at thee with a butcher's downright blow,
To please my furye with thine overthrow.
Infernall, false, obdurate feend, said Guy,
That seemst a lump of crueltye from hell;
Ungratefull monster, since thou dost deny
The thing to mee wherin I used thee well:
With more revenge, than ere my sword did make,
On thy accursed head revenge İle 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:
You cannot chuse but like the greeting ill;
135
M
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.
145
Then Guy sett foot upon the monsters brest,
And from his shoulders did his head divide;
Which with a yawninge mouth did gape, unblest;
Noe dragons jawes were ever seene soe wide
To open and to shut, till life was spent.
Then Guy tooke keyes, and to the castle went.
There tender ladyes in darke dungeons lay,
That were surprised in the desart wood,
And had noe other dyett everye day,
But flesh of humane creatures for their food:
Some with their lovers bodyes had beene fed,
And in their wombes their husbands buryed.
151
155
Where manye woefull captives he did find,
Which had beene tyred with extremityes;
Whom he in freindly manner did unbind,
160
And reasoned with them of their miseryes;
Eche told a tale with teares, and sighes, and cryes,
All weeping to him with complaining eyes.
165
Now he bethinkes him of his being there,
To enlarge the wronged brethren from their woes:
And, as he searcheth, doth great clamours heare, 171
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;
Men that with famishment of many yeares,
175
Were like deathes picture, which the painters draw;
Divers of them were hanged by eche thombe;
Others head-downward: by the middle some. 180
With diligence he takes them from the walle,
With lybertye their thraldome to acquaint:
Then the perplexed knight their father calls, [faint
And sayes, Receive thy sonnes though poore and
I promisd you their lives, accept of that;
But did not warrant you they shold be fat.
185
The castle I doe give thee, heere's the keyes,
Where tyranye for many yeeres did dwell:
Procure the gentle tender ladyes ease,
For pittyes sake, use wronged women well:
Men easilye revenge the wrongs men do;
But poore weake women have not strength thereto,
190
The good old man, even overjoyed with this,
Fell on the ground, and wold have kist Guys feete:
Father, quoth he, refraine soe base a kiss,
195
For age to honor youth I hold unmeete:
Ambitious pryde hath hurt mee all it can,
I goe to mortifie a sinfull man.
***The foregoing poem on "Guy and Amarant
has been discovered to be a fragment of "The famous
historie of Guy earle of Warwicke, by Samuel Row-
lands, London, printed by J. Bell, 1649," 4to. in xii
cantos, beginning thus:
"When dreadful Mars in armour every day."
Whether the edition in 1649 was the first is not
known, but the author Sam. Rowlands was one of the
minor poets who lived in the reigns of Queen Eliza-
beth and James I. and perhaps later. His other
poems are chiefly of the religious kind, which makes
it probable that the history of Guy was one of his
earliest performances.-There are extant of his (1.)
"The betraying of Christ, Judas in dispaire, the
seven words of our Saviour on the crosse, with other
poems on the passion, &c. 1598, 4to. [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.
J.
-
FAIR MARGARET AND SWEET WILLIAM.
"<
THE AULD GOOD-MAN.
I have not been able to meet with a more ancient
copy of this humorous old song, than that printed
in the Tea-Table Miscellany, &c. which seems to
have admitted some corruptions.
LATE in an evening forth I went
A little before the sun gade down,
And there I chanc't, by accident,
To light on a battle new begun:
A man and his wife wer fawn in a strife,
III.
A SCOTTISH SONG.
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,
Was but a silly poor vagabond,
And ilka ane leugh him to scorn :
For he did spend and make an end
Of gear his fathers nevir' wan;
He gart the poor stand frae the door;
Sae tell nae mair of thy auld goodman.
5
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."
10
15
SHE.
My heart, alake! is liken to break,
Whan I think on my winsome John,
His blinkan ee, and gait sae free,
Was naithing like thee, thou dosend drone; 20
Wi' his rosie face, and flaxen hair,
And skin as white as ony swan,
He was large and tall, and comely withall;
Thou❜lt nevir be like mine auld goodman.
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 modern
printed copy picked up on a stall. Its full title is,
"Fair Margaret's Misfortunes; or Sweet William's
frighful dreams on his wedding night, with the
sudden death and burial of those noble lovers."
The lines preserved in the play are this distich,
"You are no love for me, Margaret,
I am no love for you."
HE.
Why dost thou plein? I thee maintein ;
For meal and mawt thou disna want :
But thy wild bees I canna please,
Now whan our gear gins to grow scant.
Of houshold stuff thou hast enough;
Thou wants for neither pot nor pan;
Of sicklike ware he left thee bare;
Sae tell nae mair of thy auld goodman.
SHE.
Yes I may tell, and fret my sell,
To think on those blyth days I had,
Whan I and he together ley
In armes into a well-made bed :
But now I sigh and may be sad,
Thy courage is cauld, thy colour wan,
Thou falds thy feet, and fa's asleep ;
Thou'lt nevir be like mine auld goodman.
IV.
FAIR MARGARET AND SWEET WILLIAM.
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,
ran
I trowe, the wife the day she wan;
And aye the owreword of the fray
Was, Evir alake! mine auld goodman.
225
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.
25
I see no harm by you, Margarèt,
And you see none by mee;
Before to-morrow at eight o' the clock
A rich wedding you shall see.
30
35
40
These lines have acquired an importance by giving
birth to one of the most beautiful ballads in our own
or any language. See the song entitled "Margaret's
Ghost," at the end of this volume.
45
Since the first edition some improvements have
been inserted, which were communicated by a lady
of the first distinction, as she had heard this song
repeated in her infancy.
5
226
BARBARA ALLEN'S CRUELTY.
Fair Margaret sat in her bower-window,
Combing her yellow hair;
There she spyed sweet William and his bride,
As they were a riding near.
Then down she layd her ivory combe,
And braided her hair in twain:
She went alive out of her bower,
But ne'er came alive in't again.
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,
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,
And all men wak'd from sleep,
Sweet William to his lady sayd,
My dear, I have cause to weep.
I dreamt a dream, my dear ladyè,
Such dreames are never good :
I dreamt my bower was full of red wine,'
And my bride-bed full of blood.
Such dreams, such dreams, my honoured sir,
They never do prove good :
To dream thy bower was full of red 'wine,'
And thy bride-bed full of blood.
He called up his merry men all,
By one, by two, and by three ;
Saying, I'll away to fair Marg'ret's bower,
By the leave of my ladiè.
And when he came to fair Marg❜ret's bower,
He knocked at the ring;
And who so ready as her seven brethrèn
To let sweet William in.
IN Scarlet towne, where I was borne,
There was a faire maid dwellin,
Made every youth crye, Wel-awaye!
Her name was Barbara Allen.
10
All in the merrye month of May,
When greene buds they were swellin,
Yong Jemmye Grove on his death-bed lay,
For love of Barbara Allen.
15
Ver. 31, 35, swine, PCC.
20
25
30
35
Given, with some corrections, from an old black
letter copy, entitled, "Barbary Allen's cruelty, or
the Young Man's Tragedy."
40
10
Then he turned up the covering-sheet,
Pray let me see the dead :
Methinks she looks all pale and wan,
She hath lost her cherry red.
5
I'll do more for thee, Margarèt,
Than any of thy kin;
For I will kiss thy pale wan lips,
Though a smile I cannot win.
With that bespake the seven brethren,
Making most piteous mone :
You may go kiss your jolly brown bride,
And let our sister alone.
If I do kiss my jolly brown bride,
I do but what is right;
I neer made a vow to yonder poor corpse
By day, nor yet by night.
V..
BARBARA ALLEN'S CRUELTY.
Deal on, deal on, my merry men all,
Deal on your cake and your wine *:
For whatever is dealt at her funeral to-day,
Shall be dealt to-morrow at mine.
Fair Margaret dyed to-day, to-day,
Sweet William dyed the morrow :
Fair Margaret dyed for pure true love,
Sweet William dyed for sorrow.
Margaret was buryed in the lower chancèl,
And William in the higher :
Out of her brest there sprang a rose,
And out of his a briar.
They grew till they grew unto the church top,
And then they could grow no higher;
And there they tyed in a true lovers knot,
Which made all the people admire.
Then came the clerk of the parish,
As you the truth shall hear,
And by misfortune cut them down,
Or they had now been there.
He sent his man unto her then,
To the town where shee was dwellin;
You must come to my master deare,
Giff your name be Barbara Allen.
For death is printed on his face,
And ore his hart is stealin :
Then haste away to comfort him,
O lovelye Barbara Allen.
Though death be printed on his face,
And ore his harte is stealin,
Yet little better shall he bee
For bonny Barbara Allen.
* Alluding to the dole antiently given at funerals.
1
45
50
55
60
65
70
75
10
15
20
SWEET WILLIAM'S GHOST.
So slowly, slowly, she came up,
And slowly she came nye him;
And all she sayd, when there she came,
Yong man, I think y'are dying.
He turnd his face unto her strait,
With deadlye sorrow sighing;
O lovely maid, come pity mee,
Ime on my deth-bed lying.
If on your
death-bed you doe lye,
What needs the tale you are tellin;
I cannot keep you from your death;
Farewell, sayd Barbara Allen.
He turnd his face unto the wall,
As deadlye pangs he fell in :
Adieu! adieu adieu to
adieu to you all,
Adieu to Barbara Allen.
As she was walking ore the fields,
She heard the bell a knellin ;
And every stroke did seem to saye,
Unworthy Barbara Allen.
She turnd her bodye round about,
And spied the corps a coming :
Laye down, laye down the corps, she sayd,
That I
look upon
him.
may
THERE came a ghost to Margaret's door,
With many a grievous grone,
And ay he tirled at the pin;
But answer made she none.
Is this my father Philip?
Or is't my brother John?
Or is't my true love Willie,
From Scotland new come home?
'Tis not thy father Philip;
Nor yet thy brother John :
But 'tis thy true love Willie
From Scotland new come home.
O sweet Margret! O dear Margret!
I pray thee speak to mee:
Give me my faith and troth, Margret,
As I gave it to thee.
25
From Allan Ramsay's Tea-Table Miscellany. The
concluding stanza of this piece seems modern.
Thy faith and troth thou'se nevir get,
Of me shalt nevir win,'
30
Till that thou come within my bower,
And kiss my cheek and chin.
35
40
VI.
SWEET WILLIAM'S GHOST.
5
10
With scornful eye she looked downe,
Her cheeke with laughter swellin :
Whilst all her friends cryd out amaine;
Unworthye Barbara Allen.
15
When he was dead, and laid in grave,
Her harte was struck with sorrowe,
O mother, mother, make my bed,
For I shall dye to-morrowe.
A SCOTTISH BALLad.
20
Hard-harted creature him to slight,
Who loved me so dearlye:
O that I had beene more kind to him,
When he was alive and neare me!
She, on her death-bed as she laye,
Beg'd to be buried by him;
And sore repented of the daye,
That she did ere denye him.
Farewell, she sayd, ye virgins all,
And shun the fault I fell in :
Henceforth take warning by the fall
Of cruel Barbara Allen.
If I should come within thy bower,
I am no earthly man :
And should I kiss thy rosy lipp,
Thy days will not be lang.
O sweet Margret, O dear Margret,
I pray thee speak to mee:
Give me my faith and troth, Margret
As I gave it to thee.
Thy faith and troth thou'se nevir get,
Of me shalt nevir win,'
Till thou take me to yon kirk yard,
And wed me with a ring.
My bones are buried in a kirk yard
Afar beyond the sea,
And it is but my sprite, Margret,
That's speaking now to thee.
She stretched out her lily-white hand,
As for to do her best:
Hae there your faith and troth, Willie,
God send your soul good rest.
Now she has kilted her robes of green,
A piece below her knee:
And a' the live-lang winter night
The dead corps followed shee.
0 2
227
45
50
55
60
25
30
35
40
228
THE BALIFF'S DAUGHTER OF ISLINGTON.
Is there any room at your head, Willie?
Or any room at feet?
your
Or any room at your side, Willie,
Wherein that I may creep?
There's nae room at my head, Margret.
There's nae room at my feet,
There's no room at my side, Margret,
My coffin is made so meet.
up
Then and crew the red red cock,
And up then crew the gray:
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,
To the plaice wher she was dwellan :
O haste and cum to my maister deare,
Gin ye bin Barbara Allan.
Printed, with a few conjectural emendations, from a
written copy•
O hooly, booly raise she up,
To the plaice wher he was lyan;
And whan she drew the curtain by,
Young man I think ye're dyan*.
45
VII.
SIR JOHN GREHME AND BARBARA ALLAN.
O its I'm sick, and very very sick,
And its a' for Barbara Allan.
50
O the better for me ye'se never be,
Though your harts blude wer spillan.
A SCOTTISH BALLAD.
10
5
10
15
VIII.
Tis time, tis time, my dear Margret,
That I' were gane away.
6
No more the ghost to Margret said,
But, with a grievous grone,
Evanish'd in a cloud of mist,
And left her all alone.
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 ber
youth. The full title is, "True love requited: Or,
the Bailiff's daughter of Islington."
Islington in Norfolk is probably the place here meant.
THERE was a youthe, and a well-beloved youthe,
And he was a squires son:
He loved the bayliffes daughter deare,
That lived in Islington.
O stay, my only true love, stay,
The constant Margret cried:
Wan grew her cheeks, she closed her een,
Stretch'd her saft limbs, and died.
* An ingenious friend thinks the rhymes Dyand and
Lyand ought to be transposed: as the taunt Young man,
I think ye're lyand, would be very characteristical.
Remember ye nat in the tavern, sir,
Whan ye the cups wer fillan;
;
He turn'd his face unto the wa',
And death was with him dealan
Adiew! adiew! my dear friends a',
Be kind to Barbara Allan.
How ye made the healths gae round and round,
And slighted Barbara Allan ?
20
Then hooly, hooly raise she up,
And hooly, hooly left him;
And sighan said, she could not stay,
Since death of life had reft him.
She had not gane a mile but twa,
Whan she heard the deid-bell knellan ;
And everye jow the deid-bell gied,
Cried, Wae to Barbara Allan !
THE BAILIFF'S DAUGHTER OF ISLINGTON.
O mither, mither, mak my bed,
O mak it saft and narrow:
Since my love died for me to day,
Ise die for him to morrowe.
Yet she was coye, and would not believe
That he did love her soe,
Noe nor at any time would she
Any countenance to him showe.
But when his friendes did understand
His fond and foolish minde,
They sent him up to faire London
An apprentice for to binde.
55
And when he had been seven long yeares,
And never his love could see:
Many a teare have I shed for her sake,
When she little thought of mee.
60
ર
30
35
5
10
15
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.
THE WILLOW TREE.
She started up, with a colour soe redd,
Catching hold of his bridle-reine;
One penny, one penny, kind sir, she sayd,
Will ease me of much paine.
Before I give you one penny, sweet-heart,
Praye tell me where you were borne.
WILLY.
How now, shepherde, what meanes that?
Why that willowe in thy hat?
Why thy scarffes of red and yellowe
Turn'd to branches of greene willowe?
CUDDY.
Shee that long true love profest,
She hath robb'd my heart of rest:
20
CUDDY.
They are chang'd, and so am I;
Sorrowes live, but pleasures die :
Phillis hath forsaken mee,
Which makes me weare the willowe-tree.
WILLY.
Phillis! shee that lov'd thee long?
Is shee the lass hath done thee wrong?
Shee that lov'd thee long and best,
Is her love turned to a jest?
25
From the small black-letter collection, intitled,
"The Golden Garland of princely Delights," col-
lated with two other copies, and corrected by con-
jecture.
30
IX.
THE WILLOW TREE.
At Islington, kind sir, sayd shee,
Where I have had many a scorne.
5
I prythee, sweet-heart, then tell to mee,
O tell me, whether
you knowe
The bayliffes daughter of Islington.
She is dead, sir, long agoe.
A PASTORAL DIALOGUE.
10
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.
O staye, O staye, thou goodlye youthe,
She standeth by thy side;
She is here alive, she is not dead,
And readye to be thy bride.
O farewall griefe, and welcome joye,
Ten thousand times therefore;
For nowe I have founde mine owne true love,
Whom I thought I should never see more.
For she a new love loves, not mee;
Which makes me wear the willowe-tree.
WILLY.
Come then, shepherde, let us joine,
Since thy happ is like to mine:
For the maid I thought most true
Mee hath also bid adieu.
CUDDY.
Thy hard happ doth mine appease,
Companye doth sorrowe ease:
Yet, Phillis, still I pine for thee,
And still must weare the willowe-tree.
WILLY.
Shepherde, be advis'd by mee,
Cast off grief and willowe-tree:
For thy grief brings her content,
She is pleas'd if thou lament.
CUDDY.
Herdsman, I'll be rul'd by thee,
There lyes grief and willowe-tree :
Henceforth I will do as they,
And love a new love every day.
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230
THE LADY'S FALL.
"In pescod time when hound to horn
Gives eare till buck be kil'd,
And little lads with pipes of corne
Sate keeping beasts a-field.
rne
-is given (with corrections) from the editor's
ancient folio MS. collated with two printed copies
in black-letter ; one in the British Museum, the
other in the Pepys Collection. Its old title is, “ A
lamentable ballad of the Lady's fall." To the tune
of In Pescod Time, &c."-The ballad here re-
ferred to is preserved in the "Muses Library," 8vo.
p. 281. It is an allegory or vision, intitled,
"The
Shepherd's Slumber," and opens with some pretty
rural images, viz.
But folly wrought her overthrowe
Before shee was a wife.
'I went to gather strawberries
By woods and groves full fair, &c.”
MARKE well my heavy dolefull tale,
You loyall lovers all,
And heedfully beare in your brest
A gallant ladyes fall.
Long was she wooed, ere shee was wonne,
To lead a wedded life,
Too soone, alas! shee gave consent
And yeelded to his will,
Though he protested to be true,
And faithfull to her still.
Soe that with many a sorrowful sigh,
This beauteous ladye milde,
With greeved hart, perceived herselfe
To have conceived with childe.
Shee kept it from her parents sight
As close as close might bee
And soe put on her silken gowne
None might her swelling see.
X.
THE LADY'S FALL,
Shee felt her body altered quite,
Her bright hue waxed pale,
Her lovelye cheeks chang'd color white,
Her strength began to fayle.
Unto her lover secretly
Her greefe shee did bewray,
And, walking with him hand in hand,
These words to him did say;
Behold, quoth shee, a maids distresse
By love brought to thy bowe,
Behold I goe with childe by thee,
Tho none thereof doth knowe.
The litle babe springs in my wombe
To heare its fathers voyce,
Lett it not be a bastard called,
Sith I made thee my choyce:
Come, come, my love, perform thy vowe
And wed me out of hand;
O leave me not in this extreme
Of griefe, alas! to stand.
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Think on thy former promises,
Thy oathes and vowes eche one;
Remember with what bitter teares
To mee thou madest thy moane.
Convey mee to some secrett place,
And marye me with speede;
Or with thy rapyer end my life,
Ere further shame proceede.
Alacke! my beauteous love, quoth hee,
My joye, and only dear;
Which way can I convey thee hence,
When dangers are so near?
Thy friends are all of hye degree,
And I of mean estate;
Full hard it is to gett thee forthe
Out of thy fathers gate.
Dread not thy life to save my fame,
For, if thou taken bee,
My selfe will step betweene the swords,
And take the harme on mee:
Soe shall I scape dishonour quite;
And if I should be slaine,
What could they say, but that true love
Had wrought a ladyes bane.
But feare not any further harme;
My selfe will soe devise,
That I will ryde away with thee
Unknowen of mortall eyes :
Disguised like some pretty page
Ile meete thee in the darke,
And all alone Ile come to thee
Hard by my fathers parke.
And there, quoth hee, Ile meete my deare
If God so lend me life,
On this day month without all fayle
I will make thee my wife.
Then with a sweet and loving kisse,
They parted presentlye,
And att their partinge brinish teares
Stoode in eche others eye.
Att length the wished day was come,
On which this beauteous mayd,
With longing eyes, and strange attire,
For her true lover stayd.
When any person shee espyed
Come ryding ore the plaine,
She hop'd it was her owne true love :
But all her hopes were vaine.
Then did shee weepe and sore bewayle
Her most unhappy fate;
Then did shee speake these woefull words,
As succourless she sate;
O false, forsworne, and faithlesse man,
Disloyall in thy love,
Hast thou forgott thy promise past,
And wilt thou periured prove?
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WALY WALY LOVE BE BONNY.
And hast thou now forsaken mee
In this my great distresse,
To end my days in open shame,
Which thou mightst well redresse?
Woe worth the time I eer believ'd
That flattering tongue of thine:
Wold God that I had never seene
The teares of thy false eyne.
And thus with many a sorrowful sigh,
Homewards shee went againe:
Noe rest came in her waterye eyes,
She felt such privye paine.
In travail strong shee fell that night,
With many a bitter throwe;
What woefull paines shee then did feel,
Doth eche good woman knowe.
Shee called up her waiting mayd,
That lay at her bedds feete,
Who musing at her mistress woe,
Began full faste to weepe.
Weepe not, said shee, but shutt the dores,
And windowes round about,
Let none bewray my wretched state,
But keepe all persons out.
O mistress, call your mother deare
Of women you have neede,
And of some skilfull midwifes helpe,
That better may you speed.
"Whan cockle shells turn siller bells,
And muscles grow on every tree,
When frost and snaw sall warm us aw',
Than sall my love prove true to me.
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110
O WALY waly up the bank,
And waly waly down the brae,
And waly waly yon burn side,
Where I and my love wer wont to gae.
I leant my back unto an aik,
I thought it was a trusty tree!
But first it bow'd and syne it brak,
Sae my true love did lichtly me.
115
O waly waly, gin love be bonny,
A little time while it is new;
But when its auld, it waxeth cauld,
And fades awa' like morning dew
120
This is a very ancient song, but we could only give
it from a modern copy. Some editions instead of
the four last lines in the second stanza have these,
which have too much merit to be wholly sup-
pressed:
XI.
WALY WALY, LOVE BE BONNY.
See the Orpheus Caledonius, &c.
Arthur's-seat, mentioned in ver. 17, is a hill near
Edinborough; at the bottom of which is St. An-
thony's well.
Call not my mother for thy life,
Nor fetch no woman here;
The midwifes helpe comes all too late,
My death I doe not feare.
With that the babe sprang from her wombe
No creature being nye,
And with one sighe, which brake her hart,
This gentle dame did dye.
The lovely litle infant younge,
The mother being dead,
Resigned its new received breath
To him that had it made.
A SCOTTISH SONG.
10
Next morning came her own true love,
Affrighted at the newes,
And he for sorrow slew himselfe,
Whom eche one did accuse.
The mother with her new borne babe,
Were laide both in one grave; ·
Their parents overworne with woe,
No joy thenceforth cold have.
Take heed, you dayntye damsells all,
Of flattering words beware,
And to the honour of your name
Have an especial care.
Too true, alas! this story is,
As many one can tell:
By others harmes learne to be wise,
And you shall do full well.
O wherfore shuld I busk my head?
Or wherfore shuld I kame my hair?
For my true love has me forsook,
And
says he'll never loe me mair.
Now Arthur-seat sall be my bed,
The sheets shall neir be fyl'd by me :
Saint Anton's well sall be my drink,
Since my true love has forsaken me.
Marti'mas wind, when wilt thou blaw,
And shake the green leaves aff the tree?
O gentle death, whan wilt thou cum?
For of my life I am wearìe.
Tis not the frost, that freezes fell,
Nor blawing snaws inclemencìe;
'Tis not sic cauld, that makes me cry,
But my loves heart grown cauld to me.
Whan we came in by Glasgowe town,
We were a comely sight to see,
My love was cled in black velvet,
And I my sell in cramasìe.
But had I wist, before I kisst,
That love had been sae ill to win;
I had lockt my heart in a case of gowd,
And pinnd it with a siller pin.
And, oh! if my young babe were born,
And set upon the nurses knee,
And I my sell were dead and gane!
For a maid again Ise never be.
P
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232
THE BRIDE'S BURIAL.
From two ancient copies in black-letter: one in the
Pepys Collection; the other in the British Museum.
To the tune of "The Lady's Fall."
COME mourne, come mourne with mee,
You loyall lovers all;
Lament my loss in weeds of woe,
Whom griping grief doth thrall.
By death, that grislye ghost,
My turtle dove is slaine,
And I am left, unhappy man,
To spend my dayes in paine.
Like to the drooping vine,
Cut by the gardener's knife,
Even so my heart, with sorrow slaine,
Doth bleed for my sweet wife.
Her beauty late so bright,
Like roses in their prime,
Is wasted like the mountain snowe,
Before warme Phebus' shine.
Her faire red colour'd cheeks
Now pale and wan; her eyes,
That late did shine like crystal stars,
Alas, their light it dies :
Her prettye lilly hands,
With fingers long and small,
In colour like the earthly claye,
Yea, cold and stiff withall.
When as the morning-star
Her golden gates had spred,
And that the glittering sun arose
Forth from fair Thetis' bed;
Then did my love awake,
Most like a lilly-flower,
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,
So look'd my loving bride.
THE BRIDE'S BURIAL.
And as fair Helens face
Did Grecian dames besmirche,
So did my dear exceed in sight
All virgins in the church.
When we had knitt the knott
Of holy wedlock-band,
Like alabaster joyn'd to jett,
So stood we hand in hand
Then lo! a chilling cold
Strucke every vital part,
And griping griefe, like pangs of death,
Seiz❜d on my true love's heart.
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XII.
45
Down in a swoon she fell,
As cold as any stone;
Like Venus picture lacking life,
So was my love brought home.
At length her rosye red,
Throughout her comely face,
As Phoebus beames with watry cloudes
Was cover'd for a space.
When with a grievous groane,
And voice both hoarse and drye,
Farewell, quoth she, my loving friend,
For I this daye must dye;
The messenger of God
With golden trumpe I see,
With manye other angels more,
Which sound and call for mee.
Instead of musicke sweet,
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
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,
Now craving at the door.
Instead of virgins yong,
My bride-bed for to see,
Go cause some cunning carpenter,
To make a chest for mee.
My bride laces of silk
Bestow'd, for maidens meet,
May fitly serve, when I am dead,
To tye my hands and feet.
And thou, my lover true,
My husband and my friend,
Let me intreat thee here to staye,
Until my life doth end.
Now leave to talk of love,
And humblye on your knee,
Direct your prayers unto God:
But mourn no more for mee.
In love as we have livde,
In love let us depart;
And I, in token of my love,
Do kiss thee with my heart.
O staunch those bootless teares,
Thy weeping tis in vaine;
I am not lost, for wee in heaven
Shall one daye meet againe.
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100
With that shee turn'd aside,
As one dispos'd to sleep,
And like a lamb departed life :
Whose friends did sorely weep.
Her true love seeing this,
Did fetch a grievous groane,
As tho' his heart would burst in twaine,
And thus he made his moane.
O darke and dismal daye,
A daye of grief and care,
That hath bereft the sun so bright,
Whose beams refresht the air.
Now woe unto the world,
And all that therein dwell,
O that I were with thee in heaven
For here I live in hell.
As at noone Dulcina rested
In her sweete and shady bower,
Came a shepherd, and requested
In her lapp to sleepe an hour.
But from her looke
A wounde he tooke
Soe deepe, that for a further boone
The nymph he prayes.
Wherto shee sayes,
Forgoe me now, come to me soone.
But in vayne shee did conjure him
To depart her presence soe;
Having a thousand tongues to allure him,
And but one to bid him goe:
DULCINA.
Where lipps invite,
And eyes delight,
And cheekes, as fresh as rose in June,
Persuade delay;
105
Given from two ancient copies, one in black-print,
in the Pepys Collection, the other in the Editor's
folio MS. Each of these contained a stanza not
found in the other. What seemed the best readings
were selected from both
What boots, she say,
Forgoe me now, come to me soone?
110
This song is quoted as very popular in" Walton's
Compleat Angler," chap. 2. It is more ancient than
the ballad of "Robin Good-Fellow" printed below,
which yet is supposed to have been written by Ben
Jonson.
115
5
XIII.
DULCINA.
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And now this lover lives
A discontented life,
Whose bride was brought unto the grave
A maiden and a wife.
20
A garland fresh and faire
Öf lillies there was made,
In sign of her virginitye,
And on her coffin laid.
Six maidens all in white,
Did beare her to the ground:
The bells did ring in solemn sort,
And made a dolefull sound.
In earth they laid her then,
For hungry wormes a preye;
So shall the fairest face alive
At length be brought to claye.
He demands what time for pleasure
Can there be more fit than now :
She sayes, night gives love that leysure,
Which the day can not allow.
He sayes, the sight
'Improves delight.
Which she denies: Nights mirkie noone
In Venus' playes
Makes bold, shee sayes;
Forgoe me now, come to mee soone.
But what promise or profession
From his hands could purchase scope?
Who would sell the sweet possession
Of suche beautye for a hope?
Or for the sight
Of lingering night
Foregoe the present joyes of noone?
Though ne'er soe faire
Her speeches were,
Forgoe me now, come to me soone.
How, at last, agreed these lovers?
Shee was fayre, and he was young:
The tongue may tell what th'eye discovers;
Joyes unseene are never sung.
Did shee consent,
Or he relent;
Accepts he night, or grants shee noone;
Left he her a mayd,
Or not; she sayd
Forgoe me now, come to me soone.
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234
THE LADY ISABELLA'S TRAGEDY.
XIV.
THE LADY ISABELLA'S TRAGEDY.
This ballad is given from an old black-letter copy
in the Pepys Collection, collated with another in the
British Museum, H. 263. folio. It is there intitled,
"The Lady Isabella's Tragedy, or the Step-Mother's
Cruelty being a relation of a lamentable and cruel
murther, committed on the body of the Lady Isabella,
the only daughter of a noble Duke, &c. To the
tune of, The Lady's Fall." To some copies are an-
nexed eight more modern stanzas, intitled, “The
Dutchess's and Cook's Lamentation."
THERE was a lord of worthy fame,
And a hunting he would ride,
Attended by a noble traine
Of gentrye by his side.
And while he did in chase remaine,
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,
She was belov'd, both far and neare,
Of many a lord and knight.
Fair Isabella was she call'd,
A creature faire was shee
;
She was her fathers only joye;
As shall after see.
you
Therefore her cruel step-mother
Did envye her so much,
That daye by daye she sought her life,
Her malice it was such.
She bargain'd with the master-cook,
To take her life awaye :
And taking of her daughters book,
She thus to her did saye.
Go home, sweet daughter, I thee praye,
Go hasten presentlie ;
And tell unto the master-cook
These wordes that I tell thee.
And bid him dresse to dinner streight
That faire and milk-white doe,
That in the parke doth shine so bright,
There's none so faire to showe.
This ladye fearing of no harme,
Obey'd her mothers will;
And presentlye she basted home,
Her pleasure to fulfill.
She streight into the kitchen went,
Her message for to tell;
And there she spied the master-cook,
Who did with malice swell.
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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,
He on the ladye layd;
Who quivering and shaking stands,
While thus to her he sayd;
Thou art the doe that I must dresse;
See here, behold my knife;
For it is pointed presently
To ridd thee of thy life.
O then, cried out the scullion-boye,
As loud as loud might bee;
O save her life, good master-cook,
And make your pyes of mee!
For pityes sake do not destroye
My ladye with your knife;
You know shee is her father's joye,
For Christes sake save her life.
I will not save her life, he sayd,
Nor make my pyes of thee;
Yet if thou dost this deed bewraye,
Thy butcher 1 will bee.
Now when this lord he did come home
For to sit down and eat;
He called for his daughter deare,
To come and carve his meat.
Now sit you downe, his ladye sayd,
O sit you downe to meat;
Into some nunnery she is gone;
Your daughter deare forget.
Then solemnlye he made a vowe,
Before the companie:
That he would neither eat nor drinke,
Until he did her see.
O then bespake the scullion-boye,
With a loud voice so hye;
If now you will your daughter see,
My lord cut up
that
pye:
Wherein her fleshe is minced small,
And parched with the fire;
All caused by her step-mother,
Who did her death desire.
And cursed bee the master-cook,
O cursed may he bee!
I proffered him my own heart's blood,
From death to set her free,
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60.
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85
THE KING OF FRANCE'S DAUGHTER.
Then all in blacke this lord did mourne;
And for his daughters sake,
He judged her cruell step-mothèr
To be burnt at a stake.
XV.
À IUE AND CRY AFTER CUPID.
This song is a kind of Translation of a pretty poem
of Tasso's, called Amore fuggitivo, generally printed
with his "Aminta," and originally imitated from the
first Idyllium 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 dropt 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;
He is Venus' run away.
Shee, that will but now discover
Where the winged wag doth hover,
Shall to-night receive a kisse,
How and where herselfe would wish:
But who brings him to his mother
Shall have that kisse, and another.
90
Markes he hath about him plentie ;
You may know him among twentie:
All his body is a fire,
And his breath a flame entire:
Which, being shot, like lightning, in,
Wounds the heart, but not the skin.
Wings he hath, which though yee clip,
He will leape from lip to lip,
Over liver, lights, and heart;
Yet not stay in any part.
And, if chance his arrow misses,
He will shoot himselfe in kisses.
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Likewise he judg'd the master-cook
In boiling lead to stand;
And made the simple scullion-boye
The heire of all his land.
The story of this Ballad seems to be taken from
an incident in the domestic history of Charles the Bald,
King of France. His daughter Judith was betrothed
to Ethelwulph King of England: but before the
marriage was consummated, Ethelwulph died, and
she returned to France: whence she was carried off
by Baldwyn, Forester of Flanders; who, after many
crosses and difficulties, at length obtained the king's
consent to their marriage, and was made Earl of
He doth beare a golden bow,
And a quiver hanging low,
Full of arrowes, which outbrave
Dian's shafts; where, if he have
Any head more sharpe than other,
With that first he strikes his mother.
Still the fairest are his fuell,
When his daies are to be cruell;
Lovers hearts are all his food,
And his baths their warmest bloud:
Nought but wounds his hand doth season,
And he hates none like to Reason.
Trust him not: his words, though sweet,
Seldome with his heart doe meet:
All his practice is deceit ;
Everie gift is but a bait :
Not a kisse but poyson beares;
And most treason's in his teares.
Idle minutes are his raigne;
Then the straggler makes his gaine,
By presenting maids with toyes
And would have yee thinke hem joyes;
'Tis the ambition of the elfe
To have all childish as himselfe.
If by these yee please to know him,
Beauties, be not nice, but show him.
Though yee had a will to hide him,
Now, we hope, yee'l not abide him,
Since yee heare this falser's play,
And that he is Venus' run-away
XVI.
THE KING OF FRANCE'S DAUGHTER.
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50
Flanders. This happened about A. D. 863.-See
Rapin, Henault, and the French Historians.
The following copy is given from the Editor's an-
cient folio MS. collated with another in black-letter
in the Pepys Collection, intitled, "An excellent
Ballad of a prince of England's courtship to the
King of France's daughter, &c. To the tune of
Crimson Velvet."
Many breaches having been made in this old song
S
236.
THE KING OF FRANCE'S DAUGHTER.
by the hand of time, principally (as might be ex-
pected) in the quick returns of the rhime; an
attempt is here made to repair them.
In the dayes of old,
When faire France did flourish,
Storyes plaine have told,
Lovers felt annoye.
The queene a daughter bare,
Whom beautye's queene did nourish :
She was lovelye faire,
She was her fathers joye..
A prince of England came,
Whose deeds did merit fame,
But he was exil'd, and outcast:
Love his soul did fire,
Shee granted his desire,
Their hearts in one were linked fast.
Which when her father proved,
Sorelye he was moved,
And tormented in his minde.
He sought for to prevent them;
And, to discontent them,
Fortune cross'd these lovers kinde.
When these princes twaine
Were thus barr'd of pleasure,
Through the kinges disdaine,
Which their joyes withstoode :
The lady soon prepar'd
Her jewells and her treasure:
Having no regard
For state and royall bloode ;
In homelye poore array
She went from court away,
To meet her joye and hearts delight;
Who in a forrest great
Had taken up his seat,
To wayt her coming in the night.
But, lo! what sudden danger
To this princely stranger
Chanced, as he sate alone!
By outlawes he was robbed,
And with ponyards stabbed,
Uttering many a dying grone.
The princesse, arm'd by love,
And by chaste desire,
All the night did rove
Without dread at all
Still unknowne she past
In her strange attire ;
Coming at the last
:
Within echoes call,-
You faire woods, quoth shee,
Honoured may you bee,
Harbouring my hearts delight;
Which encompass here
My joye and only deare,
My trustye friend, and comelye knight.
Sweete, I come unto thee,
Sweete, I come to woo thee;
That thou mayst not angry bee
For my long delaying;
For thy curteous staying
Soone amends Ile make to thee.
Passing thus alone
Through the silent forest,
Many a grievous grone
Sounded in her ears:
5
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20
25
30
35
40
45
50
55
60
She heard one complayne
And lament the sorest,
Seeming all in payne,
Shedding deadly teares.
Farewell, my deare, quoth hee.
Whom I must never see ;
For why my life is att an end,
Through villaines crueltye:
For thy sweet sake I dye,
To show I am a faithfull friend.
Here I lye a bleeding,
While my thoughts are feeding
On the rarest beautye found.
O hard happ, that may be!
Little knowes my ladye
My heartes blood lyes on the ground.
With that a grone he sends
Which did burst in sunder
All the tender bands
Of his gentle heart.
She, who knewe his voice,
At his wordes did wonder;
All her former joyes
Did to griefe convert.
Strait she ran to see.
Who this man shold bee,
That soe like her love did seeme:
Her lovely lord she found
Lye slaine upon the ground,
Smear'd with gore a ghastlye streame.
Which his lady spying,
Shrieking, fainting, crying,
Her sorrows could not uttered bee:
His pale lippes, alas!
Twentye times she kissed,
And his face did wash
With her trickling teares :
Every gaping wound
Tenderlye she pressed,
And did wipe it round
With her golden haires.
Speake, faire love, quoth shee,
Speake, faire prince, to mee,
One sweete word of comfort give:
Lift up thy deare eyes,
Listen to my cryes,
Thinke in what sad griefe I live.
All in vain she sued,
All in vain she wooed,
The prince's life was fled and gone.
There stood she still mourning,
Till the suns retourning,
And bright day was coming on
65
In this great distresse
Weeping, wayling ever,
Oft shee cryed, alas!
What will become of mee?
To my fathers court
I returne will never :
But in lowlye sort
I will a servant bee.
While thus she made her mone,
Weeping all alone
70
75
Fate, she cryed, too cruell:
For thee-my dearest jewell,
Would God! that I had dyed for thee. 100
80
85
90
95
105
110
115
120
125
130
In this deepe and deadlye feare :
A for'ster all in greene,
Most comelye to be seene,
Ranging the woods did find her there.
Moved with her sorrowe,
Maid, quoth hee, good morrowe,
What hard happ has brought thee here?
Harder happ did never
Two kinde hearts dissever:
Here lyes slaine my brother deare.
Where may I remaine,
Gentle for'ster, shew me,
'Till I can obtaine
THE SWEET NEGLECT.
A service in my neede?
Paines I will not spare:
This kinde favour doe mee,
It will ease my care;
Heaven shall be thy meede.
The for'ster all amazed,
On her beautye gazed,
Till his heart was set on fire.
If, faire maid, quoth hee,
You will goe with mee,
You shall have your hearts desire.
He brought her to his mother,
And above all other
He sett forth this maidens praise.
Long was his heart inflamed,
At length her love he gained,
And fortune crown'd his future dayes.
Thus unknowne he wedde
With a kings faire daughter:
Children seven they had,
Ere she told her birth.
Which when once he knew,
Humblye he besought her,
He to the world might shew
Her rank and princelye worth.
He cloath'd his children then,
(Not like other men)
In partye-colours strange to see :
The right side cloth of gold,
The left side to behold,
Of woollen cloth still framed hee
Men thereatt did wonder;
Golden fame did thunder
135
140
"Cloth of Gold, do not despise,
Tho' thou art match with Cloth of Frize;
Cloth of Frize, be not too bold,
Tho' thou art matcht with Cloth of Gold.”
145
See Sir W. Temple's Misc. vol. III. p. 356.
150
155
160
165
170
175
XVII.
This little madrigal (extrated from Ben. Jonson's
Silent Woman, act. 1. sc. 1. first acted in 1609.) is
in imitation of a Latin poem printed at the end of
the variorum Edit. of Petronius, beginning, "Semper
munditias, semper Basilissa decoras &c." See Whal-
ley's Ben. Jonson, vol. II. p. 420.
This will remind the reader of the livery and device of
Charles Brandon, a private .gentleman, who married the
Queen Dowager of France, sister of Henry VIII. At a
tournament which he held at his wedding, the trappings of
his horse were half cloth of gold, and half frieze, with the
following motto:
This strange deede in every place :
The King of France came thither,
It being pleasant weather,
In those woods the hart to chase.
The children then they bring,
So their mother will'd it,
Where the royall king
Must of force come bye:
Their mothers riche array,
Was of crimson velvet:
Their fathers all of gray,
Seemelye to the eye.
Then this famous king,
Noting every thing,
Askt how be durst be so bold
To let his wife soe weare,
And decke his children there
In costly robes of pearl and gold.
The forrester replying,
And the cause descrying
To the king these words did say,
Well may they, by their mother,
Weare rich clothes with other,
Being by birth a princesse gay.
The king aroused thus,
More heedfullye beheld them,
Till a crimson blush
THE SWEET NEGLECT.
His remembrance crost.
The more I fix my mind
On thy wife and children,
The more methinks I find
The daughter which I lost.
Falling on her knee,
I am that child, quoth shee;
Pardon mee, my soveraine liege.,
The king perceiving this,
His daughter deare did kiss,
STILL to be neat, still to be drest,
As
you were going to a feast:
Still to be poud❜red, still perfum'd:
Lady it is to be presum'd,
Though art's hid causes are not found,
All is not sweet, all is not sound.
Give me a looke, give me a face,
That makes simplicitie a grace ;
Robes loosely flowing, haire as free:
Such sweet neglect more taketh me,
Than all th' adulteries of art,
That strike mine eyes, but not my heart.
237
* i. e. describing. See Gloss.
180
185
190.
195
While joyfull teares did stopp his speeche.
215
With his traine he tourned,
And with them sojourned.
Strait he dubb'd her husband knight;
Then made him Erle of Flanders,
And chiefe of his commanders :
Thus were their sorrowes put to flight. 220
200
205
210
5
10
933
THE CHILDREN IN THE WOOD
XVIII.
THE CHILDREN IN THE WOOD.
The subject of this very popular ballad (which
has been set in so favourable a light by the Specta-
tor, 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. By Rob. Yarrington, 1601, 4to." Our
ballad-maker has strictly followed the play in the
description of the father and mother's dying charge:
in the uncle's promise to take care of their issue :
his hiring two ruffians to destroy his ward, under
pretence of sending him to school: their choosing
a wood to perpetrate the murder in: one of the
ruffians relenting, and a battle ensuing, &c. In
other respects he has departed from the play. In
the latter the scene is laid in Padua: there is but
one child which is murdered by a sudden stab of
the unrelenting ruffian: he is slain himself by his
less bloody companion; but ere he dies gives the
other a mortal wound: the latter living just long
enough to impeach the uncle; who, in consequence
of this impeachment, is arraigned and executed by
the hand of justice, &c. Whoever compares the
play with the ballad, will have no doubt but the
former is the original: the language is far more ob-
solete, and such a vein of simplicity runs through
the whole performance, that, had the ballad been
written 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 Nor-
folk Gentleman's Last Will and Testament: to the
tune of Rogero, &c."
Now ponder well, you parents deare,
These wordes, which I shall write ;
A doleful story you shall heare,
In time brought forth to light.
A gentleman of good account
In Norfolke dwelt of late,
Who did in honour far surmount
hount
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:
The one a fine and pretty boy,
Not passing three yeares olde;
The other a girl more young than he,
And fram❜d in beautyes molde.
The father left his little son,
As plainlye doth appeare,
When he to perfect age should come,
Three hundred poundes a yeare.
5
10
15
20
And to his little daughter Jane
Five hundred poundes in gold,
To be paid downe on marriage-day,
Which might not be controll'd:
But if the children chance to dye,
Ere they to age should come,
Their uncle should possesse their wealth;
For so the wille did run.
Now, brother, said the dying man,
Look to my children deare;
Be good unto my boy and girl,
No friendes else have they here:
To God and you I recommend
My children deare this daye;
But little while be sure we have
Within this world to staye.
You must be father and mother both,
And uncle all in one;
God knowes what will become of them,
When I am dead and gone.
With that bespake their mother deare,
O brother kinde, quoth shee,
You are the man must bring our babes
To wealth or miserie:
And if you keep them carefully,
Then God will you reward;
But if you otherwise should deal,
God will your deedes regard.
With lippes as cold as any stone,
They kist their children small :
God bless you both, my children deare;
With that the teares did fall.
These speeches then their brother spake
To this sicke couple there,
The keeping of your little ones
Sweet sister, do not feare:
God never prosper me nor mine,
Nor aught else that I have,
If I do wrong your children deare,
When you are layd in grave.
The parents being dead and gone,
The children home he takes,
And bringes them straite unto his house,
Where much of them he makes.
He had not kept these pretty babes
A twelvemonth and a daye,
But, for their wealth, he did devise
To make them both awaye.
He bargain'd with two ruffians strong,
Which were of furious mood,
25
30
35
40
45
50
55
60
65
70
That they should take these children young, 75
And slaye them in a wood.
He told his wife an artful tale,
He would the children send
To be brought up in faire London,
With one that was his friend.
80
Away then went those pretty babes,
Rejoycing at that tide,
Rejoycing with a merry minde,
They should on cock-horse ride.
They prate and prattle pleasantly,
As they rode on the waye,
To those that should their butchers be,
And work their lives decaye:
So that the pretty speeche they had,
Made Murder's heart relent:
And they that undertooke the deed,
Full sore did now repent.
Yet one of them more hard of heart,
Did vowe to do his charge,
Because the wretch, that hired him,
Had paid him very large.
The other won't agree thereto,
So here they fall to strife;
With one another they did fight,
About the childrens life:
And he that was of mildest mood,
Did slaye the other there,
Within an unfrequented wood;
The babes did quake for feare!
A LOVER OF LATE.
He took the children by the hand,
Teares standing in their eye,
And bad them straitwaye follow him,
And look they did not crye:
And two long miles he ledd them on,
While they for food complaine:
Staye here, quoth he, I'll bring you bread,
When I come back againe.
These pretty babes, with hand in hand,
Went wandering up and downe ;
But never more could see the man
Approaching from the town:
Their prettye lippes with black-berries,
Were all besmear'd and dyed,
And when they sawe the darksome night,
They sat them downe and cryed.
A LOVER of late was I,
For Cupid would have it soe,
The boy that hath never an eye,
As every man doth know :
I sighed and sobbed, and cryed, alas!
For her that laught, and called me ass.
Then knew not I what to doe,
When I saw itt was in vaine
85
90
A lady soe coy to wooe,
Who gave me the asse soe plaine:
Yet would I her asse freelye bee,
Soe shee would helpe, and beare with mee.
95
100
105
110
115
Printed, with a few slight corrections, from the
Editor's folio MS,
120
XIX.
10
5
Thus wandered these poor innocents,
Till deathe did end their grief,
In one anothers armes they dyed,
As wanting due relief:
No burial this' pretty' pair'
Of any man receives,
Till Robin-red-breast piously
Did cover them with leaves.
<
A LOVER OF LATE.
10
And now the heavy wrathe of God
Upon their uncle fell
;
Yea, fearfull fiends did haunt his house,
His conscience felt an hell:
And in a voyage to Portugal
Two of his sonnes did dye;
And to conclude, himself was brought
To want and miserye:
He pawn'd and mortgaged all his land
Ere seven years came about.
And now at length this wicked act
Did by this meanes come out:
His barnes were fir'd, his goodes consum'd,
His landes were barren made,
His cattle dyed within the field,
And nothing with him stayd,
The fellowe, that did take in hand
These children for to kill,
Was for a robbery judg'd to dye,
Such was God's blessed will:
Who did confess the very truth,
As here hath been display'd:
Their uncle having dyed in gaol,
Where he for debt was layd.
You that 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.
An' I were as faire as shee,
Or shee were as kind as I,
What payre cold have made, as wee,
Soe prettye a sympathye:
I was as kind as shee was faire,
But for all this wee cold not paire.
Paire with her that will for mee,
With her I will never paire;
That cunningly can be coy,
For being a little faire.
The asse Ile leave to her disdaine;
And now I am myselfe againe.
239
Ver. 125, these..babes, PP. V. 13, faine, MS.
125
135
140
145
150
155
15
20
240
THE KING AND MILLER OF MANSFIELD.
XX.
THE KING AND MILLER OF MANSFIELD.
It has been a favourite subject with our English
ballad-makers to represent our kings conversing,
either by accident or design, with the meanest of
their subjects. Of the former kind, besides this song
of the King and the Miller, we have King Henry and
the Soldier; King James I. and the Tinker; King
William III. and the Forester, &c. Of the latter sort,
are King Alfred and the Shepherd; King Edward
IV. and the Tanner; King Henry VIII and the
Cobler, &c.—A few of the best of these are ad-
mitted into this collection. Both the author of the
following ballad, and others who have written on the
same plan, seem to have copied a very ancient poem,
intitled "John the Reeve," which is built on an ad-
venture of the same kind, that happened between
King Edward Longshanks and one of his Reeves or
Bailiffs. This is a piece of great antiquity, being
written before the time of Edward IV. and for its
genuine humour, diverting incidents, and faithful
picture of rustic manners, is infinitely superior to all
that have been since written in imitation of it. The
Editor has a copy in his ancient folio MS. but its
length rendered it improper for this volume, it con-
sisting of more than 900 lines. It contains also some
corruptions, and the Editor chuses to defer its publi-
cation, in hopes that some time or other he shall be
able to remove them.
The following is printed, with corrections, from
the Editor's folio MS. collated with an old black-
letter copy in the Pepys collection, intitled, "A plea-
sant ballad of "King Henry II. and the Miller of
Mansfield, &c."
PART THE FIRST.
HENRY, our royall king, would ride a hunting
To the greene forest so pleasant and faire;
To see the harts skipping, and dainty does tripping:
Unto merry Sherwood his nobles repaire :
Hawke and hound were unbound, all things prepar'd
For the game, in the same, with good regard.
6
All a long summers day rode the king pleasantlye,
With all his princes and nobles eche one;
Chasing the hart and hind, and the buck gallantlye,
Till the dark evening forc'd all to turn home.
Then at last, riding fast, he had lost quite
All his lords in the wood, late in the night.
10
Wandering thus wearilye, all alone, up and downe,
With a rude miller he mett at the last ;
Asking the ready way unto faire Nottingham;
Sir, quoth the miller, I meane not to jest,
Yet I thinke, what I thinke, sooth for to say,
You doe not lightlye ride out of your way.
15
Why, what dost thou think of me, quoth our king
merrily,
20
Passing thy judgment upon me so briefe ?
Good faith sayd the miller, I mean not to flatter thee,
I guess thee to bee but some gentleman thiefe;
Stand thee backe, in the darke; light not adowne,
st that I presentlye crack thy knaves crowne. 24
Thou dost abuse me much, quoth the king, saying
I am a gentleman; lodging I lacke. [thus;
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.
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.
30
Nay, soft, quoth the miller, thou may'st be a sprite.
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;
40
Never came hee in soe smoakye a house.
Now, quoth hee, let me see here what you are.
Quoth the king, looke your fill, and doe not spare.
I like well thy countenance, thou hast an honest face:
With my son Richard this night thou shalt lye.
Quoth his wife, by my troth, it is a handsome youth,
Yet it's best, husband, to deal warilye,
Art thou no run away, prythee, youth, tell?
Show me thy passport, and all shal be well.
46
Then our king presentlye, making lowe courtesye,
With his hatt in his hand, thus he did say ;
I have no passport, nor never was servitor,
But a poor courtyer, rode out of my way:
And for your kindness here offered to mee,
I will requite you in everye degree,
50
Then to the miller his wife whisper'd secretlye, 55
Saying, It seemeth, this youth's of good kin,
Both by his apparel, and eke by his manners;
To turne him out certainlye, were a great sin.
Yea, quoth hee, you may see, he hath some grace
When he doth speake to his betters in place. 60
Well, quo' the millers wife, young man, ye're welcome
And, though I say it, well lodged shall be: [here;
Fresh straw will I have, laid on thy bed so brave,
And good brown hempen sheets likewise, quoth
shee.
Aye, quoth the good man; and when that is done,
Thou shalt lye with no 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?
* The king says this.
I pray, quoth the king, what creatures are those?
Art thou not lowsy, nor scabby? quoth he:
If thou beest, surely thou lyest not with mee.
71
THE KING AND MILLER OF MANSFIELD.
This caus'd the king, suddenlye, to laugh most
heartilye,
Till the teares trickled fast downe from his eyes.
Then to their supper were they set orderlye,
75
With hot bag-puddings, and good apple-pyes;
Nappy ale, good and stale, in a browne bowle,
Which did about the board merrilye trowle.
Here, quoth the miller, good fellowe, I drinke to
thee,
80
And to all 'cuckholds, wherever they bee,'
I pledge thee, quoth our king, and thanke thee heart-
[ilye
For my good welcome in everye degree :
And here, in like manner, I drinke to thy sonne.
Do then, quoth Richard, and quicke let it come.
Wife, quoth the miller, fetch me forth lightfoote, 85
And of his sweetnesse a little we'll taste,
A fair ven❜son pastye brought she out presentlye.
Eate, quoth the miller, but, sir, make no waste.
Here's dainty lightfoote? In faith, sayd the king,
I never before eat so daintye a thing.
90
I wis, quoth Richard, no daintye at all it is,
For we doe eate of it everye day.
95
In what place, sayd our king, may be bought like to
We never pay pennye for itt, by my fay: [this?
From merry Sherwood we fetch it home here;
Now and then we make bold with our kings deer.
Then I thinke, sayd our king, that it is venison.
Eche foole, quoth Richard, full well may know
that:
Never are wee without two or three in the roof,
Very well fleshed, and excellent fat:
But, prythee, say nothing wherever thou goe;
We would not, for two pence, the king should it
knowe.
100
Doubt not, then sayd the king, my promist secresye ;
The king shall never know more on't for mee.
A cupp of lambs-wool they dranke unto him then,
And to their bedds they past presentlie.
The nobles, next morning, went all up and down,
For to seeke out the king in everye towne.
106
At last, at the millers 'cott,' soone they espy'd him
out,
110
As he was mounting upon his faire steede ;
To whom they came presently, falling down on their
knee
;
Which made the millers heart wofully bleede;
Shaking and quaking, before him he stood,
Thinking he should have been hang'd, by the rood.
The king perceiving him fearfully trembling,
Drew forth his sword, but nothing he sed:
The miller downe did fall, crying before them all,
Doubting the king would have cut off his head.
But he his kind courtesye for to requite,
Gave him great living, and dubb'd him a knight.120
115
PART THE SECONDE.
WHEN as our royall king came home from Notting-
And with his nobles at Westminster lay; [ham,
Recounting the sports and pastimes they had taken,
In this late progress along on the way;
Of them all, great and small, he did protest,
The miller of Mansfield's sport liked him best.
Ver. 80, courtna!!s, that courteous be, MS. and P.
5
241
And now, my lords, quoth the king, I am determined
Against St. Georges next sumptuous feast,
That this old miller, our new confirm'd knight,
With his son Richard, shall here be my guest: 10
For, in this merryment, 'tis my desire
To talke with the jolly knight, and the young squire.
When as the noble lords saw the kinges pleasantness,
They were right joyfull and glad in their hearts:
A pursuivant there was sent straighte on the busi-
ness,
15
The which had often-times been in those parts.
When he came to the place, where they did dwell,
His message orderlye then 'gan he tell.
God save your worshippe, then said the messenger,
And grant your ladye her own hearts desire; 20
And to your sonne Richard good fortune and happi-
ness;
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;
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.
25
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
The pursuivant smiled at their simplicitye,
And making many leggs, tooke their reward;
And his leave taking with great humilitye
To the kings court againe he repair'd;
Shewing unto his grace, merry and free,
The knightes most liberall gift and bountie.
Then sayd the miller, By my troth, messenger,
Thou hast contented my worshippe full well.
Hold here are three farthings, to quite thy gentleness,
For these happy tydings, which thou dost tell.
Let me see, hear thou mee; tell to our king,
We'll wayt on his mastershipp in everye thing.
35
40
When he was gone away, thus gan the miller say,
Here come expences and charges indeed; [have;
Now must we needs be brave, tho' we spend all we
For of new garments we have great need: 46
Of horses and serving-men we must have store,
With bridles and saddles, and twentye things more.
Tushe, Sir John, quoth his wife, why should you
frett, or frowne?
50
You shall ne'er be att no charges for mee;
For 1 will turne and trim up my old russet gowne,
With everye thing else as fine as may bee;
And on our mill-horses swift we will ride,
With pillowes and pannells, as we shall provide.
In this most statelye sort, rode they unto the court,
Their jolly sonne Kichard rode foremost of all ;56
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;
59
His wife, like maid Marian, did mince at that tide.
Ver. 57, for good hap: i. e. for good luck; they were
going on an hazardous expedition. V. 60, Maid Marian in
the Morris dance, was represented by a man in woman's
clothes, who was to take short steps in order to sustain the
feinale character.
242
THE SHEPHERD'S RESOLUTION.
;
The king and his nobles that heard of their coming,
Meeting this gallant knight with his brave traine
Welcome, sir knight, quoth he, with your gay lady
Good Sir John Cockle, once welcome againe :
And so is the squire of courage soe free,
Quoth Dicke, A bots on you! do you know mee?
65
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.
80
There the king royally, in princelye majestye,
Sate at his dinner with joy and delight;
When they had eaten well, then he to jesting fell,
And in a bowle of wine dranke to the knight :
Here's to you both, in wine, ale and beer;
Thanking you heartilye for my good cheer.
Quoth Sir John Cockle, I'll pledge you a pottle, 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,
'Tis knavery to eate it, and then to betray it.
90
Why art thou angry? quoth our king merrilye;
In faith, I take it now very unkind:
thought thou wouldst pledge me in ale and wine
heartily.
Quoth Dicke, You are like to stay till I have din'd:
You feed us with twatling dishes soe small;
Zounds, a blacke-pudding is better than all.
95
66
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 con-
tempt. Dryden and Wither" are coupled by him
like the "Bavius and Mævius" of Virgil. Dryden
however has had justice done him by posterity: and
as for Wither, though of subordinate merit, that he
was not altogether devoid of genius, will be judged
from the following stanzas. The truth is, Wither
was a very voluminous party-writer: and as his
political and satirical strokes rendered him extremely
popular in his life-time so afterwards, when these
were no longer relished, they totally consigned his
writings to oblivion.
Aye, marry, quoth our king, that were a daintye thing,
Could a man get but one here for to eate. [hose,
With that Dicke straite arose, and pluckt one from his
George Wither was born June 11, 1588, and in
his younger years distinguished himself by some
pastoral pieces, that were not inelegant; but grow-
ing afterwards involved in the political and religious
disputes in the times of James I. and Charles I.
he employed his poetical vein in severe pasquils on
the court and clergy, and was occasionally a sufferer
for the freedom of his pen. In the civil war that
ensued, he exerted himself in the service of the
Which with heat of his breech gan to sweate. 100
The king made a proffer to snatch it away :-
'Tis meat for your master: good sir, you must stay.
Thus in great merriment was the time wholly spent;
And then the ladyes prepared to dance.
Old Sir John Cockle, and Richard, incontinent 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.
XXI.
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.
THE SHEPHERDS RESOLUTION.
120
Parliament, and became a considerable sharer in the
spoils. He was even one of those provincial tyrants,
whom Oliver distributed over the kingdom, under
the name of Major Generals; and had the fleecing
of the county of Surrey: but, surviving the Re-
storation, he outlived both his power, and his afflu-
ence; and giving vent to his chagrin in libels on
the court, was long a prisoner in Newgate and the
Tower. He died at length on the 2d of May, 1667.
During the whole course of his life, Wither was
a continual publisher; having generally for oppo-
nent, Taylor the Water-poet. The long list of his
productions may be seen in Wood's Athenæ Oxon.
vol. II. His most popular satire is intitled "Abuses
whipt and stript," 1613. His most poetical pieces
were eclogues, intitled, "The Shepherd's Hunting,"
1615, 8vo. and others printed at the end of Browne's
Shepherd's Pipe," 1614, 8vo. The following
sonnet is extracted from a long pastoral piece of his,
intitled, "The Mistresse of Philarete," 1622, 8vo.
which is said in the preface to be one of the Au-
thor's first poems; and may therefore be dated as
early as any of the foregoing.
(C
:
SHALL I, wasting in dispaire,
Dye because a woman's faire?
Or make pale my cheeks with care
'Cause another's rosie are?
Be shee fairer then the day,
Or the flowry meads in may;
If she be not so to me,
What care I how faire shee be?
Shall my foolish heart be pin'd
'Cause I see a woman kind?
Or a well-disposed nature
Joyned with a lovely feature?
Be shee meeker, kinder, than
The turtle-dove or pelican:
If shee be not so to me,
What care I how kind shee be?
Shall a woman's virtues move
Me to perish for her love?
Or, her well-deservings knowne,
Make me quite forget mine owne?
QUEEN DIDO.
WHEN Troy towne had, for ten yeeres 'past,'
Withstood the Greekes in manfull wise,
Then did their foes encrease soe fast,
5
10
Æneas, wandering prince of Troy,
When he for land long time had sought,
At length arriving with great joy,
To mighty Carthage walls was brought;
Where Dido queene, with sumptuous feast,
Did entertaine that wandering guest.
Ver. 1, 21, war, MS. and PP
15
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. col-
lated with two different printed copies, both in
black letter, in the Pepys collection.
And, as in hall at meate they sate,
The queene, desirous newes to heare,
'Savs, of thy Troys unhappy fate'
Declare to me thou Trojan deare:
The heavy hap and chance soe bad,
That thou, poore wandering prince, hast had.
20
The reader will smile to observe with what
natural and affecting simplicity, our ancient ballad-
maker has engrafted a Gothic conclusion on the
classic story of Virgil, from whom, however, it is
probable he had it not. Nor can it be denied, but
he has dealt out his poetical justice with a more
impartial hand than that celebrated poet.
That to resist none could suffice:
Wast lye those walls, that were soe good,
And corne now growes where Troy towne stoode.
QUEEN DIDO.
XXII.
5
10
Be shee with that goodnesse blest,
Which may merit name of Best;
If she be not such to me,
What care I how good she be?
Cause her fortune seems too high,
Shall I play the foole and dye?
Those that beare a noble minde,
Where they want of riches find,
Thinke what with them they would doe,
That without them dare to woe;
And, unlesse that minde I see,
What care I how great she be?
15
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?
And then anon this comelye knight,
With words demure, as he cold well,
Of his unhappy ten yeares 'fight,'
Soe true a tale began to tell,
With words soe sweete, and sighs soe deepe,
That oft he made them all to weepe.
And then a thousand sighes he fet,
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.
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:
Where they full sweetly tooke their rest,
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
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 glistering light,
Through misty cloudes appeared red;
Then tidings came to her anon,
That all the Trojan shipps were gone.
243
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30
35
40
45
R 2
244
THE WITCHES' SONG
And then the queene with bloody knife
Did arme her hart as hard as stone,
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:
O wretched Dido queene! quoth shee,
I see thy end approacheth neare;
For hee is fled away from thee,
Whom thou didst love and hold so deare:
What is he gone, and passed by?
O hart, prepare thyselfe to dye.
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.
Come death, quoth shee, resolve my smart!-
And with those words shee peerced her hart.
When death had pierced the tender har
Of Dido, Carthaginian queene;
Whose bloudy knife did end the smart,
Which shee sustain'd in mournfull teene;
Eneas being shipt and gone,
Whose flattery caused all her mone;
Her funerall most costly made,
And all things finisht mournfullye ;
Her body fine in mold was laid,
Where itt consumed speedilye:
Her sisters teares her tombe bestrewde;
Her subjects griefe their kindnesse shewed.
Then was Æneas in an ile
In Grecya, where he stayd long space,
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.
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.
Yett on her death-bed when shee lay,
Shee prayd for thy prosperitye,
Beseeching god, that every day
Might breed thy great felicitye:
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60
65
70
75
80
80
90
From Ben Jonson's Masque of Queens, pre-
sented at Whitehall, Feb. 2, 1609.
Thus by thy meanes I lost a friend;
Heavens send thee such untimely end.
The Editor thought it incumbent on him to insert
some old pieces on the popular superstition concern-
ing witches, hobgoblins, fairies, and ghosts. The
last of these make their appearance in most of the
tragical ballads; and in the following songs will be
found some description of the former.
When he these lines, full fraught with gall,
Perused had, and wayed them right,
Ilis lofty courage then did fall;
And straight appeared in his sight
Queene Dido's ghost, both grim and pale ·
Which made this valliant souldier quaile.
Æneas, quoth this ghastly ghost,
My whole delight when I did live,
Thee of all men I loved most;
My fancy and my will did give;
For entertainment I thee gave,
Unthankefully thou didst me grave.
Therfore prepare thy flitting soule
To wander with me in the aire :
Where deadlye griefe shall make it howle,
Because of me thou tookst no care:
Delay not time, thy glasse is run,
Thy date is past, thy life is done.
O stay a while, thou lovely sprite,
Be not soe hasty to convay
My soule into eternall night,
Where itt shall ne're behold bright day
O doe not frowne; thy angry looke
Hath all my soule with horror shooke.'
But, woe is me! all is in vaine,
And bootless is my dismall crye;
Time will not be recalled againe,
Nor thou surcease before I dye.
O lett me live, and make amends
To some of thy most dearest friends.
But seeing thou obdurate art,
And wilt no pittye on me show,
Because from thee I did depart,
And left unpaid what I did owe :
I must content myselfe to take
What lott to me thou wilt partake.
XXIII.
THE WITCHES SONG.
And thus, as one being in a trance,
A multitude of uglye feinds
About this woffull prince did dance,
He had no helpe of any friends:
His body then they tooke away,
And no man knew his dying day.
95
100
105
110
115
120
125
130
135
It is true, this song of the Witches, falling from
the learned pen of Ben Jonson, is rather an extract
from the various incantations of classical antiquity,
than a display of the opinions of our own vulgar.
But let it be observed, that a parcel of learned wise-
acres had just before busied themselves on this sub
Ver. 120, MS. Hath made my breath my life forsooke
ject, 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 supersti-
tions of different times and nations, that those of
genuine English growth could no longer be traced
out and distinguished.
By good luck the whimsical belief of fairies and
goblins could furnish no pretences for torturing our
fellow-creatures, and therefore we have this handed
down to us pure and unsophisticated.
ROBIN GOOD-FELLOW.
1 WITCH.
I HAVE been all day looking after
A raven feeding upon a quarter:
And, soone as she turn'd her beak to the south,
I snatch'd this morsell out of her mouth.
2 WITCH.
I have beene gathering wolves haires,
The madd dogges foames, and adders eares ;
The spurging of a deadmans eyes:
And all since the evening starre did rise.
3 WITCH.
I last night lay all alone
O' the ground, to heare the mandrake grone;
And pluckt him up, though he grew full low :
And, as I had done, the cocke did crow.
4 WITCH.
And I ha' beene chusing out this scull
From charnell houses that were full;
From private grots, and publike pits;
And frighted a sexton out of his wits.
5 WITCH.
Under a cradle I did crepe
By day; and, when the childe was a-sleepe
At night, I suck'd the breath; and rose,
And pluck'd the nodding nurse by the nose.
5
10
;
"Tells how the drudging GOBLIN Swet
To earn his creame-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."
15
20
-alias PUCKE, alias HOBGOBLIN, in the creed of
ancient superstition, was a kind of merry sprite,
whose character and achievements are recorded in
this ballad, and in those well-known lines of Milton's
L'Allegro, which the antiquarian Peck supposes to
be owing to it:
6 WITCH.
I had a dagger: what did I with that?
Killed an infant to have his fat.
A piper it got at a church-ale.
I bade him again blow wind i' the taile.
7 WITCH.
A murderer, yonder, was hung in chaines;
The sunne and the wind had shrunke his veines.
I bit off a sinew; I clipp'd his haire;
I brought off his ragges, that danc'd i' the ayre.
8 WITCH.
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
9 WITCH.
And I ha' beene plucking (plants among)
Hemlock, henbane, adders-tongue,
Night-shade, moone-wort, libbards-bane;
And twise by the dogges was like to be tane.
The scrich-owles egges and the feathers blacke,
The bloud of the frogge, and the bone in his backe
I have been getting; and made of his skin
A purset, to keepe Sir Cranion in.
31
11 WITCH.
I went to the toad, breedes under the wall,
I charmed him out, and he came at my call;
245
XXIV.
ROBIN GOOD-FELLOW,
10 WITCH.
I from the jawes of a gardiner's bitch
Did snatch these bones, and then leap'd the ditch:
Yet went I back to the house againe,
Kill'd the blacke cat, and here is the braine.
DAME.
Yes: I have brought, to helpe your vows,
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.
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35
I scratch'd out the eyes of the owle before;
I tore the batts wing: what would you have more?
40
45
influence and vast antiquity of these superstitions.
Mankind, and especially the common people, could
not every where have been so unanimously agreed
concerning these arbitrary notions, if they had not
prevailed among them for many ages. Indeed, a
learned friend in Wales assures the Editor, that the
existence of Fairies and Goblins is alluded to by the
most ancient British Bards, who mention them
under various names, one of the most common of
which signifies "The spirits of the mountains."
See also Preface to Song XXV.
This song, which Peck attributes to Ben Jonson
(though it is not found among his works) is chiefly
printed from an ancient black-letter copy in the
British Museum. It seems to have been originally
intended for some Masque.
This Ballad is intitled, in the old black-letter
copies, The merry Pranks of Robin Goodfellow
To the tune of Dulcina," &c. (See No. XIII
above.)
216
ROBIN GOOD-FELLOW.
FROM Oberon, in fairye land,
The king of ghosts and shadowes there,
Mad Robin I, at his command,
Am sent to viewe the night-sports here.
What revell rout
Is kept about,
In every corner where I go,
I will o'ersee,
And merry bee,
And make good sport, with ho, ho, ho!
More swift than lightening can I flye
About this aery welkin soone,
And, in a minutes space, descrye
Each thing that's done belowe the moone,
There's not a hag
Or ghost shall wag,
Or cry, ware Goblins! where I go;
But Robin I
Their feates will spy,
And send them home, with ho, ho, ho!
;
Thro' bogs, thro' brakes
Or else, unseene, with them I go,
All in the nicke
To play some tricke
And frolicke it, with ho, ho, ho!
Whene'er such wanderers I meete,
As from their night-sports they trudge home;
With counterfeiting voice I greete,
And call them on, with me to roame
Thro' woods, thro' lakes,
Sometimes I meete them like a man ;
Sometimes, an ox, sometimes, a hound;
And to a horse I turn me can;
To trip and trot about them round.
But if, to ride,
My backe they stride,
More swift than winde away I go,
Ore hedge and lands,
Thro' pools and ponds
I whirry, laughing, ho, ho, ho!
When lads and lasses merry be,
With possets and with juncates fine;
Unseene of all the company,
I eat their cakes and sip their wine;
And, to make sport,
I fart and snort;
And out the candles I do blow:
The maids I kiss ;
They shrieke-Who's this?
I answer nought, but ho, ho, ho!
Yet now and then, the maids to please,
At midnight I card up their wooll;
And while they sleepe, and take their ease,
With wheel to threads their flax I pull.
I grind at mill
Their malt up still;
I dress their hemp, I spin their tow.
If any 'wake,
And would me take,
I wend me, laughing, ho, ho, ho?
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;
When house or harth doth sluttish lye,
I pinch the maidens black and blue
The bed-clothes from the bedd pull I
And lay them naked all to view.
'Twixt sleepe and wake,
I do them take,
And on the key-cold floor them throw.
If out they cry,
Then forth I fly,
And loudly laugh out, ho, ho, ho !
When any need to borrowe ought,
We lend them what they do require.
And for the use demand we nought;
Our owne is all we do desire.
If to repay,
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,
They do delay,
Abroad amongst them then I go,
And night by night,
I them affright
With pinchings, dreames, and ho, ho, ho! 80
I get me gone,
And leave them scolding, ho, ho, ho!
By wells and rills, in meadowes greene,
We nightly dance our hey-day guise;
And to our fairye king and queene
We chant our moon-light minstrelsies.
When larks gin sing,
Away we fling;
And babes new borne steal as we go,
And elfe in bed
We leave instead,
And wend us laughing, ho, ho, ho!
65
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,
Who haunt the nightes,
The hags and goblins do me know;
And beldames old
70
My feates have told;
So Vale, Vale; ho, ho, ho!
75
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,
95
And seeme a vermine taken so;
But when they there
Approach me neare,
I leap out laughing, ho, ho, ho!
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120
THE FAIRIES FAREWELL.
We have here a short display of the popular belief
concerning Fairies. It will afford entertainment to a
contemplative mind to trace these whimsical opinions
up to their origin. Whoever considers, how early,
how extensively, and how uniformly, they have pre-
vailed 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 wonder-
ful performances, far exceeding human art. Vid.
Hervarer Saga Olaj Verelj. 1675. Hickes Thesaur.
Sic.
This Song is given (with some corrections by
another copy) from a book intitled "The Mysteries
of Love and Eloquence, &c." Lond. 1648. 8vo.
COME, follow, follow me,
You, fairy elves that be:
Which circle on the greene,
Come follow Mab your queene.
Hand in hand let's dance around,
For this place is fairye ground.
XXV.
THE FAIRY QUEEN.
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.
And, if the house be foul
With platter, dish, or bowl,
Up stairs we nimbly,creep,
And find the sluts asleep :
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10
.15
"In olde dayes of the King Artour,
Of which that Bretons speken gret honour,
XXVI.
This humorous old song fell from the hand of the
witty Dr. Corbet (afterwards Bishop of Norwich,
&c.) and is printed from his Poëtica Stromata, 1648,
12mo. (compared with the third edition of his
poems, 1672.) It is there called "A proper new
Ballad, entitled, 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 un-
learned, to the tune of Fortune."
The departure of Fairies is here attributed to the
abolition of monkery: Chaucer has, with equal hu-
mour, assigned a cause the very reverse, in his
"Wife of Bath's Tale."
There we pinch their armes and thighes;
None escapes, nor none espies.
But if the house be swept,
And from uncleanness kept,
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
Our table-cloth we spread;
A grain of rye, or wheat,
Is manchet, which we eat ;
Pearly drops of dew we drink
In acorn cups fill'd to the brink.
The brains of nightingales,
With unctuous fat of snailes,
Between two cockles stew'd,
Is meat that's easily chew'd;
Tailes of wormes, and marrow of mice
Do make a dish, that's wonderous nice.
The grashopper, gnat, and fly,
Serve for our minstrelsie;
Grace said, we dance a while,
And so the time beguile :
And if the moon doth hide her head,
The gloe-worm lights us home to bed.
THE FAIRIES FAREWELL.
On tops of dewie grasse
So nimbly do we passe,
The young and tender stalk
Ne'er bends when we do walk:
Yet in the morning may be seen
Where we the night before have been.
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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 beme,
Blissing halles, chambres, kichenes, and boures,
Citees and burghes, castles high, and toures,
Thropes and bernes, shepenes and dairies,
This maketh that ther ben no faeries:
For ther as wont to walken was an elf,
Ther walketh now the limitour himself,
2.48
THE FAIRIES FAREWELL.
In undermeles and in morweninges,
And sayth his Matines and his holy thinges,
As he goth in his limitatioun.
Women may now go safely up and doun,
In every bush, and under every tree,
Ther is non other incubus but he,
And he ne will don hem no dishonour."
Tyrwhitt's Chaucer, I.
p. 255.
Dr. Richard Corbet, having been bishop of Oxford
about three years, and afterwards as long bishop of
Norwich, died in 1635, ætat 52.
FAREWELL rewards and Fairies!
Good housewives now may say;
For now foule sluts in dairies,
Doe fare as well as they :
And though they sweepe their hearths no less
6
Than mayds were wont to doe,
Yet who of late for cleaneliness
Finds sixe-pence in her shoe?
Lament, lament old Abbies,
The fairies lost command ;
They did but change priests babies,
But some have chang'd your land :
And all your children stoln from thence
Are now growne Puritanes,
Who live as changelings ever since,
For love of your demaines.
At morning and at evening both
You merry were and glad,
So little care of sleepe and sloth,
These prettie ladies had.
When Tom came home from labour,
Or Ciss to milking rose,
Then merrily went their tabour,
And nimbly went their toes.
Witness those rings and roundelayes
Of theirs, which yet remaine;
Were footed in Queene Maries dayes
On many a grassy playne.
But since of late Elizabeth
And later James came in ;
They never danc'd on any heath,
As when the time hath bin.
By which wee note the fairies
Were of the old profession :
Their songs were Ave Maries,
Their dances were procession.
But now, alas! they all are dead,
Or gone beyond the seas,
Or farther for religion fled,
Or else they take their ease.
A tell-tale in their company
They never could endure ;
And whoso kept not secretly
Their mirth, was punish'd sure :
It was a just and Christian deed
To pinch such blacke and blue :
O how the common-welth doth need
Such justices as you!
Now they have left our quarters;
A Register they have,
Who can preserve their charters
A man both wise and grave.
>
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An hundred of their merry pranks
By one that I could name
Are kept in store; con twenty thanks
To William for the same.
To William Churne of Staffordshire
Give laud and praises due,
Who every meale can mend your cheare
With tales both old and true :
To William all give audience,
And pray yee
for his noddle:
For all the fairies evidence
Were lost, if it were addle.
5:
60
After these songs on the fairies, the reader
may be curious to see the manner in which they
were formerly invoked and bound to human service.
In Ashmole's collection of MSS. at Oxford [Num.
8259, 1406, 2,] are the papers of some Alchymist,
which contain a variety of Incantations and Forms
of Conjuring both Fairies, Witches, and Demons,
principally, as it should seem, to assist him in his
great work of transmuting metals. Most of them
are too impious to be reprinted but the two fol-
lowing may be very innocently laughed at.
Whoever looks into Ben Jonson's " Alchymist,
will find that these impostors, among their other
secrets, affected to have a power over Fairies: and
that they were commonly expected to be seen in a
christal glass appears from that extraordinary book,
"The Relation of Dr. John Dee's actions with
Spirits, 1659," folio.
""
"An excellent way to gett a Fayrie. (For myself
I call Margarett Barrance; but this will obteine
any one that is not allready bownd.)
:
"First, gett a broad square christall or Venice
glasse, in length and breadth three inches. Then
lay that glasse or christall in the bloud of a white
henne, three Wednesdayes, or three Fridayes. Then
take it out, and wash it with holy aq.
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 followinge take them uppe, and call
her at eight or three or ten of the clocke, which be
good planetts and houres for that turne: but when
you call, be in cleane 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 morninge: out especi-
ally when you call; or find your sight not per-
fect.
:
"R. A pint of sallet-oyle, and put it into a viall
glasse: but first wash it with rose-water, and mary-
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 sunne, and then keep
it for thy use; ut supra."
:
THE BIRTH OF ST. GEORGE.
After this receipt for the unguent follows a Form
of Incantation, wherein the Alchymist 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 par-
THE END OF BOOK THE SECOND.
SERIES THE THIRD.
BOOK III.
I.
THE BIRTH OF ST. GEORGE.
The incidents in this, and the other ballad of "St.
George and the Dragon," are chiefly taken from the
old story-book of the Seven Champions of Christen-
dome; which, though now the plaything of chil-
dren, was once in, high repute. Bp. Hall, in his
Satires, published in 1597, ranks
ticular 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.
"St. George's sorell, and his cross of blood,"
among the most popular stories of his time; and an
ingenious critic thinks that Spencer himself did not
disdain to borrow hints from it *; though I much
doubt whether this popular romance were written
so early as the Faery Queen.
The author of this book of the Seven Champions
was one Richard Johnson, who lived in the reigns
of Elizabeth 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 Gothic painting;
which seems for the most part, copied from the me-
trical 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. 220.], and is so con-
tinued till the introduction of printing, when it ran
through several editions, two of which are in black
letter, 4to. "imprinted by Wyllyam Copland," with-
out date; containing great variations.
* Mr. Wharton. Vid. Observations on the Fairy Queen,
2 vol. 1762, 12mo. passim.
249
As a specimen of the poetic powers of this very
old rhimist, and as a proof how closely the author of
the Seven Champions has followed him, take a
description of the dragon slain by Sir Bevis.
"C
Whan the dragon, that foule is,
Had a syght of Syr Bevis,
He cast up a loude cry,
As it had thondred in the sky;
He turned his bely towarde the son,
It was greater than any tonne :
His scales was bryghter then the glas,
And harder they were than any bras:
Betwene his shulder and his tayle,
Was forty fote withoute fayle.
He waltred out of his denne,
And Bevis pricked his stede then,
And to hym a spere he thraste
That all to shyvers he it braste :
The dragon then gan Bevis assayle,
And smote Syr Bevis with his tayle :
Then downe went horse and man,
And two rybbes of Bevis brused than.
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 save,
With his good sword Morglaye.
Up to the hiltes Morglay yode
Through harte, lyver, bone, and bloude;
To the ground fell the dragon,
Great joye Syr Bevis begon.
Under the scales al on hight:
He smote off his head forth right,
And put it on a spere: &c."
Sign K. iv.

250
THE BIRTH OF ST. GEORGE.
•
Sir Bevis's dragon is evidently the parent of that
in the Seven Champions, see Chap. III. viz. "The
dragon no sooner had a sight of him [St. George]
but he gave such a terrible peal, as though it had
thundered in the elements. . . Betwixt his shoul-
ders and his tail were fifty feet in distance, his
scales glistering as bright as silver, but far more
hard than brass; his belly of the colour of gold, but
bigger than a tun. Thus weltered he from his den,
&c. . . . The champion .
gave the dragon such
a thrust with his spear, that it shivered in a thou-
sand 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 Southampton, whose residence was
at Duncton in Wiltshire: but he observes, that
the monkish enlargements of his story have made
his very existence doubted. See Notes on Poly-
Olbion, Song III.
This hath also been the case of St. George him-
self, whose martial history is allowed to be apocry-
phal. But, to prove that there really existed an
orthodox Saint of this name (although little or no-
thing, it seems, is known of his genuine story) is
the subject of " An Historical and Critical Inquiry
into the Existence and Character of Saint 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, van-
quishing the old serpent.
But on this subject the inquisitive reader may
consult "A Dissertation on the Original of the
Equestrian Figure of the George and of the Garter,
ensigns of the most noble order of that name. Illus-
trated with copper-plates. By John Pettingal,
A.M. Fellow of the Society of Antiquaries, London,
1753," 4to. This learned and curious work the
author of the Historical and Critical Inquiry would
have done well to have seen.
It cannot be denied, but that the following ballad
is for the most part modern for which reason it
would have been thrown to the end of the volume,
had not its subject procured it a place here.
LISTEN, lords, in bower and hall,
I sing the wonderous birth
Of brave St. George, whose valorous arm
Rid monsters from the earth:
Distressed ladies to relieve
He travell'd many a day;
In honour of the Christian faith,
Which shall endure for aye.
5
In Coventry sometime did dwell
A knight of worthy fame,
High steward of this noble realme;
Lord Albert was his name.
IIe had to wife a princely dame,
Whose beauty did excell.
This virtuous lady, being with child,
In sudden sadness fell:
For thirty nights no sooner sleep
Had clos'd her wakeful eyes,
But, lo! a foul and fearful dream
Her fancy would surprize:
She dreamt a dragon fierce and fell
Conceiv'd within her womb;
Whose mortal fangs her body rent
Ere he to life could come.
All woe-begone, and sad was she;
She nourisht constant woe:
Yet strove to hide it from her lord,
Lest he should sorrow know.
In vain she strove; her tender lord,
Who watch'd her slightest look,
Discover'd soon her secret pain,
And soon that pain partook.
And when to him the fearful cause
She weeping did impart,
With kindest speech he strove to heal
The anguish of her heart.
Be comforted, my lady dear,
Those pearly drops refrain;
Betide me weal, betide me woe,
I'll try to ease thy pain.
And for this foul and fearful dream,
That causeth all thy woe,
Trust me I'll travel far away
But I'll the meaning knowe.
Then giving many a fond embrace,
And shedding many a teare,
To the weird lady of the woods,
He purpos'd to repaire.
To the weird lady of the woods,
Full long and many a day,
Thro' lonely shades and thickets rough
He winds his weary way.
At length he reach'd a dreary dell
With dismal yews o'erhung;
No chearful gleams here pierc'd the gloom,
He hears no chearful sound;
But shrill night-ravens' yelling scream,
And serpents hissing round.
The shriek of fiends and damned ghosts
Ran howling thro' his ear:
10
A chilling horror froze his heart,
Tho' all unus'd to fear.
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Where cypress spred its mournful boughs, 55
And pois'nous nightshade sprung.
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Three times he strives to win his way,
And pierce those sickly dews:
Three times to bear his trembling corse
His knocking knees refuse.
THE BIRTH OF ST. GEORGE.
At length upon his beating breast
He signs the holy crosse;
And, rouzing up his wonted might,
He treads th' unhallow'd mosse.
Beneath a pendant craggy cliff,
All vaulted like a grave,
And opening in the solid rock,
He found the inchanted cave.
A
An iron gate clos'd up the mouth,
All hideous and forlorne;
And, fasten'd by a silver chain,
Near hung a brazed horne.
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:
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
Back thro' the dreary wood.
Eager to clasp his lovely dame
Then fast he travels back:
But when he reach'd his castle gate,
His gate was hung with black.
In every court and hall he found
A sullen silence reigne;
Save where, amid the lonely towers,
He heard her maidens 'plaine;
And bitterly lament and weep,
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;
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
In death's eternal sleep.
"For, ah! in travel sore she fell
So sore that she must dye;
Unless some shrewd and cunning leech
Could ease her presentlye.
""
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"But when a cunning leech was fet,
Too soon declared he,
She, or her babe must lose its life
Both saved could not be,
;
"Now take my life, thy lady said,
My little infant save:
And O commend me to my lord,
When I am laid in grave.
"O tell him how that precious babe
Cost him a tender wife :
And teach my son to lisp her name,
Who died to save his life.
;
"Then calling still upon thy name,
And praying still for thee
Without repining or complaint,
Her gentle soul did flee."
What tongue can paint Lord Albret's woe,
The bitter tears he shed,
The bitter pangs that wrung his heart,
To find his lady dead?
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:
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 :
And on his little body stampt
Three wonderous marks were seen :
"A blood-red cross was on his arm;
A dragon on his breast:
A little garter all of gold
Was round his leg exprest.
“Three carefull nurses we provide
Our little lord to keep :
One gave him sucke, one gave him food,
And one did lull to sleep.
"But lo! all in the dead of night,
We heard a fearful sound:
Loud thunder clapt; the castle shook,
And lightning flasht around.
"Dead with affright at first we lay;
But rousing up anon,
We ran to see our little lord:
Our little lord was gone!
"But how or where we could not tell ;
For lying on the ground,
In deep and magic slumbers laid,
The nurses there we found."
O grief on grief! Lord Albret said :
No more his tongue cou'd say,
When falling in a deadly swoone,
Long time he lifeless lay.
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ST. GEORGE AND THE DRAGON.
At length restor❜d to life and sense
He nourisht endless woe,
No future joy his heart could taste,
No future comfort know.
So withers on the mountain top
A fair and stately oake,
Whose vigorous arms are torne away
By some rude thunder-stroke.
;
At length his castle irksome grew,
He loathes his wonted home
His native country he forsakes,
In foreign lands to roame.
Or Hector's deeds did Homer sing;
And of the sack of stately Troy,
What griefs fair Helena did bring,
Which was Sir Paris' only joy:
And by my pen I will recite
St. George's deeds, an English knight.
The following ballad is given (with some correc-
tions) from two ancient black-letter copies in the
Pepys Collection: one of which is in 12mo, the
other in folio.
Against the Sarazens so rude
Fought he full long and many a day;
Where many gyaunts he subdu❜d,
In honour of the Christian way.
And after many adventures past
To Egypt land he came at last.
Now, as the story plain doth tell,
Within that country there did rest
A dreadful dragon fierce and fell,
Whereby they were full sore opprest:
Who by his poisonous breath each day,
Did many of the city slay.
II.
ST. GEORGE AND THE DRAGON.
The grief whereof did grow so great
Throughout the limits of the land,
That they were wise men did intreat
180
To shew their cunning out of hand;
What way they might this fiend destroy,
That did the country thus annoy.
185
When this the people understood,
They cryed out most piteouslye,
The dragon's breath infects their blood,
That everye day in heaps they dye:
Among them such a plague it bred,
The living scarce could bury the dead.
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The wise men all before the king
This answer fram'd incontinent;
The dragon none to death might bring
By any means they could invent :
His skin more hard than brass was found,
That sword nor spear could pierce nor wound.
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There up and downe he wandered far,
Clad in a palmer's gown:
Till his brown locks grew white as wool,
His beard as thistle down.
35
At length, all wearied, down in death
He laid his reverend head.
Meantime amid the lonely wilds
His little son was bred.
There the weird lady of the woods
Had borne him far away,
And train'd him up in feates of armes,
And every martial play.
No means there were, as they could hear,
For to appease the dragon's rage,
But to present some virgin clear,
Whose blood his fury might asswage;
Each 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.
Then came the officers to the king
That heavy message to declare,
Which did his heart with sorrow sting;
She is, quoth he, my kingdom's heir:
O let us all be poisoned here,
Ere she should die, that is
my dear.
Then rose the people presently,
And to the king in rage they went;
They said his daughter dear should dye,
The dragon's fury to prevent:
Our daughters all are dead, quoth they,
And have been made the dragon's prey :
And by their blood we rescued were,
And thou hast sav'd thy life thereby ;
And now in sooth it is but fair,
For us thy daughter so sould die.
O save my daughter said the king;
And let ME feel the dragon's sting.
Then fell fair Sabra on her knee,
And to her father dear did say,
O father, strive not thus for me,
But let me be the dragon's prey;
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ST. GEORGE AND THE DRAGON.
It may be for my sake alone
This plague upon the land was thrown.
'Tis better I should dye, she said,
Than all your subjects perish quite ;
Perhaps the dragon here was laid,
For my offence to work his spite:
And after he hath suckt my gore,
Your land shall feel the grief no more.
What hast thou done, my daughter dear,
For to deserve this heavy scourge?
It is my fault, as may appear,
Which makes the gods our state to purge;
Then ought I die, to stint the strife,
And to preserve thy happy life.
Like mad-men, all the people cried,
Thy death to us can do no good;
Our safety only doth abide
In making her the dragon's food.
Lo! here I I
come, quoth she,
Therefore do what you will with me.
am,
Nay stay, dear daughter, quoth the queen,
And as thou art a virgin bright,
That hast for vertue famous beer,
So let me cloath thee all in white;
And crown thy head with flowers sweet,
An ornament for virgins meet.
And when she was attired so,
According to her mother's mind,
Unto the stake then did she go;
:
To which her tender limbs they bind
And being bound to stake a thrall,
She bade farewell unto them all.
The king and queen and all their train
With weeping eyes went then their way
And let their daughter there remain,
To be the hungry dragon's prey :
But as she did there weeping lye,
Behold St. George came riding by.
And seeing there a lady bright
So rudely tyed unto a stake,
As well became a valiant knight,
He straight to her his way did take :
Tell me, sweet maiden, then quoth he,
What caitif thus abuseth thee?
And, lo! by Christ his cross I vow,
Which here is figured on my breast,
I will revenge it on his brow,
80
And break my lance upon his chest:
And speaking thus whereas he stood,
The dragon issued from the wood.
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 lady that did first espy
The dreadful dragon coming so,
Unto St. George aloud did cry.
And willed him away to go;
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Here comes that cursed fiend quoth she;
That soon will make an end of me.
St. George then looking round about,
The fiery dragon soon espy'd,
And like a knight of courage stout,
Against him did most fiercely ride;
And with such blows he did him greet,
He fell beneath his horse's feet.
For with his launce that was so strong,
As he came gaping in his face,
In at his mouth he thrust along;
For he could pierce no other place :
And thus within the lady's view
This mighty dragon straight he slew.
The savour of his poisoned breath
Could do this holy knight no harm.
Thus he the lady sav'd from death,
And home he led her by the arm;
Which when King Ptolemy did see,
There was great mirth and melody.
He in the court of Egypt staid
Till he most falsely was betray'd.
That lady dearly lov'd the knight,
He counted her his only joy;
But when their love was brought to light,
It turn'd unto their great annoy :
Th' Morocco king was in the court,
Who to the orchard did resort,
Dayly to take the pleasant air,
For pleasure sake he us'd to walk,
Under a wall he oft did hear
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. 160
Those kings together did devise
To make the Christian knight away,
With letters him in curteous wise
They straightway sent to Persia :
But wrote to the sophy him to kill,
And treacherously his blood to spill.
Thus they for good did him reward
With evil, and most subtilly
By such vile meanes they had regard
To work his death most cruelly;
Who, as through Persia land he rode,
With zeal destroy'd each idol god.
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He bitterly did wail and weep:
Yet like a knight of courage stout,
At length his way he digged out.
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Three grooms of the King of Persia
By night this valiant champion slew,
Though he had fasted many a day;
And then away from thence he flew
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St. George with Lady Sabra talk:
Their love he shew'd unto the king,
Which to St. George great woe did bring. 175
165
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For which offence he straight was thrown
Into a dungeon dark and deep;
Where, when he thought his wrongs upon, 190
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254
LOVE WILL FIND OUT THE WAY.
}
On the best steed the sophy had;
Which when he knew he was full mad.
Towards Christendom he made his flight, 200
But met a gyant by the way,
With whom in combat he did fight
Most valiantly a summer's day :
Who yet, for all his bats of steel,
Was forc'd the sting of death to feel.
Back o'er the seas with many bands
Of warlike souldiers soon he past,
Vowing upon those heathen lands
To work revenge; which at the last,
Ere thrice three years were gone and spent, 210
He wrought unto his heart's content.
Save onely Egypt land he spar'd
For Sabra bright her only sake,
And, ere for her he had regard,
He meant a tryal kind to make:
Mean while the king, o'ercome in field,
Unto saint George did quickly yield.
Then straight Morocco's king he slew,
And took fair Sabra to his wife,
But meant to try if she were true
Ere with her he would lead his life;
And, tho' he had her in his train,
She did a virgin pure remain
Who did upon the lady wait;
These three from Egypt went alone.
Now mark St. George's valour shown.
When as they in a forest were,
The lady did desire to rest:
Mean while St. George to kill a deer,
For their repast did think it best :
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Toward England then that lovely dame
The brave St. George conducted strait, 225
An eunuch also with them came,
215
OVER the mountains,
And over the waves;
Under the fountains,
And under the graves;
Under floods that are deepest,
Which Neptune obey;
Over rocks that are steepest,
Love will find out the way.
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Where there is no place
For the glow-worm to lye;
Where there is no space
For receipt of a fly;
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III.
This excellent song is ancient: but we could only
give it from a modern copy.
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5
Leaving her with the eunuch there,
Whilst he did go to kill the deer.
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But lo! all in his absence came
Two hungry lyons fierce and fell,
And tore the eunuch on the same
LOVE WILL FIND OUT THE WAY.
In pieces small, the truth to tell;
Down by the lady then they laid,
Whereby they shew'd, she was a maid.
But when he came from hunting back,
And did behold this heavy chance,
Then for his lovely virgin's sake
His courage strait he did advance,
And came into the lions sight,
Who ran at him with all their might.
Their rage did him no whit dismay,
Who, like a stout and valiant knight,
Did both the hungry lyons slay
Within the Lady Sabra's sight:
Who all this while sad and demure,
There stood most like a virgin pure.
Now when St. George did surely know
This lady was a virgin true,
His heart was glad, that erst was woe,
And all his love did soon renew:
He set her on a palfrey steed,
And towards England came with speed.
Where being in short space arriv'd
Unto his native dwelling place;
Therein with his dear love he liv'd,
And fortune did his nuptials grace:
They many years of joy did see,
And led their lives at Coventry.
Where the midge dares not venture,
Lest herself fast she lay;
If love come, he will enter,
And soon find out his way.
You may esteem him
A child for his might;
Or you may deem him
A coward from his flight:
But if she, whom love doth honour,
Be conceal'd from the day,
Set a thousand guards upon her,
Love will find out the way.
Some think to lose him,
By having him confin'd;
And some do suppose him,
Poor thing, to be blind;
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LORD THOMAS AND FAIR ANNET.
But if ne'er so close ye wall him,
Do the best that you may,
Blind love, if so ye call him,
Will find out his way.
You may train the eagle
To stoop to your fist;
IV.
LORD THOMAS AND FAIR ANNET,
LORD Thomas and fair Annet
Sate a' day on a hill;
Whan night was cum, and sun was sett,
They had not talkt their fill.
-seems to be composed (not without improve-
ments) out of two ancient English ones, printed in
the former part of this volume. See book I. ballad
XV. and book II. ballad IV.-If this had been the
original, the authors of those two ballads would
hardly have adopted two such different stories: be-
sides, this contains enlargements not to be found in
either of the others. It is given, with some correc-
tions, from a MS. copy transmitted from Scotland.
Lord Thomas said a word in jest,
:
Fair Annet took it ill
A'! I will nevir wed a wife
Against my ain friends will.
Gif ye wull nevir wed a wife,
A wife wull neir wed yee.
Sae he is hame to tell his mither,
And knelt upon his knee:
O rede, O rede, mither, he says,
A gude rede gie to mee:
O sall I tak the nut-browne bride,
And let faire Annet bee?
The nut-browne bride haes gowd and gear,
Fair Annet she has gat nane ;
And the little beauty fair Annet has,
O it wull soon be gane!
And he has till his brother gane :
Now, brother, rede ye mee;
A' sall I marrie the nut-browne bride,
And let fair Annet bee?
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The nut-browne bride has oxen, brother,
The nut-browne bride has kye;
I wad hae ye marrie the nut-browne bride,
And cast fair Annet bye.
Her oxen may dye i' the house, Billìe,
And her kye into the byre;
And I sall hae nothing to my sell,
Bot a fat fadge by the fyre.
A SCOTTISH BALLAD,
And he has till his sister gane:
Now, sister, rede ye mee;
O sall I marrie the nut-browne bride,
And set fair Annet free?
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;
Or you may inveigle
The phenix of the east
The lioness, ye may move her
To give o'er her prey;
But you'll ne'er stop a lover
He will find out his way.
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Ise rede ye tak fair Annet, Thomas,
And let the browne bride alane;
Lest ye sould sigh and say, Alace!
What is this we brought hame ?
No, I will tak my mithers, counsel,
And marrie me owt o' hand;
And I will tak the nut-browne bride;
Fair Annet may leive the land.
Up then rose fair Annets father
Twa hours or it wer day,
And he is gane into the bower,
Wherein fair Annet lay.
Rise
fair Annet, he says,
up, rise up,
Put on your silken sheene;
Let us gae to St. Maries kirke,
And see that rich weddeen.
My maides, gae to my dressing-roome,
And dress to me my hair;
Whair-eir yee laid a plait before,
See yee lay ten times mair.
My maids, gae to my dressing-room,
And dress to me my smock;
The one half is o' the holland fine,
The other o' needle-work.
The horse fair Annet rade upon
He amblit like the wind,
Wi' siller he was shod before,
W' burning gowd behind.
Four and twantye siller bells
Wer a' tyed till his mane,
And yae tift o' the norland wind,
They tinkled ane by ane.
Four and twantye gay gude knichts
Rade by fair Annets side,
And four and twanty fair ladies,
As gin she had bin a bride.
And whan she cam to Maries kirk,
She sat on Maries stean :
The cleading that fair Annet bad on
It skinkled in their een.
And whan she cam into the kirk,
She shimmer'd like the sun;
The belt that was about her waist,
Was a' wi' pearles bedone.
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GEORGE BARNWELL.
She sat her by the nut-browne bride,
And her een they wer sae clear,
Lord Thomas he clean forgat the bride,
Whan fair Annet she drew near.
He had a rose into his hand,
And he gave it kisses three,
And reaching by the nut-browne bride.
Laid it on fair Annets knee.
Up than spak the nut-browne bride,
She spak wi' meikle spite;
And whair gat ye that rose-water,
That does mak yee sae white?
O I did get the rose-water
Whair ye wull neir get nane,
For I did get that very rose-water
Into my mithers wame.
The bride she drew a long bodkin,
Frae out her gay head-gear,
And strake fair Annet unto the heart,
That word she nevir spak mair.
HEE, that loves a rosie cheeke,
Or a corall lip admires,
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This little beautiful sonnet is reprinted from a
small volume of "Poems by Thomas Carew, Esq.
one of the gentlemen of the privie-chamber, and
sewer in ordinary to his majesty (Charles I.) Lond.
1640." This elegant and almost-forgotten writer,
whose poems have been deservedly revived, died, in
the prime of his age, in 1639.
In the original follows a third stanza; which, not
being of general application, nor of equal merit, I
have ventured to omit.
V.
VI.
Lord Thomas he saw fair Annet wex pale,
Aud marvelit what mote bee:
The subject of this ballad is sufficiently popular
from the modern play which is founded upon it.
This was written by George Lillo, a jeweller of
London, and first acted about 1730.-As for the
ballad, it was printed at least as early as the middle
of the last century.
But whan he saw her dear hearts blude,
A' wood-wroth wexed hee.
It is here given from three old printed copies,
which exhibit a strange intermixture of Roman and
black letter. It is also collated with another copy in
the Ashmole Collection at Oxford, which is thus
intitled, "An excellent ballad of George Barnwell,
an apprentice of London, who ..thrice robbed his
He drew his dagger, that was sae sharp,
That was sae sharp and meet,
And drave into the nut-browne bride,
That fell deid at his feit.
UNFADING BEAUTY.
Now stay for me, dear Annet, he sed,
Now stay, my dear, he cry'd;
Then strake the dagger untill his heart,
And fell deid by her side.
Lord Thomas was buried without kirk-wa,
Fair Annet within the quiere;
And o' the tane thair grew a birk,
The other a bonny briere.
And ay they grew, and ay they threw,
As they wad faine be neare;
And by this ye may ken right weil,
They were twa luvers deare.
Or from star-like eyes doth seeke
Fuell to maintaine his fires,
As old time makes these decay,
So his flames must waste away.
GEORGE BARNWELL.
But a smooth and stedfast mind,
Gentle thoughts, and calme desires,
Hearts with equal love combin'd,
Kindle never-dying fires:
Where these are not, I despise
Lovely cheekes, or lips, or eyes.
*
THE FIRST PART.
105
ALL youth of fair Englànd
That dwell both far and near,
Regard my story that I tell,
And to my song give ear.
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5
master and murdered his vncle in Ludlow." The
tune is "The Merchant."
This tragical narrative seems to relate a real fact ;
but when it happened I have not been able to dis-
cover.
10
A London lad I was,
A merchant's prentice bound;
My name George Barnwell; that did spend
My master many a pound.
;
Take heed of harlots then,
And their enticing trains
For by that means I have been brought
To hang alive in chains.
As I, upon a day,
Was walking through the street
About my master's business,
A wanton I did meet.
A gallant dainty dame,
And sumptuous in attire ;
With smiling look she greeted me,
And did my name require.
Which when I had declar'd,
She gave me then a kiss,
And said, if I would come to her
I should have more than this.
Fair mistress, then quoth I,
If I the place may know,
This evening I will be with you,
For I abroad must go.
To gather monies in,
That are my master's due:
And ere that I do home return
I'll come and visit you.
Good Barnwell, then quoth she,
Do thou to Shoreditch come,
And ask for Mrs. Millwood's house,
Next door unto the Gun.
And trust me on my truth,
If thou keep touch with me,
My dearest friend, as my own heart
Thou shalt right welcome be.
Thus parted we in peace,
And home I passed right;
Then went abroad, and gathered in,
By six o'clock at night,
An bundred pound and one :
With bag under my arm
I went to Mrs. Millwood's house,
And thought on little harm;
GEORGE BARNWELL.
And knocking at the door,
Straightway herself came down ;
Rustling in most brave attire,
With hood and silken gown.
Who, through her beauty bright,
So gloriously did shine,
That she amaz'd my dazzling eyes,
She seemed so divine.
She took me by the hand,
And with a modest grace
Welcome, sweet Barnwell, then quoth she,
Unto this homely place.
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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.
O 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,
I would I were a prentice bound,
To live along with thee :
Therefore, my dearest George,
List well what I shall say,
And do not blame a woman much,
Her fancy to bewray.
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 mistress, why do you
So dull and pensive stand?
Call me no mistress now,
But Sarah, thy true friend,
Thy servant, Millwood, honouring thee,
Until her life hath end.
If thou wouldst here alledge,
Thou art in years a boy;
So was Adonis, yet was he
Fair Venus' only joy.
Thus I, who ne'er before
Of woman found such grace,
But seeing now so fair a dame
Give me a kind embrace,
I supt with her that night,
With joys that did abound;
And for the same paid presently,
In money twice three pound,
S
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115
258
GEORGE BARNWELL.
An hundred kisses then,
For my farewel she gave;
Crying, Sweet Barnwell, when shall I
Again thy company have?
O stay not hence too long,
Sweet George, have me in mind.
Her words bewicht my childishness,
She uttered them so kind:
So that I made a vow,
Next Sunday without fail,
With my sweet Sarah once again
To tell some pleasant tale.
When she heard me say so,
The tears fell from her eye;
O George, quoth she, if thou dost fail,
Thy Sarah sure will dye.
Though long, yet loe! at last,
The appointed day was come,
That I must with my Sarah meet;
Having a mighty sum
Of money in my hand*,
Unto her house went I,
Whereas my love upon her bed
In saddest sort did lye.
What ails my heart's delight,
My Sarah dear? quoth I;
Let not my love lament and grieve,
Nor sighing pine, and die.
But tell me, dearest friend,
What may thy woes amend,
And thou shalt lack no means of help,
Though forty pound I spend.
With that she turn'd her head,
And sickly thus did say,
Oh me, sweet George, my grief is great,
Ten pound I have to pay
Unto a cruel wretch;
And God he knows, quoth she,
I have it not. Tush, rise I said,
And take it here of me.
Ten pounds, nor ten times ten,
Shall make my love decay,
Then from my bag into her lap,
I cast ten pound straightway.
All blithe and pleasant then,
To banqueting we go ;
She proffered me to lye with her,
And said it should be so
And after that same time,
I gave her store of coyn,
Yea, sometimes fifty pound at once;
All which I did purloyn.
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* The having a sum of money with him on Sunday, &c.
shews this narrative to have been penned before the civil
wars the strict observance of the Sabbath was owing to
change of manners at that period,
And thus I did pass on;
Until my master then
Did call to have his reckoning in
Cast up among his men.
The which when as I heard,
I knew not what to say :
For well I knew that I was out
Two hundred pound that day.
Then from my master straight
I ran in secret sort;
And unto Sarah Millwood there
My case I did report.
"But how she us'd this youth,
In this his care and woe,
And all a strumpet's wiley ways,
The SECOND PART may showe."
THE SECOND part.
YOUNG Barnwall comes to thee
Sweet Sarah, my delight;
I am undone unless thou stand
My faithful friend this night.
Our master to accompts
Hath just occasion found;
And I am caught behind the hand
Above two hundred pound:
And now his wrath to 'scape,
My love, I fly to thee,
Hoping some time I may remaire
In sefety here with thee.
With that she knit her brows,
And looking all aquoy,
Quoth she, What should I have to do
With any prentice boy?
And seeing you have purloyn'd
Your master's goods away,
The case is bad, and therefore here
You shall no longer stay.
Why, dear, thou know'st, I said,
How all which I could get,
gave it, and did spend it all
Upon thee every whit.
I
Quoth she, Thou art a knave,
To charge me in this sort,
Being a woman of credit fair,
And known of good report
Therefore I tell the flat,
Be packing with good speed,
I do defie thee from iny heart,
And scorn thy filthy deed.
Is this the friendship, that.
You did to me protest?
Is this the great affection, which
You so to me exprest?
Now fie on subtle shrews!
The best is, I may speed
To get a lodging any where
For money in my need.
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}
False woman, now farewell,
Whilst twenty pound doth last,
My anchor in some other haven
With freedom I will cast.
When she perceiv'd by this,
I had store of money there
Stay, George, quoth she, thou art too quick:
Why, man, I did but jeer:
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.
You scorne a prentice boy,
I heard you just now swear,
Wherefore I will not trouble you.-
Nay, George, hark in thine ear;
Thou shalt not go to-night,
What chance soe're befall:
But man we'll have a bed for thee,
O else the devil take all.
So I by wiles bewitcht
And snar'd with fancy still,
Had then no power to 'get' away,
Or to withstand her will.
For wine on wine I call'd,
And cheer upon good cheer;
And nothing in the world I thought
For Sarah's love too dear.
Whilst in her company,
I had such merriment ;
All, all too little I did think,
That I upon her spent.
GEORGE BARNWELL.
A fig for care and thought!
When all my gold is gone,
In faith, my girl, we will have more,
Whoever I light upon.
My father's rich, why then
Should I want store of gold?
Nay with a father sure, quoth she,
A son may well make bold.
I've a sister richly wed,
I'll rob her ere I'll want.
Nay then, quoth Sarah, they may well
Consider of you scant.
Nay, I an uncle have:
At Ludlow he doth dwell:
Ile is a grazier, which in wealth
Doth all the rest excell.
Ere I will live in lack,
And have no coyn for thee;
I'll rob his house, and murder him.
Why should you not? quoth she:
Was I a man, ere I
Would live in poor estate:
On father, friends, and all my kin,
I would my talons grate.
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For without money, George,
A man is but a beast:
But bringing money, thou shalt be
Always my welcome guest.
For shouldst thou be pursued
Wirh twenty hues and cryes,
And with a warrant searched for
With Argus' hundred eyes.
Yet here thou shalt be safe;
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:
George Barnwell had in little space
His money wholly spent.
Which done, to Ludlow straight
He did provide to go,
To rob his wealthy uncle there;
His minion would it so.
And once he thought to take
His father by the way,
But that he fear'd his master had
Took order for his stay*.
Unto his uncle then
He rode with might and main,
Who with a welcome and good cheer
Did Barnwell entertain.
One fortnight's space he stayed
Until it chanced so,
His uncle with his cattle did
Unto a market go.
His kinsman rode with him,
Where he did see right plain,
Great store of money he had took:
When coming home again.
Sudden within a wood,
He struck his uncle down,
And beat his brains out of his head
So sore he crackt his crown.
;
Then seizing fourscore pound,
To London straight he hyed,
And unto Sarah Millwood all
The cruell fact descryed.
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,
Until their store was gone :
When means to get them any more,
I wis, poor George had none.
Therefore in railing sort,
She thrust him out of door :
Which is the just reward of those.
Who spend upon a whore.
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* i. e. for stopping and apprehending him at his father's.
8 2
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260
O! do me not disgrace
In this my need, quoth he
She call'd him thief and murderer,
With all the spight might be :
THE STEDFAST SHEPHERD.
To the constable she sent,
To have him apprehended;
And shewed how far, in each degree,
He had the laws offended.
When Barnwell saw her drift,
To sea he got straightway;
Where fear and sting of conscience
Continually on him lay.
Unto the lord mayor then,
He did a letter write;
Can ever my affection chaine :
Thy painted baits,
And poore deceits,
Are all bestowed on me in vaine.
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:
Goe, goe, display
Thy beautie's ray
To some more-soone enamour'd swaine :
155
These beautiful stanzas were written by George
Wither, of whom some account was given in the
former part of this Volume: see the Song intitled
"The Shepherd's Resolution," Book II. Song XXI.
In the first Edition of this work only a small frag-
ment of this Sonnet was inserted. It was after-
wards rendered more complete and entire by the
addition of five Stanzas more, extracted from Wither's
pastoral poem, intitled, "The Mistress of Philarete,'
of which this Song makes a part. It is now given
still more correct and perfect by comparing it with
another copy, printed by the author in his improved
edition of "The Shepherd's Hunting," 1620, 8vo.
HENCE away, thou Syren, leave me,
Pish! unclaspe these wanton armes;
Sugred words can ne'er deceive me,
(Though thou prove a thousand charmes).
Fie, fie, forbeare;
No common snare
Those common wiles
Of sighs and smiles
Are all bestowed on me in vaine.
毚
​160
I have elsewhere vowed a dutie;
Turne away thy tempting eye:
Shew not me a painted beautie;
These impostures I defie:
My spirit lothes
Where gawdy clothes
165
VII.
THE STEDFAST SHEPHERD.
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In which his own and Sarah's fault
He did at large recite.
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Whereby she seized was
And then to Ludlow sent:
170
Where she was judg'd, condemn'd, and hang'd,
For murder incontinent.
There dyed this gallant quean,
Such was her greatest gains:
For murder in Polonia,
Was Barnwell hang'd in chains.
Lo! here's the end of youth,
That after harlots haunt;
Who in the spoil of other men,
About the streets do flaunt.
And fained othes may love obtaine :
I love her so,
Whose looke sweares No;
That all your labours will be vaine.
Can he prize the tainted posies,
Which on every brest are worne;
That may plucke the virgin roses
From their never-touched thorne ?
I can goe rest
On her sweet brest,
That is the pride of Cynthia's traine:
Then stay thy tongue;
Thy mermaid song
Is all bestowed on me in vaine.
Hee's a foole, that basely dallies,
Where each peasant mates with him :
Shall I haunt the thronged vallies,
Whilst ther's noble hils to climbe?
No, no, though clownes
Are scar'd with frownes,
I know the best can but disdaine :
And those Ile prove :
So will thy love
Be all bestowed on me in vaine.
I doe scorn to vow a dutie,
Where each lustfull lad may wooe:
Give me her, whose sun-like beautie
Buzzards dare not soare unto :
Shee, shee it is
Affoords that blisse
For which I would refuse no paine:
But such as you,
Fond fooles, adieu;
You seeke to captive me in vaine.
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THE SPANISH VIRGIN, OR EFFECTS OF JEALOUSY.
Leave me then, you Syrens, leave me;
Seeke no more to worke my harmes :
Craftie wiles cannot deceive me,
Who am proofe against your charmes :
You labour may
To lead astray
VIII.
THE SPANISH VIRGIN, OR EFFECTS OF JEALOUSY.
And oft before his lady's face,
As thinking her her friend,
He would the maiden's modest grace
And comeliness commend.
The subject of this ballad is taken from a folio
collection of tragical stories, entitled, "The theatre
of God's judgments, by Dr. Beard and Dr. Taylor,
1642." Pt. 2, p. 89.-The text is given (with cor-
rections) from two copies; one of them in black-
letter in the Pepys collection. In this every stanza
is accompanied with the following distich by way of
burden :
"Oh jealousie! thou art nurst in hell:
Depart from hence, and therein dwell."
ALL tender hearts, that ake to hear
Of those that suffer wrong;
All you, that never shed a tear,
Give heed unto my song.
Fair Isabella's tragedy
My tale doth far exceed :
Alas, that so much cruelty
In female hearts should breed!
In Spain a lady liv'd of late,
Who was of high degree;
Whose wayward temper did create
Much woe and misery.
A gentlewoman passing fair
Did on this lady wait;
With bravest dames she might compare;
Her beauty was compleat.
Her lady cast a jealous eye
Upon this gentle maid;
And taxt her with disloyaltye;
And did her oft upbraid.
Strange jealousies so fill'd her head
With many a vain surmize,
She thought her lord had wrong'd her bed, 15
And did her love despise.
In silence still this maiden meek
Her bitter taunts would bear,
While oft adown her lovely cheek
Would steal the falling tear.
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In vain in humble sort she strove
Her fury to disarm ;
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,
Would on the damsell smile
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The heart, that constant shall remaine :
And I the while
Will sit and smile
To see you spend your time in vaine,
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,
When he was gone from home,
The lady all with rage did swell,
And to the damsell come.
And charging her with great offence,
And many a grievous fault;
She bade her servants drag her thence,
Into a dismal vault,
That lay beneath the common-shore :
A dungeon dark and deep :
Where they were wont, in days of yore,
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 :
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,
The fair one innocent
Was cast, before her lady's face;
Her malice to content.
This maid no sooner enter'd is,
But strait, alas! she hears
The toads to croak, and snakes to hiss:
Then grievously she fears.
SOME CE SE s „Man
Soon from their holes the vipers creep,
And fiercely her assail.
Which makes the damsel sorely weep,
And her sad fate bewail.
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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.
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JEALOUSY, TYRANT OF THE MIND.
A servant listning near the door,
Struck with her doleful noise,
Strait ran his lady to implore;
But she'll not hear his voice.
With bleeding heart he goes agen
To mark the maiden's groans;
And plainly hears, within the den,
How she herself bemoans.
Again he to his lady hies
With all the haste he may :
She into furious passion flies,
And orders him away.
Still back again does he return
To hear her tender cries;
The virgin now had ceas'd to mourn;
Which fill'd him with surprize.
In grief, and horror, and affright,
He listens at the walls;
But finding all was silent quite,
He to his lady calls.
Too sure, O lady, now quoth he,
Your cruelty hath sped;
Make hast, for shame, and come and see;
I fear the virgin's dead.
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WHAT state of life can be so blest,
As love that warms the gentle brest;
Two souls in one; the same desire
To grant the bliss, and to require?
If in this heaven a hell we find,
Tis all from thee,
O Jealousie !
Thou tyrant, tyrant of the mind.
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All other ills, though sharp they prove,
Serve to refine and perfect love :
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IX.
This song is by Dryden, being inserted in his
Tragi-Comedy of "Love Triumphant," &c. - On
account of the subject, it is inserted here.
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She starts to hear her sudden fate,
And does with torches run:
But all her haste was now too late,
For death his worst had done.
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The door being open'd, strait they found
The virgin stretch'd along :
Two dreadful snakes had wrapt her round,
Which her to death had stung.
JEALOUSY, TYRANT OF THE MIND.
One round her legs, her thighs, her wast,
Had twin'd his fatal wreath :
The other close her neck embrac'd,
And stopt her gentle breath.
The snakes, being from her body thrust,
Their bellies were so fill'd,
That with excess of blood they burst,
Thus with their prey were kill'd.
The wicked lady, at this sight,
With horror strait ran mad;
So raving dy'd, as was most right,
'Cause she no pity had.
Let me advise you, ladies all,
Of jealousy beware:
It causeth many a one to fall,
And is the devil's snare.
In absence, or unkind disdaine,
Sweet hope relieves the lovers paine:
But, oh, no cure but death we find
To sett us free
From jealousie,
Thou tyrant, tyrant of the mind
False in thy glass all objects are,
Some sett too near, and some too far:
Thou art the fire of endless night,
The fire that burns, and gives no light.
All torments of the damn'd we find
In only thee,
O Jealousie !
Thou tyrant, tyrant of the mind.
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CONSTANT PENELOPE.
The ladies are indebted for the following notable
documents to the Pepys Collection, where the ori-
ginal is preserved in black-letter, and is intitled,
"A Looking-glass for Ladies, or a Mirrour for
Married Women. Tune, Queen Dido, or Troy
town."
WHEN Greeks and Trojans fell at strife,
And lords in armour bright were seen;
When many a gallant lost his life
About fair Hellen, beauty's queen;
Ulysses, general so free,
Did leave his dear Penelope.
CONSTANT PENELOPE.
When she this wofull news did hear,
That he would to the warrs of Troy;
For grief she shed full many a tear,
At parting from her only joy:
Her ladies all about her came,
To comfort up this Grecian dame.
Let me no longer live, she sayd,
Then to my lord I true remain;
My honour shall not be betray'd
Ulysses, with a heavy heart,
Unto her then did mildly say,
The time is come that we must part;
My honour calls me hence away;
Yet in my absence, dearest, be
My constant wife, Penelope.
Until I see my love again;
For I will ever constant prove,
As is the loyal turtle-dove.
Thus did they part with heavy chear,
And to the ships his way he took;
Her tender eyes dropt many a tear;
Still casting many a longing look:
She saw him on the surges glide,
And unto Neptune thus she cry'd:
Thou god, whose power is in the deep,
And rulest in the ocean main,
My loving lord in safety keep
Till he return to me again :
That I his person may behold,
To me more precious far than gold.
Then straight the ships with nimble sails
Were all convey'd out of her sight:
Her cruel fate she then bewails,
Since she had lost her hearts delight.
Now shall my practice be, quoth she,
True vertue and humility.
My patience I will put in ure,
My charity I will extend;
Since for my woe there is no cure,
The helpless now I will befriend:
The widow and the fatherless
I will relieve, when in distress.
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X.
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Thus she continued year by year
In doing good to every one;
Her fame was noised every where,
To young and old the same was known,
That she no company would mind,
Who were to vanity inclin'd.
Mean while Ulysses fought for fame,
'Mongst Trojans hazarding his life :
Young gallants, hearing of her name,
Came flocking for to tempt his wife:
For she was lovely, young, and fair,
No lady might with her compare.
With costly gifts and jewels fine,
They did endeavour her to win;
With banquets and the choicest wine,
For to allure her unto sin:
Most persons were of high degree,
Who courted fair Penelope.
With modesty and comely grace
Their wanton suits she did denye:
No tempting charms could e'er deface
Her dearest husband's memorye;
But constant she would still remain,
Hopeing to see him once again.
Her book her dayly comfort was,
And that she often did peruse;
She seldom looked in her glass;
Powder and paint she ne'er would use.
I wish all ladies were as free
From pride, as was Penelope.
She in her needle took delight,
And likewise in her spinning-wheel;
Her maids about her every night
Did use the distaff, and the reel :
The spiders, that on rafters twine,
Scarce spin a thread more soft and fine.
Sometimes she would bewail the loss
And absence of her dearest love:
Sometimes she thought the seas to cross,
Her fortune on the waves to prove.
I fear my lord is slain, quoth she,
He stays so from Penelope.
At length the ten years siege of Troy
Did end; in flames the city burn'd;
And to the Grecians was great joy,
To see the towers to ashes turn'd:
Then came Ulysses home to see
His constant, dear, Penelope.
O blame her not if she was glad,
When she her lord again had seen.
Thrice-welcome home, my dear, she said,
A long time absent thou hast been :
The wars shall never more deprive
Me of my lord whilst I'm alive.
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:

264
VALENTINE AND URSINE.
Fair ladies all, example take;
And hence a worthy lesson learn,
All youthful follies to forsake,
TELL me not, sweet, I am unkinde,
That from the nunnerie
TO LUCASTA, ON GOING TO THE WARS.
By Col. Richard Lovelace: from the volume of
his poems, intitled "Lucasta, Lond. 1649," 12mo.
The elegance of this writer's manner would be more
admired if it had somewhat more of simplicity.
Of thy chaste breast and quiet minde
To warre and armes I flie.
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"Over the dyke a bridge there lay,
That man and beest might passe away:
Under the bridge where sixty belles;
Right as the Romans telles;
That there might no man passe in,
But all they rang with a gyn."
XI.
The old story-book of Valentine and Orson (which
suggested the plan of this tale, but it is not strictly
followed in it) was originally a translation from the
French, being one of their earliest attempts at ro-
mance. See "Le Bibliotheque de Romans, &c."
The circumstance of the bridge of bells is taken
from the old metrical legend of Sir Bevis, and has
also been copied in the Seven Champions. The
original are,
PART THE FIRST.
WHEN Flora 'gins to decke the fields
With colours fresh and fine,
VALENTINE AND URSINE.
Then holy clerkes their mattins sing
To good Saint Valentine!
XII.
Sign. E. iv.
In the Editor's folio MS. was an old poem on this
subject, in a wretched corrupt state, unworthy the
press from which were taken such particulars as
could be adopted.
The King of France that morning fair
He would a hunting ride:
To Artois forest prancing forth
In all his princelye pride.
To graće his sports a courtly train
Of gallant peers attend;
And with their loud and cheerful cryes
The bills and valleys rend.
And vice from virtue to discern:
And let all women strive to be
As constant as Penelope.
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True, a new mistresse now I chase,
The first foe in the field
;
And with a stronger faith imbrace
A sword, a horse, a shield.
Yet this inconstancy is such,
As you too shall adore;
I could not love thee, deare, so much,
Lov'd I not honour more.
Through the deep forest swift they pass,
Through woods and thickets wild;
When down within a lonely dell
They found a new-born child;
All in a scarlet kercher lay'd
Of silk so fine and thin:
A golden mantle wrapt him round,
Pinn'd with a silver pin.
The sudden sight surpriz'd them all ;
The courtiers gather'd round;
They look, they call, the mother seek;
No mother could be found.
At length the king himself drew near,
And as he gazing stands,
The pretty babe look'd up and smil'd,
And stetch'd his little hands.
Now, by the rood, King Pepin says,
This child is passing fair:
I wot he is of gentle blood;
Perhaps some prince's heir.
Goe bear him home unto my court
With all the care ye may :
Let him be christen'd Valentine,
In honour of this day :
And look me out some cunning nurse;
Well nurtur'd let him bee;
Nor ought be wanting that becomes
A bairn of high degree.
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They look'd him out a cunning nurse;
And nurtur'd well was hee;
Nor ought was wanting that became
A bairn of high degree.
Thus grewe the little Valentine,
Belov'd of king and peers;
And shew'd in all he spake or did
A wit beyond his years.
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.
VALENTINE AND URSINE.
And now the early downe began
To shade his youthful chin;
When Valentine was dubb'd a knight,
That he might glory win.
A boon, a boon, my gracious liege,
I beg a boon of thee!
The first adventure that befalls,
May be reserv'd for mee.
The first adventure shall be thine;
The king did smiling say.
Nor many days, when lo! there came
Three palmers clad in graye.
Help, gracious lord, they weeping say’d;
And knelt, as it was meet:
From Artoys forest we be come,
With weak and wearye feet.
Within those deep and drearye woods
There wends a savage boy;
Whose fierce and mortal rage doth yield
Thy subjects dire annoy.
'Mong ruthless beares he sure was bred;
He lurks within their den :
To more than savage strength he joins
A more than human skill :
For arms, ne cunning may suffice
His cruel rage to still:
Up then rose Sir Valentine,
And claim'd that arduous deed,
Go forth and conquer, say'd the king,
And great shall be thy meed.
Well mounted on a milk-white steed,
His armour white as snow;
As well beseem'd a virgin knight,
Who ne'er had fought a foe:
To Artoys forest he repairs
With all the haste he may ;
And soon he spies the savage youth
A rending of his prey.
His unkempt hair all matted hung
His shaggy shoulders round:
His eager eye all fiery glow'd:
His face with fury frown'd.
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With beares he lives; with beares he feeds, 75
And drinks the blood of men.
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Like eagles' talons grew his nails:
His limbs were thick and strong;
And dreadful was the knotted oak
He bare with him along.
Soon as Sir Valentine approach'd,
He starts with sudden spring;
And yelling forth a hideous howl,
He made the forests ring.
As when a tyger fierce and fell
Hath spyed a passing roe,
And leaps at once upon his throat;
So sprung the savage foe ;
So lightly leap'd with furious force
The gentle knight to seize:
But met his tall uplifted spear,
Which sunk him on his knees.
A second stroke so stiff and stern
Had laid the savage low;
But springing up, he rais'd his club,
And aim'd a dreadful blow.
The watchful warrior bent his head,
And shun'd the coming stroke;
Upon his taper spear it fell,
And all to shivers broke.
Then lighting nimbly from his steed,
He drew his burnisht brand:
The savage quick as lightning 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.
Now with redoubled rage he roar'd;
His eye-ball flash'd with fire;
Each hairy limb with fury shook ;
And all his heart was ire,
Then closing fast with furious gripe
He clasp'd the champion round,
And with a strong and sudden twist
He laid him on the ground,
But soon the knight with active spring,
O'erturn'd his hairy foe:
And now between their sturdy fists
Past many a bruising blow.
They roll'd and grappled on the ground,
And there they struggled long:
Skilful and active was the knight;
The savage he was strong.
But brutal force and savage strength
To art and skill must yield:
Sir Valentine at length prevail'd
And won the well-fought field.
Then binding strait his conquer'd foe
Fast with an iron chain,
He tyes him to his horse's tail,
And leads him o'er the plain.
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266
VALENTINE AND URSINE.
To court his hairy captive soon
Sir Valentine doth bring;
And kneeling down upon his knee,
Presents him to the king.
With loss of blood and loss of strength
The savage tamer grew;
And to Sir Valentine became
A servant try'd and true.
And 'cause with beares he erst was bred,
Ursine they call his name;
A name which unto future times
The Muses shall 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
Prepar'd a sumptuous feast:
And there came lords, and dainty dames,
And many a noble guest.
Amid their cups, that freely flow'd,
Their revelry and mirth,
A youthful knight tax'd Valentine
Of base and doubtful birth.
The foul reproach, so grossly urg'd,
His generous heart did wound:
And strait he vow'd he ne'er would rest
Till he his parents found.
Then bidding king and peers adieu,
Early one summer's day,
With faithful Ursine by his side,
From court he took his way.
O'er hill and valley, moss and moor,
For many a day they pass;
At length, upon a moated lake,
They found a bridge of brass.
Beyond it rose a castle fair,
Y-built of marble stone:
The battlements were gilt with gold,
And glittred in the sun.
Beneath the bridge, with strange device,
A hundred bells were hung;
That man, nor beast, might pass thereon,
But strait their larum rung.
This quickly found the youthful pair,
Who boldly crossing o'er,
The jangling sound bedeaft their ears,
And rung from shore to shore.
Quick at the sound the castle gates
Unlock'd and opened wide,
And strait a gyant huge and grim
Stalk'd forth with stately pride
Now yield you, caytiffs, to my will;
He cried with hideous roar ;
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Or else the wolves shall eat your flesh,
And ravens drink your gore.
Ver. 23. i. e. a lake that served for a moat to a castle.
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Vain boaster, said the youthful knight,
I scorn thy threats and thee:
I trust to force thy brazen gates,
And set thy captives free.
Then putting spurs unto his steed,
He aim'd a dreadful thrust:
The spear against the gyant glanc'd,
And caus'd the blood to burst.
Mad and outrageous with the pain,
He whirl'd his mace of steel:
The very wind of such a blow
Had made the champion reel.
It haply mist; and now the knight
His glittering sword display'd,
And riding round with whirlwind speed
Oft made him feel the blade.
As when a large and monstrous oak
Unceasing axes hew:
So fast around the gyant's limbs
The blows quick-darting flew.
As when the boughs with hideous fal
Some hapless woodman crush:
With such a force the enormous foe
Did on the champion rush.
A fearful blow, alas! there came,
Both horse and knight it took,
And laid them senseless in the dust;
So fatal was the stroke.
Then smiling forth a hideous grin,
The gyant strides in haste,
And, stooping, aims a second stroke:
"Now caytiff breathe thy last!"
But ere it fell, two thundering blows
Upon his scull descend:
From Ursine's knotty club they came,
Who ran to save his friend.
Down sunk the gyant gaping wide,
And rolling his grim eyes:
The hairy youth repeats his blows:
He gasps, he groans, he dies.
Quickly Sir Valentine reviv'd
With Ursine's timely care:
And now to search the castle walls
The venturous youths repair.
The blood and bones of murder'd knights
They found where'er they came :
At length within a lonely cell
They saw a mournful dame.
Her gentle eyes were dim'd with tears;
Her cheeks were pale with woe:
And long Sir Valentine besought
Her doleful tale to know.
"Alas! young knight," she weeping said,
Condole my wretched fate;
A childless mother here you see;
A wife without a mate.
4.
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VALENTINE AND URSINE.
"These twenty winters here forlorn
I've drawn my hated breath;
Sole witness of a monster's crimes,
And wishing aye for death.
"Know, I am sister of a king,
And in my early years
Was married to a mighty prince,
The fairest of his peers.
"With him I sweetly liv'd in love
A twelvemonth and a day :
When, lo! a foul and treacherous priest
Y-wrought our loves' decay.
"His seeming goodness wan him pow'r ;
He had his master's ear:
And long to me and all the world
He did a saint appear.
"One day, when we were all alone,
He proffer'd odious love :
The wretch with horrour I repuls'd,
And from my presence drove.
"He feign'd remorse, and pitious beg'd
His crime I'd not reveal:
Which, for his seeming penitence,
I promis❜d to conceal.
"With treason, villainy, and wrong,
My goodness he repay'd:
With jealous doubts he fill'd my lord,
And me to woe betray'd.
"He hid a slave within my bed,
Then rais'd a bitter cry.
My lord, possest with rage, condemn'd
Me, all unheard, to dye.
"But, 'cause I then was great with child,
At length my life he spar'd :
But bade me instant quit the realme,
One trusty knight my guard.
"Forth on my journey I depart,
Opprest with grief and woe;
And tow'rds my brother's distant court,
With breaking heart, I goe.
"Long time thro' sundry foreign lands
We slowly pace along :
At length, within a forest wild,
I fell in labour strong:
“The eldest fair, and smooth, as snow
That tips the mountain hoar :
The younger's little body rough
With hairs was cover'd o'er.
"But here afresh begin my woes:
While tender care I took
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To shield my eldest from the cold
And wrap him in my cloak;
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"And while the knight for succour sought, 145
And left me there forlorn,
My childbed pains so fast increast
Two lovely boys were born.
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"A prowling bear burst from the wood,
And seiz❜d my younger son:
Affection lent my weakness wings,
And after them I run.
"But all forewearied, weak and spent,
I quickly swoon'd away;
And there beneath the greenwood shade
Long time I lifeless lay.
And, while in search we wander'd far,
We met that gyant grim;
Who ruthless slew my trusty knight,
And bare me off with him.
"At length the knight brought me relief, 165
And rais'd me from the ground :
But neither of my pretty babes
Could ever more be found.
""
"But charm'd by heav'n, or else my griefs,
He offer'd me no wrong;
Save that within these lonely walls
I've been immur'd so long."
Now, surely, said the youthful knight,
You are Lady Bellisance,
Wife to the Grecian emperor :
Your brother's King of France.
For in your royal brother's court
Myself my breeding had ;
Where oft the story of your woes
Hath made my bosom sad.
If so, know your accuser's dead,
Aud dying own'd his crime;
And long your lord hath sought you out
Thro' every foreign clime.
And when no tidings he could learn
Of his much-wronged wife,
He vow'd thenceforth within his court
To lead a hermit's life.
Now heaven is kind! the lady said;
And dropt a joyful tear :
Shall I once more hehold my lord?
That lord I love so dear?
But, madam, said Sir Valentine,
And knelt upon his knee;
Know you the cloak that wrapt your bade,
If you the same should see.
And pulling forth the cloth of gold,
In which himself was found;
The lady gave a sudden shriek
And fainted on the ground.
But by his pious care reviv'd,
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:
267
The bear devour'd my younger son,
Or sure that son were he.
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268
THE DRAGON OF WANTLEY.
Madam, this youth with bears was bred,
And rear'd within their den.
But recollect ye any mark
To know your son agen?
Upon his little side, quoth she,
Was stampt a bloody rose.
Here, lady, see the crimson mark
Upon his body grows!
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.
There was a well, so have I wynne,
And Bevis stumbled ryght therein.
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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 subject 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 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 seperate memoir at the end of the poem.
succour
In handling his subject, the Author has brought
in most of the common incidents which occur in
Romance. The description of the dragon this
outrages the people flying to the knight for
-his care in choosing his armour-
being drest for fight by a young damsel-
most of the circumstances of the battle and victory
(allowing for the burlesque turn given to them) are
what occur in every book of chivalry, whether in
prose or verse.
-his
-and
If any one piece, more than other, is more par-
ticularly 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:
*
*
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
220
* Collection of Historical Ballads in 3 vol. 1727.
See above, p. 221, and p. 249.
XIII.
THE DRAGON OF WANTLEY.
What pen can paint King Pepin's joy,
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;
Where many happy years they reign'd
In perfect love and peace.
To them Sir Ursine did succeed,
And long the scepter bare.
Sir Valentine he stay'd in France,
And was his uncle's heir.
Out of his mouthe of venim strong,
And on Syr Bevis he it flong:
It was venymous y-wis.
225
230
235
This seems to be meant by the Dragon of Want-
ley's stink, ver. 110. As the politic knight's creeping
out, and attacking the dragon, &c. seems evidently
to allude to the following:
Bevis blessed himselfe, and forth yode,
And lepte out with haste full good;
And Bevis unto the dragon gone is ;
And the dragon also to Bevis.
Longe and harde was that fyght
Betwene the dragon and that knyght.
But ever whan Syr Bevis was hurt sore,
He went to the well, and washed him thore ;
He was as hole as any man,
Ever freshe as whan he began.
The dragon sawe it might not avayle
Besyde the well to hold batayle;
He thought he would, wyth some wyle,
Out of that place Bevis begyle;
He woulde have flowen then awaye,
But Bevis lepte after with good Morglaye,
And hyt him under the wynge,
As he was in his flyenge, &c.
Sign. M. jv. L. j. &c.
After all, perhaps the writer of this ballad was
acquainted with the above incidents only through
the medium of Spenser, who has assumed most of
them in his "Faery Queen." At least some particu-
lars 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
cruel rending clawes- and yron teeth
breath of smothering smoke and sulphur".
the duration of the fight for upwards of two days,
bear a great resemblance to passages in the following
ballad; though it must be confessed that these par-
ticulars are common to all old writers of romance.
his
his
-and
Although this ballad must have been written early
in the last century, we have met with none but
such as were comparatively modern copies. It is
THE DRAGON OF WANTLEY.
here printed from one in Roman letter, in the Pepys
Collection, collated 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,
Or he had ne'er done it, I warrant ye :
But More of More-Hall, with nothing at all,
He slew the dragon of Wantley.
This dragon had two furious wings,
Each one upon each shoulder;
With a sting in his tayl, as long as a flayl,
Which made him bolder and bolder.
He had long claws, and in his jaws
Four and forty teeth of iron;
With a hide as tough as any buff,
Which did him round environ.
Have you not heard how the Trojan horse
Held seventy men in his belly?
This dragon was not quite so big,
But very near, I'll tell ye.
Devoured he poor children three,
That could not with him grapple ;
And at one sup he eat them up,
As one would eat an apple.
All sorts of cattle this dragon did eat.
Some say
he ate up trees,
And that the forests sure he would
In Yorkshire, near fair Rotherham,
The place I know it well ;
Some two or three miles, or thereabouts,
I vow I cannot tell;
But there is a hedge, just on the hill edge,
And Matthew's house hard by it;
O there and then was this dragon's den,
You could not chuse but spy it.
Some say, this dragon was a witch;
Some say, he was a devil,
For from his nose a smoke arose,
And with it burning snivel ;
Which he cast off, when he did cough,
In a well that he did stand by;
Which made it look just like a brook
Running with burning brandy.
5
Devour up by degrees:
[turkies;
For houses and churches were to him geese and
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.
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.
10
Ver. 29. were to him gorse and birches. Other copies.
15
20
25
35
40
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,
45
55
These children, as I told, being eat ;
Men, women, girls, and boys,
Sighing and sobbing, came to his lodging,
And made a hideous noise:
Tut, tut, quoth he, no goods I want;
But I want, I want, in sooth,
A fair maid of sixteen, that's brisk and keen,
With smiles about the mouth;
Hair black as sloe, skin white as snow,
With blushes her cheeks adorning;
To anoynt me o'er night, ere I go to fight,
And to dress me in the morning.
O save us all, More of More-hall,
Thou peerless knight of these woods;
[on,
Do but slay this dragon, who won't leave us a rag
We'll give thee all our goods.
This being done, he did engage
To hew the dragon down ;
But first he went, new armour to
Bespeak at Sheffield town;
With spikes all about, not within but without,
Of steel so sharp and strong;
Both behind and before, arms, legs, and all o'er,
Some five or six inches long
Had you but seen him in this dress,
How fierce he look'd and how big,
You would have thought him for to be
Some Egyptian porcupig :
He frighted all, cats, dogs, and all,
Each cow, each horse, and each hog:
For fear they did flee, for they took him to be
Some strange outlandish hedge-hog.
To see this fight, all people then
Got up on trees and houses,
On churches some, and chimneys too;
But these put on their trowses,
Not to spoil their hose. As soon as he rose,
To make him strong and mighty,
He drank by the tale, six pots of ale,
And a quart of aqua-vitæ.
It is not strength that always wins,
For wit doth strength excell;
Which made our cunning champion
269
Our politick knight, on the other side,
Crept out upon the brink,
30
"
And gave the dragon such a douse,
He knew not what to think:
65
70
75
89
85
90
Creep down into a well;
Where he did think, this dragon would drink,
And so he did in truth;
And as he stoop'd low, he rose up and cry'd, boh!
And hit him in the mouth.
95
Oh, quoth the dragon, pox take thee, come out,
Thou disturb'st me in my drink :
106
And then he turn'd, and s... at him;
Good lack how he did stink ·
Beshrew thy soul, thy body's foul,
Thy dung smells not like balsam;
Thou son of a whore, thou stink'st so sore,
Sure thy diet is unwholesome.
100
110
115
270
THE DRAGON OF WANTLEY.
do
By cock, quoth he, say you so,
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 understand;
Then to it they fell at all,
Like two wild boars so fierce, if I may
Compare great things with small.
Two days and a night, with this dragon did fight 125
Our champion on the ground;
[neat,
Tho' their strength it was great, their skill it was
They never had one wound.
At length the hard earth began to quake,
The dragon gave him a knock,
Which made him to reel, and straitway he thought,
130
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
And hit him a kick on the a...
Oh, quoth the dragon, with a deep sigh,
And turn'd six times together,
Sobbing and tearing, cursing and swearing
Out of his throat of leather;
More of More-hall! O thou rascal!
140
[gut,
Would I had seen thee never;
With the thing at thy foot, thou hast prick'd my a…….
And I'm quite undone for ever.
Murder, murder, the dragon cry'd,
Alack, alack, for grief;
Had you but mist that place, you could
Have done me no mischief.
Then his head he shaked, trembled and quaked,
And down he laid and cry'd;
First on one knee, then on back tumbled he,
So groan'd, kickt, s . . ., and dy'd.
145
150
** A description of the supposed scene of the
foregoing Ballad, which was communicated to the
Editor in 1767, is here given in the words of the
relater:
"In Yorkshire, 6 miles from Rotherham, is a vil-
lage, called Wortley, the seat of the late Wortley
Montague, Esq. About a mile from this village is
a Lodge, named Warncliff Lodge, but vulgarly
called Wantley: here lies the scene of the Song. I
was there above forty years ago: and it being a
woody rocky place, my friend made me clamber over
rocks and stones, not telling me to what end, till I
came to a sort of a cave; then asked my opinion of
the place and pointing to one end, says, Here lay
the Dragon killed by Moor of Moor-hall: here lay
his head; here lay his tail; and the stones we came
over on the hill, are those he could not crack; and
yon white house you see half a mile off, is Moor-
hall. I had dined at the lodge, and knew the man's
name was Matthew, who was a keeper to Mr.
Wortley, and, as he endeavoured to persuade me,
was the same Matthew mentioned in the Song: in
the house is the picture of the Dragon and Moor of
Moor-hall, and near it a well, which, says he, is the
described in the ball
+ Since the former editions of this humorous
old song were printed, the following " Key to the
Satire" hath been communicated by Godfrey Bos-
ville, Esq. of Thorp, near Malton, in Yorkshire;
who, in the most obliging manner, gave full permis-
sion to subjoin it to the poem.
Warncliffe Lodge, and Warncliffe Wood (vulgarly
pronounced Wantley), are in the parish of Pennis-
ton, in Yorkshire. The rectory of Penniston was
part of the dissolved monastery of St. Stephen's,
Westminster; and was granted to the Duke of
Norfolk's family who therewith endowed an hos-
pital, which he built at Sheffield, for women. The
trustees let the impropriation of the great tithes of
Penniston to the Wortley family, who got a great
deal by it, and wanted to get still more: for Mr.
Nicholas Wortley attempted to take the tithes in
kind, but Mr. Francis Bosville opposed him, and
there was a decree in favour of the modus in 37th
Eliz. The vicarage of Penniston did not go along
with the rectory, but with the copyhold rents, and
was 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 it, and then to Ralph, 3d son of his uncle Ralph.
The widow married Lyonel Rowlestone, lived
eighteen years, and survived Ralph.
This premised, the ballad apparently relates to the
lawsuit carried on concerning this claim of tithes
made by the Wortley family. "Houses and
churches were to him geese and turkeys :" which
are titheable things, the Dragon chose to live on.
Sir Francis Wortley, the son of Nicholas, attempted
again to take the tithes in kind: but the parishioners
subscribed an agreement to defend their modus.
And at the head of the agreement was Lyonel Row-
lestone, who is supposed to be one of "the Stones,
dear Jack, which the Dragon could not crack. The
agreement is still preserved in a large sheet of
parchment, dated 1st of James I. and is full of names
and seals, which might be meant by the coat of
armour, "with spikes all about, both within and
without." More of More-hall was either the attorney,
or counsellor, who conducted the suit. He is not
distinctly remembered, but More-hall is still extant
at the very bottom of Wantley [Warncliff] Wood,
and lies so low, that it might be said to be in a well :
as the Dragon's den [Warncliff Lodge] was at the
top of the wood, "with Matthew's house hard by
it." The keepers belonging to the Wortley family
were named, for many generations, Matthew
Northall: the last of them left this lodge, within
memory, to be keeper to the Duke of Norfolk. The
present owner of More-hall still attends Mr. Bos-
ville's Manor Court at Ox-spring, and pays a rose a
year.
"More of More-hall, with nothing at all,
slew the Dragon of Wantley." He gave him, in-
stead 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 Wordes-
worth, the freehold lord of the manor (for it is the
ST. GEORGE FOR ENGLAND.
copyhold manor that belongs to Mr. Bosville) having
persuaded him not to join the refractory parish-
ioners, under a promise that he would let him his
tithes cheap and now the estates of Wortley and
:
XIV.
ST. GEORGE FOR ENGLAND,
As the former song is in ridicule of the extrava-
gant incidents in old ballads and metrical romances;
so this is a burlesque of their style; particularly of
the rambling transitions and wild accumulation of
unconnected parts, so frequent in many of them.
This ballad is given from an old black-letter copy
in the Pepys collection, "imprinted at London,
1612." It is more ancient than many of the pre-
ceding; but we place it here for the sake of connect-
ing it with the Second Part.
THE FIRST PART.
Why doe you boast of Arthur and his knightes,
Knowing well' how many men have endured
fightes?
For besides King Arthur, and Lancelot du lake,
Or Sir Tristram de Lionel, that fought for ladies
sake;
Read in old histories, and there you shall see [flee.
How St. George, St. George the dragon made to
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. [France;
Mark our father Abraham, when first he resckued
Lot
[got:
Onely with his household, what conquest there he
David was elected a prophet and a king, [sling:
He slew the great Goliah, with a stone within a
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,
[mighty spoyle:
And eke he threw a temple downe, and did a
But St. George, St. George he did the dragon
foyle.
[France;
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense.
Wordesworth are the only lands that pay tithes in
the parish.
The warres of ancient monarchs it were too long
to tell,
[excell;
And likewise of the Romans, how farre they did
Hanny ball and Scipio in many a fielde did fighte:
Orlando Furioso he was a worthy knighte :
271
N.B. The "two days and a night," mentioned in
ver. 125, as the duration of the combat, was proba
bly that of the trial at law.
Remus and Romulus, were they that Rome did
builde:
[yielde.
But St. George, St. George the dragon made to
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 bandrolles in
did bring* :
[he did begin,
He had a troope of mighty knightes, when first
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.
[France;
St George he was for England; St. Dennis was for
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense.
Many knights' have fought with proud Tamber-
laine :
Cutlax the Dane, great warres he did maintaine :
Rowland of Beame, and good 'Sir' Olivere
In the forest of Acon slew both woolfe and beare:
Besides that noble Hollander, 'Sir' Goward with
the bill :
[spill.
But St. George, St. George the dragon's blood did
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:
[maine :
The four sons of Aymon, that follow'd Charle-
Sir Hughon of Burdeaux, and Godfrey of Bullaine:
These were all French knights that lived in that
age:
But St. George, St. George the dragon did assuage.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for
France;
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense,
Bevis conquered Ascapart, and after slew the
boare,
[the moore:
And then he crost beyond the seas to combat with
Sir Isenbras and Eglamore, they were knightes
most bold;
[hath told:
And good Sir John Mandeville of travel much
* This probably alludes to "An Ancient Order of Knight
hood, called the Order of the Band, instituted by Don Al-
phonsus, King of Spain,....to wear a red ribaud of three
fingers breadth," &c. See Ames, Typog. p. 327
272
ST. GEORGE FOR ENGLAND.
convert :
There were many English knights that Pagans did
[heart.
But St. George, St. George pluckt out the dragon's
St. George be was for England; St. Dennis was for
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. [France;
The noble Earl of Warwick, that was call'd Sir
The infidels and pagans stoutlie did defie; [Guy,
He slew the giant Brandimore, and after was the
death
[more heath;
Of that most ghastly dun cowe, the divell of Duns-
Besides his noble deeds all done beyond the seas:
But St. George, St. George the dragon did appease.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. [France;
Richard Cour-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 with-
stande.
[France;
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense.
was written by John Grubb, M. A. of Christ
Church, Oxford. The occasion of its being composed
is said to have been as follows. A set of gentlemen
of the university had formed themselves into a Club,
all the members of which were to be of the name of
George; their anniversary feast was to be held on
St. George's day. Our Author solicited strongly to
be admitted; but his name being unfortunately John,
this disqualification was dispensed with only upon
this condition, that he would compose a song in
honour of their Patron Saint, and would every year
produce one or more new stanzas, to be sung on
their annual festival. This gave birth to the follow-
ing humorous performance, the several stanzas of
which were the produce of many successive anniver-
sariest.
This diverting poem was long handed about in
manuscript; at length a friend of Grubb's under-
took to get it printed, who, not keeping 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, Sive QUERIMONIUNCULA ad
Henry the fifth he conquered all France,
And quartered their arms, his honour to advance
He their cities razed, and threw their castles
downe,
And his head he honoured with a double crowne.
He thumped the French-men, and after home he
XV.
ST. GEORGE FOR ENGLAND,
Alluding to the fabulons exploits attributed to this king
in the old romances. See the Dissertation prefixed to the
Third Series.
came,
But St. George, St. George he did the dragon tame.
St. George he was for England: St. Dennis was for
France;
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense.
THE SECOND PART,
To this circumstance it is owing that the Editor has
never met with two copies in which the stanzas are arranged
alike he has therefore thrown them into what appeared the
most natural order. The verses are properly long Alexan-
drines, bat the narrowness of the page made it necessary to
subdivide them: they are here printed with many improve-
ments.
St. David of Wales the Welsh-men much advance.
St. Jaques of Spaine, that never yet broke lance :
St Patricke of Ireland, which was St. Georges boy,
Seven yeares he kept his horse, and then stole him
away:
For which knavish act, as slaves they doe remaine :
But St. George, St. George the dragon he hath
slaine.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense.
France;
ANTONIUM [ATHERTON] ob Poema JOHANNIS GRub
Viri Tov wavu ingeniosissimi in lucem nondum edit
TONI! Tune sines divina poemata Grubbi
Intomb'd in secret thus still to remain any longer,
Τούνομα σου shall last, Ω Γρυββε διαμπερες αει,
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,
Sæpe illi long-cut, vel small-cut flare Tobacco
Sunt soliti pipos. Ast si generosior herba
(Per varios casus, per tot descrimina rerum)
Mundungus desit, tum non funcare recusant
Brown-paper tostâ, vel quod fit arundine bed-mat.
Hic labor, hoc opus est heroum ascedere sedes!
Ast ego quo rapiar? quo me feret entheus ardor,
Grubbe tui memorem ? Divinum expande poema.
Quæ mora? quæ ratio est, quin Grubbi protinus
anser
Virgilii, Flaccique simul canat inter olores?
At length the importunity of his friends prevailed
and Mr. Grubb's song was published at Oxford
under the following title :
THE BRITISHI HEROES.
A New Poem in honour of St. George
By Mr. JOHN GRUBB
School-master of Christ-Church
OrON. 1688.
Favete linguis carmina non prius
Audita, musarum sacerdos
Canto.-
Hor.
Sold by Henry Clements. Oxon.
ST. GEORGE FOR ENGLAND.
THE story of King Arthur old
Is very memorable,
The number of his valiant knights,
And roundness of his table:
The knights around his table in
A circle sate, d'ye see:
And altogether made up one
Large hoop of chivalry.
He had a sword, both broad and sharp,
Y-cleped Caliburn,
Would cut a flint more easily
Pendragon, like his father Jove,
Was fed with milk of goat;
And like him made a noble shield
·
Of she-goat's shaggy coat:
On top of burnisht helmet he
Did wear a crest of leeks;
And onions' heads, whose dreadful nod
Drew tears down hostile cheeks.
Itch and Welsh blood did make him hot,
And very prone to ire;
H' was ting'd with brimstone, like a match,
And would as soon take fire,
As brimstone he took inwardly
When scurf gave him occasion,
His postern puff of wind was a
Sulphureous exhalation.
The Briton never tergivers'd,
Than pen-knife cuts a corn;
As case-knife does a capon carve,
So would it carve a rock,
And split a man at single slash,
From noddle down to nock.
As Roman Augur's steel of yore
Dissected Tarquin's riddle,
So this would cut both conjurer
And whetstone thro' the middle.
He was the cream of Brecknock,
And flower of all the Welsh:
But George he did the dragon fell,
[France;
And gave him a plaguy squelsh.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense.
26
But was for adverse drubbing,
Bnd never turn'd his back to aught,
But to a post for scrubbing.
His sword would serve for battle, or
For dinner, if you please;
When it had slain a Cheshire man,
'Twould toast a Cheshire cheese.
He wounded, and, in their own blood,
Did anabaptize Pagans :
10
5
Brave Warwick Guy, at dinner time,
Challeng❜d a gyant savage;
And streight came out the unwieldy lout
Brim-full of wrath and cabbage:
He had a phiz of latitude,
And was full thick i' th' middle;
The cheeks of puffed trumpeter,
And paunch of squire Beadle*.
10
15
20
30
3.5
40
45
50
But George he made the dragon an
Example to all dragons.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for
[France;
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense.
56
60
* Men of bulk answerable to their places, as is well known
at Oxford.
But the knight fell'd him like an oak,
And did upon his back tread;
The valiant knight his weazon cut,
And Atropos his packthread.
Besides he fought with a dun cow,
As say the poets witty,
A dreadful dun, and horned too,
Like dun of Oxford city:
Tamerlain, with Tartarian bow,
The Turkish squadrons slew;
And fetch'd the pagan crescent down,
With half-moon made of yew:
His trusty bow proud Turks did gall
With showers of arrows thick,
And bow-strings, without strangling, sent
Grand-Visiers to old Nick:
The fervent dog-days made her mad,
By causing heat of weather,
Syrius and Procyon baited her,
As bull-dogs did her father:
Grasiers, nor butchers this fell beast.
E'er of her frolick hindred;
John Dosset* she'd knock down as flat,
As John knocks down her kindred:
Her heels would lay ye all along,
And kick into a swoon;
Frewin's + cow-heels keep up your corpse,
But hers would beat you down.
She vanquisht many a sturdy wight,
And proud was of the honour;
Was pufft by mauling butchers so,
As if themselves had blown her.
At once she kickt, and pusht at Guy,
But all that would not fright him;
Who way'd his winyard o'er sir-loyn,
As if he'd gone to knight him.
He let her blood, frenzy to cure,
And eke he did her gall rip ;
His trenchant blade, like cook's long spit,
Ran thro' the monster's bald-rib :
He rear'd up the vast crooked rib,
Instead of arch triumphal :
But George hit th' dragon such a pelt,
As made him on his bum fall.
100
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for
France;
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense.
Much turbants, and much Pagan pates
He made to humble in dust;
And heads of Saracens he fixt
On spear, as on a sign-post:
He coop'd in cage Bajazet the prop
Of Mahomet's religion,
273
The amazon Thalestris was
Both beautiful and bold;
65
70
T
75
80
85
90
95
105
110
As if 't had been the whispering bird,
That prompted him, the pigeon.
In Turkey-leather scabbard, he
Did sheath his blade so trenchant :
But George he swing'd the dragon's tail,
And cut off every inch on't.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for
France;
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense.
115
120
125
* A butcher that then served the college.
+ A cook, who on fast nights was famous for selling cow-
heel and tripe.

ST. GEORGE FOR ENGLAND.
She sear❜d her breasts with iron hot,
And bang'd her foes with cold,
Her hand was like the tool, wherewith
Jove keeps proud mortals under :
It shone just like his lightning,
And batter'd like his thunder.
Her eye darts lightning, that would blast
The proudest he that swagger'd
And melt the rapier of his soul,
In its corporeal scabbard.
Her beauty, and her drum to foes
Did cause amazement double;
As timorous larks amazed are
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
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;
With light, and with a low-bell:
With beauty, and that lapland-charm*,
Poor men she did bewitch all;
Still a blind whining lover had,
As Pallas had her scrich-owl.
She kept the chastness of a nun
In armour, as in cloyster :
But George undid the dragon just
As you'd undo an oister.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for
[France;
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense.
150
As red-hot iron with hissing noise
Is quencht in blacksmith's shop.
He cleans'd a stable, and rubb'd down
The horses of new-comers;
And out of horse-dung he rais'd fame
As Tom Wrench+ does cucumbers.
He made a river help him through;
Alpheus was under-groom;
The stream, disgust at office mean,
Ran murmuring thro' the room :
This liquid ostler to prevent
Being tired with that long work,
His father Neptune's trident took,
Instead of three-tooth'd dung-fork.
This Hercules, as soldier, and
As spinster, could take pains;
His club would sometimes spin ye flax,
And sometimes knock out brains :
H' was forc'd to spin his miss a shift
By Juno's wrath and hér-spite ;
Fair Omphale whipt him to his wheel,
As cook whips barking turn-spit.
From man, or churn, he well knew how
•
To get him lasting fame :
He'd pound a giant, till the blood,
And milk till butter came.
Often he fought with huge battoon,
And oftentimes he boxed;
Tapt a fresh monster once a month,
As Hervey‡ doth fresh hogshead.
He gave Anteus such a hug,
As wrestlers give in Cornwall:
130
* The drum.
+ Who kept Paradise gardens at Oxford.
A noted drawer at the Mermaid tavern in Oxford.
135
140
145
155
160
165
170
175
180
185
190
But George he did the dragon kill,
As dead as any door-nail.
[France;
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense.
196
The Gemini, sprung from an egg,
Were put into a cradle :
Their brains with knocks and bottled-ale,
Were often-times full addle :
And, scarcely hatch'd, these sons of him,
That hurls the bolt trisulcate,
With helmet-shell on tender head,
Did tustle with red-ey'd pole-cat,
Castor a horseman, Pollux tho'
A boxer was, I wist:
The one was fam'd for iron heel;
Th' other for leaden fist.
Pollux to shew he was a god,
When he was in a passion
With fist made noses fall down flat
By way of adoration :
This fist, as sure as French disease,
Demolish'd noses' ridges:
He, like a certain lord* was fam'd
For breaking down of bridges.
Castor the flame of fiery steed,
With well-spur'd boots took down ;
As men, with leathern buckets, quench
A fire in country town.
His famous horse, that liv'd on oats,
Is sung on oaten quill;
By bards' immortal provender
The nag surviveth still.
This shelly brood on none but knaves
Employ'd their brisk artillery :
And flew as naturally at rogues.
As eggs at thief in pilloryt.
Much sweat they spent in furious fight,
Much blood they did effund:
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;
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.
Gorgon a twisted adder wore
For knot upon ber shoulder:
She kemb'd her hissing periwig,
200
And curling snakes did powder.
These snakes they made stiff changelings
Of all the folks they hist on;
They turned barbars into hones,
And mason's into free-stone:
Sworded magnetic Amazon
Her shield to load-stone changes;
205
210
215
220
225
230
240
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense.
[France;
235
245
250
* Lord Lovelace brook down the bridges about Oxford, at
the beginning of the Revolution. See on this subject a
ballad in Smith's Poems, p. 102. Lond. 1713.
+ 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 Ruff ere bluster'd so.
Smith's Poems, p. 117.
ST. GEORGE FOR ENGLAND.
Then amorous sword by magic belt
Clung fast unto her haunches.
This shield long village did protect,
And kept the army from town,
And chang'd the bullies into rocks,
That came t' invade Long-Compton*.
She post-diluvian stores unmans,
And Pyrrha's work unravels
And stares Deucalion's hardy boys
Into their primitive pebbles.
Red noses she to rubies turns,
And noddles into bricks :
By boar-spear Meleager got
An everlasting name,
And out of haunch of basted swine,
He hew'd eternal fame.
But George made dragon laxative;
And gave him a bloody flix.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for
265
[France;
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense.
This beast each hero's trouzers ript,
And rudely shew'd his bare-breech,
Prickt but the wem, and out there came
Heroic guts and garbadge.
Legs were secur'd by iron boots
No more than peas by peascods:
Brass helmets, with inclosed sculls,
Wou'd crackle in's mouth like chesnuts.
His tawny hairs erected were
By rage, that was resistless;
And wrath, instead of cobler's wax,
Did stiffen his rising bristles.
His tusk lay'd dogs so dead asleep,
Nor horn, nor whip cou'd wake 'um:
It made them vent both their last blood,
And their last album-grecum.
But the knight gor'd him with his
To make of him a tame one,
And arrows thick, instead of cloves,
He stuck in monster's gammon.
For monumental pillar, that
His victory might be known,
He rais'd up, in cylindric form,
A collar of the brawn.
spear,
He sent his shade to shades below,
In Stygian mud to wallow;
And eke the stout St. George eftsoon,
255
Bright silver feet, and shining face
Had that stout hero's mother;
260
As rapier 's silver'd at one end,
And wounds you at the other.
Her feet were bright, his feet were swift,
As hawk pursuing sparrow:
Her's had the metal, his the speed
Of Braburn'st silver arrow.
270
275
280
285
300
He made the dragon follow.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense.
[France;
290
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.
295
310
* See the account of Rolricht Stones, in Dr. Plott's Hist
of Oxfordshire.
+ Bradburn, a gentleman commoner of Lincoln college,
gave a silver arrow to be shot for by the archers of the
university of Oxford.
Thetis to double pedagogue
Commits her dearest boy;
Who bred him from a slender twig
To be the scourge of Troy;
But ere he lasht the Trojans, h’was
In Stygian waters steept;
As birch is soaked first in piss,
When boys are to be whipt.
With skin exceeding hard, he rose
From lake, so black and muddy,
As lobsters from the ocean rise,
With shell about their body :
And, as from lobster's broken claw,
Pick out the fish you might;
So might you from one unshell'd heel
Dig pieces of the knight.
His myrmidons robb'd Priam's barns
And hen-roosts, says the song;
Carried away both corn and eggs,
Like ants from whence they sprung.
Himself tore Hector's pantaloons,
And sent him down bare-breech'd
To pedant Radamanthus, in
A posture to be switch'd.
But George he made the dragon look,
As if he had been bewitch'd.
Full fatal to the Romans was
The Carthaginian Hanni-
bal; him I mean, who gave them such
A devilish thump at Cannæ :
Moors thick, as goats on Penmenmure,
Stood on the Alpes's front:
Their one-eyed guide*, like blinking mole,
Bor'd thro' the hind'ring mount:
Who, baffled by the massy rock,
Took vinegar for relief;
Like plowmen, when they hew their way
Thro' stubborn rump of beef.
As dancing louts from humid toes
Cast atoms of ill savour
To blinking Hyatt†, when on vile crowd
He merriment does endeavour,
And saws from suffering timber out
Some wretched tune to quiver :
So Romans stunk and squeak'd at sight
Of Affrican carnivor.
The tawny surface of his phiz
Did serve instead of vizzard :
275
The valour of Domitian,
It must not be forgotten;
Who from the jaws of worm-blowing flies,
Protected veal and mutton.
315
340
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense.
[France;
A squadron of flies errant,
Against the foe appears;
With regiments of buzzing knights,
And swarms of volunteers:
320
325
330
335
345
350
355
But George he made the dragon have
A grumbling in his gizzard.
365
[France;
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense.
360
370
375

* Hannibal had but one eye.
+ A one-eyed fellow, who pretended to make fiddles, as
well as play on them; well known at that time in Oxford.
T 2
276
MARGARET'S GHOST.
The warlike wasp encourag'd 'em
With animating hum;
And the loud brazen hornet next,
He was their kettle-drum :
The Spanish Don Cantharido
Did him most sorely pester,
And rais'd on skin of vent'rous knight
Full many a plaguy blister.
A bee whipt thro' his button-hole,
As thro' key-hole a witch,
And stabb'd him with her little tuck
Drawn out of scabbard breech:.
But the undaunted knight lifts up
380
385
An arm both big and brawny,
And slasht her so, that here lay head,
And there lay bag and honey:
Then 'mongst the rout he flew as swift,
As weapon made by Cyclops,
And bravely quell'd seditious buz,
By dint of massy fly-flops.
Surviving flies do curses breathe,
And maggots too at Cæsar:
But George he shav'd the dragon's beard,
And Askelon* was his razor.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense.
[France;
400
390
395
John Grubb, the facetious writer of the foregoing
song, makes a distinguished figure among the Ox-
ford wits so humorously enumerated in the follow-
ing distich:
Alma novem genuit célebres Rhedycina poetas
Bub, Stubb, Grubb, Crabb, Trap, Young,
Carey, Tickel, Evans.
These were Bub Dodington (the late Lord Mel-
combe,) Dr. Stubbes, our poet Grubb, Mr. Crabb,
Dr. Trapp, the poetry-professor, Dr. Edw. Young,
the author of Night-Thoughts, Walter Carey,
"When all was wrapt in dark midnight,
And all were fast asleep," &c.
* The name of St. George's sword.
This ballad, which appeared in some of the public
newspapers in or before the year 1724, came from
the pen of David Mallet, Esq. who in the edition of
his poems, 3 vols. 1759, informs us that the plan was
suggested by the four verses quoted above in page
225, which he supposed to be the beginning of some
ballad now lost.
Thomas Tickel, Esq. and Dr. Evans the epigram-
matist.
XVI.
"These lines, says he, naked of ornament and
simple as they are, struck my fancy; and bringing
fresh into my mind an unhappy adventure much
talked of formerly, gave birth to the following
poem, which was written many years ago."
The two introductory lines (and one or two
others elsewhere) had originally more of the ballad
simplicity, viz.
As for our poet Grubb, all that we can learn fur-
ther of him, is contained in a few extracts from the
University Register, and from his epitaph. It ap-
pears from the former that he was matriculated in
1667, being the son of John Grubb, "de Acton
Burnel in comitatu Salop. pauperis." He took his
degree of Bachelor of Arts, June 28, 1671: and
became Master of Arts, June 28, 1675.
He was
appointed Head Master of the Grammar School at
Christ Church; and afterwards chosen into the
same employment at Gloucester, where he died in
1697, as appears from his monument in the church
of St. Mary de Crypt in Gloucester, which is in-
scribed with the following epitaph:
H. S. E.
JOHANNES GRUBB, A.M.
Natus apud Acton Burnel in agro Salopiensi
Anno Dom. 1645.
MARGARET'S GHOST.
Cujus variam in linguis notitiam,
et felicem erudiendis pueris industriam,
gratâ adhuc memoriâ testatur Oxonium.
Ibi enim Ædi Christi initiatus,
artes excoluit:
Pueros ad easdem mox excolendas
accuratè formavit:
Huc demum
unanimi omnium consensu accitus,
eandem suscepit 'provinciam,
quam feliciter adeo absolvit,
ut nihil optandum sit
nisi ut diutius nobis interfuisset?
Fuit enim
propter festivam ingenii suavitatem,
simplicem morum candorem, et
præcipuam erga cognatos benevolentiam
omnibus desideratissimus,
Obiit 2do die Aprilis, Anno D'ni, 1697,
Etatis suæ 51.
was at the silent solemn hour,
When night and morning meet;
In glided Margaret's grimly ghost,
And stood at William's feet.
Her face was like an April morn,
Clad in a wintry cloud :
And clay-cold was her lily hand,
That held her sable shrowd.
So shall the fairest face appear,
When youth and years are flown:
Such is the robe that kings must wear,
When death has reft their crown.
Her bloom was like the springing flower,
That sips the silver dew;
The rose was budded in her cheek,
Just opening to the view.
5
10
15
But love had, like the canker-worm,
Consum'd her early prime :
The rose grew pale, and left her cheek;
She dy'd before her time.
"Awake!" she cry'd, "thy true love calls,
Come from her midnight grave;
Now let thy pity hear the maid
Thy love refus'd to save.
"This is the dark and dreary hour
When injur❜d ghosts complain;
Now yawning graves give up their dead,
To haunt the faithless swain.
"Bethink thee, William, of thy fault,
Thy pledge and broken oath:
And give me back my maiden vow,
And give me back my troth.
<<
Why did you promise love to me,
And not that promise keep?
Why did you swear mine eyes were bright,
Yet leave those eyes to weep?
"How could you say my face was fair,
And yet that face forsake?
How could you win my virgin heart,
Yet leave that heart to break?
"Why did you say my lip was sweet,
And made the scarlet pale?
And why did I, young witless maid
Believe the flattering tale?
"That face, alas! no more is fair;
These lips no longer red :
Dark are my eyes, now clos'd in death,
And every charm is fled.
LUCY AND COLIN.
OF Leinster, fam'd for maidens fair,
Bright Lucy was the grace;
Nor e'er did Liffy's limpid stream
Reflect so fair a face.
Till luckless love and pining care
Impair'd her rosy hue,
Her coral lip, and damask cheek,
And eyes of glossy blue.
20
25
30
35
40
45
was written by Thomas Tickell, Esq. the cele-
brated 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 Rosa-
mond, 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.
"The hungry worm my sister is;
This winding-sheet I wear :
And cold and weary lasts our night,
Till that last morn appear.
5
"But hark! the cock has warn'd me hence !
A long and last adieu !
Come see, false man, how low she lies,
Who died for love of you."
The lark sung loud; the morning smil'd
With beams of
red:
rosy
Pale William shook in ev'ry limb,
And raving left his bed.
He hyed him to the fatal place
Where Margaret's body lay :
And stretch'd him on the grass-green turf,
That wrapt her breathless clay:
And thrice he call'd on Margaret's name,
And thrice he wept full sore:
Then laid his cheek to her cold grave,
And word spake never more.
XVII.
LUCY AND COLIN.
Oh! have you seen a lily pale,
When beating rains descend?
So droop'd the slow-consuming maid;
Her life now near its end.
By Lucy warn'd, of flattering swains
Take heed, ye easy fair:
Of vengeance due to broken vows,
Ye perjured swains beware.
Three times, all in the dead of night,
A bell was heard to ring;
And at her window, shrieking thrice,
The raven flap'd his wing.
*** In a late publication, intitled "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 con-
tends 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 present 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 popu-
lar songs and ballads.
Too well the love-lorn maiden knew
That solemn boding sound ;
And thus in dying words, bespoke
The virgins weeping round.
277
"I hear a voice you cannot hear,
Which says, I must not stay:
I see a hand you cannot see,
Which beckons me away.
50
55
60
65
10
15
20
25
278
THE BOY AND THE MANTLE.
"By a false heart, and broken vows,
In early youth I die.
Am I to blame, because his bride
Is thrice as rich as I?
"Ah Colin! give not her thy vows;
Vows due to me alone:
Nor thou, fond maid, receive his kiss,
Nor think him all thy own.
"To-morrow in the church to wed,
Impatient, both prepare;
But know, fond maid, and know, false
That Lucy will be there.
"Then, bear my corse, ye comrades, bear,
The bridegroom blithe to meet ;
He in his wedding-trim so gay,
I in my winding sheet."
She spoke, she died;-her corse was borne,
The bridegroom blithe to meet;
He in his wedding-trim so gay,
She in her winding-sheet.
Then what were perjured Colin's thoughts?
How were those nuptials kept?
30
35
40
45
IN Carleile dwelt King Arthur,
A prince of passing might;
And there maintain'd his table round,
Beset with many a knight.
50
Mr. Warton, in his ingenious Observations on
Spenser, has given his opinion, that the fiction of the
"Boy and the Mantle " is taken from an old French
piece entitled "Le Court Mantel," quoted by M. de
St. Palaye, in his curious "Memoires sur l'ancienne
Chevalerie," Paris, 1759, 2 tom. 12mo; who tells
us the story resembles that of Ariosto's inchanted
cup. 'Tis possible our English poet may have taken
the hint of this subject from that old French romance;
but he does not appear to have copied it in the man-
ner of execution: to which (if one may judge from
the specimen given in the Memoires) that of the
Ballad does not bear the least resemblance. After all,
'tis most likely that all the old stories concerning
King Arthur are originally of British growth, and
that what the French and other Southern nations
have of this kind were at first exported from this
island. See Memoires de l'Acad. des. Inscrip. tom.
xx. p. 352.
The bride-men flock'd round Lucy dead,
And all the village wept.
Confusion, shame, remorse, despair,
At once his bosom swell :
-
In the "Fabliaux ou Contes," 1781, 5 tom. 12mo,
of M. Le Grand (tom. I. p. 54), is printed a modern
Version of the Old Tale Le Court Mantel, under a
new title, Le Manteau maltaillé, which contains the
story of this Ballad much enlarged, so far as regards
the Mantle, but without any mention of the Knife or
the Horn.
The damps of death bedew'd his brow,
He shook, he groan'd, he fell.
From the vain bride (ah, bride no more!)
The varying crimson fled,
When, stretch'd before her rival's corse,
She saw her husband dead.
Then to his Lucy's new-made grave,
Convey'd by trembling swains,
One mould with her beneath one sod,
For ever now remains.
XVIII.
THE BOY AND THE MANTLE.
Oft at their grave the constant hind
And plighted maid are seen;
With garlands gay, and true-love knots,
They deck the sacred green.
AS REVISED AND ALTERED BY A MODERN HAND.
But, swain forsworn, whoe'er thou art,
This hallow'd spot forbear ;
Remember Colin's dreadful fate,
And fear to meet him there.
And there he kept his Christmas
With mirth and princely cheare,
When, lo! a straunge and cunning boy
Before him did appeare.
A kirtle and a mantle
This boy had him upon,
With brooches, rings, and owches,
Full daintily bedone.
He had a sarke of silk
About his middle meet;
And thus, with seemely curtesy,
He did King Arthur greet.
"God speed thee, brave King Arthur,
Thus feasting in thy bowre;
And Guenever thy goodly queen,
That fair and peerlesse flowre.
"Ye gallant lords, and lordings,
I wish you all take heed,
Lest, what you deem a blooming rose
Should prove a cankred weed."
Then straitway from his bosome
A little wand he drew;
And with it eke a mantle
Of wondrous shape and hew.
55
60
65
70
10
5
10
13
20
25
"Now have thou here, King Arthur,
Have this here of mee,
And give unto thy comely queen,
All-shapen as you see.
"No wife it shall become,
That once hath been to blame."
Then every knight in Arthur's court
Slye glaunced at his dame.
And first came Lady Guenever,
The mantle she must trye,
This dame, she was new-fangled,
And of a roving eye.
When she had tane the mantle,
And all was with it cladde,
From top to toe it shiver'd down,
As tho' with sheers beshradd e.
One while it was too long,
Another while too short,
And wrinkled on her shoulders
In most unseemly sort,
THE BOY AND THE MANTLE.
Now green, now red it seemed,
Then all of sable hue.
"Beshrew me quoth King Arthur,
I think thou beest not true."
Down she threw the mantle,
Ne longer would not stay;
But storming like a fury,
To her chamber flung away.
She curst the whoreson weaver,
That had the mantle wrought :
And doubly curst the froward impe,
Who thither had it brought.
"I had rather live in desarts
Beneath the green-wood tree :
Than here, base king, among thy groomes,
The sport of them and thee."
Sir Kay call'd forth his lady,
And bade her to come near:
“Yet dame if thou be guilty,
I pray thee now forbear.
This lady, pertly gigling,
With forward step came on,
And boldly to the little boy
With fearless face is gone.
When she had tane the mantle,
With purpose for to wear :
It shrunk up to her shoulder,
And left her b**side bare.
Then every merry knight,
That was in Arthur's court,
Gib'd and laught, and flouted,
To see that pleasant sport.
Downe she threw the mantle,
No longer bold or gay,
But with a face all pale and wan,
To her chamber slunk away.
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35
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60
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80
Then forth came an old knight,
A pattering o'er his creed;
And proffered to the little boy
Five nobles to his meed
;
"And all the time of Christmass
Plumb-porridge shall be thine,
If thou wilt let my lady fair
Within the mantle shine."
A saint his lady seemed,
With step demure and slow,
And gravely to the mantle
With mincing pace doth goe.
When she the same had taken,
That was so fine and thin
It shrivell'd all about her,
And show'd her dainty skin
Ah! little did her mincing,
Or his long prayers bestead;
She had no more hung on her,
Than a tassel and a thread.
Down she threwe the mantle,
With terror and dismay,
And, with a face of scarlet,
To her chamber hyed away.
Sir Cradock call'd his lady,
And bade her to come neare
"Come win this mantle, lady,
And do me credit here.
"Come win this mantle, lady,
For now it shall be thine,
If thou hast never done amiss,
Sith first I made thee mine.'
,
The lady gently blushing,
With modest grace came on,
And now to trye the wondrous charm
Courageously is gone.
When she had tane the mantle,
And put it on her backe,
About the hem it seemed
To wrinkle and to cracke.
CC
Lye still," shee cryed, "O mantle !
And shame me not for nought,
I'll freely own whate'er amiss,
Or blameful I have wrought.
"Once I kist Sir Cradocke
Beneathe the green wood tree:
Once I kist Sir Cradocke's mouth
Before he married mee."
When thus she had her shriven,
And her worst fault had told,
The mantle soon became her
Right comely as it shold.
Most rich and fair of colour,
Like gold it glittering shone;
And much the knights in Arthur's court
Admir'd her every one.
279
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95
100
105
110
115
120
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280
THE ANCIENT FRAGMENT OF THE MARRIAGE OF SIR GAWAINE.
Then towards King Arthur's table
The boy he turn'd his eye :
Where stood a boar's head garnished
With bayes and rosemarye.
When thrice he o'er the boar's head
His little wand had drawne,
Quoth he, "There's never a cuckold's knife
Can carve this head of brawne."
Then some their whittles rubbed
On whetstone, and on hone :
Some 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
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,
The boy brought forth a horne,
All golden was the rim :
Said he, "No cuckolde ever can
Set mouth unto the brim.
"No cuckold can this little horne
Lift fairly to his head;
But or on this, or that side,
He shall the liquor shed."
Some shed it on their shoulder,
Some shed it on their thigh;
And hee that could not hit his mouth,
Was sure to hit his eye.
Thus he, that was a cuckold,
Was known of every man :
But Cradock lifted easily,
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.
Then down in rage came Guenever,
And thus could spightful say,
"Sir Cradock's wife most wrongfully
Hath borne the prize away.
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180
"See yonder shameless woman,
That makes herselfe so clean :
Yet from her pillow taken
Thrice five gallants have been.
"Priests, clarkes, and wedded men,
Have her lewd pillow prest:
Yet she the wonderous prize forsooth
Must beare from all the rest.
""
Then bespake the little boy,
Who had the same in hold:
"Chastize thy wife, King Arthur,
Of speech she is too bold:
;
"Of speech she is too bold,
Of carriage all too free
Sir king, she hath within thy hall
A cuckold made of thee.
"All frolick light and wanton
She hath her carriage borne:
And given thee for a kingly crown
To wear a cuckold's horne."
185
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200
** The Rev. Evan Evans, editor of the Speci-
mens 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 curio-
sities of Britain) is frequently alluded to by the old
Welsh Bards.
CARLEILE, SO often mentioned in the Ballads 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 Arthurs chief residence;
but he is now convinced that it is no other than
Carlisle, in Cumberland; the old English Minstrels,
being most of them Northern men, naturally repre-
sented 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, sur-
rounded by a mound of earth, which retains the
name of Arthur's Round Table.
XIX.
THE ANCIENT FRAGMENT OF THE MARRIAGE OF SIR GAWAINE.
The Second Poem in the third Series, intitled "The
Marriage of Sir Gawaine, having been offered to the
Reader with large conjectural Supplements and Cor-
rections, 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, corruptions, and
THE ANCIENT FRAGMENT OF THE MARRIAGE OF SIR GAWAINE.
nonsense of illiterate Reciters and Transcribers had
been superstitiously retained, without some attempt
to correct and amend them.
This Ballad had most unfortunately suffered by
having half of every leaf in this part of the MS. torn
away; and, as about nine stanzas generally occur
in the half-page now remaining, it is concluded that
the other half contained nearly the same number of
stanzas.
KINGE Arthur liues in merry Carleile
and seemely is to see
and there he hath wth him Queene Genevr
yt bride so bright of blee
And there he hath wth him Queene Genever
yt bride soe bright in bower
& all his barons about him stoode
yt were both stiffe and stowre
The K. kept a royall 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 Ile 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 Sr Gawaine
as he did make his mone
And there came to him his Cozen Sr Gawaine*
yt was a curteous knight
why sigh you soe sore vnckle Arthur he said
or who hath done the vnright
0
peace o peace thou gentle Gawaine
yt 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
wth a great club vpon his backe
standing stiffe & strong
And he asked me wether I wold fight
or from him I shold be gone
o † else I must him a ransome pay
& soe dep't him from
To fight with him I saw noe cause
me thought it was not meet
for he was stiffe & strong wth all
his strokes were nothing sweete
Therfor this is my ransome Gawaine
I ought to him to pay
I must come againe as I am sworne
vpon the Newyeers day
* Sic.
+ Sic.
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
yt he might keepe his day
And as he rode over a more
hee see a lady where shee sate
betwixt an oke and a greene hollen
she was cladd in red scarlett
Then there as shold have stood her mouth
then there was sett her eye
the other was in her forhead fast
the way that she might see
Her nose was crooked & ternd outward
her mouth stood foule a wry
a worse formed lady thee shee was
neuerman saw wth 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 you courteouslye
& you will not me againe
yett I may happen Sr 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 wth a ring
Why if I helpe thee not thou noble k. Arthur
of thy owne hearts desiringe
of gentle Gawaine
..
[About Nine Stanzas wanting.]
And when he came to the tearne wadling
the baron there cold he srinde *
with a great weapon on his backe
standing stiffe & stronge
281
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 Arthur
to doe as it pleaseth me
for this is not thy ransome sure
therfore yeeld thee to me
And then bespoke him noble Arthur
& bade him hold his hands
& give me leave to speake my mind
in defence of all my land
* Sic MS.
282
THE ANCIENT FRAGMENT OF THE MARRIAGE OF SIR GAWAINE.
Then shee said choose thee gentle Gawaine
truth as I doe say
wether thou wilt haue me in this liknesse
in the night or else in the day
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 misshappen hore
But heer Ile 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 & sr Steven bold
they rode wth them that day
and the formost of the company
there rode the steward Kay
Soe did Sr Banier & Sr Bore
Sr Garrett with them so gay
soe did Sr Tristeram yt gentle kt
to the forrest fresh & gay
And when he came to the greene forrest
vnderneath a greene holly tree
their sate that lady in red scarlet
yt vnseemly was to see
Sr Kay beheld this Ladys face
& looked vppon her suire
whosoeuer kisses this lady he sayes
of his kisse he stands in feare
Sr Kay beheld the lady againe
& looked vpon her snout
whosoeuer kisses this lady he saies
of his kisse he stands in doubt
Peace coz. Kay then said Sr Gawaine
amend thee of thy life
for there is a knight amongst us all
yt must marry her to his wife
What wedd her to wiffe then said Sr 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.]
* Sic MS.
And then bespake him Gentle Gawaine
wth one soe mild of moode
sayes well I know what I wold say
god grant it may be good
To haue thee fowle in the night
when I wth thee shold play
yet I had rather if I might
haue thee fowle in the day
What when Lords goe wth ther seires* shee said
both to the Ale and wine
alas then I must byde 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 yt I thee see
for as thou see me att this time
from hencforth I wilbe
My father was an old knight
& yett it chanced soe
that he marryed a younge lady
yt 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 said Sr Gawaine
& amend the of thy liffe
I sweare this is the same lady
yt I marryed to my wiffe.
Sr 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 Sr Kay
thy chance is fallen arright
for thou hast gotten one of the fairest maids
I euer saw wth my sight
It is my fortune said Sr Gawaine
for my Vnckle Arthurs sake
I am glad as grasse wold be of raine
great Joy that I may take
* Sic in MS. pro feires, i. e. Mates.
THE HERMIT OF WARK WORTH.
Sr Gawaine tooke the lady by the one arme
Sr 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
wth all the knights of the round table
most seemly to be seene
K. Arthur beheld that lady faire
that was so faire & bright
This Ballad, together with that already printed,
intitled "The Friar of Orders Gray," forming what
may be considered the whole of Bishop Percy's origi-
nal compositions, is here appended as a necessary ad-
dition to the foregoing collection.
FIT I.
DARK was the night, and wild the storm,
And loud the torrent's roar;
THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTII.
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 brar 1,
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.
"O weep not, lady, weep not so;
Nor let vain fears alarm;
My little cell shall shelter thee,
And keep thee safe from barm."
"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 sheltering bower he sought
Within this lonely wood,
Ah! sore I fear his wandering feet
Have slipt in yonder flood."
he thanked christ in trinity
for Sr Gawaine that gentle knight
"O! trust in Heaven," the Hermit said,
"And to my cell repair!
Doubt not but I shall find thy friend,
And ease thee of thy care."
Soe did the knights both more and lesse
reioyced all that day
for the good chance yt hapened was
to Sr Gawaine & his lady gay.
Ffinis
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.
Then climbing up his rocky stairs,
He scales the cliff so high ;
And calls aloud, and waves his light
To guide the stranger's eye.
Among the thickets long he winds,
With careful steps and slow:
At length a voice return'd his call,
Quick answering from below :
"O tell me, father, tell me true,
If you have chanc'd to see
A gentle maid, I lately left
Beneath some neighbouring tree:
"But either I have lost the place,
Or she hath gone astray :
And much I fear this fatal stream
Hath snatch'd her hence away."
"Praise Heaven, my son," the Hermit said;
The lady's safe and well:"
And soon he join'd the wandering youth,
And brought him to his cell.
Then well was seen, these gentle friends,
They lov'd each other dear :
The youth he press'd her to his heart;
The maid let fall a tear.
Ah! seldom had their host, I ween,
Beheld so sweet a pair :
The youth was tall, with manly bloom;
She, slender, soft, and fair.
The youth was clad in forest green,
With bugle-horn so bright:
She in a silken robe and scarf,
Snatch'd up in hasty flight.
"Sit down, my children," says the sage ;
"Sweet rest your limbs require
Then heaps fresh fuel on the hearth,
And mends his little fire.
283
..
284
THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH
"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? What lands are these?
And to what lord belong?"
"Alas! my son," the Hermit said,
66
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)
<c
Against Fourth Henry Bolingbroke
Led up his northern powers,
And, stoutly fighting, lost his life
Near proud Salopia's towers.
"One son he left, a lovely boy,
His country's hope and heir
;
And, oh! to save him from his foes
It was his grandsire's care.
"In Scotland safe he plac'd the child
Beyond the reach of strife,
Nor long before the brave old Earl
At Braham lost his life.
"And now the Percy name, so long
Our northern pride and boast,
Lies hid, alas! beneath a cloud;
Their honours reft and lost.
• No chieftain of that noble house
Now leads our youth to arms;
The bordering Scots despoil our fields,
And ravage all our farms.
"Their halls and castles, once so fair,
Now moulder in decay;
Proud strangers now usurp their lands,
And bear their wealth away.
"Nor far from hence, where yon full stream
Runs winding down the lea,
Fair Warkworth lifts her lofty towers,
And overlooks the sea.
"Those towers, alas! now lie forlorn,
With noisome weeds o'erspread,
Where feasted lords and courtly dames,
And where the poor were fed.
"Meantime far off, 'mid Scottish hills,
The Percy lives unknown :
On strangers' bounty he depends,
And may not claim his own.
"O might I with these aged eyes
But live to see him here,
Then should my soul depart in bliss!"
He said, and dropt a tear.
"And is the Percy still so lov'd
Of all his friends and thee?
Then, bless me, father," said the youth,
"For I, thy guest, am he."
Silent he gaz'd, 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.
"f
"In Scotland I've been nobly bred
Beneath the Regent's* hand,
In feats of arms, and every lore
To fit me for command.
"With fond impatience long I burn'd
My native land to see:
At length I won my guardian friend
To yield that boon to me.
"Then up and down in hunter's garb
I wander'd as in chase,
Till in the noble Neville's+ house
I gain'd a hunter's place.
"Some time with him I liv'd unknown,
Till I'd the hap so rare
To please this young and gentle dame,
That Baron's daughter fair.”
"Now, Percy," said the blushing maid,
"The truth I must reveal;
Souls great and generous, like to thine,
Their noble deeds conceal.
"It happen'd on a summer's day,
Led by the fragant breeze,
I wander'd forth to take the air
Among the green-wood 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.
* Robert Stuart, Duke of Albany. See the continuation
of Fordun's Scoti-Chronicon, cap. 18, cap. 23, &c.
+ Ralph Neville, first Earl of Westmoreland, who chiefly
resided at his two castles of Brancepeth, and Raby, both in
the Bishoprick of Durham.
THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH.
of
'My shrieks had all been spent in vain ;
But Heaven, 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."
"O happy day !" the youth replied:
"Blest were the wounds I bear!
From that fond hour she deign'd to smile,
And listen to my prayer.
"And when she knew my name and birth,
She vow'd to be my bride;
But oh! we fear'd (alas, the while!)
Her princely mother's pride:
"Sister of haughty Bolingbroke*,
Our house's ancient foe,
To me, I thought, a banish'd wight,
Could ne'er such favour shew.
"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 belowt."
A
FIT II.
LOVELY Smil'd the blushing morn,
And every storm was fled:
But lovelier far, with sweeter smile,
Fair Eleanor left her bed.
She found her Henry all alone,
And cheer'd him with her sight;
The youth consulting with his friend
Had watch'd the livelong night.
* Joan, Countess of Westmoreland, mother of the young
lady, was daughter of John of Gaunt, and half sister of King
Henry IV.
+ Adjoining to the cliff which contains the Chapel of the
Hermitage, are the remains of a small building, in which
the Hermit dwelt. This consisted of one lower apartment,
with a little bedchamber over it, and is now in ruins;
whereas the Chapel, cut in the solid rock, is still very intire
and perfect.
What sweet surprise o'erpower'd her breast!
Her cheek what blushes dyed,
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."
"O Henry, when thou deign'st to sue,
Can I thy suit withstand?
When thou, lov'd youth, hast won my heart,
Can I refuse my hand?
"For thee I left a father's smiles,
And mother's tender care;
And whether weal or woe betide,
Thy lot I mean to share."
“And wilt thou then, O generous maid!
Such matchless favour show,
To share with me, a banish'd wight,
My peril, pain, or woe?
"Now Heaven, I trust, hath joys in store
To crown thy constant breast:
For know, fond hope assures my heart
That we shall soon be blest.
"Not far from hence stands Coquet Isle *
Surrounded by the sea;
There dwells a holy friar, well known
To all thy friends and thee;
""Tis Father Bernard, so rever'd
For every worthy deed;
To Raby Castle he shall go,
And for us kindly plead.
"To fetch this good and holy man
Our reverend host is gone;
And soon, I trust, his pious hands
Will join us both in one."
Thus they in sweet and tender talk
The lingering hours beguile :
At length they see the hoary sage
Come from the neighbouring isle.
With pious joy and wonder mix'd
He greets the noble pair,
And glad consents to join their hands
With many a fervent prayer.
Then strait to Raby's distant walls
He kindly wends his way:
Meantime in love and dalliance sweet
They spend the livelong day.
And now, attended by their host,
The Hermitage they view'd,
Deep-hewn within a craggy cliff,
And overhung with wood.
285
*In the little island of Coquet, near Warkworth, are still
seen the ruins of a cell, which belonged to the Benedictine
monks of Tinemouth-Abbey.
286
THE HERMIT OF WARK WORTH.
And near a flight of shapely steps,
All cut with nicest skill,
And piercing through a stony arch,
Ran winding up the hill:
There deck'd with many a flower and herb
His little garden stands;
With fruitful trees in shady rows,
All planted by his hands.
Then, scoop'd within the solid rock,
Three sacred vaults he shows:
The chief, a chapel, neatly arch'd,
On branching columns rose.
Each proper ornament was there,
That should a chapel grace;
The lattice for confession fram'd,
And holy-water vase.
O'er either door a sacred text
Invites to godly fear;
And in a little scutcheon hung
The cross, and crown, and spear.
Up to the altar's ample breadth
Two easy steps ascend;
And near, a glimmering solemn light
Two well-wrought windows lend.
Beside the altar rose a tomb
All in the living stone;
On which a young and beauteous maid
In goodly sculpture shone.
A kneeling angel, fairly carv'd,
Lean'd hovering o'er her breast;
A weeping warrior at her feet;
And near to these her crest *
The clift, the vault, but chief the tomb
Attract the wondering pair :
Eager they ask," What hapless dame
Lies sculptur'd here so fair?"
The Hermit sigh'd, the Hermit wept,
For sorrow scarce could speak:
At length he wip'd the trickling tears
That all bedew'd his cheek.
"Alas! my children, human life
Is but a vale of woe;
And very mournful is the tale
Which ye so fain would know!"
THE HERMIT'S TALE.
YOUNG lord, thy grandsire had a friend
In days of youthful fame;
Yon distant hills were his domains,
Sir Bertram was his name.
Where'er the noble Percy fought,
His friend was at his side;
And many a skirmish with the Scots
Their early valour tried.
* 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.
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.
"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 ‡.
They sung how in the Conqueror's fleet
Lord William shipp'd his powers,
And gain'd a fair young Saxon bride
With all her lands and towers §.
* Widdrington Castle is about five miles south of Wark-
worth.
† See Dugdale's Baronetage, p. 269, &c.
In Lower Normandy are three p aces of the name of
Percy whence the family took the surname of De Percy.
William de Percy (fifth in descent from Galfred or
Geffery de Percy, son of Mainfred) assisted in the conquest
of England, and had given him the large possessions, in
Yorkshire, of Emma de Porte (so the Norinan writers
name her), whose father, a great Saxon lord, had been slain
fighting along with Harold. This young lady, Williamı
THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH.
Then journeying to the Holy Land,
There bravely fought and died;
But first the silver crescent won,
Some paynim Soldan's pride.
They sung how Agnes, beauteous heir,
The Queen's own brother wed,
Lord Josceline, sprung from Charlemagne,
In princely Brabant bred* ;
How he the Percy name reviv'd,
And how his noble line,
Still foremost in their country's cause,
With godlike ardour shine.
With loud acclaims the list'ning crowd
Applaud the master's song,
And deeds of arms and war became
The theme of every tongue.
Now high heroic acts they tell,
Their 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 :
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.
from a principle of honour and generosity, married: for
having had all her lands bestowed upon him by the Con-
queror, "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 crusade.
* Agnes de Percy, sole heiress of her house, married Jos-
celine de Louvaine, 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 seo the Magna Charta duly observed.
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 Sottish youths
Advance before the rest;
Lord Percy mark'd their gallant mien,
And thus his friend address'd :
"Now, Bertram, prove thy lady's helm,
Attack yon forward band;
Dead or alive I'll rescue thee,
Or perish by their hand.”
Young Bertram bow'd, with glad assent
And spurr'd his eager steed,
And calling on his lady's name,
Rush'd forth with whirlwind speed.
As when a grove of sapling oaks
The livid lightning rends;
So fiercely 'mid the opposing ranks
Sir Bertram's sword descends.
This way and that he drives the steel,
And keenly pierces through;
And many a tall and comely knight
With furious force he slew.
Now closing fast on every side,
They hem Sir Bertram round :
But dauntless he repels their rage,
And deals forth many a wound.
The vigour of his single arm
Had well nigh won the field;
When ponderous fell a Scottish axe,
And clave his lifted shield.
Another blow his temples took,
And reft his helm in twain;
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.
287
288
THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH.
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;
And she shall nurse thee in her bower,
And she shall be thy bride.”
Sir Bertram at her name reviv'd,
He bless'd the soothing sound;
Fond hope supplied the nurse's care,
And heal'd his ghastly wound.
FIT III.
ONE early morn, while dewy drops
Hung trembling on the tree,
Sir Bertram from his sick-bed rose;
His bride he would go see.
A brother he had in prime of youth,
Of courage firm and keen ;
And he would 'tend him on the way,
Because his wounds were green.
All day o'er moss and moor they rode,
By many a lonely tower;
And 'twas the dew-fall of the night
Ere they drew near her bower.
Most drear and dark the castle seem'd,
That wont to shine so bright;
And long and loud Sir Bertram call'd
Ere he beheld a light.
At length her aged nurse arose,
With voice so shrill and clear,-
"What wight is this, that calls so loud,
And knocks so boldly here?"
"'Tis Bertram calls, thy lady's love,
Come from his bed of care :
All day I've ridden o'er moor and moss
To see thy lady fair."
* Wark Castle, a fortress belonging to the English, and
of great note in ancient times, stood on the southern banks.
of the River Tweed, a little to the east of Tiviotdale, and
not far from Kelso. It is now entirely destroyed.
"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.
"For when she heard thy grievous chance,
She tore her hair, and cried,
Alas! I've slain the comeliest knight,
All through my folly and pride!
"And now to atone for my sad fault
And his dear health regain,
I'll go myself, and nurse my love,
And soothe his bed of pain.'
"Then mounted she her milk-white steed
One morn at break of day;
And two tall yeomen went with her,
To guard her on the way."
Sad terror smote Sir Bertram's heart,
And grief o'erwhelm'd his mind:
"Trust me" said he, "I ne'er will rest
Till 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 carle 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 grey,
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.
pa saja vagadja a
"All minstrels yet that e'er I saw
Are full of game and glee;
But thou art sad and woe-begone!
I marvel whence it be !"
THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH.
"Father, I serve an aged lord,
Whose grief afflicts my mind;
His only child is stolen away,
And fain I would her find."
"Cheer up, my son; perchance," he said,
"Some tidings I may bear:
For oft when human hopes have fail'd,
Then heavenly comfort's near.
"Behind yon hills so steep and high,
Down in a lowly glen,
There stands a castle fair and strong,
Far from the abode of men.
"As late I chanc'd to crave an alms,
About this evening hour,
Methought I heard a lady's voice
Lamenting in the tower.
“And when I ask'd what harm had happ'd,
What lady sick there lay?
They rudely drove me from the gate,
And bade me wend away."
These tidings caught Sir Bertram's ear,
He thank'd him for his tale
;
And soon he hasted o'er the hills,
And soon he reach'd the vale.
Then drawing near those lonely towers,
Which stood in dale so low,
And sitting down beside the gate,
His pipes he 'gan to blow.
"Sir Porter, is thy lord at home,
To hear a minstrel's song;
Or may I crave a lodging here,
Without offence or wrong?"
""
My lord," he said, "is not at home,
To hear a minstrel's song;
And, should I 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.
**
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.
Yet, minstrel, in von rising cliff
Thou'lt find a sheltering cave;
And here thou shalt my supper share,
And there thy lodging have."
All day he sits beside the gate,
And pipes both loud and clear:
All night he watches round the walls,
In hopes his love to hear.
}
The first night, as he silent watch'd
All at the midnight hour,
He plainly heard his lady's voice
Lamenting in the tower.
The second night, the moon shone clear,
And gilt the spangled dew;
He saw his lady through the grate,
But 'twas a transient view.
The third night, wearied out, he slept
'Till near the morning tide;
When, starting up, he seiz'd his sword,
And to the castle hied.
When, lo! he saw a ladder of ropes
Depending from the wall:
And o'er the moat was newly laid
A poplar strong and tall.
And soon he saw his love descend
Wrapt in a tartan plaid,
Assisted by a sturdy youth
In Highland garb y-clad.
Amaz'd, confounded at the sight,
He lay unseen and still;
And soon he saw them cross the stream,
And mount the neighbouring hill.
Unheard, unknown of all within,
The youthful couple fly;
But what can 'scape the lover's ken,
Or shun his piercing eye?
With silent step he follows close
Behind the flying pair,
And saw her hang upon his arm
With fond familiar air.
"
"Thanks, gentle youth," she often said;
My thanks thou well hast won :
For me what wiles hast thou contriv'd!
For me what dangers run!
And ever shall my grateful heart
Thy services repay:
""
Sir Bertram would no further hear,
But cried," Vile traitor, stay!
"Vile traitor! yield that lady up!"
And quick his sword he drew;
The stranger turn'd in sudden rage,
And at Sir Bertram flew.
With mortal hate their vigorous arms
Gave many a vengeful blow;
But Bertram's stronger hand prevail'd.
And laid the stranger low.
"Die, traitor, die !"-A deadly thrust
Attends each furious word.
Ah! then fair Isabel knew his voice,
And rush'd beneath his sword.
"O stop," she cried, "O stop thy arm!
Thou dost thy brother slay!"
And here the Hermit paus'd, and wept
Ilis tongue no more could say.
·
U
289
290
THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH.
•
At length he cried, "Ye lovely pair,
How shall I tell the rest?
Ere I could stop my piercing sword,
It fell, and stabb'd her breast."
"Wert thou thyself that hapless youth?
Ah! cruel fate!" they said.
The Hermit wept, and so did they :
They sigh'd; he hung his head.
"O blind and jealous rage," he cried,
"What evils from thee flow?"
The Hermit paus'd; they silent mourn'd:
He wept, and they were woe.
Ah! when I heard my brother's name,
And saw my lady bleed,
I rav'd, I wept, I curst my arm
That wrought the fatal deed.
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.
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 increas'd my pain,
Each night increas'd my fear!
When, wandering in this northern garb,
Thy brother found me here.
"He quickly form'd the brave design
To set me, captive, free ;
And on the moor his horses wait,
Tied to a neighbouring tree.
"Then haste, my love, escape away,
And for thyself provide ;
And sometimes fondly think on her
Who should have been thy bride."
Thus, pouring comfort on my soul,
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'd dear remains
To England were convey'd ;
And there within their silent tombs,
With holy rites, were laid.
For me, I loath'd my wretched life,
And long to end it thought;
Till time, and books, and holy men,
Had better counsels taught.
They rais'd my heart to that pure source
Whence heavenly comfort flows:
They taught me to despise the world,
And calmly bear its woes.
No more the slave of human pride,
Vain hope, and sordid care,
I meekly vow'd to spend my life
In penitence and prayer.
The bold Sir Bertram, now no more
Impetuous, haughty, wild;
But poor and humble Benedict,
Now lowly, patient, mild.
My lands I gave to feed the poor,
And sacred altars raise ;
And here, a lonely anchorite,
I came to end my days.
This sweet sequester'd vale I chose,
These rocks, and hanging grove ;
For oft beside that murmuring stream
My love was wont to rove.
My noble friend approv'd my choice;
This blest retreat he gave:
And here I carv'd her beauteous form,
And scoop'd this holy cave.
Full fifty winters, all forlorn,
My life I've linger'd here;
And daily o'er this sculptur'd saint
I drop the pensive tear.
* i.e. sword.
THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH.
And thou, dear brother of my heart!
So faithful and so true,
The sad remembrance of thy fate
Still makes my bosʊm rue!
Yet not unpitied pass'd my life,
Forsaken or forgot,
The Percy and his noble sons
Would grace my lowly cot;
Oft the great Earl, from toils of state
And cumbrous pomp of power,
Would gladly seek my little cell,
To spend the tranquil hour.
But length of life is length of woe!
I liv'd to mourn his fall :
I liv'd to mourn his godlike sons
And friends and followers all.
But thou the honours of thy race,
Lov'd youth, 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. Aña, 14:4,
[HE END,
291
The Scottish words are denoted by s., French by f., Latin by 1., Anglo-Saxon by a. s., Icelandic by 191., &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, hack
Abone, aboon, s. above
Aboven ous, above us
Abowght, about
Abraide, p. 44, col. 1, abroad
Abye, suffer, to pay for
Acton, a kind of armour made of
taffeta, or leather quilted, &c.,
worn under the habergeon, to
save the body from bruises, f.
Hocqueton
A deid of nicht, s. in dead of night
Advoutry, Advouterous, adultery,
adulterous
Aff, s. off
Afore, before
Aft, s. oft
Agayne, against
Agoe, gone
Ahte, ought
Aik, s. oak
Ain, Awin, s. own
Aith, s. oath
Alate, p. 27, col. 2, of late
Al, albeit, although
Alemaigne, f. Germany
Al gife, although
Alyes, probably corrupted for
algates, always
Ann, if
An, p. 21, col. 1, and
Ancient, a flag, banner
Ancyent, standard
GLOSSARY.
Arcir, p. 21, col. 1, archer
Argabushe, barquebusse, an old
fashioned kind of musket
Ase, as
Assinde, assigned
Assoyl'd, Assoyled, absolved
Astate, estate, also a great person
Astonied, astonished, stunned
Astound, Astonyed, stunned, asto-
nished, confounded
Ath, p. 2, col. 2, Athe, p. 3, col. 1,
o'th', of the
Attowre. s. out over, over and above
A Twyde, p. 2, col. 2, of Tweed
Auld, s. old
Aureat, golden
Austerne, p. 75, col. 1, stern,
austere
Avowe, p. 8, col. 1, vow
Avowe, vow
Avoyd, p. 54, col. 2, void, vacate
Awa', s. away
Axed, asked
Ayance, p. 73, col. 1, 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.
Ane, s. one, au, a
Angel, a gold coin worth 10s.
Ant, and
Bairne, s. child
Apliht, Al aplyht, quite com-
Bairn, s. child
plete
Bairded, s. bearded
Baith, s. Bathe, both
Aquoy, coy, shy
Aras, p. 2, col. 2, Arros, p. 3, col. Bule, evil, mischief, misery
1, arrows
Balow, s. a nursery term, hush,
lullaby, &c.
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 ont at. In some
places are cottage-houses, from the front
of which a very wide chimney projects
like a bow window: the fire is in a
grate like a malt-kiln grate, round
which the people sit: sometimes they
draw this grate into the middle of the
room.-Mr. Lambe.
B.
Ba', s. ball
Bacheleere, p. 12,col. 1, &c. knight
Baile, bale, p. 12, col. 1, p. 22,
col. 2, evil, hurt, mischief,
misery
Balysbete, p. 5, col. 2, Better our
bales, i. e. remedy our evils
Bane, bone
Ban, curse, Banning, cursing
Banderolles, streamers, little flags
Band, p. 13, col. 2, bond, covenant
Bar, bare
Bar-hed, bare-head, or perhaps
bared
Barne, p. 2, col. 2, Berne, p. 6,
col. 2, man, person
Base court, the lower court of &
castle
Basnete, Basnite, Basnyte, Basonet,
Bassonette, helmet
Buttes, heavy sticks, clubs
Baud, s. bold
Bauzen, s. Skinne, p. 80, col. 1,
perhaps sheep's leather dressed
and coloured red, f. Barane,
sheep's leather. In Scotland,
sheepskin mittens, with the wool
on the inside, are called bauson
mittens. Bauson also signifies
a badger, in old English, it may
therefore signify perhaps bad-
ger's skin
Bayard, a noted blind horse in the
old romances. The horse on
which the four sons of Aymon
rode is called Bayard Montal-
bon, by Skelton, in his "Phillip
Sparrow."
Bearing arrow, an arrow that
carries well. Or perhaps bear-
ing or birring, i. e. whirling
or whirring arrow, from isl.
Bir. ventus, or a. s.
Bene, fremitus
Bearn, Bairn, s. child, also human
creature
Be, s. by, Be that, by that time
Bed, bade
Bede, offer, engage
Bedeene, immediately
Bedight, bedecked
Bedone, wrought, made up
Bedyls, beadles
Befall, befallen
Befoir, s. before
Beforn, before
Begylde, p. 25, col 1, beguiled, de-
ceived
Beheard, beard
Behests, commands, injunctions
Behove, p. 47, col 1, behoof
Belive, immediately, presently
Belyfe, p. Belive, immediately, by
and by, shortly
Bende-bow, a bent bow, qu.
Bene, Bean, an expression of con-
tempt

294
GLOSSARY.
Ben, be, are
Ben, Bene, been
Ben, s. within the inner-room
"But o' honse," means the outer
part of the house, outer room, viz. that
part of the house into which you first
enter, suppose from the street.
"Ben
o' house," is the inner room, or more
retired part of the house. The daughter
did not lie out of doors. The cottagers
often desire their landlords to build
them a But and a Ben. (Vid. Gloss.)-
Mr. Lambe.
Ben, s. within doors
Of the Scottish words BEN and
BUT, BEN is from the Dutch BINNEN.
Lat. intra, intus, which is compounded
of the preposition BY or BE (the same
as By in English), and of IN.
Benison, blessing
Bent, s.long grass, also wild fields,
where bents, &c. grow
Bent, p. 2, col. 2, bents, p. 12
col. 1, (where bents, long coarse
grass, &c. grow) the field, fields
Benyngne, p. 26, col. 1, Benigne,
benign, kind
Beoth, be, are
Bernes, barns
Beere, s. bier
Bereth, (Introd.) beareth
Ber the prys, bare the prize
Berys, beareth
Beseeme, become
Beshrewme, a lesser form of impre-
cation
Beshradde, cut into shreds
Besmirche, to soil, discolour
Besprent, besprinkled
Beste, beest, art
Bested, abode
Bestis, beasts
Bestrawghted, p. 49, col. 2, dis-
tracted
Beth, be, are
Be that, p. 2, col. 2, by that time
Beete, did beat
Bet, better, bett, did beat
Beuraies, discovers, betrays
Bickarte, p. 2, col. 2, bicker'd,
skirmished
(It is also used sometimes in the
sense of, "swiftly coursed,"
which seems to be the sense,
p. 2, col. 2.—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., p. 74, col. 2, I have de-
livered a promise in writing,
confirmed by an oath.
Bi mi leautè, by my loyalty, honesty
Birk, s. birch-tree
Blan, Blanne, did blin, i. e. linger,
stop
Blane, p. 4, col. 1, Blanne, did
blin, i. e. linger, stop
Blare, to emblazon, display
Blaw, s. blow
Blee, complexion
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, p. 80, col. 1, beset with
bloom
Blude, Bluid red, blood, s. blood
red
Bluid, Bluidy, s. blood, bloody
Blyth, Blithe, s. sprightly, joyous
Blyth, s joy, sprightliness
Blyve, Belive, s. instantly
Boare, bare,
Bode, p. 25, col. 1, abode, stayed
Boist, Boisteris, s. boast, boasters
Bookesman, clerk, secretary
Bollys, bowls
Boltes, shafts, arrows
Bomen, p. 2, col. 2, bowman
Boon, favour, request, petition
Boone, a favour, request, petition
Bonny, Bonnie, s. comely
Bore, born
Borrowed, p. 9, col. 1, warranted,
pledged, was exchanged for
Borrowe, Borowe, pledge, surety
Borowe, p. 42, col. 2, 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, s. p, 13, col. 1, (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, Bowned, pre-
pared, got ready, the word is
also used in the north in the
sense of went or was going
Bowne, to dine p. 11, col. 2, going
to dine
Boume, is a common word in the
North for going, e. g. Where
are you bowne to, where are
you going
Bower Boure, any bowed or arched
room, a parlour, chamber, also
a dwelling in general
Boure, bower, habitation, cham-
ber, parlour, perhaps from isl.
Bowan, to dwell
Boure-woman, s. chamber-maid
Bowre-window, chamber-window
Bowendes, bounds
Bowne, ready
Bowne, 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
Brew, s. brave
Braifly, s. bravely
Brayd, s. arose, hastened
Brayd attowre the bent, s. hasted
over the field
Brayde, drew out, unsheathed
Breech, p. 80, col. 1, breeches
Breeden bale, breed mischief
Brede, breadth. So Chaucer
Bred banner, p. 7, col. 1, broad
banner
Brenand-drake, p. may perhaps be
the same as a fire-drake, or fiery
serpent, a meteor or fire-work
so called. Here it seems to
signify burning embers, or fire
brands
Breng, Bryng, bring
Brenn, s. burn
Breere, Brere, briar
Brether, brethren
Bridal (properly bride-all, the
nuptial feast
Brigue, Brigg, bridge
Brimme, public, universally known
a. s. Bryme, idem
Britled, carved, vid. Bryttlynge.
Gloss, vol. 1.
Broad-arrow, s. a broad forked
beaded arrow
Brooche, Brouche, 1st, a spit. 2dly,
a bodkin. 3dly, any ornamental
trinket. Stone buckles of silver
or gold, with which gentlemen
and ladies clasp their shirt-
bosoms and handkerchiefs, are
called in the north, brooches,
from the f. broche, a spit
Brouch, an ornamental trinket, a
stone buckle for a woman's
breast, &c. vid. Brooche. Glos.
vol. 3.
Brocht, s. brought
Brodinge, pricking
Brooke, p. 72, col. 2, bear, endure
Brooke, p. 4, col. 2, enjoy
Brouk her with winne, enjoy he.
with pleasure, a.s. brok
Browd, broad
Brozt, brought
Bryttiynge, p. 2, col. 2, Brytlyng,
p. 2, col. 2, cutting up, quarter-
ing, carving
Buen, Bueth, been, be, are
Bugle, bugle-horn, a hunting-horn,
being the horn of a bugle, or
wild bull
Buik, s. book
Burgens buds, young shoots
Burn, Bourn, brook
Bushment, ambushment, ambush,
snare to bring them into
trouble
a
Busket, Buskt, dressed
Busk ye, s. dress ye
Busk, dress, deck
Busk and boun, p. 31, col. 2, i. e.
make yourselves ready and go;
Boun, to go. (north country.)
Buskt them, p. 25, col. 2, prepared
themselves, made themselves
ready
Bute, s. boot, advantage, good
But if, unless
But without, But let, without hin-
drance
But, s. without, out of doors
BUT, or BUTT, is from the Dutch
BUYTEN. Lat. extra, præter, præter-
quam, which is compounded of the
same preposition, BY or BE, and of
UYT, the same as our in English.
Butt, s. out, the outer room,
Buttes, butts to shoot at
Bydys, Bides, abides
Byears, Beeres, biers
tre
Bye, buy, pay for, also A-bye,
suffer for
1
Byll, Bill, an ancient kind of hal-
bert, or battle-axe, p. 2, col. 2.
Byn, Bine, Bin, been, be, are
Byrche, birch-trees, birch-wood
Byre s. cow-house
Byste, beest, art
By thre, p 40, col. 2, of three
C
Cadgily, s. merrily, cheerfully
Caitiff, a slave
Calde, callyd, p. 3, col. 1, called
Callver, a kind of musket
Camscho, s. stern, grim
Canna, s. cannot
Can cane, p. 7, col. 2, p. 8; Gan,
began to cry
Can curtesye, know, understand
good manners
Can, Gan, began
Cannes, wooden-cups, bowls
Cantabanqui, ital. ballad-singers,
singers on benches
Cantles, pieces, corners
Canty, s. cheerful, chatty
Capul, a poor horse
Capull hyde, p. 23, col. 2, horse-
hide
Care-bed, bed of care
Carle, churl, clown. It is also
used in the north for a strong
hale old man
Carline, s. the feminine of carle
Carpe, to speak, recite, also to
censure
Carping, reciting
Carpe of care, p. 4, col. 2, com-
plain through care
Cailish, churlish, discourteous
GLOSSARY.
Cast, p. 3, col. 1, mean, intend
Cau, s. call
Cauld, s. cold
Cawte, vid. Kawte
Caytiffe, caitiff, slave, despicable
wretch
Certes, certainly
Cetywall, p. 79, col. 2, Setiwall,
the herb Valerian: also, moun-
tain spikenard. See Gerard's
Herbal
Chanteclere, the cock
Chap, knock
Chayme, chain
Chays, chase
Check, to stop
Check, to rate at
Che, (Somerset dialect), I
Cheefe, the upper part of the
scutcheon in heraldry
Cheis, s. choose
Chevaliers, f. knights
Chill, (Som. dial.) I will
Child, p. 28, knight, children, p.
12, col. 2, knights.
Chield, s. is a slight or familiar
way of speaking of a person,
like our English word fellow.
The Chield, i. e. the fellow
Chould, (ditto) I would
Christentie, Christendom
Christentye, Chrystiante, Christen-
dom
Church-ale, a wake, a feast in com-
memoration of the dedication of
a church
Churl, clown, a person of low
birth, a villain
Chyf, Chyfe, chief
Chylder, children, children's
Chylded, brought forth, was deli-
vered
Claiths, s. clothes
Clattered, beat so as to rattle
Clawde, clawed, tore, scratched;
p. 47, col. 1, figuratively beat
Clead, s. clothed
Cleading, s. clothing
Cled, s. clad, clothed
Clenking, clinking, jingling
Clepe, call
Cleaped, Cleped, called, named
Clerke, scholar
Clerks,clergymen, literati, scholars
Cliding, s. clothing
Clim, the contraction of Clement
Clough, a north-country word for
a broken cliff
Clowch, clutch, grasp
Coate, cot, cottage
Cockers, p. 80, col. 1, a sort of
buskins or short boots fastened
with laces or buttons, and often
worn by farmers or shepherds.
In Scotland they are called Cu-
tikins, from Cute, the ankle.
Cokers, fishermen's boots."
(Littleton's Diction.)
Cohorted, incited, exhorted
Cokeney, seems to be a dimi-
(
295
nutive for cook, from the Latin
coquinator, or coquinarius. The
meaning seems to be that
"every five and five had a cook
or scullion to attend them.'
Chaucer's Cant. Tales, 8vo. vol.
iv. p. 253.
"}}
Collayne, p. 8, col. 1, Cologne
steel
Cold rost, (a phrase), nothing to
the purpose
Cold, could, knew
Coleyne, Cologne stcel
Com, came
Comen, Commyn, come
Confetered, confederated, entered
into a confederacy
Con, can, gan, began. Item. Con-
springe, (a phrase), sprung,
Con fare, went, passed
Con thanks, give thanks
Cop head, the top of anything, sax.
Cordiwin, p.80, col 1, cordwayne,
properly Spanish or Cordovan
leather; here it signifies a more
vulgar sort
Corsiare, p. 4, col. 1, courser steed
Cost, coast side
Coote, coat
Cote, cot, cottage. Item, coat
Cotydyallye, daily, every day
Coulde, cold. Item, could
Could be, p. 75, col. 2, was. Coul
dye, p. 8. col. 2, died (a phrase)
Could bear, a phrase for bare
Could creip, s. crept. Could say,
said
Could weip, s. wept
Could his good,knew what was good
for him. Or perhaps could live
upon his own
Countie, p. 78, col. 2, count, earl
Coupe, a pen for poultry
Couthen, knew
Couth, could
Covetise, covetousness
Coyntrie, p. 80, col. 1, Coventry
Cramasie, s. crimson
Crancky, merry, sprightly, ex-
ulting
Cranion, skull
Credence, belief
Crevis, crevice, chink
Cricke, s. properly an ant, but
means probably any small insect
Crinkle, run in and out, run into
flexures, wrinkle
Cristes cors, p. 3, col. 1, Christ's
curse
Croft, an inclosure near a house
Croiz, cross
Crook my knee, make lame my
knee. They say in the north,
"the horse is crookit," i. e
lame. "The horse crooks," i. e
goes lame
Crook, twist, wrinkle, distort
Crowch, crutch
Crouneth, crown ye
Crout, to pucker up
296
GLOSSARY.
Crumpling, crooked; or perhaps
with crooked knotty horns
Cryance, belief, f. Creance [whence
recreant]. But in p. 12, col. 1,
&c., it seems to signify fear, f.
Crainte
Cule, s. cool
Cum, s. come, p. 3, col. 2, came
Cummer, s. gossip, friend, f.
Commire, Compere
Cure, care, heed, regard
D.
Dale, s. deal, Bot give I dale, unless
I deal
Dampned, damned
Dampned, p. 42, col. 1, con-
demned
Dan, an ancient title of respect,
from Lat. Dominus
Dank, moist, damp
Danske, Denmark, query
Darr'd, s. hit
Darh, perhaps for Thar, there
Dart the trie, s. hit the tree
Daukin, diminutive of David
Daunger hault, coyness holdeth
Dawes (introd.), days
Dealan, deland, s. dealing
Deare day, charming pleasant
day
Deas, Deis, the high table in a hall,
from f. Dais, a canopy
Dee, s. die
De, dey, dy, p. 3, col. 1, 3, col.
2, 4, col. 2, die
Dede is do, deed is done
Deed (introd.) dead
Deid, s. Dede, deed. Item, dead
Deid-bell, s. passing-bell
Dell, deal, part, p. 27, col. 2,
Every 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, &c.;
thus, in the Isle of Man, judges
are called deemsters
Denay, deny (rhythmi gratia)
Dent, a dint, blow
Deimt, s. deem'd, esteem'd
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
Dern, s. secret, I dern in secret
Descreeve, describe
Descrye, Descrive, describe
Devyz, devise, the act of bequeath-
ing by will
Dight, decked, put on
Dight-dicht, s. decked, dressed,
prepared, fitted out, done
Dill, p. 11, col. 2, dole, grief, pain.
Dill I drye, p. 12, col. 1, pain
I suffer. Dill was dight, p. 11.
col. 2, grief was upon him.
Dill, still, calm, mitigate
Din, Dinne, noise, bustle
Ding, knock, beat
Dint, stroke, blow
Discust, discussed
Disna, s. does not
Dis, p. 21, col. 1, this
Distrere, the horse rode by a knight
in the tournament
Dites, ditties
Dochter, s. daughter
Dois, s. Doys, does
Dole, grief
Dol. See Deol, Dule
Dolours, dolorous, mournful
Dolefuldumps, pp. 49, col. 2, 69,
col. 2, sorrowful gloom, or
heaviness of heart
down
Don, p
Dosend, s. dosing, drowsy, torpid,
benumbed, &c.
Doth, Dothe, doeth, do
Doubt, fear
Doublet, a man's inner garment,
waistcoat
Doubteous, doubtful
Doughetie, i. e. doughty man
Doughte, Doughete, Doughetie,
Dowghtye, doughty, formidable
Doughtiness of dent, sturdiness of
blows
Dounae, s. p. 11, col. 2, 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
Drake. See Brenand Drake
Drap, s. drop
Drapping, s. dropping
Dre, p. 4. col. 1, Drie, p. 31, col.
1, suffer
Dreid, s. Dreede, Drede, dread
Dreips, s. drips, drops
Dreiry, s. dreary
Drie, s. suffer
Drouyers, drovers, p. 67, col. 2,
such as drive herds of cattle,
deer, &c.
Drowe, drew
Drye, p. 8, col. 2, suffer
Dryghnes, dryness
Dryng, drink
Dryvars, p. 2, col. 2, drovers
Duble dyse, double (false) dice.
Dude, did. Dudest, didst
Dughtie, doughty
Dule, s. Duel, Dol, Dole, grief
Dwellan, Dwelland, s. dwelling
Dyan, Dyand, s. dying
Dyce, s. dice, chequer-work
Dyd, Dyde, did
Dyght, p. 4, col. 1, dight, p. 14,
col. 2, dressed, put on, put
Dyht, to dispose, order
Dyne, s. dinner
Dynte, dint, blow, stroke
Dysgysynge, disguising, masking
Dyrt, vid. Dight
E.
Fame, Eme, p. 7, col. 2, uncle
Eard, s. earth
Earn, s. to curdle, make cheese
Eathe, easy
Eather, s. either
Ech, Eche, Eiche, Elke, each
Ee, s. Eie, eye, Een, Eyne, eyes
Ee, even, evening
Effund, pour
forth
Eftsoon, in a short time
Eiked, s. added, enlarged
Ein, s. even
Eir, Evir, s. e'er, ever
Eke, also; Eike, each
Eldern, s. elder
Eldridge, Scotice, Elriche, Elritch,
Elriche; wild, hideous, ghostly.
Item, louesome, uninhabited,
except by spectres, &c. Gloss.
to A. Ramsay, Elritcht, laugh.
Gen. Shep. a. 5.
In the ballad of Sir Cawline, we
have "Eldridge Hill," p. 12, col. 1.
Eldridge Knight, p. 12, col. 1, p. 14,
col. 1. Eldridge Sword, p. 13, col. 1.
So Gawin Douglas calls the Cyclops,
the "Elriche Brethir," i. e. brethren;
and in his 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
Ellumynge, p. 26, col. 1, embel-
lishing. To illumine a book
was to ornament it with paint-
ings in miniature
Ellyconys, s. Helicons
Elvish, peevish, fantastical
Eme, kinsman, uncle
Endyed, dyed
Ene, s. Eyn, eyes, Ene, s. even
Enharpid, &c. p. 26, col. 1, hooked,
or edged with mortal dread
Enkankered, cankered
Enouch, s. enough
Ensue, follow
Entendement, f. understanding
Ententifly, to the intent, purposely
Envie, Envye, malice, ill-will, in-
jury
Er, Ere, before, are, Ere, ear
Frst, s. heretofore
Etermynable, p. 26, col. 2, inter-
minable, unlimited
Ettled, aimed
Evanished, s. vanished
Everiche, every, each
Everychome, every one
Everych, one, every one
Ewbughts, or Ewe-boughts, s. are
small inclosures, 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
Ezar, azure
Fach, Feche, fetch
Fader, Fatheris, s. father, fathers
Fadge, s. a thick loaf of bread,
figuratively, any coarse heap of
stuff
Fa, s. fall
Fa's s. thou fallest
Fain, Fayne, glad, fond
Faine, Fayne, feign
Faine of fighte, fond of fighting
Fair of feir, s. of a fair and health-
ful look. (Ramsay) perhaps,
far off (free from) fear
Fallan, Falland, s. falling
Falds, s. thou foldest
Fals, false. Item, falleth
Falser, a deceiver, hypocrite
Falsing, dealing in falshood
Fannes, instruments for winnow-
ing corn
Fang, seize carry off
Farden, p. 14, col.1, fared, flashed
Fare, go, pass, travel
Fare, the price of a passage, shot,
reckoning
Farley, wonder
Faulcone, faulcon
Fuyere, p. 7, col. 1, fair
Faytors, deceivers, dissemblers,
cheats
Feare, Fere, Feire, mate
Feat, nice, neat
Featously, neatly, dexterously
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 p. 26, col.
2, in fee, i. e. in feudal service,
1. feudum, &c.-Blount.
Feil, s. Fele, many. So Har-
dinge has Lords fele, i. e. many
Lords
GLOSSARY.
Feir, s. Fre, fear
Feiau, Feloy, fellow
Fele, Fell, furious, skin
Fend, defend
Fendys pray, &c. p. 26, col. 2, 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
Ferliet, s. wondered
Ferly, wonder, also wonderful
Fersly, fiercely
Feztyng, fighting
Fesante, pheasant
Fette, fetched
Fetteled, prepared, addressed, made
ready
Fet, fetched
Feys, s. predestinated to death, or
some misfortune; under a fatality
Fie, s. beasts, cattle
Fillan, Filland, s. filling
Filde, field
Finaunce, p. 26, col. 2, fine, for-
feiture
Find frost, find mischance or dis-
aster. A phrase still in use
Firth, Frith, s. a wood. It., an arm
of the sea, 1. fretum
Fitt, division, part.
Fitts, i. e. "divisions or parts in
music," are alluded to in Troilus and
Cressida, A. iii, sc. 1. See Mr Stee-
vens's note. So in Shakspear's King
Henry V. (A. 3, sc. 8,) the king says
"My army's but a weak and sickly
guard,
Yet God before, tell him we will come
on."
Fiveteen, fifteen
Flayne, flayed
Fles, p. fleece
|
Fuuzt, faucht, s. fought. It., fight Fleyke, 134, a large kind of hur-
Fawn, s. fallen
Fay, s. faith
dle. Cows are frequently
milked in hovels made of fleykes
Flindars, s. pieces, splinters
Flowan, s. flowing
Flyte, to contend with words, scold
Foo, p. 9, col. 1, foes
Fond, contrive, also endeavour, fly
Fonde, found
Forbode, commandment, p. 46, col
2, 6 ver. God forbode, [Proter
Dei preceptum sit.] q. d. God
forbid
Fit, p. 3, col. 1, Fyt, p. 42, col. 2,
Fytte, p. 21, col. 2, part or di-
vision of a song. Hence in p.
18, col. 2, fytt, is a strain of
music
Fit, s. foot
Fit, s. feet
Force, no force, no matter
Forced, regarded, heeded
Foregoe, quit, give up, resign
Forewearied, much wearied
Forfend, prevent, defend
Forfend, avert, hinder
For-fought, overfought
Formare, former
For, on account of
Forsede, p. 25, col. 2, regarded
heeded
Fors, I do no fors, I don't care
Forst, heeded, regarded
Forst, forced, compelled
Forsters of the fe, p. 45, col. 2,
foresters of the king's demesnes
Fort, drunk
Forthy, therefore
Forthynketh, p. 45, col. 2, repent-
eth, vexeth, troubleth
Fou, Fow, s. full, also fuddled
Fou, Fow, s. full. Item, drunk
Fowarde, Vawarde, the van
Forwatcht, overwatched,
awake
Frae, s. fro, from
Frae they begin, from their be-
ginning, from the time they
begin
297
kept
Freake, Freke, Freyke, man, person,
human creature, also a whim or
maggot
Ereake, Freke, Freyke, man, human
creature
Fre-bore, p. 21, col. 2, free-born
Freekys, p. 3, col. 2, persons
Freits, s. ill omens, ill luck, any
old superstitious saw, or im-
pression, p. 31. col. 2
An ingenious correspondent in the
North thinks Freit is not an unlucky
omen, but, "that thing which terrifies,'
viz. Terrors will pursue them that look
after frightful things. Fright is pro-
nounced by the common people in the
North Freet, p. 31, col. 2.
Freere, Fere, mate, companion
Free Fryars, friars, monks
Freyke, humour, indulge, freak-
ishly, capriciously
Freyned, asked
Fowkin, a cant word for a fart
Fyers, (intro.) fierce
Fykkill, fickle
Frie s. Fre, free
Fruward, forward
Furth, forth
Fuyson foyson, plenty, also sub-
stance
Fyll, p. 25, col. 1, fell
Fyled, fyling, defiled, defiling
Fyr, fire
""
G
Gaberlunzie, Gaberlunye, s. a wallet
Gaberlunzie-man, s. a wallet-man,
i. e. tinker, beggar
Gadlings, gadders, idle fellows
Gadryng, gathering
Gae, s. gave
Gae, Gaes, s. go, goes
Gaed, Gade, s. went
Ga, Gais, s. go, goes
Gair, s. geer, dress
Galliard, a sprightly kind of dance
Gamon, p. 12, col. 2, to make
game, to sport, a. s. Camenian,
jocari. Hence backgammon
Gane, Gan, began
Gane, s. gone
Gang, s. go

GLOSSARY.
Ganyde, p. 3, col. 2, gained
Garde, Garred, made
Gare, Gar, s. make, cause, force,
compel
Gargeyld, p. 27, col. 1, from Gar-
gouille, f. the spout of a gutter.
The tower was adorned with
spouts cut in the figures of
greyhounds, lions, &c.
Gar, s. to make, cause, &c.
Garland, p. 23, col. 1, the ring
within which the prick or mark
was set to be shot at
Gart, Garred, s. made
Gayed, made gay (their clothes)
Gear, Geire, Geir, Gair, s. goods,
effects, stuff
Gederede ys host, gathered his
host
Gef, Geve, give
Geid, s. gave
Geere will sway, this matter will
turn out, affair terminate.
Gerte, (intro.) pierced
Gest, act, feat, story, history, (it
is jest in MS.)
Getinge, what he had got, his
plunder, booty
Geve, Gevend, give, given
Gibed, jeered
Gie, Gien, s. give, given
Giff. if
Gife, Giff, if
Gi, Gie, s. give
Gillore, (Irish) plenty
Gimp, Jimp, s. neat, slender
Gin, s. an,
if
Gin, Gyn, engine, contrivance
Gins, begins
Gip, an interjection of contempt
Girt, s. pierced, Thorough-girt
pierced through
Give oure, s. surrender
Give, Gif, Giff, if
Glaive, f. sword
Glede, p. 2, col. 2, a red-hot coal
Glee, merriment, joy
Glen, s. a narrow valley
Glente, glanced, slipt
Glie, s. glee, merriment, joy
Glist, s. glistered
Glose, p. 25, col. 1, set a false
gloss or colour
Glowr, s. stare, or frown
Gloze, canting dissimulation, fair
outside
Goddes, p. 26, col. 1, goddess
Gode, (intro.) good
Good, p. sc. a good deal
Good-e'ens, good e'enings
Gode, Godness, good, goodness
God before, i. e. God be thy guide,
a form of blessing
Goggling eyen, goggle eyes
Gone, (intro.) go.
Gorget, the dress of the neck
Gowan, s. the common yellow
crow-foot, or goldcup
Gowd, s. Gould, gold
Graine, scarlet
Graithed gouden, s. was caparison-
ed with gold
Gramercye, i. e. I thank you,
Grand-mercie
f.
Graunge, p. 77, col. 1, granary, also
a lone country house
Graythed, s. decked, put on
Grea-hondes, grey-hounds
Greece, p. 44, col. 2, fat, (a fat
hart) from f. graisse
Grece, a step, p, 27, col. 2, a flight
of steps, Grees
Gree, s. prize, a victory
Greened, grew gieen
Grennyng, p. 19, col. 2, grinning
Greet, s. weep
Gret, great, grieved, swoln, ready
to burst
Gret, Grat, great
Greves, Groves, bushes
Groomes, attendants, servants
Groundwa, groundwall
Growende, Growund, ground
Grownes, grounds, (rythmi gratia.
Vid. Sowne)
Growte, in Nothamptonshire is a
kind of small beer extracted
from the malt after the strength
has been drawn off. In Devon
it is a kind of sweet ale medi-
cated with eggs, said to be a
Danish liquor.
Growte is a kind of fare much used
by Danish sailors, being boiled groats,
(i. e. hulled oats) or else shelled barley,
served up very thick, and butter added
to it. (Mr. Lambe).
Grippel, griping, tenacious, mi-
serly
Grype, a griffin
Grysely groned, p. 8, col. 2, dread-
fully groaned
Gude, Guid, Geud, s, good
Guerdon, reward
Gule, red
Gybe, jest, joke
Gyle, guile
Gyles, guiles
Gyn, engine, contrivance
Gyrd, girded, lashed
Gyse, s. guise, form, fashion
H
Habbe ase he brew, have as he
brews
Habergeon, f. a lesser coat of mail
Hable, p. 25, col. 1, able
Haggis, a sheep's stomach stuffed
with a pudding made of mince-
meat, &c.
Ha, Hae, s. have. Item, hall
Ha, s. hall
Ha, have. Ha, s. hall
Hail, Hale, s. whole, altogether
Halched, Halsed, saluted, embra-
ced, fell on his neck, from halse,
the neck, throat
į
Halesome, wholesome, healthy
Halt, holdeth
i
Hame, Hamward, home, home-
ward
C
Handbow, p. 47, col. 2, the long-
bow, or common bow, as dis-
tinguished from the cross-bow
Han, have, 3 pers. plur.
Hare swerdes, their swords
Haried, harried, haryed, harowed,
pp. 6, col. 2, 43, col. 1, robbed,
pillaged, plundered. He har-
ried a bird's nest."-Scot.
Harrowed, harrassed, disturbed
Hurlocke, p. 79, col. 2, perhaps
charlocke, or wild rape, which
bears a yellow flower, and
grows among corn, &c.
Harnisine, harness, armour
Hartly lust, p. 26, col. 1. hearty
desire
Hurwos, harrows
Hastarddis, p. 25, col. 1, perhaps
hasty rash fellows, or upstarts,
qu.
Hauld, s. to hold. Item, hold,
strong, bold
Hauss-bane, s. the neck-bone,
(halse-bone) a phrase for the
neck
Haves, (of) effects, substance,
riches
Hav, bave
Haviour, behaviour
Hawberk, a coat of mail consisting
of iron rings, &c.
Hawkin, synonymous to Hulkin,
dimin. of Harry.
Hayll, advantage, profit, (p. 7,
col. 1, for the profit of all Eng-
land,) a. s. Hæl, salus
Heal, p. 3, col. 2, hail
Heare, here, hair
Hear, p. 3, col. 2, here
Heathenness, the heathen part of
the world
Hech, hatch, small door
Hecht to lay thee law, s. promised
engaged to lay thee low
Hede, Hied, he'd, he would,
heed
Hed, Hede, head
Hee's, s. he shall, also he has
He, p. 2, col. 2, Hee, p. 7, col. 1,
Hye, high
He, Hie, hasten
He, p. 44, col. 2, Hye, to hie or
hasten
Heicht, s. height
Heiding-hill, s. the 'heading (i. e.
beheading) hill. The place of
execution was anciently an arti-
ficial hillock
Heil, s. hell, health
Heir, s. here, p. 3, col. 1, hear
Helen, heal
Helpeth, help ye
Hem, Em, them
Henne, hence
Hen, kind, gentle
Hente, (intro.) help, pulled
Hent, Hente, held, laid hold of,
also received
Heo, (intro.) they
Heere, p. 24, col. 1, hear
Here, their, hear, hair
Her, hare, their
Herkneth, bearken ye
Hert, Hertis, heart, hearts
Hes. s. has
Hest, hast
Fest, p. 12, col. 2, command, in-
junction
Hett, Hight, bid, call, command
Het, hot
Hether, hither
Hether, s. heath, a low shrub that
grows upon the moors, &c. so
luxuriantly as to 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, Hevedest, had, hadst
Heneriche, Hevenrich, heavenly
Hewkes, heralds' coats
Hewyne in to, hewn in two
Hewyng, Hewinge, hewing, hack-
ing
Hey-day guise, frolick, sportive
frolicksome manner
This word is perhaps corruptly
given, being apparently the same with
HEYDEGUIES, or HEYDEGUIVES, which
occurs in Spenser, and means a "wild
frolick dance.”—Johnson's Dictionary.
Heund, Hend, gentle, obliging
Heyre, high, Heyd, s. hied
Hicht, A-hicht, s. on height
Hie dames to wail, s. high (or
great) ladies to wail, or, has-
ten, ladies, to wail, &c.
Hie, Hye, He, Hee, high
Hight, p. 13, col. 1, p. 3, col. 2,
engage, engaged, promised,
p. 40, col. 1, named, called
Hi, Hie, p. 21, col. 1, he
Hillys, hills
Hilt, taken off, flayed, Sax. hylden
Hinch-boys, Hench, properly
haunch-men, pages of honour,
pages attending on persons of
office
Hind, s. behind
Hinde, Hend, gentle
Hings, s. hangs
Hinny, s. honey
Hip, Hep, the berry which con-
tains the stones or seeds of the
dog-rose
Hir, Hir lane, s. her, herself alone
Hirsel, s. herself
Hit, p. 3, col. 2, it
Hit, it, Hit be write, it be written
Hode, hood, cap
Hoo, ho, p. 6, col. 1, an interjection
of stopping or desisting, hence
stoppage
Hollen, probably a corruption for
holly
Holden, hold
GLOSSARY.
Hole, whole. Holl, idem
Hooly, s. slowly
Holtes, woods, groves, p. 7, col. 1,
in Norfolk a plantation of
cherry trees, is called a "cherry
holt," also sometimes "hills."
Holtes seems evidently to signify
hills in the following passage from Tu-
berville's "Songs and Sonnets," 12mo,
1567, fol. 56.
"Yee that frequent the hilles,
And highest HOLTES of all,
Assist me with your skilful quilles,
And listen when I call."
As also in this other verse of an ancient
poet,
"Underneath the HOLTES so hoar."
Holtis hair, s. hoar hills
Holy-roode, holy cross
Holy, p. 26, col. 1, wholly, or per-
haps hole, whole
Hom, Hem, them
Honden wrynge, hands wring
Hondridth, Ilondred, hundred
Hone, hand
Honge, hang, hung
Hontyng, hunting
Hop-halt, limping, hopping, and
balting
Hose, stockings
Hount, hunt
Houzle, give the sacrament
Hoved, p. 27, col. 1, heaved, or
perhaps hovered (p. 7, col. 1,)
hung moving, (Gl. Chauc.)
Hoved or hoven means in the
North swelled. But Mr.
Lambe thinks it is the same as
houd, still used in the North,
and applied to any light sub-
stance heaving to and from an
undulating surface. The vowel
u is often used there for the
consonant v
Howeres, Howers, hours
Huerte, heart
Huggle, hug, clasp
Hye, Hyest, high, highest
Hyghte, p. 8, col. 1, on high,
aloud
Hyp-halt, lame in the hip
Hyndattoure, s. behind, over, or
about
Hys, his, also is
Hyt, (intro.) it
Hyznes, highness
I
Ich, I, Ich biqueth, I bequeath
Iclipped, called
Iff, if
I fere, to gather
I'feth, in faith
Ilfardly, s. ill-favoured, uglily
Ild, I'd, I would
Ile, I'll, I will
Ilka, s. each, every one
Ilke, every Ilk, every one
Ilk, This Ilk, s. this same
Ilk one, each one
I-lore, lost, I-strike, stricken
Im, p. 21, col. 1, him
Impe, a little demon
In fere, I fere, to gather
Ingle, s. fire
Inowe, enough.
Into, s. in
Intres, p. 27, col. 2, entrance, ad-
mittance
Io forth, corruptly printed so,
should probably be loo, i. e.
halloo
Ireful, angry, furious
Ise, I shall
lɛ, p. 21, col. 1, is, his
I trowe, (I believe) verily
Its neir, s. it shall ne'er
1-tuned, tuned
I-ween, (I think) verily
I wisse, (I know) verily
I wot, (I know) verily
I
wys, I wis, (I know) verily
lye, eye
Junglers, talkative persons, tell-
tales, also wranglers
Jenkin, diminutive of John
Jimp, s, slender
Jogelers, p. 35, col. 1, jugglers
Jo, s. sweet-heart, friend. Jo is
properly the contraction of joy,
so rejoice is written rejoce in
old Scottish MSS. particularly
Banatyne's passim
Jow, s. joll or jowl
Jupe, s. an upper garment, fr. a
petticoat
K
Kall, p. 26, col. 2, call
Kame, s. comb
Kameing, s. combing
Kan, p. 25, col. 2. can
Kantle-piece, corner
Karls, carls, churls, Karlis of kynd,
p. 25, col. 1, churls by nature
Kauk, s. chalk
Kauled, p. 21, col. 1, called
Kawle and keene, p. 7, col. 2, cau-
tious and active. 1. cautus
Keipand, s. keeping
Keel, s. raddle
Kempes, soldiers, warriors
Kemperye-man, p. 18, col. 2, sol-
dier, warrior, fighting-man
"Germanis camp. exercitum, aut lo-
cum ubi exercitus castrametatur, signifi-
cat: inde ipsis vir Castrensis, et mili-
taris kemffer, et kempher, et kemper, et
kimber, et kamper,prò varietate dialecto-
rum, vocatur. Vocabulum hoc nostro
sermone nondum penitus exolevit:
Norfolcienses enim plebeio, et proleta-
rio sermone dicunt.” He is a kemper
old man, i. e. "Senex vegetus est.'
"Hinc Cimbris suum nomen; "Kimber
enum homo bellicosus pugil, robustus
miles, &c., significat." Sheringham de
Anglor. gentis orig. pag. 57. Rectius au
tem Lazius [apud eundem, p. 49]. "C'im
bros a bello quod kamff, et Saxonice
kamp, nuncupatos crediderim, unde
bellatores viri die kempffer, die kemper.”
Kempt, combed
Kems, s. combs
Kend, s. knew
1

300
GLOSSARY.
Ken, Kenst, know, knowest
Kene, keen
Keepe, p. 80, col. 2, care,
heed.
So in the old play of Hick
Scorner (in the last leaf but
one), "I keepe not to clymbe
so hye," i. e. I study not, care
not, &c.
|
Kepers, &c., p. 47, col. 2, those
that watch by the corpse shall
tye up my winding-sheet
Kever-chefes, handkerchiefs, (vid.
introd.)
Kid, Kyd, Kithe, made known,
shown
Kilted, s. tucked up
Kind, Kinde, nature, p. to carp is
our kind, it is natural for us to
talk of
Kirk, s. church
Kirk-wa, s. p. church wall, or per-
haps church-yard-wall
Kirm, s. churn
Kirtle, a petticoat, woman's gown
Kists, s. chests
Kit, p. 26, col. 1, cut
Kith and kin, acquaintance and
kindred
Kithe or Kin, acquaintance nor
kindred
Knave, p. 23, col. 2, servant
Knellan, Knelland, s. knelling,
ringing the knell
Knicht, s. knight
Knights fee, such a portion of land
as required the possessor to
serve with man and horse
Knowles, Knolls, little hills
Knyled, knelt
Kowarde, coward
Kowe, cow
Kurteis, p. 26, col. 1, courteous
Kuntrey, p. 26, col. 1, countrey
Kythe, appear, also make appear,
shew, declare
Kythed, s. appeared
Kyrtell, vid. Kirtle. In the introd.
it signifies a man's under gar-
ment
Bale, in his Actes of English Votaries,
(2nd part, fol. 53), uses the word KYR-
TLE to signify a Monk's Frock. He
says Roger Earl of Shrewsbury, when
he was dying, sent "to Clunyake, in
France, for the KYRTLE of Hugh the
Abbot there," &c.
Kye, Kine, cows
L.
Lacke, want
I aide unto her, imputed to her
Laith, s. loth
Laithly, s. loathsome, hideous
Lambs-wool, a cant phrase for ale
and roasted apples, p.
Lane, Lain, s. lone. Her lane,
alone by herself
Largesse, f. gift, liberality
Lasse, less
Lauch, lauched, s. laugh, laughed
Launde, p. 44, col. 2, lawn
Layden, laid
Laye, p. 12, col. 2, law
Lay-land, p. 12, col. 2, land that
is not plowed, green-sward
Lay-lands, p. 14, col. 1, lands in
general
Layne, lain. Vid. Leane
Layne, lien, also laid
Leal, Leil, s. loyal, honest, true,
f. loyal
Leane, p. 8, col. 1, conceal, hide.
Item, lye, (query)
Leanyde, leaned
Learnd, learned, taught
Lease, p. 44, col. 2, lying, false-
hood. Withouten lease, verily
Leasynge, lying, falshood
Leeche, physician
Leechinge,doctoring, medicinal care
Leffe (Introd.) Leefe, dear
Lefe, p. 45. col. 2, Leeve, dear
Leid, s. lyed
Leiman, Leman, lover, mistress
Leir, s. Lere, learn
Leive, s. leave
Leek, phrase of contempt
Lea, lea, field, pasture
Lee, p. 31, col. 2, lea, the field
Lee, s. lie
Lemman, lover
Lemun, leaman, leiman, lover,
mistress, a. s. lemman
Lenger, longer
Lengeth in, resideth in
Leer, p. 85, col. 1, look
Lere, p. 14, col. 1, face, complex-
ion, a. s. hleaɲe, facies, vultus
Lerned, learned, taught
Leese, s. lose
Lett, Latte, hinder, slacken,
leave off, Late, let
Lettest, hinderest, detainest
Let, p. 2, col. 1, hinder, p. 18, col.
1, hindred
Lettyng, hindrance, i. e. without
delay
Leuch, Leugh, s. laughed
Leeve London, p. 73, col. 1, dear
London. an old phrase
Leeveth, believeth
Lever, rather
Leves and Bowes, leaves and
boughs
Lewd, ignorant, scandalous
Leyke, Like, play
Leyre, lere, p. 79, col. 2, learning,
lore
Libbards-bane, a herb so called
Libbard, leopard
Lichtly, s. lightly, easily, nimbly
Lie, s. Lee, field, plain
Liege-men, vassals, subjects
Lig, s. lie
Lang, s. long
Langsome, s. p. 23, col. 2, long, Lightly, easily
tedious
Lap. s. leaped
Lightsome, chearful, sprightly
Liked, p. 80, col. 1, pleased
Limitours, friars licensed to beg
within certain limits
Limitacioune, a certain precinct
allowed to a limitour
Lingell, a thread of hemp rubbed
with rosin, &c., used by rustics
for mending their shoes
Lire, flesh, complexion
Lith, Lithe, Lythe, p. 40, col. 2,
attend, hearken, listen
Lither, p. 18, col. 2, idle, worth-
less, naughty, froward
Liver, deliver
Liverance, p. 74, col. 2, deliver-
ance, (money, or a pledge, for
delivering you up)
Lodlye, loathsome. Vid. Lothly
Lo'e, Loed, s. love, loved
Lought, Lowe, Lugh, laughed
Loo, halloo !
Loht, (Ballad 1, ver. 45)
•
•
Loke, p. 80, col. 1, lock of wool
Longes, belongs
Lope, leaped
Lorrel, Losel, a sorry worthless
person
Lore, lesson, doctrine, learning
Lore, lost
Looset, losed, loosed
Lothly, (vide Lodlye,) loathsome
The adverbial terminations SOME
and LY were applied indifferently by
our old writers: thus as we have Lothly
for loathsome, so we have UGSOME in
a sense not very remote from Ugly, in
LORD SURREY'S Version of Encid, 11.
viz." In every place the ugsome sights
I saw."
Loud and still, phrase, at all times
Lough, p. 44, col. 1, laugh
Louked, looked
Lounge, (Introd.) lung
Loun, s. p. 83, col. 2, Lown, p.
52, col. 2, Loun, rascal, from
the Irish, Liun, slothful, slug-
gish
Lourd, Lour, s. Lever, had rather
Louted, Lowtede, lowed, did obei-
sance
Loveth, love, plural number
Lowe, p. 23, col. 2, a little hill
Louns, s. blazes, rather opposed
to windy, boisterous
Lowte, Lout, bow, stoop
Lude, Luid, Luivt, s. loved
Lurf, love
Lues, Luve, s. loves, love
Luicks, s. looks
Lurden, p. 43, col. 1, Lurdeyne
sluggard, drone
| Lyan, Lyand, s. lying
Lyard, grey, a name given to a
horse from its grey colour, as
Bayard, from bay
Lynde, p. p. 44, col. 1, 44, col. 2,
Lyne, p. 23, col. 1. See Linde
Lynde, p. 44, col. 2, the lime tree,
or collectively lime trees, or
trees in general
Lys, lies
Lystenyth, (Introd.) listen
Lyth p. 79, col. 2, Lythe, Lyth-,
some, pliant, flexible, easy,
gentle
Luven na More, live no more,no
longer
Lyzt, light
M
Maden, made
Mahound, Mahowne, Mahomet
Mair, s. Mare, more
Mait, s. might
Majeste, Maist, Mayeste, may'st
Making, sc. verses, versifying
Makys, Makes, mates
As the words make and mate were
in some cases used promiscuously by
ancient writers; so the words cake and
cate seem to have been applied with
the same indifferency: this will illus-
trate that common English Proverb,
"to turn Cat (i. e. Cate) in pan." A
Pan-cake is in Northamptonshire still
called a Pan-cate.
Male, p. 3, col. 2, coat of mail
Mane, p. 3, col, 1, man. Item
moan
Mane, Maining, s. moan, moaning
Mangonel, an engine used for dis-
charging great stones, arrows,
&c. before the invention of
gun.
powder
March perti, p. 4, col. 2, in the
parts lying upon the marches
March-pine, p. 79, col. 2, March-
pane, a kind of biscuit
Margarite, a pearl, 1.
Marrow, s. equal
Mark, a coin, in value 13s. 4d.
Mart, s. marred, hurt, damaged
Must, Maste, may'st
Masterye, p. 22, col. 2, Mayestry,
p. 46, col. 1, a trial of skill,
high proot of skill
Maugre, spite of, ill will (I in-
cur)
Maugre, in spite of
Mauger, Maugre, spite of
Maun, s. must
Maun, s. Mun, must
Maris, s. a thrush
Mawt, s. malt
Mayd, Mayde, maid
Maye, p. 8, col. 1, maid, (rhythmi
gratia)
Mayne, p. 14, col. 2, force,
strength, p. 22, col. 1, horse's
mane
Muze, a labyrinth, any thing en-
tangled or intricate
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,
called a Miz-Maze, The senior boys
obliged the juniors to tread it, to pre-
vent the figure from being lost, as I
am informed by an ingenious corre-
spondent.
Mean, moderate, middle sized
GLOSSARY.
Meany, retinue, train, company
Meed, Meede, reward
Meid, s. mood
Meise, s. soften, reduce, mitigate
Meit, s. Meet, fit, proper
Mell, honey; also, meddle, min-
gle
Me, men, Me con (men 'gan)
Men of armes, p. 8, col. 1, gens
d'armes
Meniveere, a species of fur
Mense the faught, s. p. measure the
battle. To give to the mense,
is to give above the measure.
Twelve, and one to the mense,
is common with children in
their play
Menzie, s. Meaney, retinue, com-
pany
Merches, marches
Messager, f. messenger
Me-thunketh, methinks
Mode, p. 44, col. 1, mood
Moiening, by means of, f.
Mold, mould, ground
Mo, Moe, more
Mome, a dull stupid person
Momand, moaning, bemoaning
Mone, moon
Mon, s. month
Monynday, Monday
More, originally and properly sig-
nified a hill, (from a. s. moɲ,
mons,) but the hills of the
North being generally full of
bogs, a Moor came to signify
boggy marshy ground, in ge-
neral
Mores, p. 12, col. 1, bills, wild
downs
Morrownunges, mornings
Morne, To morn, to-morrow in the
morning
Morne, s. p. 20, col. 2, on the
morrow
Mornyng, mourning
Mort, death of the deer
Mosses, swampy grounds, covered.
with peat moss
Most, must
Met, Meit, s. Mete, meet, fit, proper Myrry, merry
Meynè. See Meany
Mickle, much, great
Micht, might
Midge, a small insect, a kind of
gnat
Mightte, mighty
Minged, p. 12, col. 2, mentioned
Minny, s. mother
Minstral, s. minstrel, musician, &c•
Minstrelsie, music
Mirke, s. dark, black
Mirkie, dark, black
Mirry, s. Meri, merry
Misdoubt, p. 78, col. 1, suspect,
doubt
Miscreants, unbelievers
Mishap, misfortune
Miskaryed, miscarried
Misken, mistake, also, in the Scot-
tish idiom, "let a thing alone."
(Mr. Lambe)
Mister, s. to need
Mither, s. mother
Mote I thee, might I thrive
Mought, mot, mote, might
Mowe, may, Mou, s. mouth
Muchele bost, Mickle boast, great
boast
371-
Mude, s. mood
Mulne, mill
Mun, Maun, s. must
Mure, Mures, s. wild downs,
heaths, &c.
Murne, Murnt, Murning, s. mourn,
mourned, mourning
Musis, muses
Myllan, Milan steel
Myne-ye-ple, p. 3, col. 2, perhaps,
many plies, or folds. Monyple
is still used in this sense in the
North. (Mr. Lambe)
Mysuryd, p. 25, col. 2, misused,
applied to a bad purpose
Myzt, Myzty, might, mighty
N
Naithing, s. nothing
Nams, names
Na, Nae, s. no, none
Nane, s. none
Nar, p. 2, col. 2, Nare, nor. Item,
than
Natheless, nevertheless
Nat, not
Near, s. Ner, Nere, ne'er, never
Neat, oxen, cows, large cattle
Neatherd, a keeper of cattle
Neatresse, a female keeper of cattle
Neigh him neare, approach him
near
Nee, Ne, nigh
Neir, s. Nere, ne'er, never
Nere ne were, were it not for
Neist, Nyest, next, nearest
Newfangle, Newfangled, fond of
novelty, of new fashions, &c.
Nicked him of naye, p. 17, col. 1,
nicked him with a refusal
Nicht, s. night
Nipt, pinched
Noble, a gold coin, in value 20
groats, or 6s. 8d.
Nobles, p. 25, col. 1, Noblesse, no-
bleness
Nollys, noddles, heads
Nom, took, Nome, name
Nonce, purpose, For the nonce, for
the occasion
Non, none, None, noon
Norland, s. northern
Norse, s. Norway
North-gales, North Wales
Non, now
Nourice, s. nurse
Nout, Nocht, s. nought, also not,
seems for 'ne mought'
Nought, nought

302
GLOSSARY.
Nowls, noddles, heads
Noye, v. 175, annoy, query
Nuzt, nought, not
Nurtured, educated, bred up
Nye, Ny, nigh
Nyzt, night
0
Obraid, s. upbraid
Ocht, s. ought
Oferlyng, superior, paramount,
opposed to underling
O gin, s. () if, a phrase
Onfoughten, Unfoughten, unfought
On-loft, aloft
On, one, an
On, one, On man, p. 3, col. 1, one
man
One, on
Ony, s. any
Onys, once
Or, Ere, before; OR seems to
have the force of the Latin vel
and to signify EVEN
Or-rre pp. 6, col. 1, 7, col. 1, be-
fore
Or-eir, before ever
Orisons, s. prayers, f. ORAISONS
Ost, Oste, Oost, host.
Ou, Oure, you, your. Ibid., our
Out alas! exclamation of grief
Out-bruyde, drew out, unsheathed
Out-horn, the summoning to arms
by the sound of a horn
Out ower, s. quite over, over
Outrake, p. 75, col. 2, an out-ride
or expedition. To raik, s. is to
fast. Outrake is a common
go
term among shepherds. When
their sheep have a free passage
from inclosed pastures into
open and airy grounds they
call it a good outrake. (Mr.
Lambe).
Owure of none, hour of noon
Owches, bosses or buttons of gold
Owene, Awen, Ain, s, own
Oure, Owr, s. o'er
Oure, s. over
Owre word, s. the last word, the
burthen of a song
Out, out
P
Pall, a cloak or mantle of state
Palle, a robe of state. Purple and
pall, i. e. a purple robe or cloak,
a phrase
Palmer, a pilgrim, who, having
been at the Holy Land, carried
a palm branch in his hand.
Paramour, lover. Item, a mistress
Parde, Perdie, verily, f. par dieu
Puregull, equal
Partake, participate, assign to
Parti, party, p. 3, col. 1, a part
Pattering, murmuring, mumbling,
from the manner in which the
Paternoster was anciently hur-
ried over, in a low, inarticulate
voice
Plyzt, plight
Ploll-cat, a cant word for a whore
Pollys, Powlls, Polls, head
Pa, s. the river Po
Pauky, s. shrewd, cunning, sly, Pompal, p. 61, col. 2, pompous
Pondered, a term in Heraldry, for
sprinkled over
Popingay, a parrot
Porcupig, porcupine, f. porcepig
Porterner, perhaps pocket or pouch.
Pautoniere in fr. is a shepherd's
scrip (vide Colgrave)
Portres, p. 27, col. 1, porteress
Powlls, polls, head
Pownnes, p. 77, col. 1, pounds,
(rhythmi gratia)
Pow, Pou, Powed, s. pull, pulled
Preus, Prese, press
Preced, p. 45, col. 1, pressed,
Presed
Prest, f. ready
Prestly, p. 45, col. 1, Prestlye, p.
14, col. 1, readily, quickly
Pricked, spurred forward, travelled
a good round pace
Pricke-wand, p. 23, col. 1, a wand
set up for a mark
Prickes, p. 22, col. 2, the mark to
shoot at
or saucy, insolent
Paves, p. 25, col. 1, a pavice, a
large shield that covered the
whole body, f. pauvois
Pavilliane, pavillion, tent
Pay, liking, satisfaction, hence
well apaid, i. e. pleased, highly
satisfied
Paynim, pagan
Peukish, p. 77, col 1
Pearlins, a coarse sort of bone-
lace
Pece, Piece, sc. of cannon
Pele, a baker's peel
Penon, a banner or streamer, borne
at the top of a lance
Pentarchye of tenses, five tenses
Perchmine, f. parchment
Perelous, parlous, perilous, danger-
ous
Per fay, verily, f. par foy
Peere, Pere, Peer, equal
Peer, Peerless, equal, without
equal perfect
Peering, peeping, looking nar-
rowly
Perill, danger
Perkin, diminutive of Peter
Perlese, p. 26, col. 2, peerless
Pees, Pese, peace
Persit, Pearced, pierced
Perte, part
Pertyd, parted
Petye, pity
Peyn, pain
·
Philomene, Philomel, the nightin-
gale
Pibrochs, s. Highland war-tunes
Piece, s. a little
Pight, Pyght, pitched
Pil'd p. 76, col. 1, peeled, bald
Pine, famish, starve
Pious chanson, p. 48, col. 1, a
godly song, or bailad
Mr. Rowe's Edit. has "The first row
of the Rubrick," which has been sup-
posed by Dr. Warburton to refer to
the red-lettered titles of old Ballads.
In the large collection made by Mr.
Pepys, I do not remember to have seen
one single ballad with its title printed
in red letters,
Pite, Pittye, Pyte, pity
Plaine, complaint
Plaining, complaining
Playand, s. playing
Play-feres, playfellows
Pleasance, pleasure
Plein, complain
Plett, s. platted
Plowmell, a small wooden hammer
occasionally fixed to the plow,
still used in the North; in the
Midland counties in its stead is
used a plow-hatchet
Priefe, prove
Priving, s. proving, tasting
Prove, proof
Prowess, bravery, valor, military
gallantry
Prowès, p. 25, col. 1, prowess
Prude, pride. Item, proud
Pryke, p. 46, col. 1, the mark,
commonly a hazle wand
Pryme, daybreak
Puing, s. pulling
Puissant, strong, powerful
Pulde, pulled
Purchased, procured
Purfel, an ornament of embroid-
ery
Purfelled, embroidered
Purvayed, provided
Q
Quadrant, p. 27. col. 1, four-square
Quail, shrink, flinch, yield
Quaint, cunning, nice, fantastical
Quarry, p. 67, col. 1, in hunting
or hawking is the slaughtered
game, &c.
Quat, s. quitted
Quay, Quhey, s. a young heifer,
called a WHIE in Yorkshire
Quean, sorry, base woman
Quell, subdue, also kill
Quel, cruel, murderous
Quelch, a blow or bang
Quere, quire, choir
Quest, p. 43, col. 1, inquest
Quha, s. who
Quhair, s. where
Quhar, s. where
Quhan, Whan, s. when
Quhaneer, s. whene'er
Quhatten, s. what
Quhat, s. what
Quhen, s. when
Quhy, s. why
Quick, alive, living
Quillets, quibbles, 1. quidlibet
Quitt, requite
Quo, quoth
Quyle, s. while
Quyrry, p. 2, col. 2, See Quarry
above
Quyte, p. 4, col. 2, requited
Quyt, s. quite
Qwyknit, s. quickened, restored to
life
R
Rade, s. rode
Rae, a roe
Raik, s. to go a-pace, Raik on
raw, go fast in a row
Rame, reign
Raise, s. rose
Ranted, s. were merry. Vide
Gloss. to Gentle Shepherd
Rashing, seems to be the old
hunting term for the stroke
made by a wild boar with his
fangs. See p. 54, col. 2
Raught, reached, gained, obtained
Rayne, reane, rain
Raysse, race
Razt, Raught, or self-bereft
Reachles, careless
Reade, p. 6, col. 2, Rede, advise,
hit off
Read, advice
Rea'me, Reaume, realm
Reas, p 2, col. 2, raise
Reave, bereave
Reckt, regarded
Rede, Kead, advise, advice
Rede, Redde, read
Redresse, care, labour
Refe, bereave, or perhaps Rive,
split
Refe, Reve, Reeve, bailiff
Reft, bereft
Register, the officer who keeps the
public register
Reid, s. advise
Reid, s. reed, Rede, red
Reidroan, s. red-roan, p. 15, col. 1
Reek, s. smoke
Rekeles, Recklesse, regardless, void
of care, rash
Remeid, s. remedy
Renneth, Renning, runneth, run-
ning
Renn, run, p. 51, col. 2
Kenish, p. 16, col. 2, Renisnt, p.
18, col. 1, perhaps a derivation
from Reniteo, to shine
Renyed, p. 25, col. 2, refused
Rescous, rescues
Reeve, bailiff
Reve, bereave, deprive
Revers, s. robbers, pirates, rovers
Reweth, regrets, has reason to re-
pent
Reu, s. take pity
Rewth, ruth, Rowe, pity
GLOSSARY.
Ryall, Ryal, royal
Richt, s. right
Riddle, seems to be a vulgar idiom
for unriddle; or is perhaps
a corruption of reade, i. e. ad-
vise
Ride, make an inroad
Rin, s. run. Rin my errand, a con-
tracted way of speaking for
run on my errand." The
pronoun is omitted. So the
French say faire message
Rise, shoot, bush, shrub
Rive, rife, abounding
Roche, rock
Roode-cross, crucifix
Rood-loft, the place in the church
where the images were
set
66
up
Rood, Roode, cross, crucifix
Ronne, ran, Roone, p.7, col .1, run
Roufe, roof
Route, go about, travel
Routhe, ruth, pity
Rowned, Rownyd, whispered
Row, Rowd, s. rol, rolled
Rowyned, round
Rowght, rout
Rudd, ruddiness, complexion
Rude, s. Rood, cross
Ruell-bones, perhaps bones divers-
ly colored, f. Riole, or perhaps
small bone rings from the f.
rouelle, a small ring or hoop.
Cotgrave's Dict.
Rues, Rwethe, pitieth
Rugged, pulled with violence
Rushy, should be Rashy gair,
rushy stuff, ground covered with
rushes
Ruthful, rueful, woful
Ruth, pity
Ruthe, pity, woe
Rydere, p. 46, col. 2, ranger
Ryde, p. 72, col. 1, i. e. make an
inroad, Ryde, in p. 17, col. 2,
(ver. 136), should probably be
rise
Rynde, p. 8, col. 1, rent
Ryschys, rushes
Rywe, rue
Ryzt, right
Safer, sapphyre
Saft, s. soft
Saif, s. safe
Sair, s. sore
Saim, s. same
Sall, s. shall
S
C
Saif, s. save, Savely, safely
Saisede, seized
Sark, shirt, shift
Sar, Sair, s. sore
Sa, Sae, s. so
Sat, Sete, set
Saut, s. salt
Savyde, saved
Saw, Say, speech, discourse
Say, Assay, attempt
303
Say, saw
Say us no harm, say no ill of us
Sayne, say
Scant, scarce. Item scantiness
Schull, shall
Schapped, p. 8, col. 1, perhaps
swapped. Vid. loc.
Schuttered, shattered
Schaw, s. show
Schene, s. Sheen, shining, also
brightness
Schip, s. ship
Schiples, s. shipless
Scho, p. 10, col, 2, Sche, p. 7, col.
1, s. she
Schone, shone
Schoote, shot, let go
Schowte, Schowtte, shout
Schrill, s. shrill
Schuke, s. shook
Sclat, slate, little table-book of
slates to write upon
Scomfit, discomfit
Scot, tax, revenue, a year's tax of
the kingdom, also shot, reckon-
ing
Scathe, hurt, injury
Sed, said
Seik, s. Seke, s. seek
Sek, sack
Sel, Sell, self
Selver, Siller, silver
Seneschall, steward
Sene, seen
Sen, s. since
Senvy, mustard seed, f. senvie
Sertayne, Sertenlye, certain, cer-
tainly
See, Sees, s. sea, seas
Se, Sene, Seying, see, seen,
Seething, boiling
Seetywall, see Cetywall
seeing
Seve, seven
Sey you, say to, tell you
Sey, s. say, a kind of woollen
stuff
Seyd, s. saw
Shave, Be shave, be shaven
Shaws, little woods
Shear, p. 2, col. 2, entirely, (peni-
tus)
Sheele, She'll, she will
Sheene, Shene, shining
Sheits, Shetes, s. sheets
Shee's, she shall
Sheene, shining
Shent, shamed, disgraced, abused
Shepenes, Shipens, cow-houses,
sheep-pens, a. s. Scypen
Sheeve, Shive, a great slice or lun-
cheon of bread
Shield-bone, the blade bone, a com-
mon phrase in the north
Shimmered, s. glittered
Shimmering, shining by glances
Shirt of male or mail, was a garment
for defence, made all of rings of
Ac-
iron, worn under the coat.
cording to some the hauberk
was so formed
304
GLOSSARY.
Shoen, s. Shoone, p. 64, col. 1,
shoes
Shoke, p. 25, col. 2, shookest
Shold, Sholde, should
Shope, shaped
Shope, betook me
Shorte, s. shorten
Sho, Scho, s. she
Shote, shot
Shradds, p. 21, col. 2. Vid. locum
Shread, cut into small pieces
Shreeven Shriven, confessed her
sins
Shrew, a bad, an ill-tempered per-
son
Shreward, a male shrew
Shrift, confession
Shrive, confess. Item, hear con-
fession
Shroggs, shrubs, thorns, briars.
G. Doug. Scroggis
Shullen, shall
Shulde, should
Shunted, shunned
Shurting, recreation, diversion,
pastime. Vid. Gawin Douglas's
Gloss.
Shyars, shires
Shynand, s. shining
Sib, kin, akin, related
Sich, Sic, s. such, Sich, s. sigh
Sick-like, s. such like
Side, s. long
Sied, s. saw
Sigh-clout, p. 52, col. 1, (Sythe-
clout), a clout to strain milk
through, a straining clout
Sighan, Sighand, s. sighing
Sik, Sike, such
Siker, surely, certainly
Siller, s. silver
Sindle, s. seldom
Sitteth, sit ye
Sith, p. 2, col. 2, since
Skaith, Scath, harm, mischief
Skalk, perhaps from the Germ.
Schalck, malicious, perverse
(Sic Dan. Skalek nequitia,
蔡
​malicia, &c. Sheringham de
Ang. Orig. p. 318); or per-
haps from the Germ. Schalchen,
to squint. Hence our northern
wood Skelly, to squint
Skinker, one that serves drink
Skinkled, s. glittered
Skomfit, discomfit
Skott, shot, reckoning
Slade, a breadth of greensward
between plow-lands or woods,
&c.
Slaited, s. whetted, or perhaps
wiped
Slattered, slit, broke into splinters
Slaw, slew, p. 80, col. 1, (Sc.
Abel)
Slean, Slone, slain
Sleath, slayeth
Slee, s. slay, also sly
Sle, Slee, Sley, Slo, slay, Sleest,
slayest
Sleip, s. Slepe, sleep
Stode, p. 12, col. 2, slit, split
Slone, p. 13, col. 1, slain
Slo, p. 25, col. 1, Sloe, slay
Sloughe, p. 3, col. 1, slew
Smithers, s. smothers
Sna', Snuw, s. snow
Soll, Saulle, Sowle, soul
Soldain, Soldan, Sowdan, sultan
Sonn, s. Son, sun
Sond, a present, a sending
Sone, soon
Sort, company
Soothly, truly
Sooth, truth, true
Soth, Sothe, South, Southe, Soath,
truth
Soth-Ynglonde, South England
Soudan, Soudain, sultan
Souldan, Soldan, Sowdan, sultan
Sould, s. Suld, should
Souling, victualling.
Sowle is
still used in the north for
any thing eaten with bread;
a. s. sufle, sufle, Joh. xxi. 5,
(or to sowle, may be from the
French word saouler, " to stuff
and cram, to glut." Vid. Cot-
grave)
Sowden, Sowdain, sultan
Sowne, sound (rhyt. gr.)
Sowre, sour
Sowre, Soare, sore
Souter, p. 19, col. 2, shoemaker
Soy, f. silk
Spak, Spaik, s. spake
Speere. Vide locum
Spec, Spak, Spack, s. spake
Sped, speeded, succeeded
Speik, s. speak
Speir, s. Spere, Speare, Speere, Spire,
ask, enquire
So Chaucer, in his Rhyme of Sir
Thopas,
CC
He soughte north and south,
And oft he spired with his mouth."
i. e. enquired, not spied, as in the
new edition of Canterbury Tales, vol. ii.
p. 234.
Spence, Spens, expense
Spendyd, p. 4, col. 1, probably the
same as spanned, grasped
Speered, Sparred, i. e. fastened,
shut
<<
So in an old
old "Treatyse agaynst
Pestilence, &c. 4to. Emprynted by
Wynkyn de Worde," we are exhorted
to spere (i. e. shut or bar) the wyn-
dowes agenst the south," fol. 5.
Spillan, Spillund, s. spilling
Spill, p. 51, col. 1, Spille, p. 15,
col. 1, spoil, come to harm
Spill, spoil, destroy, kill
Spindles and whorles, the instru-
ments used for spinning in
Scotland, instead of spinning
wheels
The rock, spindles, and whorles are
very much used in Scotland and the
northern parts of Northumberland, at
this time. The thread for shoe-makers,
and even linen webs, and all the twine
of which the Tweed salmon nets are
made, are spun upon spindles. They
are said to make a more even and
smooth thread than spinning wheels.
Mr. Lambe.
Sporeles, spurless, without spurs
Spole, shoulder; f. espaule. It
seems to mean "arm-pit"
Sprente, p. 3, col. 2, spurted,
sprung out
Spurging, froth that purges out
Spurn, Spurne, a kick, p. 5, col. 1.
See Tear
Spyde, spied
Spylt, spoiled, destroyed
Spyt, p. 2, col. 2, Spyte, spite
Squelsh, a blow, or bang
Stabille, p. 26, col. 1, perhaps
'stablish
Stalwart, Stalworth, stout
Stalworthlye, stoutly
Stane, s. Stean, p. 21, col. 1, stone
Stark. p. 14, col. 1, stiff, p. 25,
col. 2, entirely
Startopes, buskins, or half boots
worn by rustics, laced down
before
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
Stert, start, p. 82, col. 2, started
Sterte, Sterted, started
Steven, p. 22, col. 2, time
Steven, p. 23, col. 2, voice
Still, quiet, silent
Stint, stop, stopped
Stirande stage, p. 6, col. 2, a
friend interpreted this, "many
a stirring travelling journey
Stonderes, standers by
Stoup of weir, pillar of war
Stound, Stonde, (introd.) space,
moment, hour, time
Stoand, time, A-stound, a-while
Stour, p. 4, col. 1, 19, col. 1, Stower,
12, col. 2, Stoure, 8, col. 2, 14,
col. 2, fight, disturbance, &c.
This word is applied in the
north to signify dust agitated
and put into motion, as by the
sweeping of a room.
Stower, Stowre, stir, disturbance,
fight
Stown, stolen
Stowre, strong. robust, fierce
Stra, Strae, s. straw
Streight, straight
Strekene, Stricken, struck
Stret, street
Strick, strict
Strike, stricken
Stroke, p. 3, col 2, struck
Stude, Stuid, s. stood.
GLOSSARY.
Styntyde, stinted, stayed, stopped Tear, p. 5, col. 1, this seems to
Styrt, start
Suar, sure
be a proverb, "That tearing,
or pulling, occasioned his spurn
or kick"
Summere, a sumpter horse
Sum, s. some
Sumpters, p. 78, col. 2, horses that
carry clothes, furniture, &c.
Sune, s. soon
Suore by ys chin, sworn by his
chin
Surcease, cease
Suthe, Swith, soon, quickly
Swapte, p. 3, col. 2, Swapped, p. 8,
col. 2, Swopede, 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, Swarved, climbed, or, as
it is now expressed in the mid-
land counties, Swarm, To swarm,
is to draw oneself up a tree,
or any other thing, clinging to
it with the legs and arms, as
hath been suggested by an in-
genious correspondent
Swa, Sa, so
Swat, Swatte, Swotte, did sweat
Swear, p. 2, col. 2, sware
Swearde, Swerd, 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 out, vulg. a Supple, call-
ed, in the midland counties, a
Swindgell, where the other part
is termed the hand-staff
Swinkers, labourers
Swith,
Swyke, sigh
Swyoing, whoring
Swypyng, striking fast, (Cimb.
Suipan, cito agere, or rather
scourging" from volvere, rap-
tare).-Scot. Sweap, to scourge.
Vide. Glossary to Gawin Dou-
glas
Sych, such
instantly
"
Syde-shear, p. 2, col. 2, Sydis-shear,
p. 2, col. 2, on all sides
Syd, side
Syne, s. then, afterwards
Syshemell, Ishmael
Syth, since
Syzt, sight
T.
Taiken, s. token, sign
Taine, s. Tane, token
Take, taken
Talents, p. 17, col. 1, perhaps gol-
deu ornaments, hung from her
head to the value of talents of
gold
Targe, target, shield
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 19
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 pison tuit Apolin,
Et Mahomet et Tervagant."
Hence Fontaine, with great humour,
in his tale entitled "La Fiancée du
Roy de Garbe," says,
"Et reviant Mahom. Jupin, et Terva-
gant,
Avec maint autre dieu non moins ex-
travagant."
Mem. de l'Acad. des Inscript, tom. 20,
4to, p. 352.
As termagant is evidently of Anglo-
Saxon derivation, and can only be
explained from the elements of that
language; its being corrupted by the
old French romancers proves that they
borrowed some things from ours.
Terry, diminitive 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, Theire, Ther, Thore, there
Thear, Ther, p. 2, col. 2, there
Thee, thrive, Mote 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, p. 2, col. 1,
they were
The, thee, Thend, the end.
Ther-for, p. 3, col. 1, therefore
Therto, thereto, Thes, these
Ther, p. 2, col. 2, their
Thii, they
Thie, thy, Thowe, 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, p. 76, col. 2, captive, p. 29,
col. 1, Thraldom, captivity
Thrang, s. throng, close
Thrawis, s. throes
•
305
Threape, to argue, to affirm or
assert, in a positive overbearing
manner
Thre, Thrie, s. three
Thrie, Thre, three
Thrif, thrive
Thrilled, twirled, turned round
Thritte, thirty
Throng, p. 42, col. 2, hastened
Thropes, villages
Throw, s. through
In p. 51, it
Thruch, Throuch, s. through
Thud, noise of a fall
Thewes, manners.
signifies limbs
Theyther-ward, thither-ward, to-
wards that place
Tibbe. In Scotland, Tibbe is the
dimunitive of Isabel
Tift, s. puff of wind
Till, s. to, when, query
Till, p. 4, col. 2, unto, p. 18, col.
2, entice
Tild down, pitched, qt.
Timkin, diminutive of Timothy
Tine, p. 11, col. 2, lose
Tint, s. lost
Tirled, twirled, turned round
Too-fall, s. twilight
Too-fall of the night, "seems to be
an image 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, p. 3, col. 1, Tone, the one
Tor, a tower; also a high pointed
rock, or hill
Tow, Towe, two, Twa, s. two
Tow, s. p. 31, col. 1, to let down
with a rope, &c.
Towyn, p. 6, col. 2, town
Traiterye, treason
Trenchant, f. cutting
Tres-hardie, f. thrice hardy
Treytory, Traitory, treachery
Trichard, treacherous, fr. tricheur
Tricthen, trick, deceive
Tride, tried
Trie, s. Tre, tree
Triest furth, s. draw forth to an
assignation
Trifulcate, three forked, three
pointed
Trim, exact
Troth, truth, faith, fidelity
Trough, Trouth, troth
Trowthe, Troth, Tru, true
Trow, believe, trust, also verity
Trumped, p. 1, boasted, told brag-
ging 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.
306
GLOSSARY.
:
Trumps, made of a tree, perhaps,
"wooden trumpets," musical
instruments fit enough for a
mock tournament
Tuik, s. took
Tuke gude keip, s. kept a close
eye upon her
Tul, s. till, to
Turn, p.78, col. 2, such turn, such
an occasion
Turnes a crab, sc. at the fire roasts
a crab
Tush, an interjection of contempt,
or impatience
Twa, s. two
Twayne, two
Twin'd, s. p. 10, col. 2, parted,
separated. Vid. G. Douglas
Twirtle, twist, S. thoroughly
twisted, "twisted,"
"" twirled
twist," f. tortille
U
Uch, each
Ugsome, s. shocking, horrible
Unbethought, for bethought. So
Unlosse, for loose
Unctuous, fat, clammy, oily
Undermerles, afternoons
Undight, undecked, undressed
Unkempt, uncombed
Unmacklye, mis-shapen
Unmufit, s. undisturbed, uncon-
founded, perhaps Unmuvit
Unseeled, opened; a term in falcn.
Unsett steven, p. 22, col. 2, unap-
pointed time, unexpectedly
Unsonsie, s. unlucky, unfortunate
Untyll, unto, p. 42, col. 2, against
Ure, use
Uthers, s. others
Vilane, p. 25, col. 1, rascally
Vive, (Somerset.) five
Voyded, p. 43, col. 2, quitted, left
the place
Vriers, (Som.) friars
W.
Wa, s. way, wall
Wadded, perhaps from Woad, i. e.
of a light blue colour.
Wad, s. Wold, Wolde, would
Wae, Waefo', woe, woful
Waeworth, s. woe betide
Waine, waggon
Wallowit, s. faded, withered
Walker, a fuller of cloth
Waltered, Weltered, rolled along,
also wallowed
Waltering, weltering
Waly, an interjection of grief
Wame, s. womb
Wame, Wem, s. belly
Wane, p. 3, col. 2, the same as
Ane, one So Wone, p. 4, col.
1, is one
Taylor, in his History of Gavel-kind,
p. 49, says, "Bright, from the British
word brith, which signifies their wad-
de-color; this was a light blue.” —
Minshew's Dictionary.
In fol 355 of Bannatyne's MS. is a
short fragment in which Wane is used
for Ane; or, one; viz.
"Amongst the monsters that we find,
There's wane belovved of womankind,
Renowned for antiquity,
From Adame drivs his pedigree."
Wan neir, s. draw near
Wanrufe, s. uneasy
War, p. 2, col. 2, aware
Warde, s. advise, forewarn
Ward, s. watch, sentinel
Warke, s. work
Warld, s. world
Warldis, s. p. 15, col. 2, worlds
Waryson, p. 8, col. 1, reward
Waryd, s. accursed
Wassel, drinking, good cheer
Wate, s. Weete, Wete, Witte, Wot,
Wote, Wotte, know
Wate, s. blamed, Præt. of Wyte,
to blame
Wat, p. 3, col. 1, W.t, know, am
Τ
Vair, (Somersetsh. Dialect,) fair
Valzient, s. valiant
Vazen, (Som.) probably for Fai-
then, i. e. faiths; as Housen,
Closen, &c.
Venu, (Introd,) approach, coming Waarifurbing
Vices, (probably for
devices) p. 27, col. 1, screws,
or perhaps, turning pins, swi-
vels. An ingenious friend
thinks a vice is rather "
spindle of a press," that goeth
by a vice, that seemeth to
. move of itself.
a
aware
Wat, s. wet, also knew
Wax, to grow, become
Wayward, froward, peevish
Wayde, waved
Weal, p. 4, col. 2, wail
Weale, p. 28, col. 2, happiness,
prosperity, &c.
Weare in, s. drive in gently
Wearifu', wearisome, tiresome,
Weede, clothing, dress
Weedes, clothes
Wee, s. little
Weel, well, also we'll
Ween, Ween'd, think, thought
Weet, s. wet
Wedous, p. 4, col. 2, widows
Weil, s. Weepe, weep
Weinde, s. Wende, Went, Weende,
Weened, thought
Weid, s. Wede, Weed, clothes, clo-
thing
Weird, wizard, witch, properly
fate, destiny
Well away, exclamation of pity
Weldynge, ruling
Wel of pite, source of pity
Welkin, the sky
Weme, womb, belly, hollow
Wem, (Introd.) hurt
Wende, went, Wendeth, goeth
Wende, p. 44. col. 2, Weene
thought
Wend, Wends, go, goes
Wene, Weenest, ween, w eenest
Werre, Weir, s. war. Warris, s.
wars
Werryed, worried
Wereth, defendeth
Werke, work
Wer, were
Wes, was
Westlin, s. western
Westlings, western, or whistling
Wha, s. who
Whair, s. where
Whan, s. when
Whang, s. a large slice
Wheelyng, wheeling
Wheder, whither
Whig, sour whey, or butter-milk
While, p. 76, col. 1, until
Whilk, s. which
Whittles, knives
Whit, jot
Whoard, hoard
Whorles.
Vide Spindles
Whos, p. 25, col. 2, whoso
Whyllys, whilst
Wi', s. with
Wight, p. 50, col. 2, person, p.
76, col. 1, strong, lusty
Wight, human creature, man or
woman
Wighty, p. 22, col. 1, strong,
lusty, active, nimble
Wightlye, p. 12, col. 1, vigorously
Will, s. p. 20, col. 1, shall
Wild, worm, serpent
Wildings, wild apples
Wilfull, p. 22, col. 2, wandering,
perverse, erring
Winnae, p. 10, col. 2, will not
Windar, perhaps the contraction
of Windhover, a kind of hawk
Windling, s. winding
Win, s. get, gain
Winsome, p. 83, col. 1, agreeable,
engaging
Wirke wislier, work more wisely
Wisse, direct, govern, take care of,
a. s. pirrian
Wiss, p. 73, col. 2, know, wist,
knew
Wit, Weet, know, understand
Withouten, Withoughten, without
Wobster, s. Webster, weaver
Wood-wroth, s. furiously enraged
Woodweele, p. 21, col. 2, or Wode-
wale, the golden ouile, a bird
of the thrush kind. Gloss.
Chauc. The original MS. has
Woodweete
Wode, Wod, wood, also mad
Wode-ward, towards the wood
Woe-begone, p. 14, col. 1, lost in
woe, overwhelmed with grief
Woe-man, a sorrowful man
Woe-worth, woe be to [you] a. s.
northan (fieri) to be, to be
come
Woe, woful, sorrowful
Wolde, would
Wonne, dwell
Wonders, wondrous
Wonde, (Introd.) wound, winded
Won'd, p. 79, col. 2, Wonn'd,
dwelt
Wondersly,
drously
Wonderly,
won-
Won, wont, usage
Wone, p. 4, col. 1, one
Worshipfully friended, of worship-
ful friends
Worthè, worthy
Wot, know, think
Wote, Wot, know, I wote, verily
Wouche, p. 3, col. 2, mischief,
evil, a. s. pohg, i. e. Wohg.
Malum
Wo, Woo, woe
Wow, an exclamation of wonder,
also Vow, London dialect
Wracke, ruin, destruction
Wrang, s. wrung
Wreake, pursue revengefully
Wrench, wretchedness
Wright, p. 26, col. 1, write
Wringe, p. 25, col. 1, contended
with violence
Writhe, p. 75, col. 2, writhed,
twisted
Wronge, wrong
Wrougt, wrought
Wroken, revenged
Wull, s. will
Wyght, p. 79, col. 1, strong, lusty
Wughtye, p. 46, col. 1, the same
Wyld, p. 2, col. 2, wild deer
Wynne, Win, joy
Wynnen, win, gain
Wynde, Wende, go
Wyste, knew
Wyte, blame
Wyt, Wit, Weet, know
GLOSSARY.
Y
Y, I, Y synge, I sing
Yae, s. each
Yalping, s. yelping
Yaned, yawned
Yave, p. 73, col. 1, gave
Yate, gate
Y-beare, Y-boren, bear, borne.
So Y-founde, found, Y-mad,
made, Y-wonne, won
Y-built, built
Ych, Yche, each
Ycholde yef, 1 should if
Ychone, p. 8, col. 2, each one
Ychon, each one
Ychulle (Introd.) I shall
Ychyseled, cut with the chisel
Y-cleped, named, called
Y-con'd, taught, instructed
Y-core, chosen
Ydle, idle
Yee, p. 8, col. 1, eye
Yearded, buried
Ye bent, Y-bent, bent
Yede, Yode, went
Ye seth, Y-seth, in faith
Ycha, Ilka, each, every
Yeldyde, yielded
Yenoughe, ynoughe, enough
Yerrarchy, hierarchy
Yere, Yeere, year, years
Yerle, p. 3, col. 1, Yerlle, earl
Yerly, p. 2, col. 2, early
Yese, s. ye shall
Yestreen, s. yester evening
Yf, if
Yfere, together
Y-founde, found
Ygnoraunce, ignorance
Yll, ill
Ylke, Ilk, same, That ylk, that
same
Ylythe (Introd.) listen
Yn, in
307
Yn house, home
Ynglonde, England
Yngglishe, Ynglysshe, English
Yode, went
Yone, you
Y-picking, picking, culling, ga-
thering
Ys, is, his, in his
Y-slaw, slain
Ystonge, (Introd.) stung
Yt, it
Yth, p. 2, col. 2, in the
Y-were, were
Y-wis, p. 28, col. 1, I wis, verily
Y-wrought, wrought
Y-wys, truly, verily
Y-yote, molten, melted
Z
Zacring-bell, Sem. Sacring hell, a
little bell rung to give notice of
the elevation of the host
Zee, Zeene, Som. see, seen
Zees, ye shall
Ze, s. ye, Zee're, ye are
Zede, Yede, went
Zef, Yef, if
Zeirs, s. years
Zellow, s. yellow
Zeme, take care of, a. s. seman
Zent, through, a. s. zeond
Zestrene, s. yester e'en
Zit, s. Zet, yet
Zonder, s. yonder
Zong, s. young
Zou, s. you, Zour, s. your
Zoud, s. you'd, you would
Zour-lane, Yourlane, alone, by
yourself
Zouth, s. youth
Zule, s. Yule, christmas
Zung, s. young
* The printer has usually substituted the letter z, to express the character g, which occurs in old MSS.:
ut we are not to suppose that this 3 was ever pronounced as our modern z; it had rather the force of y,
(and, perhaps, of gh), being no other than the Saxon letter g, which the Scots and English have, in many
stances, changed in y, as geard, yard, geaɲ, year, geong, young, &c.
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